I never wanted to blame her - trigger notice!!!!


I would have to say that in all of my therapy, remembering, hating, and general disgust, that I had always been resitant to blame my mother for my abuse.

I always have seen my mother a second victim of my father. After all it was he who orchestrated the family environment. It was he who made our home a sexual free for all. It was he who began to have sex with me fist, and it was he who beat my mother down. It was he who introduced me to being his serrogate.

The bottom line is that I participated as that serrogate with my mother for 4 years. I became her second husband, and she could have at any moment refused to participate. She was just as broken as he was!

My memories are very specific and are very difficult. I used all of the parts of my body that a male can use with a female including oral. I received the same from her. I am focused now about most of it, but they still haunt me over and over again. I have learned not to deny them, but to not give them more power than what they deserve - they are memories - only tragic memories.

I guess that I refused to believe she was a perpetrator, because I grew up seeing him have the upper hand. He tourtured her mentally, emotionally, and physically in front of all of us children. So I guess that I just accepted that he was the one - and she only did what she was told to do as well. And yet, I wasn't just any other male. I was her son, and I somehow believed that mothehood should have spoken louder than my dad's abuse of her. And yet, as a son, knowing that I was F*&king my mother, his absue of me - and the fear that I would loose everyting spoke louder than the incest. So maybe she was just as large of victim as me.

I don't want to make excuses for her and yet, I have made allowances.

My mother, 1 year after I left home - left and divorced my father. It seems that I was the glue that held may family together. (This is sarcasm).

Dad's whole premise was that she would go insane if I didn't provide for her, and that she needed to face with a "safe" person her malady of blocking sexual experience. I often think of how he used me as a weapon against her and it has been a large part of my anger during recovery.

If there ever was a reason to block something out - wouldn't having sex with your son be one of them? I mean if a mind is going to do that wouldn't that seem to be just cause? - You see more excuses.

I didn't speak to my mother for a few years after I left home. Somehow, we began to speak again - but never of this issue. She had many health problems including heart disease, and diabetes that eventually took her life. She stayed with my sister for the last 2 years of her life. In the last few months, she tried to bring up the stories that dad had spewed all of those years before. (Side note: she lived 12 states away from me.) She did not memention me by name but stated to me that "he accused her of having unknown sex with this 'one person.' If she knew that to be true, then she stated she would probably loose her mind as all of the rest of his lies would have to be true as well." I chickened out and did not admit that I was that one. I wasn't ready, and she died before we got back to that discussion.

My sister told me at the funeral that mother was tormented by nightmares toward the end, and called my name in agony on more than one occassion. I have not known to be comforted or to be further self-convicted for not being brave enough to lead her to the knowledge she sought. - Wow, I just realized, I did it again - I made an excuse for her, and I put myself in the "helping at all costs" mode instead of only owning what is mine. Wow - Wow - I've got to think on this one for a bit.

(In case you haven't guessed, I try not to retract something after I put it out there. I am trying not to run from the info any more, and if I use the delete key to escape it, I will.)

I have often wondered if there is some way to strip away the abuse and still care appropriately for the mother I knew before we went into this hell together, before my memory begins to spoil, before the abuse sets in.




I watched my two year old daughter run down the hallway to her room. Wobbling as she ran, from side to side. She had a Barbie in each hand. She had done it before, of course, but she was really excited this time, her little cousin was there to play, too.

She misjudged the distance and the doorway, turned too quickly and slammed into the wall, fell straight back to the floor. She did not hit the wall hard and the carpet broke her fall but, she was enraged. She stood up, moved to within a few inches of the wall she had just hit, screamed at it at the top of her lungs and hit it with both the Barbies. Then, she went into her room, got what she was going for originally and came back out to play.

That was it, it was done. Over.

Not exactly textbook conflict resolution, to be sure but, unencumbered by what she should or shouldn't do, it all played out in about ninety seconds and, it was done.

My father was a manic...when I looked that up on the Net it listed as a few of the characteristics, poor impulse control and obsessive about sex. As a means to "inform," it validated my need to see and hear, to know, on some level why and how things played out the way they did.

I struggled with the word "blame," because he was diagnosed, being treated and, was hospitalized nearly every year. When he came home from the hospital where they constantly monitored his meds, he seemed much better. It was too easy to blame the disorder and dismiss his behavior because of it.

I blamed the disorder, I blamed the doctors that treated him, I blamed the bottlers of the beer he drank to medicate. I blamed myself.

All of that, prevented me from taking my Barbies, slamming them against the wall I kept running into over and over and going back out to play.

So, my therapist said, "Let's take blame off of the table. Let's use the words, to inform."

To inform...my father was a manic, had poor impulse control and was obsessed with sex. He made the choice not to use the medication that worked in favor of getting drunk. He also was able, somehow, to rationalize raping me.

To inform, I took on the responsibility of what he did to me because well, if he was truly that crazy, that out of control, there was a whole lot more at stake than just that fact that I felt crazy...my whole world at risk. He could, at any time, any time he wanted, do whatever he liked. By taking on the responsiblity for it, I imagined some sense of control over what was going on.

When I was able to take blame off of the table, and look at it from the perspective of informing, I recognized and was able to separate it out.

Hmmm? Where's my Barbies???





Thank you, Dave!!!

I know that I'm well on the way to connecting the dots appropriately between what I my mind knows and what my heart believes, and what is the ultimate truth. I know that even now I do still try to assume responsibility that isn't mine. I was the fixer for my family and it was a hard cycle to break as well. I was the youngest child, and was separated by 6 & 7 years from my siblings, and was taught that one preserves the common good of the family at all costs. For my dad and mother, apparently that cost included my identity, virginity, and very soul. No-boundries.

When my sister became ill during her pregnancies (last weeks of all 3 of children she had) I moved into her home for a couple of weeks to clean, cook, & watch the younger children (after her first)so that she could stay on the doctor ordered bed rest. I was happy to do it and would again given the same circumstances. Yet, even in this, I see also how I was never taught the boundry on what is healthy helping. I only did what I knew. My comfort, is that my intent was always good. Even in the cycle of abuse with my parents, I think that I intended to find good I just wasn't shown the correct way.

Please don't mistake that I am one of the lucky ones. Since that nightmare part of my life, I have had positive, good, sound reasoning, loving people come into my life to show me a better way. I've had my share of good/bad therapists, however, the real world model for appropriate good and love has entered my life through good people. I am blessed and I will never forget it. I am and continue to be on a journey though, and I will continue to heal.

Thank you sooo much for your example and fine words!!!!