A Readiness for Everything
"There is a readiness for everything." This was a favorite saying of my mother-in-law, Gladys Tyler. She passed away in 2005 and I miss her constantly. She was a teacher and student of life, a seeker of knowledge, as well as an independent, free thinker. She lived to be ninety-five and was as mentally spry as anyone I have known.
The ability to write my memoir required a readiness I hadn’t reached until very recently. I have always known I would one day write this book but each time I attempted it, the words would not come. I’d spend hours staring at a blank computer screen, willing my mind to express the vivid experiences, feelings and emotions of my past. Sometimes I tried forcing the words—but they seemed stilted and disingenuous. I had not reached my readiness.
Time passing has prepared me for writing the book but another event also occurred, which had a profound impact on me. This was the final confrontation of my father, which occurred three years ago this summer. I am grateful I finally summoned the courage to confront him because he died only three weeks later. Les and I purposely traveled to Montana to confront him that summer. We burst in on him, unexpected. I knew he would refuse to see me if we called in advance. The confrontation went something like this.
"What do you want," he asked me.
(Notice, he didn’t say, "Melinda, how are you?" or "Melinda, it’s so good to see you." Just, "What do you want." This, from my father. Whom I had not seen in about ten years).
"I want to talk about my childhood." I said, simply.
And with that one statement, our eyes locked and we shared a moment where we both confronted the truth—finally.
"That was pretty bad," he murmured.
(Pretty. Bad. Yes, it was pretty bad.)
But as quickly as he had acknowledged the fact that my childhood had been bad, he backed away from the truth. It is likely he realized he would be detested and shunned if it were publicly known that he had sexually abused a young child—even worse, his daughter. Once again, he tried turning the tables, shouting out, in this thick Egyptian accent, "You were a bad child."
I remember looking at him in disgust. He had once seemed so huge—so powerful. Sitting before me was a shriveled, sick old man. I finally saw, with clarity, that I had never been bad. He had been bad. Confronting him allowed me to see this. Finally.
I had never imagined being able to confront him until I came across the documentary, "Searching for Angela Shelton." Angela Shelton is a writer, actor, and comedian, so we have something in common. Something else we share is that we are both victims of sexual abuse—both perpetuated by our fathers. One day, she looked up the name, "Angela Shelton" on the Internet and found there were over seventy women who shared the name. Intrigued, she began corresponding with them and got in touch with forty who agreed to meet with her. The film takes us on the journey of meeting all these Angela Sheltons—but what happens when she meets them is unexpected. She learns that many of them not only share her name but also share in the experiences of being sexually abused as children. Her journey ends at the home of her father, whom she finally confronts.
This documentary struck such a deep chord in me. Seeing this brave woman confront her tormentor gave me the strength to confront my own. But not only did I find strength and empowerment in watching another woman confront the demons of her past, I realized my own story is one shared by many. I had always felt so solitary in the pain and shame of my past—but all of a sudden, I realized my story is not unique. There are many Angela Sheltons—just as there are many Melinda Tylers—women who have grown up in the pain of an abusive childhood. All at once, I felt connected to the millions of women who have suffered as I did.
In confronting my father, I was also able to confront my past, which I had never done before. Throughout my life, I had blamed myself for the wrongs committed upon me (as so many of us do). Facing him was facing my past—and once I had confronted my past, I could finally start writing about it. And now in writing about my past, I find that I am confronting it on a deeper level, which is both hard and good.
Yes, I have reached my readiness.
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Categories: Sexual Abuse,Healing the Past,Transformation and Change,Writing the Memoir
Melinda,
If your memoir is as well-written as this post, I sincerely hope it will get published by a firm that does a good job promoting it. Wishing you courage and endurance in seeing your project through to the end. If passages you're writing bring tears to your eyes, you're on the right track.
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Ian,
Thank you so much for your kind words! I really appreciate it. I also have hope that it will be published by a firm who will take it seriously and do a good job in promoting it.
Thank you for visiting my blog!
Melinda
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We can't ever be sure when we're going to find new opportunities for growth. And, sometimes, even when there's an opportunity, we're really not ready to accept it for what it is, or take full advantage of the chance that's offered.
I wasn't sure what to expect when Melinda and I went to see her father. Yes, I knew his history from what Melinda had told me, so I expected that the encounter would be difficult. What I hoped, quite deeply, was that at that point in time, Melinda would be ready for the confrontation to come, and that it would help her in her quest for understanding, and ultimately peace with her terrifying childhood.
As it turned out, she was certainly ready. I think that day turned out to be a watershed in Melinda's life. At the time, I was proud of how she stood up to this man who'd done such terrible things to her as a helpless child, finally turning the tables on him. Subsequently, it seemed to me that this helped clear some of the logjam clogging her mind and emotions, allowing her to see the past and present with greater clarity and put this particular bogeyman in better perspective. That visit was critical to encouraging a process that continues to this day, and which you, the readers of her blog are seeing first hand.
So, yes, there's a readiness for everything. I'm very lucky and happy to have been a part of this particular opportunity for growth, and that Melinda was ready at the time!
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Les--I agree that visit was critical. I don't think that I could have grown as much as I have if we hadn't made that trip three years ago. Although it was one of the hardest things I have ever done, it also freed me. After that confrontation, I felt a peace and serenity that I never dreamed would be possible.
Melinda
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When we first met here we talked about discovering small synchronicities that existed between us...Little did we know in truth how many parallels truly existed. We talked about psychology and sharing common interests...but without realising how much else we have known in common in our lives.
I've been here too, Melinda.
One of my motivations in taking myself off to study psychotherapy was borne of a desire to come to terms with the most horrendous childhood abuse.
