Trauma Recovery

My Mother Never Loved Me

Growing up in my home was a nightmare!

Mothers are supposed to love their children. It’s an unwritten law.

I was a child of the 50’s when children were supposed to be seen and not heard. I grew up believing that family was the most important part of my life. I was taught that love was unconditional by your family. The Bible told me so.

So did my mother. My mother lied. I discovered many of her lies as time went on.

There is no worse betrayal than when it comes from those you love. Especially the loved one who gave you life. I believed all of my mother’s lies. I never understood how much she did not love me.

What did I do wrong? It simply did not make sense to me. Worse. It hurt me more than any physical wound that I have encountered.

I thought that I must be truly awful if my own mother did not love me. I spent most of my life blaming myself. I was certain that I could get better. I was positive that there was a way to get my mother to love me.

I thought about what I might have done better.

Maybe it was my fault that Daddy left when I was only one year old. When I was two years old, my stepfather moved in. Mother taught me that my stepfather could not be trusted. She told me that he was only a paycheck. She preached about how he was a bum just like my birth father. Mother always knew best. She told me that no one was to be trusted, especially men.

Most children believe their parents because they are the first authority figures in their lives.

Mother was right about one thing. My stepfather could not be trusted. I was a victim of incest from age twelve until age seventeen. My stepfather’s excuse was that my mother did not like sex. Also, he believed that it was good to teach children about sex when they are young. That is what my stepfather learned from his aunt. My stepfather believed that he was doing me a favor.

There was no way to talk to anyone and get help. Incest was a family secret that got buried under the rug. Along with many other toxic secrets. My stepfather warned me that it was our secret. If anyone found out, he would go to jail. I did not want to be that child. The one who put him in prison. The child who broke up our family.

It was horrible waiting for him every night. I would cringe when he walked into my room late at night. I felt like there was no one to help me. Sometimes I would play a game in my head and “go away”. I was floating above it all. It helped me to endure what was going on. It went on almost every night for five years.

You might wonder where my mother was or why she did not notice him leaving their bed each night.

Later in therapy, I wondered the same thing. I was afraid to wonder about it while it was happening. Her betrayal may have been more than I could handle. Eventually, I stood up to my stepfather. I told him he would have to stop or I would tell.

One day I went out on a date and never returned. I needed to get far away from the toxic secrets in my family. I felt like I was buried beneath the sadness and secrecy. I could not breathe. I needed to find a way to begin my life again.

My mother denied her part in what happened to me. I almost gave up because her constant betrayal shattered my world. Some days it felt like I was dying.

Incest is difficult to endure.

Recovery from incest can be unbearable.

Reliving the memories of the abuse can be filled with anguish. Some people never recover.

Some people do not survive. The scars are invisible. The wounds take forever to heal. Some people remain a victim.

I spent many years in therapy learning how to survive. It has been a long and winding journey but I feel like I am born again. I have re-entered the world of the living. I have released the toxic poison that was killing me.

I am starting over. I am healing. I feel renewed. I can breathe again. I do not fear life. I enjoy my life.

I am no longer a victim. I am a survivor.

If you are interested in reading more, you can find other parts of my story here: Part 2 and Part 3.