This week's topic is: "Fight"
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..
Oh and Ahem, if you would take pity and turn off comment verification, it would make leaving some love on your post that much easier for folks!
I will not be turning off verification, sorry to say. I've blogged for ten years and have dealt with all manner of stuff and nonsense, as you can imagine. So, take pity on an old lady and comment if you would like to. I read all of your posts over the week and find it too pleasant a time to pass up making a comment on a piece when it moves me. I'd go through barbed wire to do it. Hope you feel the same.
Fight:
I've been a fighter since I was two years old, and a fire breathing dragon came back into my life. My Paternal Unit returned from France and the war.
I went from being a beloved little girl who always smiled and enjoyed life to one who was afraid to breathe. My mother tried to protect me from my Dad but she gave up after my little brother was born. I learned to read at three and do long division at five because my father was a monster who beat me if I didn't learn from him. He wanted to control the people closest to him and had no idea how to do it without force of violence. I guess maybe his father was the same but at least his father was not home all the time! He got long breaks from having his father around. Mother would have left him but he treated her the same way. I found some papers after she died that were written about that time, and it was her advice to younger women that she was counseling. She told them to get an education, and leave without a trace if they were in that situation.
By the time I was 6 I was thoroughly traumatized. My little brother, with the same sunny and happy disposition of myself and our mother, was sick a lot, and deaf, so if my father wasn't immediately obeyed my brother was sent skittling across the floor with a punch. He sometimes got a black eye from these things. I was supposed to watch this and not say anything at all. That's the way we were all treated except for my sister. She somehow missed this. To this day I've had a heard time with my emotions. But, finally, through lots of love from my DH I've managed to cope and grow up emotionally. Now I'm pretty happy. That's five. Lets see if it stays up here. lol
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..
Oh and Ahem, if you would take pity and turn off comment verification, it would make leaving some love on your post that much easier for folks!
I will not be turning off verification, sorry to say. I've blogged for ten years and have dealt with all manner of stuff and nonsense, as you can imagine. So, take pity on an old lady and comment if you would like to. I read all of your posts over the week and find it too pleasant a time to pass up making a comment on a piece when it moves me. I'd go through barbed wire to do it. Hope you feel the same.
Fight:
I've been a fighter since I was two years old, and a fire breathing dragon came back into my life. My Paternal Unit returned from France and the war.
I went from being a beloved little girl who always smiled and enjoyed life to one who was afraid to breathe. My mother tried to protect me from my Dad but she gave up after my little brother was born. I learned to read at three and do long division at five because my father was a monster who beat me if I didn't learn from him. He wanted to control the people closest to him and had no idea how to do it without force of violence. I guess maybe his father was the same but at least his father was not home all the time! He got long breaks from having his father around. Mother would have left him but he treated her the same way. I found some papers after she died that were written about that time, and it was her advice to younger women that she was counseling. She told them to get an education, and leave without a trace if they were in that situation.
By the time I was 6 I was thoroughly traumatized. My little brother, with the same sunny and happy disposition of myself and our mother, was sick a lot, and deaf, so if my father wasn't immediately obeyed my brother was sent skittling across the floor with a punch. He sometimes got a black eye from these things. I was supposed to watch this and not say anything at all. That's the way we were all treated except for my sister. She somehow missed this. To this day I've had a heard time with my emotions. But, finally, through lots of love from my DH I've managed to cope and grow up emotionally. Now I'm pretty happy. That's five. Lets see if it stays up here. lol
Oh my! So sorry to hear of your childhood, Zippi Kit. Many of us "survive" childhood (or don't). So glad you have not only survived but thrived!
ReplyDeletepraying for the little girl inside of you
ReplyDeleteand the woman you have grown to be
well done!
You touched my heart by your story. I can also see that you have gone forward and this hasn't stopped you from living your life. I believe you already know that not everyone is out there to hurt you and that Love can heal. Thank you for your honesty.
ReplyDeleteThank you all for your kind and thoughtful responses. It was scary to share that. I hope it gives courage to people who have struggled with childhood traumas, to be able to move on from such a thing and build a life for themselves and find that love does heal.
ReplyDeleteYuk, that sounds terrible. Your Dad really needed help too, but that's no excuse is it? Take care.
ReplyDeleteFurther lowering the shields:
ReplyDeleteThat he did, Pealogic. He needed help, but only a prison would have been a more suitable habitat for him, seeing as he was so inclined already to the "black" arts. As you say, it was not an excuse.
I feel very sorry for kids with a criminal for a parent, but my grandfather was not a criminal, just an absentee. Maybe my paternal unit had PTSD? I've always wondered, but this guy killed our pets, and I'm not speaking of farm animals. I think he was bad to the bone.
Mother made up for him as best she could. She was a farm girl who lived through the Great Depression. She fed us with that big, big garden,and her ducks, rabbits, and chickens. She clothed us by dressmaking and haunting thrift stores for summer duds, and she sang and whistled to us when we were little. She taught us nursery rhymes and songs. She had that beautiful Welsh/Irish singing voice like her own mother. My happy memories are of her. Sometimes the mother is the bad one, and Dad a jewel. My mother was a very good mom. She didn't teach us hunting except for clothing, but she certainly taught us to "gather" in the "Gardens". A *wink* to Thomas Joseph.