When all my feelings burst to the surface for a while I felt I might literally go mad. After all the torrents of rage, murderous anger and waves of loss and sadness that I felt, subsided, I too realised that I would have to confront my father. I was 42 years of age and it still qualifies as one of the most difficult things I have ever done.
My reception, like yours, was first one of denial. My mother had in her own way taken on a role of silent collusion, but I knew by the time of the confrontation that he was beating her too, and most of all she felt fear and terror of this man.
He said to me and I remember it so clearly, "I thought all that I did was to help you become the very successful person you are."
I don't know how I didn't lose it there and then but I stayed calm.
I replied something like, "So in your view, stabbing me, electrocuting me, sticking your penis in my face, humiliating me and beating me senseless was your way of showing me the way to health and happiness, was it?"
I pointed out the terrible difficulties and fears I had around forming and sustaining intimate relationships. To me, by then it was clear where they came from. I even had fears about having children lest I turn out to be like him. I had lost so much of my life in the shadow of abuse.
I got through that night and I felt the most profound release afterwards. Neither of my parents talked to me that much for a long while. I talked to him about the violence towards my mother. It stopped directly afterwards. My mother didn't survive that long. She got Alzheimer's, perhaps from brain damage sustained as a result of being beaten around the head with heavy objects. I cannot be sure of that, but the sudden demise of an otherwise very healthy woman caused me to ask the question.
I got my release, my personal relationships improved to the extent that I have stronger friendships now than most I know. And most importantly, I like myself now. After that moment my black energy lost its grip. The harangues telling me I was a freak, bad, not fit to mix with other human beings, not fit to live, lost their power entirely.
This is a first for me too, as I've never said any of this publicly before. But I'm very happy with who I am now.
You, me and others like us need to keep telling our stories. It's the only way this abuse will stop.
Like Alice Miller, I believe, "The child is innocent."
A gigantic hug to you,
Geoffrey
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Geoffrey,
Thank you for sharing your own painful story with me. I am amazed at the parallels our lives have to each other. When I read of your father’s treatment to both you and your mother, I wept with tears of anger and sadness for you—our two fathers, I believe, were cut from the same monstrous cloth.
Throughout my life, I have had terrible nightmares, which occurred almost every night. In fact, a night without them was such a relief but those were far too rare. I never thought they would ever go away—but the confrontation with my father finally released them. I still have nightmares once in awhile but they are the exception rather than the rule and when they occur, their effects are not nearly as debilitating. It is so hard to grow beyond a painful childhood when your night terrors take you back to relive them almost nightly.
You have had an amazing journey, Geoffrey—as I have as well. I am so happy that we both were able to rise above—and that we are both able to bring hope and light to those who still suffer.
A gigantic hug right back to you.
Melinda
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Melinda,
I am so glad that I found your site. It is quite inspirational. Your memoir sounds like it will be great. Also, a healing and integration process for yourself. That is the reason I started my blog was to just get my truth out for people to hear. Sometimes, I think about writing my memoir in book form. I think that what I would say no one would believe the amount of stuff I went through.
I saw the documentary on Angela Shelton and at the time it touched my heart and was thought provoking. I was amazed by this woman's courage. I don't recall that when I saw it that I had memories of abuse yet, for I don't remember connecting it to myself. Or, I just may have split it off and used my clinical mind to only watch it. However, today I could only watch a little bit after reading you time with your father before I started to become tearful and it was too much.
You don't mention it, but it would seem that having the ever so short moment of your father acknowledging that "it was bad," might be validating and helpful.
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Thank you so much for stopping by and visiting my blog and for your thoughtful comments. I am so happy you found this site as well and I hope that it might be helpful to you. I look forward to visiting your blog as well.
Shelton
You might want to think about writing your own memoir--at first, I thought it would be important, simply to tell my story but I see now that it has been cathartic and highly therapeutic. For anyone who has endured a good deal of trauma in her/his life, I would recommend doing this. It sounds as though the blog serves a great purpose for you in this regard though, also.
Wasn't that film on
You are definitely right about the short time with my father being validating. Just that one moment--when our eyes locked, we both acknowledged the terrible truth (finally) and that has been the single most important factor in my finally overcoming that trauma. For years, it gave me endless nightmares--and after he died, the nightmares really reduced.
Thank you again--I wish you all the best on your own journey and I look forward to reading your blog.
Melinda
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I've just read through your post and the comments and I am thinking .... oh, so many things that it's difficult to pull them out of my head.
My initial thought is one of admiration for your strength and bravery in confronting your father. Although I have had a certain share of emotional abuse, no one ever beat me or sexually abused me. Given that I can't even confront my father about what I see as generally neglectful parenting, I can only imagine the years of preparation it took to take on your father. I'm sure the support of your husband was huge as well.
Oh, I have other thoughts and questions, some relating to human nature in the face of such a personal experience of cruelty (going back to Geoffrey's blog and your later post here) but they would be better suited to a real conversation. Such are the limits (for me) of electronic communication.
Take care,
Jennifer
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Jennifer,
San Francisco part of the time.
Thank you for stopping by--as always, I so appreciate your thoughtful comments. It was very hard to confront my father--I had never dreamed I would be able to do it for many years (although I had often wished I could).
A neglected child is an abused child--there is no doubt about that. The scars from emotional abuse can be as damaging and as last as the scars from any other type of abuse. It may be that you will someday feel it important to confront your own father. With me, it became a necessity--my nightmares were the focus of every single night and I just couldn't stand it anymore. However, it did take me ten years in recovery before I summoned up the courage to finally do that (and yes, Les helped me so much --as he has been so supportive to me in every aspect since I have known him).
Someday, perhaps we will have a conversation. After all, I live in
Take care, Jennifer--and again, thanks for stopping by and commenting.
Melinda
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