Parenting as an Abuse Survivor

Abuse is a cycle. Once started, it is hard to stop. Children who grow up in abusive households often become abusive parents when they have children of their own.

I am no exception to this rule of continuing abuse. When I gave birth, I fell hard into postpartum depression, exacerbated by a broken ankle, a sprained ankle, and a husband who went behind my back, buying formula in order to prevent me from waking up at night to feed my baby. I became abusive.

My words were abusive and before too long, I would spank my little girl's butt for a perceived transgression after telling her a number of times what the correct action is and why she was wrong. My tone of voice was abusive. I found myself neglecting my own needs and the needs of my daughter, feeling helpless and hopeless. The postpartum depression stayed and worsened in the first two years of her life and I found myself sedentary, trying repeatedly yet in vain to attend college for a degree. What degree? I didn't really know.

This is my story and I share it because when I make improvements in my life, I do so immediately and without hesitation. Once I know what's wrong with a situation and why I'm feeling a certain way about a certain thing, I correct it with all the energy and fervor of a new recruit.

Yesterday was a bad day. Persephone was being little and, naturally, getting into things that didn't belong to her. Case in point, this time: My grandmother's CD case, full of all kinds of CDs from Elvis to Barbra Streisand. To my daughter's credit, it seemed that all disks remained within the case, but she had unzipped parts of it and begun taking it apart (it is a three-part CD case that zips together in two places and each of the three CD holders that make up the case zips closed).

I yelled. I screamed in her face. I spanked her butt harder than I've ever spanked it before because I have had umpteen million conversations with her about playing with her OWN toys, leaving everyone else's things alone, etc. I felt guilty immediately, as is always the case when she breaks down in tears over my response to her perceived bad behavior. Then, I thought: How can I do something better that will have a lasting effect?

Recently, when visiting my college campus to check out the childcare center, I picked up a handful of packets of paper. One is about Time-Out and whether that method of discipline is really effective. According to the article I picked up, Time-Out is a cop-out for parents and child educators who do not wish to deal with children's behaviors and instead remove them from situations wantonly. Multiple alternatives to Time-Out are mentioned in the article, all of which translate to every situation you may find yourself in with your child.

My first response when frustrated is to raise my voice. My muscles tense, my heart rate quickens, and I want to cause physical damage to something or someone, but since I can't, my voice rises until people three blocks away could hear it with their windows open. These are not the responses I want to have with my daughter. My daughter deserves better than this, because this is what I was raised under and I know it is abusive.

Survivors of abuse bury things deeply. It always comes back up, though, and we find ourselves unreasonably angry over the smallest perceived transgressions. We find ourselves racked with sudden panic, rage, or any number of overwhelming emotions that do not seem to fit the situation in which we are existing, working, and functioning.

I have found some helpful tips online for Constructive Discipline. The source I chose to print from came from PBS, the source I trust most when it comes to child development and mainstream media. Ultimately, the power lies within us as parents to break the cycle of abuse for our children. From now on, my daughter will experience only the best I can offer of constructive criticism. Sometimes, I need to take a step back and take a deep breath before addressing an issue. Sometimes, it may turn out to be most effective to spank her butt over an issue. But right now, right before she turns 3 years old, she doesn't need that.

Children need to know what is okay to do. They need to know how to control their actions, express their emotions, and act appropriately when they feel intense emotions. That is what I work on now with my daughter. We are in the process of potty training, which many parents will know is a truly grueling task for some. Today, she has pooped in her pull-up THREE times!!! The first time she did it, I lectured her on pooping in the toilet. The second time, I slowed down and did the following:

• I asked her why she pooped in her pull-up. Based on her reaction and repsonse, she really had not registered yet that pooping makes the pull-up dirty and therefore she did not see what was wrong with pooping her pants.
• I used positive language to tell her the correct course of action: "You need to poop in the toilet. Where is the toilet?" I went to great lengths to ensure she knows where the toilet is located.
• After she was changed and clean again, I asked her what she's going to do the next time she has to poop. She said she would poop in the toilet.
• When she did not, in fact, poop in the toilet next time, and filled yet another pull-up with stinky, smelly feces, I thought I might lose it. But I asked her instead why she pooped in her pull-up. I explained that the pull-up is NOT the toilet, and she asked why, so I explained that pooping her pants is a dirty habit and big girls use toilets.

