Dear Karen,
I'm SO sorry to hear about all that. You do not deserve any of this. Your 6yo is in distress and imitating what she has seen. She needs to know it's not ok to hit you though, for her sake and for yours. As for your mother in-law well I can think of a lot of horrible things to say, but I will just say I think she's full of BS - no wonder your husband thought it was ok to behave that way. It's NEVER ok.
Maybe ring lifeline again after the forum closes? Or even now if you feel it would help - just to get you through.
It has been a cold day - no wonder you were freezing. I didn't end up lighting the fire - I just can't justify burning the wood when it's only me. My psych did ring me back - though she wasn't free until the afternoon so it wasn't long before school pick-up time. We talked through the "missing" memories and the pictures that come up which are associated with them. I had a good cry - it's so hard to talk about but it does help ease the pain when I can allow myself to cry.
Thanks @Former-Member for your lovely message. I hope you are taking care too. Hope your little boy settles back in quickly. I find my 6yo settles in quicker after 1st term which takes ages. i hope you find some space to work through those painful things from the past. I know from experience that it takes a lot of self-compassion, time and good help. You need to be ready, don't push it. Be gentle with yourself.
The fire is going now. I'll light the candle again tonight - we can all do this - hold candles for each other to light the way forward, even as we feel we are stumbling blind. A common journey, all on our unique paths, can help illuminate the darkness.
The weather forecast for tomorrow is a bit better, hopefully I'll manage a walk after school drop-off. With a bit of luck there may even be some sunshine.
I've attached a couple of poems below about the "missing" memories. A warning though - they may be triggering.
Hope for a candle through the dark of night endures...
Kindest regards,
Kristin
Abandoned Memory
At first I convinced myself
That having no memory of it
Meant that “nothing” had happened
Except being forgotten in the dark
Then I realised
The absence of any memory
Was a hallmark
Of something too traumatic
To recall
Not filed accessibly
Uncomfortably marked
“Abandonment”
Near all the conscious
Memories of its ilk
But rather submerged
Somewhere amongst
My very instincts to survive
All I could do
Was wait patiently
And gently invite the memory
To be present
When it and I are ready
Resisting the urge to prise it out
Accepting I may never
Even have any idea
Of what occurred
Weeks later:
Blinding headaches from unshed tears
Heart-breaking grief
Bodily sensations of suffocating
The certain knowledge
this was when I learned
it is too dangerous to play
An overwhelm of panic
Snippets of other
conscious, traumatic memories
from that time and later on
It is as if
My subconscious and conscious
Are engaging in a “game” of memory
With my subconscious pointing out
Where something matches
The knowledge it holds
And my conscious faithfully
Retrieving the snippets
Placing a copy in a new file
Shockingly marked
“Utter Abandonment”
So now I sit
Learning to hold, to comfort
This little five year old inside,
As I do my own beloved daughters,
With wonder that I ever survived
And give thanks to God
Kristin © June 2013
Missing
His words rang true
Though their content
Was news to me
His story told
Of arriving home
On a dark Chicago night
To an empty apartment
Missing child and woman
Through the ghettos he drove
Straight to school
He found her
(A tiny white girl)
Wandering abandoned
In tears
Tingling nose and top lip
Can’t breathe
Dark
Squashed
Locked in
Thirsty
Stink of fear
Warm wet wee
Janitor
Man’s ****
Can’t see
Mustn’t tell
I hold
So many clear, yet traumatic, memories
Of being stolen by my own mother –
Too irrevocably broken herself
To see or nurture me
Transported to an alien scape
In an essentially malevolent land
Surrounded by black faces
Some friendly, many hostile
My surname
And then my birthdate
Substituted
For her convenience
Lost to myself
And those who loved me
His words spoke my truth
But this memory remains missing
Kristin © June 2013
