the other shoe

As a child, I was consistently and severely beaten, and often neglected. First by my parents, then, (after their divorce when I was 3) by my mother and grandparents. Please don't feel badly for me. I'm surprisingly well adjusted, considering what I've seen in my lifetime.

That being said, I do not have fond memories of my childhood. I do, however, want desperately to create loving, happy memories for my son. It's not always easy. Especially on days when I am sleep-deprived, ill, or otherwise fuzzy-brained. Those days make creative, thoughtful parenting of a toddler feel pretty close to impossible.

Sometimes I lose my temper. Sometimes I beg him to stop screaming. Sometimes I tremble with frustration. Sometimes I raise my voice. Sometimes I ask him to stop what he's doing in a quiet whisper, while diverting his hands. Sometimes I wring my hands in my lap and cry. Something I have never considered, not once, even in the heat of the moment, is hitting my child.

I have promised myself that if this should ever become a possibility, I will immediately remove myself from the room, until calm enough to return. As yet, it has not come to that. Here's hoping it never will.

Partly, I credit prolactin with my new-found ability to handle child-induced stress a bit better than my parents did. (Prolactin is the calming hormone that is released when a woman breastfeeds her child) Partly, I credit my few years of therapy and a LOT of reading and education. Partly, I credit my own childhood traumas and lacking self-esteem, for these things serve as excellent incentive to break the chain of violence, here and now. As if I needed a reason...

There are, however, a handful of people who know of my history on a very deep and personal level. Every once in a while, I get the feeling they're waiting for the other shoe to drop. As if they're waiting for me to lose control and hurt my kid. Every time Zee gets a bump or bruise (or a cast on his leg, for that matter) they pummel me with a million questions. How, When, Where, was anyone ELSE there? God help me if something should happen without witnesses to verify my innocence.

I'm literally becoming paranoid and anxious that these people have designs on my kid and they're just waiting for the right moment to swoop in and ship him off to foster care.

Now, I'm hoping that I'm being just-that, paranoid. I'm hoping with my whole-heart that it's all in my head... (Just like when I was in the throws of PPD, but afraid to tell the doctor, for the purely-imagined fear that they'd take my son) But, I'm so oblivious to most things, that I have to consider: isn't there a very real possibility that it isn't in my head at all?

And, if so, what can I do about it? Seriously, what?