A Story of Shame

I can remember exactly where I was sitting on the couch when it happened.

I was angry at my father for annoying me and he was laughing and continued to pester me. He grabbed my fist and pretended to make me hit myself in the face---except I moved my arm and punched myself square in the forehead.

I looked up at him with wide eyes and screamed, "You punched me in the face!"

He laughed. My siblings laughed. I ran downstairs to my room to cry.

I looked in the mirror of my vanity and blood was running down my face. My thumb nail had hit my forehead and taken a good chunk out of it.

My mind was racing.

Abuse. I had such a horrible relationship with my parents that my first thought was that my father had abused me. This was his fault. I was sure he had done it on purpose, maybe subconsciously.

Because he hated me. My father hated me. Everybody hated me. I had never been good enough for them and as I replayed their laughter in my head, tears stung my cheeks and I let them continue to fall, refusing to wipe away a single one of them.

The next day, it had started to scab over and everyone at school was asking me what happened to my face.
There were a variety of stories. I don't remember any of them. I just know that I didn't tell anyone the truth besides my best friend.

I felt violated. My family continued to joke about it and each time, the pain would sting just as bad. I felt like I was crazy. I felt like my pain wasn't valid or real.

They were all against me.

It was this dark, scary cloud I could never get past. I hated that story. I hated that everyone thought it was so funny. I hated that if I ever stood up for myself and tried to explain that I felt like my dad had hit me, they would all gang up on me and tell me how dramatic and dishonest I was.

And then it all got worse.

I was sent away to a wilderness rehabilitation camp at the age of 17 and while out on the trail, I told my therapist this story that had been eating at me for a year.

And she reported it to CPS.

When she told me she had to do this because of the situation involving my father "creating a wound on my body" or something like that, I had a panic attack. I was working toward building a relationship with my parents again and then she had to go and ruin it by reporting my father.

Would he lose his doctor's license? Would he lose my siblings? Would my whole family hate me forever because I ripped our family apart?

None of that happened. My 17 year old mind didn't quite comprehend CPS and how all of that works but my dad is still a practicing physician and my younger siblings still live at home.

For years after that CPS report, my family would still bring up that story every once in a while, each time ending in laughter.

Each time it happened, I would feel like the family screw-up all over again and feel anxious and angry and extremely stupid. I would leave the room or tell them it bothered me.

Finally, I mustered up the courage to talk to one of my sisters about it and since that day, I've never heard the story again.

I don't know if she ever talked to them or if they all just figured out that I hated the story but I'm glad that story is no longer a staple because it still hurts me. I think it always will.

I love my dad and he isn't a child abuser. He took a joke too far and I got hurt. His big mistake was not apologizing. His big mistake was laughing and shaming me when I tried to tell him that my feelings were hurt.

His big mistake wasn't abusing his daughter.

But for some reason, that story still haunts me. It reminds me of how messy things were when I was a child. It reminds me of why I can only remember a handful of things from my childhood. I don't know why it all still seems painful but it does. It isn't pleasant. It hurts.

I have to remind myself that I am a different person now. I have to remind myself that my dad is a different person now. Trusting him is easier. It sure isn't easy but it has gotten easier.

I have been given a lot from my dad. This week, I received a letter from him telling me how proud he is that I was accepted to the university I had applied to. He told me how proud he is of me as a mother and how he believes in me. He told me he wants the first semester to be "on him" and also included in the envelope was a check. I cried and felt so loved.

Growing up, I lived for moments like that. I yearned for them and rarely got them. It wasn't often that I felt loved by my family.

But now I do. Now I get to experience moments like these where life feels complete and wonderful and I feel secure.

None of us are perfect but this seems to be the hardest we have ever worked to have a healthy relationship and for that, I am grateful.