It has been 2 1/2 years since I last spoke with my oldest daughter. During that time my life and hers have experienced some huge ups and downs. If I had to guess I'd say she's seen some of the best and worst that life has to offer. There have been times I wish I could be there to comfort her, but it just isn't in the cards. I don't ever imagine that it will be. Being apart from both her and her brother this way causes a pain I can't describe. Yet, it is the price I am willing to pay for my past choices.
You see, when it comes to a wound needing to heal you have to give it the proper time and the proper treatment. A small band-aid on a wound gushing blood won't help. And a tourniquet on a paper cut is overkill. Now if a wound has been around for a while, it is going to take longer for it to heal. Once it does heal the scar left behind will always be a reminder. You can do some things to lessen the severity of the scar, but it is still there.
Some scars are barely noticeable after a while. Others will always be out in view of everyone. I once read a story about a man with a tattoo on his face. So many people judged him for that tattoo without ever asking why he had it. Well, that tattoo was there to cover up a scar, a burn, a memory of a terrible event. The tattoo gave new life where pain and anguish had been residing. We've also heard about the phenomenon of phantom limb pain. Amputees deal with this when an arm, leg, etc. has been removed. The actual injury is no longer there and neither is the source of the pain, yet it is still felt.
Sometimes these scars are not visible at all to others. Some scars are reminders of a time when you made poor choices and did something less than brilliant. Some scars are caused by accident. Some scars are left behind after you've made an intentional choice. And sometimes the scars are the consequences of our own misdeeds towards others.
So how do we heal these old wounds or accept these scars? Well it takes work, and lots of it. An old wound will typically need to be debrided or clean out. This debridement is a surgical act of removing all the dead and/or infected tissue to give the wound a chance to heal. It can take only one visit or many to a specialist or wound clinic. If this old wound is something that is mental in nature, it can take so much more to help it heal. If given the chance I'd rather go to a wound clinic week after week vs the many long years I've spent in and out of therapy.
Don't get me wrong, therapy is a great tool. It can help so much with healing these old wounds. The problem comes into play when you think you've found the source of the wounds yet it's really someplace else. I've spent years dealing with anger issues. I've experienced anger management classes. This taught me better ways of dealing with anger. What it didn't fix were the issues I had with being abusive to my children. I finally took parenting classes run by the state. This did more to help with that issue than anything previous had done. However, the wounds in my children had already been made. I thought, mistakenly, that me changing my parenting habit would fix all past wrongs. It didn't. I still had to face the consequences of those actions.
Two years ago I wrote a blog basically saying goodbye. I had not planned on being around any further after I wrote that entry. My plan had been to take the nearly 90 days' worth of my husband's medication for schizoaffective disorder and to end my life. Before I did that I called my mom. I wanted to hear her at least one last time. That call ended up saving my life. I admitted to being so broken that I didn't want to go on. My mom encouraged me to keep fighting. Late that night I was admitted into a psychiatric hospital to receive treatment. Even now it is hard to talk about. Suicidal ideation is never far from my mind. I'd love to banish it forever, but I now know that my mental health issues aren't a wound to be healed, but a scar. And not just one scar, but many scars. Scars over time have been healed, but not always with the best remedy.
My stay in the hospital taught me to look further than I had before to find the true source of the injury. What I didn't expect was to see my own childhood as the source. Like many in Utah, I come from a large Mormon (Latter-day Saint) family. I am the unexpected caboose in my family. One that my oldest siblings were less than thrilled about. A fact that was shared with me over and over. What I didn't realize is this, along with a 4-year gap between me and my next closest sibling, had caused me to feel as if I didn't belong. I was always just on the outskirts of many of my friendship circles. When push came to shove I was the one left on the outside. On top of all of this, I have nephews and nieces as close in age to me as many of my siblings. Some of my nephews and nieces were more like siblings for a while. That isn't true any longer...but I wish it was.
Through therapy, I have traced years of mistakes that link back to the central idea that I am not truly wanted. In reality, I know this is not true. I know I am wanted and loved. This does not stop the thoughts of not being wanted from coming up. It was this issue that pushed me to stay in a toxic and abusive relationship after relationship. Then I met my current husband. By this time I had been through enough personal therapy to recognize quickly when a relationship wasn't right. With him, it was years of chance meetings without realizing it, that prepared us to be together. Years of chance encounters had been happening. So with him, I knew it was the right place and right time.
We fought a lot the first couple of years and finally went to marriage counseling to help us learn how to communicate with each other. It was a promise we had made early on that we kept. It isn't always the easiest relationship, but I am eternally grateful that I have him on my side. It has helped to soothe many of the past scars... They will always be there, but they no longer cause as much pain.
I started off talking about being estranged from 2 of my children. I don't know if this will ever end. In fact, if we remain estranged beyond my dying day then it is the consequences of my actions all those years ago. Part of why this is as the forefront of my mind right now is that I recent learn others were well aware of my abusive behavior. Yet they chose to address it in a way that, instead of helping me, caused me to hide it even more. DCFS came to my home under the complaint of neglect...my house was dirty. I wasn't home when they stopped by. When they did come by, and I was still unaware of the reason, I made myself a promise that I would own up to my abusive behavior when questioned. But it was because my house was dirty. So I didn't own up to physical abuse. Yes, my house was messy. I had 3 kids under 4 and was dealing with postpartum depression. However, my fridge had food. My kids were being fed. I was asked to clean up my home and that was it. The DCFS worker never came back and the case was never actually closed out. For a few months afterward I was calling him regularly to get the case closed and then I learned that the case worker was no longer with DCFS. If it is looked into now it will show that the case is still open. I know this because I have had a background check bring it up.
I still can't help but think back to that afternoon and what would have changed if those who had reported me had been honest about the abuse rather than skirting it by claiming neglect because of my messy house. I can tell you that the DCFS worker told me that whoever had reported me stated my house looked significantly worse than what he saw. He left me with a few things to clean up, but said that in his opinion the house was not anywhere near as bad as so many others he had seen. He did want to see an improvement before closing the case and we set a date, but he never returned.
It has been 22 1/2 years since that case was opened. 22 1/2 years and because those that reported me decided to not report what they knew was actually happening it continued to happen for a few more years. As I said before, this is something I, myself, have only learned about recently. The wounds that could have been prevented...the relationships forever damaged...all for a lack of full honesty. It really makes you think.
Well, here I am all these years later trying to heal from wounds. Realizing that the scars will never go away. And accepting the hard consequences of my actions. Part of all of this is recognizing that I play a part in it all. If, as a teen, I had made the decision to speak up when the opportunity arose then perhaps none of what came after would have happened. Or some of it. I still believe my kids would have been mine, but perhaps the abuse would've never happened. Even coming from generational abuse, I knew it didn't have to happen. I didn't intend for it to happen. I told myself I wouldn't carry on the line of abuse. That it would end with me. Yet, I see it now will end with my kids, but at least it will end.
If my children do see this, I love each of you for the unique person you are. Thank you for being so much stronger than I was at your age (no matter how old you are). Thank you for teaching me the lessons you've taught in love, kindness, and acceptance. Because of you, I fight harder, love more, and forgive often. Because of you, I know that no matter what life throws at me I can determine how to face it and move forward. And if you have made that choice to walk away permanently, I understand.
No, not all old wounds heal perfectly. It is in that imperfection that we try to find the light and change how we move forward. Sometimes that light brings joy. Sometimes that light shows the toxicity. It's how we change or don't that will affect our lives for the positive, or the negative.
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