I never really knew what stress or anxiety felt like. Sounds blissful, right?
Well, let me explain.
I was raised by an emotionally abusive father. His moods and reactions were erratic at the best of times, and at the worst of times … well being in our house was anything but pleasant. This had been standard for as long as I could remember. When he was in a bad mood my oldest sister would take my other sister and me into the bedroom, put on the cassette player and we would play games. She would smile back the fear and keep us out of the way while my mum bore the brunt of the anger until he stormed off to get drunk with friends. Nobody talked about it, at least not in front of me that I can remember. You see a lot of my memories become patchy throughout my childhood. It’s called dissociation. My mind shut off from what was happening to protect me. So even if I did see the outbursts, I only remember a couple. For most of them, my mind transported me somewhere else until the ordeal was over.
I grew up and I believed that all I was experiencing was normal. It must be. How can everyone be wrong?
Photo by Caleb Woods
I had various problems growing up, the main two were bedwetting and not eating. It’s strange how much shame I still feel about the bedwetting.
I was older than I should have been, and my parents didn’t know what was wrong. We tried going to the hospital but there was nothing ‘wrong’ with me. This left nowhere for me to hide when my father got angry. His fury at my inability to have consecutive dry nights was something that no one else could shield me from. He would stand over me screaming at how disgusting, stupid and vile I was. Yelling that if I could do it once why couldn’t I do it every night? What kind of idiot can’t control their bladder?
He would mock me when we were out and point to children younger than me –
The issue with eating became something that lingered for many years and still to this day I have to monitor what I am eating. Still, in times of stress, I will skip meals and go days with only having a meal with the family.
It was actually why I created the routine I have with the girls where we all sit down and have tea as a family. Their watching eyes meant that when things got bad I didn’t return to my previous Eating Disorder.
But throughout my childhood, with all of the signs pointing to my mental health not being great, I was told I was fine.
By doctors, by teachers, by my father. (My mum knew something was off, but she was in survival mode fighting to try and keep it together enough to shield my sisters and me from the worst. She had nothing left to give, my father made sure of that,)
So I grew up and I believed that all I was experiencing was normal. It must be. How can everyone be wrong?
I was putting so much pressure on myself to appease my father. I was trying to be the child that he wanted, the one that I had failed to be so far.
Photo by Liza Summer
Migraines were common in our family, so when I started to get them it wasn’t surprising. I had them infrequently, but enough for me to recognise the headaches and nauseous feeling.
No one thought anything of it until I went into year 5. That’s when my mum noticed a pattern in my headaches. She noticed that I typically started getting a headache the same evening each week. So she asked the school what was happening the following day. That’s when she found out that we had maths tests on the same day each week. I performed well in them, but I would get emotional when I was struggling.
It was the first time that my physical symptoms were connected to “worry”. The problem was that I was seen as a perfectionist who wanted to get perfect scores, but no one looked deeper into why I felt that this was so important.
I was putting so much pressure on myself to appease my father. I was trying to be the child that he wanted, the one that I had failed to be so far.
It was by this point that my father told me –
I had to get perfect marks because I had to be a success. And if I wasn’t a success, I was nothing.
But still, anxiety wasn’t something people associated with children then. Stress was an adult experience alone.
I was just a “worrier”. Nothing more.
I continued through school, trying to be the child my father wanted me to be but finding it more difficult when my home life fell apart.
My mum finally found the strength to end the marriage, and my father did all he could to try and destroy her. We were collateral damage. Whatever happened to his daughters was not his problem, he had his sights set on his target.
Unfortunately in my youthful ignorance, I still pursued his love. I still wanted him to be proud of me. This made me a valuable spy for him and he used me to cause more pain and upset to my family. The burden of guilt I then lived with for many years.
Eventually, I was discarded with my sisters. A rather harsh wake-up call to the value we had in his life. A value that I took to apply to all people in my life. I mean if my father – one of the people that is supposed to love me unconditionally – can reject me then what hope is there for anyone else?