It is important to use positive language as much as possible. Language such as, "Don't poop in your pull-up!" or, "Bad! You're a bad girl for pooping in your pants!" is not helpful. It does not teach children to use the toilet. Our brains do not register "not" in a statement, so to say, "Don't poop in your pull-up," registers to a child as, "Do poop in your pull-up," because no positive alternative has been given. Telling your child they're bad registers in their brains and lasts, making them think they are bad children and justifying their bad behaviors ("If I'm bad, I might as well be bad").

Some statistics on the matter:

• "Neglect is the most common form of maltreatment. Of the children who experienced maltreatment or abuse, three-quarters suffered neglect; 17.2% suffered physical abuse; and 8.4% suffered sexual abuse. (Some children are polyvictimized—they have suffered more than one form of maltreatment.)" (http://www.nationalchildrensalliance.org/media-room/media-kit/national-statistics-child-abuse).
• "The United States has one of the worst records among industrialized nations – losing on average between four and seven children every day to child abuse and neglect," (https://www.childhelp.org/child-abuse-statistics/#eneglect).
• "40-80% of juvenile sex offenders have themselves been victims of sexual abuse (Advances in Clinical Child Psychology, page 19)," (https://victimsofcrime.org/media/reporting-on-child-sexual-abuse/statistics-on-perpetrators-of-csa).
• "Hindman and Peters (2001) found that 67 percent of sex offenders initially reported experiencing sexual abuse as children, but when given a polygraph ("lie detector") test, the proportion dropped to 29 percent, suggesting that some sex offenders exaggerate early childhood victimization in an effort to rationalize their behavior or gain sympathy from others," (http://www.criminaljustice.ny.gov/nsor/som_mythsandfacts.htm).

Progress and Moving Forward with Depression

If you check my social media accounts, you'll see positive posts about a mother who loves her family, with nothing to indicate the true nature of the emotional roller coaster I've been riding over the past few weeks. I say, "Things get better every day." And I mean it. Because no matter how upset I am, no matter what I bitch about to my friends in private conversations, the fact remains that I am incredibly grateful for what I have. Yes, I want better. I've always wanted better. But the truth is, what I have is reasonable, for now.

There isn't a lot to get me down, anymore. I'm treating my depression daily. I socialize daily with multiple people--family, friends, acquaintances--and I am getting accustomed to exercising every day, though the means vary while I determine how I can work out with friends (two birds, one stone--socializing and exercising!) who have different schedules. I've really accomplished a great deal in a short amount of time. My accomplishments make me feel like I'm actually moving forward in my life and they give me confidence, knowing that I am in charge of all of my finances. I feel secure in the knowledge of what my bills are, how much they cost each month, and I am confident in my ability to manage future bills that come under my name.

Yet, the depression comes back. I suppose that is why they call it a disorder. I truly believe there is a chemical imbalance in my brain, but I've never been scanned or tested that way. Some of my friends on Facebook post a lot about their depression and how it effects them, how it prevents them from doing things. Now I know that most of that is bullshit, though I certainly bought into it over the past few years. However, that doesn't mean depression isn't persistent.

One friend, in particular, told me that when he was the most active, exercising regularly, he still wanted to kill himself. He still felt depressed and deeply unhappy. Some of the things he posts indicate that he uses the depression as a crutch, trying to make people believe that he cannot do things based on the depression he feels. From where I now sit, I know that is not true. He can accomplish things as long as he has support. Sure, the depression could come back. After all, I had a great day yesterday, really, and still the depression hit me with full force after everyone had gone to bed. While I waited for my bedsheets to dry, I found myself crying while folding clothes and text-bombing my gossip buddy about my feelings. Thankfully, he was there to respond, though he was at work.

My support is not exactly what I thought it should be. I'm staying with my grandparents, which is simultaneously supportive and restrictive. I have only so much time I can spend online each day; my grandmother insists that I accomplish tasks and prioritize according to what she thinks is most important; I can't just drive out to see my friends at any given time I feel like because, while I love my electric car and it does what I need, it does not get the range to keep going out all day and it doesn't charge as quickly as someone can fill a fuel tank.

However, I am free to leave almost at whim. I am free to go to the gym on base and work out, take care of my errands and important tasks independently, and use the Internet to update my blog and social media, albeit briefly each day. My family surrounds me and I have my daughter. She is the most important person in the world. She is the most important thing in the universe to me. She deserves the world; she deserves better than anything I've experienced. She deserves the kind of love I've only dreamed about due to lack of examples in my life. And she loves me. Nothing is better than her love, her hugs, cuddles, and kisses, and her sweet voice as she says, "Me wuv you, Mommy."

