My therapist told me to journal when I have memories from growing up that keep me from sleeping. This is only a small bit of my childhood but it’s the stuff that is keeping me up tonight for whatever reason.
I lost my virginity to my husband when I was 17. My parents were very Christian, still are, and when my mom found out, by looking through my flip phone while I was asleep, she went crazy!
“Are you fucking kidding me?! I can not believe you! You’re a fucking whore! You are grounded for 365 days! I cannot believe you!”
She upheld that grounding, I was only allowed to go to school, go to cheerleading practice and then back home. Everytime she was in a bad mood, which was most days, she would remind me how big of a whore I was.
One time at the dinner table in front of all of my brothers and sisters (my parents did foster care so there were 11 of us at the time) something, I can’t remember what, I think I asked if I could go to a friends house since it had been a month into my grounding, set my mom off and she started yelling at me at the dinner table.
“Why so you can go sleep around. You’re a fucking whore, why would I let my whore of a daughter go to a ‘friends’ house. He’s probably over there isn’t he? You’re a whore! A fucking whore, don’t ever ask me to go anywhere again, you’re still grounded!”
One of my brothers rememided me recently that this happened at the dinner table. In my memory I was the only one at the table and my mom was screaming “you’re a whore” at me. This has sparked some concern because now I wonder what other dark memories do I have stored away that I don’t clearly remember right? At least once a day I hear my mom’s voice in my head calling me a whore despite my husband being the only man I’ve ever been with by choice. I have been raped but I don’t consider that actually being with someone.
During my year long grounding my Dad had gone to a golf tournament. He came home drunk and angry. He never drank or talked to us kids the way my mom did. This day was different. He walked into the house, my mom had yelled at him outside for being drunk. He walked into the kitchen, the air was thick with tension. A couple of my siblings and I were sitting at the table, we had been bullshitting with each other before he came home. My older sister asked if she could drive to the gas station down the street to get a soda. Desperate to get away from the tension I could feel, still being grounded I took a chance and asked if I could go with her. My mom gave me a look, I was ready for her to say no. My dad then said ” yeah, and why don’t you go fuck that beaner boyfriend of yours while you’re at it!” I was shook to the core! I had been blessed to never experience racism first hand before, especially at the hand of my dad. This hurt me more than the whippings I would get with the belt. I was crushed. My mom then started yelling at him and I left with my sister. I cried the whole way to the gas station, my sister comforted me and let me use her flip phone to call my husband. I was even more hurt when my husband said that it’s not the first time he’s experienced racism and that being Mexican he’s been called worse. The next day I was laying in my room when my dad walked in and sincerely apologized, this was the first time I had every seen my dad cry. Now a days my husband has a closer relationship with my dad than he does with his own dad.
I have experienced so much shit in my life that it’s hard for me to tell people because I worry no one will believe me, they’ll just think that I’m making it all up. Even my therapist. I haven’t told her much yet as far as what all I’ve gone through up until this year. This is the first year where I feel at peace with my life. The peace has caused all that has happened the last 28 years of my life to creep back into my mind, almost like it’s reminding me to stay vigilante because shit can always go wrong.