In progress

In the process of parenting my son, old childhood wounds surface from time to time, as they must for most parents. As each situation comes up, it's my choice to use it as an opportunity to learn and move forward when possible. Sometimes I get stuck, or the hurt resurfaces. That tells me I need more work in that area.

The goal, here is not to allow those unresolved feelings to become ingrained into my own parenting processes. Generally, by uncovering as much of each individual problem as possible, and working out how and why the situation may have affected me, then attempting to find a more appropriate way of reacting with my child, should the need arise. Essentially, how could my parents have done it better?

Well, this is me, stuck. I keep revisiting the same troubling memories of a particularly traumatic time in my childhood, and can't figure out what I'm missing.

*** I'm tempted to turn off comments, only because I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, and post a bunch of "poor kris" type stuff, if I tell the story... But instead I'm asking that anyone who responds will just restrain any comments to suggestions and insight, rather than pity. Pity doesn't make anyone feel good, and it's counter productive. ***

Here goes:

At about the age of 3, my parents were divorced. I don't really remember caring much about it at the time. What I do remember is that my father wasn't treating my mother well, and this was what needed to happen. There are also strong, early (non-verbal) memories of them fighting often, before the divorce.

After the divorce, my mother had sole custody and my father had visitation rights. One day, (when I was about 4) my father came to pick me up for his visit and he kept driving. He told me I wasn't going back. (This was before that sort of thing was called Kidnapping, so there were never any real, legal repercussions) Though I can't remember how long I was away, I do remember plenty of other things.

On that fateful day, my father drove straight to his mother's house, dropped me off, and explained that I wasn't going to live with my mom anymore. He left, and I didn't see him again for a very long time. He would come back for a few minutes, here or there, or he would come back and sleep there and then leave early in the morning. But he didn't spend one moment with me. I remember understanding, very clearly that he hadn't taken me because he missed me, or WANTED me, but because he knew it would drive my mother crazy.

I also remember that one night, while I was there, one of my aunts took me to a coke party at a bar, where she got VERY lit and left me to sit in a corner. She came home and bashed in her step-father's head with a ceramic statue of a naked lady sitting on a long red pillow. I watched the blood run down his face... My grandmother took him to the hospital and left me there with my drug-crazed aunt.

During my stay, they wouldn't let me take a bath, even though I asked repeatedly. They also kept me in the attic. After a while, they sent me to some distant aunt's house in Philly, where I also lived and slept in an attic. They also sent me to Texas, where I was finally allowed outside, but I was only there for a few days, then sent back up to New Jersey and Philadelphia.

I was alone in the attic without any toys, or anything to do. I was afraid. I was dirty. I was lonely. Christmas came and went, but I didn't know at the time. I remember hearing the cops come to the door many times, and I tried to call to them, but they never heard me.

This all came to an end, one night, when I was in the kitchen. Many times, my grandmother would call my mother, and say horrible things to her. She would hold the phone out so she could hear me in the background, just to torture her. THis particular night, the cops must have been watching and waiting. They broke in (all super-comando-style) and grabbed me, and wrapped me in a blanket, and ran out of there. My mom and my uncle were there waiting for me. (THis was my uncle D. He was my mom's brother-in-law. He's obviously a really great guy.)

So, I remember alot. I've tried to figure out why I keep finding myself back here, thinking about this stuff but can't get to the bottom of it. I've attempted to bring the subject up with my father. He "Doesn't know what I'm talking about" My mother was so glad to have me back, she even held Christmas for me. The tree had been up for months when I got back home, with all the presents underneath. I spoke to her about it, as an adult, and she was really shocked that I remembered so much, and so vividly. She's since passed away, so I can't really talk to her about it anymore. I tried talking to a councelor about it. I didn't really get anywhere.

"how did that make you feel"
"um... scared, lonely, mad... Just like I SAID"

I don't really know what I"m missing. I don't expect anyone else will have much insight into my wacky brain, either... I just thought it might help to write about it.