Finding the words for my blog this month has been difficult. A large part of me wants to sit here and bitch, like this is my private journal, where I write all of my nasty, private thoughts down so that I don't spew them at those undeserving. But the fact is, what I am working on now is how to better my own behavior and language. How can I stay on task and keep up on what I know I need to accomplish on a daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly basis?

Lists. Naturally, my grandmother recommends that I make a list for everything and have an alarm for the rest, since I have alarms set to keep me on track with Persephone's potty schedule. It works. She's had dry pull-ups for about three consecutive days with only poop accidents. She has yet to poop in the potty, but I know it will come. She makes me so proud every day, the way she sings songs we've been singing to her, she asks to go to the park, she eagerly brushes her teeth and pitter-patters off to bed each night (as long as she's not overly tired, in which case she fights tooth and nail like any small child). So far, making lists and setting alarms has worked for me. So, I'll continue with them and see how I can be as efficient as possible (after all, no one wants to hear a phone alarm go off every 5 minutes).

Drastic Change: Paradise Lost, or Paradise Found

May was a tumultuous month, though not altogether unpleasant. Naturally, my birthday came and went, and I managed to have a good time! Now it is June and things are so completely different than they were back then, it's hard to know where to begin.

So, I suppose I can begin by saying I am nowhere near where I thought I would be, today. I had a great birthday--my grandmother took my daughter and me out to lunch at a nice restaurant and I got a massage and a facial. Later in the week, I had my "Always" tattoo finished and I am in love with it! What happened after my birthday was supposed to be a smooth transition. It was supposed to be smoother than any transition prior.

It wasn't. Instead of continuing on the course I had set with my husband, I was derailed by an intervention from my best friend. He was the one and only person in my life to point out the ways in which I was not living the way I wanted to. He was the one to point out why I was unhappy, while I ignored many problems that continued to grow within my home life. His intervention, with some help from his wife, really provoked me to take immediate action.

And so, instead of taking off to California at the end of May, I sat down in our ever-emptier house and began a conversation with my husband. I wasn't sure where I would end up in this conversation or even what I wanted him to say. The problem was, it seemed he only wanted to give me words I would want to hear. So, when he brought up the word "divorce," for probably the third time in the duration of our marriage, I thought about it seriously for the first time.

Where I am now is not where I wanted to be, but it has turned out to be better for me than I could have imagined. There are downsides, of course: The Internet usage is limited to 5GB per month until further notice; the computer I use does not have Microsoft Word for easy blog making; I have yet to figure out where or how I should set up my computer to do my art. But there are many upsides, as well: I unplug much more often and interact with my daughter and my family; I have my little girl on a meal and potty schedule and she is thriving under my care; I watch old Disney movies with my daughter every chance we get and I take her to the park at every opportunity to let her play. There is not a day that goes by in which she doesn't have a total blast playing with toys, watching cartoons, playing outside, and talking our ears off.

We're staying with my grandparents for now. I've begun seeing professionals in the Mental Health Clinic at the American Lake Veterans Association. My goal is to set up couples counseling, as it has always been my desire and my goal to have a healthy, lengthy marriage that is strong, stable, and lasts. Unfortunately, shortly after I expressed my desire to set up couples counseling, my husband took off in his car across Canada, driving east back to his home state. I hope he is happy, staying with his mother and receiving the validation he so craves.

Meanwhile, I have paid off several overdue bills related to our relationship and the house we rented together. I have realized, with help from family and friends, there are many ways in which I allowed myself to feel the way I did and I allowed him to make me feel worse. There are many things coming to light in his absence that have been shocking, disheartening, and even heartwarming.

We are halfway through June. The difficulty has only just begun. I've broken down crying, sobbing my eyes out while I was home alone, over ideas of what I should do for myself and my daughter. I've received various messages from him and responded as kindly and pleasantly as possible, while the nastiest and dirtiest thoughts crossed my mind. He called me hateful and spiteful and I know those things are inside of me but they are not what run my life.

I will never again allow someone to dictate my life in such a way that I act out in hateful, spiteful ways, nor will I allow someone again to make me feel as though everything I do is pointless. Regardless of who did what while we were together, I know now how to make myself feel good about myself. It is a process. It is a practice. It is difficult. It is not a linear path; I fall and I have to get back up. But now that the rotten apple has fallen from the tree, the tree is growing yet again and it's healthier than ever.