It was during this time that my control over my diet really started to kick in. The hunger felt easier than the void. I started self-harming, the sharp pain a wake-up from the numbness. I stopped being able to sleep because it was in the moments before oblivion that my emotions would start and I would be wracked by heaving sobs and screaming into my pillow, trying to stifle these overpowering feelings that left me fearing I would be torn apart by my anguish. When sleep came I would drift off wishing to never wake, wanting the end to come without my involvement – so I would not have the guilt, the responsibility of my death.
I started to isolate myself, distancing myself from friends that could have seen through the facade. I became a bully, I would skip school and drift between groups at school. I was careful not to become too attached.
My sisters were going through their turmoil. Trying to figure out their path through the hell we were living in.
And my mum, she was doing everything in her power to try and keep a house over our heads. My father had left us in over a quarter of a million pounds worth of debt. It was business debt, and since he had listed us all on the business, the debts became our responsibility. If my mum went bankrupt as my father had – the debt would pass to my oldest sister, then down to my middle sister and eventually me. My mum worked multiple jobs and tried to continue her studies. She was so exhausted it wasn’t unusual to find she had put her purse in the fridge with the milk when she got in after a night shift. She wasn’t home enough to be able to support us all and get through the darkness herself.
I felt utterly alone.
Photo by Malicki M Beser
I did have some other family members, but none we were close enough to for them to help. I remember one occasion my aunt and uncle visited and invited me to join them to see my Grandma. While we were there one of the cuts on my hip split (I had gone a little deep in a moment of upset). I had to borrow a top from my cousin’s case while I tried to wash the blood out of mine. I didn’t manage to dry my top in time and ended up having to leave with her top. I couldn’t face explaining what had happened, why I was bleeding, or having them see the multiple other wounds on my hip. Even when they contacted me to find out if I had this missing top I still would rather they saw me as a thief than know what was happening to me.
The survival mode of my childhood became the constant state I lived in.
After my abusive relationship with my father, came an abusive relationship with the man that would become my husband.
The survival mode of my childhood became the constant state I lived in. I felt all the old familiar emotions, but still no label. They didn’t need a label, this constant feeling in my body is just the way I am. It was a part of my identity.
When I found out about his affair I filed for divorce. I experienced the turmoil my mum had gone through and did all I could to get myself and my two young daughters through our new hell.
My healing journey was interrupted/instigated by meeting Dave.
This man was unlike any I had known. I was attracted to him, but I didn’t try to be someone else to ‘win him over.’ I didn’t feel embarrassed when he saw me hungover. I had no insecurities about him judging me. So I thought he was just a friend. There wasn’t the emotional instability, the butterflies weren’t there. There was a stillness, a calm.
For a long time, I struggled with what our relationship was. I felt secure and comfortable with him, but that was so far from anything I had experienced before that the experience left me confused.
I had never had this calm, this safety. I didn’t know how to live like this. So I started to sabotage, and I created stress. I caused problems. Fortunately, he didn’t give up on me. He stuck around and left me to create stress in my own life while not allowing it to come between us. He knew that I would always be on the go. I would have plans for every day and every weekend that the girls were with their dad. And he would arrange plans for then too. He knew that being at home without them made me feel uneasy so he would take me out. He didn’t judge me for how I coped and never rejected me when I was difficult.
It has taken me a long time to realise that the calm isn’t a sign of my depression rearing its ugly head. There can be peace without numbness. Relaxation without guilt. Alone time without loneliness. And love without fear.
Much like the bird living in a cage, I had spent my life restricted and not even knowing it. Looking back I see that fear and anxiety controlled my life, and yet I was blind to them.
A state of survival was my norm.
And when I did experience the freedom of a life beyond the cage – it was too alien. It felt wrong and uncomfortable.
We wonder how people can live in circumstances that seem wrong to us. But each of us is living in a cage of our own normality. We are all restricted by fears or limiting beliefs. Going outside of these restrictions – into ‘growth’ can feel like more of an illness than healing. It can be uncomfortable, and difficult.
But birds are not meant to live in cages, and you are not meant to live within your limiting beliefs.
But birds are not meant to live in cages, and you are not meant to live within your limiting beliefs.
Take Care and Stay Awesome.
Louise x