The Poison of Abuse
Why
I MUST Tell
Jill’s Story
If you could detect the cause of a major suffering,
would you try to prevent it in the future? Because I’m an optimist, I believe
revealing the dark truth of a childhood abuse will motivate some people to take
a strong stand to eliminate it. Jill’s story in the novel, Baggage
burdens., illustrates several painful effects of family
violence.
In one of last week’s
excerpts three effects are identified. The immediate effect of pain from being
hit and being pulled by your hair is the obvious effect.
Jill confronted her drunken father in the kitchen. She
dared to challenge his behavior. Result: a neck jarring slap in the face. With
pent up fury Jill delivered a similar action.
Her father exploded.
Jill deflected his first swing. More swiftly followed.
His first direct hit landed Jill on the floor. Her single opportunity to escape
resulted in him grabbing her hair and yanking her back. Sitting on her, he
slapped her left and right again and again until Alice struck his head with a
cast iron frying pan. Police were called again. Warnings were issued. Promises
were made. Three weeks passed before Jill’s bruises disappeared, and she could face
her classmates.
A
second but less obvious effect is evident in the last sentence of the excerpt.
The black and blue bruises arising from being slapped can be expected to heal
(disappear) in a week or two I’m told. Yet it takes a third week before Jill can
“face” her classmates. The emotional shock of a father’s mistreatment prevents
Jill from facing other students and may also have distracted a reader from questioning,
why the extra time at home.
As
a high school teacher I was given a glimpse into the scarring of such violence.
“I must have
done something horribly wrong to deserve such punishment.” That is
the overriding impression shared by a student. The truth (the misbehavior was
entirely the father’s) could not dismiss the possibility that other students
might suspect she really did something very wrong. Such an expanded negative impression
could only serve to build on the already father’s planted notion––my child is
irresponsible. She never puts her stuff away. Result: avoid for as long as
possible the chance that you may have to tell someone what happened to you.
To
question the logic of such a damaging self-perception is not wise. It is a very
painful reality shared in a moment of high trust.
Like
the wind, the emotional injury isn’t readily noticeable. Only after the wind
has passed can one see its effect. The fragile self-image, when assaulted by a
cutting remark, a dirty look or implication, leads to visible or invisible
tears or fierce defense. In class I’ve seen both.
A
third effect, immediate and less obvious comes from Jill’s conclusion: my father’s a liar. Considering he promised
he wouldn’t drink again, wouldn’t beat her again, Jill’s conclusion has a
foundation. He breaks his promises. He can’t be trusted. In Jill’s childhood her
foundational conclusion receives reinforcement when she concludes her mother
also lied. (I love you. But where was she when it came to defending Jill from
her drunken father?) Who can you trust if not you own parents? A final
ingredient to the
belief that no one can be trusted comes from Dave, a friend
she dared to trust to help her. He, too, betrayed her trust. From that basis
Jill builds a corollary belief––men can’t be trusted.
She stares at her betrayer— “You bastard. You said me
living here would be no prelude to some kind of relationship.” Her words have
no effect on Dave. Jill realizes she’s been deceived. Her phony friend leaning
against the cupboard stole the only security she had.
An uncomfortable feeling seizes Jill. It’s a feeling she experienced
when she charged outside of Dave and Greg’s house, a feeling when she hid in
the closet at home after hearing her intoxicated father in the living room
shouting for her to come out.
‘Men are dangerous. Don’t trust men.’
The fourth effect, the one
that surprised and motivated me most to tell Jill’s story, is the depth of her
foundational belief. Trusting no one means you’re all alone in the world. You
have to rely only on yourself to meet the world’s tough challenges. As the next excerpt shows, this belief
lasted for more than thirty years! There was no healing, no forgetting.
That means Jill’s closest friends;
her family; her grandmother, husband and son never knew why she never trusted
them. But family and friends experienced her painful belief. Not until Bill, a
friend, whom she believes she can’t fully trust asks her, “You do trust me” does Jill start to examine
her foundational belief––no one can be trusted.
Reluctant to follow Bill’s idea Jill shakes her head
slightly.
“It’s worth a try. Trust me.” Seeing Jill’s silence, Bill
asks again, “You do trust me?”
Bill’s question opens a wound that Jill tries to ignore.
‘My friend, the one I met in Chicago, the one I trusted, the one who sided
with Joseph when Joseph said he wanted to divorce me.’
Being completely alone
means sooner or later a crisis will hit you. Help will be needed. Trust will be
needed. I came to know more of the real Jill at that point. I came to understand her fear to trust,
her drive for fierce defense and the sorrow that accompanies her survival strategies.
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haiku capsule:
black and blue bruises
a lifetime poison
