Leigh's Story

My dad didnt just hit me; he beat me. He had a very violent temper, and you never knew what was going to set him off. My sister and I would walk around on eggshells because we never wanted to do or say the wrong thing. It could be something as small as a piece of paper on the living room floor that would set him off on a tirade. Then it was only a matter of time before he would hit me. He usually hit me in the stomach. That would knock the wind out of me, so that I couldnt even cry because I couldnt take in a breath. Sometimes he threw things at me, too. My mother would always yell at him and an hour or so later he would come back and apologize. He would say that he was upset or that hed had a bad day and that I should know that little things get to him and so I should be more careful. Afterwards, everything would be okay until the next time. Its hard now to recall specific instances, but I do remember that he hit my sister one day while we were both in my room. I thought, I hate to say it, but Im glad its not me. When I think of my father, I think of this person who was always angry, violent, and scary. Im sure we had fun sometimes, but those arent the times that I remember. I was terrified of him; I couldnt be in the same room with him because I was afraid of what might happen. After a while, I began to think that I deserved the abuse and that just made me more afraid of him. He never had a nice word to say to me; he told me all these mean things and I believed them because when youre young, whatever your parents tell you seems true. If my dad told me that I was a selfish and not a nice person, then it must be true. That was the worst part: being made to feel like I was nothing, not even a person, and that I deserved nothing.

Although I had a much better relationship with my mom, I was also angry at her because she never attempted to stop the abuse. She would always yell at him after the fact and I would think, Okay, youre yelling at him now, but where were you five minutes ago? Ive learned to forgive her, though; shes been married to him for twenty-five years and has had to deal with him for all that time. He never hit her, but he hit us and we were her children; I dont know how that affected her as a mother and as a person.

She would sometimes tell us that whatever happened inside our house should not be discussed outside of it. My friends knew that I was afraid of my father and they might have known that he hit me, but they didnt know the extent of the abuse. I never discussed it in detail with anyone. Then, in my senior year, I was working with first graders on a community service project. One of the boys came to school with a bruise on his face; his dad had hit him. That really got to me, and when a teacher asked me why I was so upset, I told her. That was the first time I had ever told another adult-or anyone, really-about the abuse. She told me that I should consider going to counseling once I got to college because then I wouldnt have to involve my parents.

Counseling was the best present I could have given myself. I thought at first that I would just babble for an hour a week and it wouldnt make a big difference because it was just talking. But by the end, I was in a totally different place; I was happy and much more positive. It was wonderful to talk to someone who was unbiased, who would listen and not judge, who wouldnt tell anyone what I was telling her. I always knew that the abuse wasnt my fault, but Id grown up hearing that I was a selfish bitch, that I was disrespectful and a bad person because I didnt clean the house perfectly. It was hard to get away from that and realize that it wasnt true. In counseling, I learned a lot about myself. Im much more of a nice person than I thought I was; Im a good friend and even a good daughter. Ive realized that there are people who care about me and that theyre going to help me; Ive also realized that I can help myself.

Im still not sure how I feel about my father. There were times that I thought I didnt love him. Now everything seems fine; he wants to talk to me and on the phone hes always nice and pleasant. I dont know how to reconcile that with my childhood experiences. Because they are my parents, I cant just leave them behind the way I could someone else who hurt me or made me angry. Im trying to figure out where I am now, emotionally, and how they fit into that; I try to put them in places where I can mentally deal with them. I think a lot about who they are and why they act the way they do so that I can figure out how to relate to them.

Last Modified 12/22/2005