I wasn’t bad - TRIGGERS
It wasn’t any one thing that triggered me today. It was a combination of numerous little things – some of the recent threads here as well as recent events in my own life and reviewing my memories and assessing my emotional reactions. This morning in the mididle of my workout at the Y I reached a sudden realization and just started crying.
I wasn’t bad!
When the abuse by the step-dad started, it was framed as punishment for something I had done – whether exaggerated or imagined – totally disproportionate to the presumed offense. It was always my fault. I was bad. I was contemptible. I was worthless. I deserved whatever I got. At first, I rebelled internally. I knew it wasn’t true. And I was angry that I was being blamed when I was not guilty. I was angry that I was being punished when I did not deserve it. But I was powerless. I was only 5 ½.
At first it was verbal along with physical abuse – whippings with belts or switches. Later it sometimes turned sexual as he discovered that it was an even more effective way to break me. Exposing me, ridiculing my body and my feelings, my sensitivity and my interests, calling me names, questioning my orientation, sometimes manipulating me physically as well as verbally and emotionally, culminating in rape with household objects as a pretext for loosening me up for enemas to clean me out.
At some point, I must have given up the resistance to the pressure and just accepted the message that was repeated and re-emphasized with each assault and negative word: I was bad. And the obvious and logical conclusion was that I deserved this treatment. Why continue to fight the blame when I couldn’t fight the abuse? It was easier to believe I was bad than to have to deal with the constant inner conflict and anger at the injustice and helplessness I felt. Life then “made sense.”
What I remembered this morning was how my younger Lee felt – the moral outrage – the “it’s not fair!” certainty – which had been lost – and replaced with the resignation and acquiescence and passive acceptance of my lot. I re-connected with my earliest emotions and was able to identify and make sense of those reactions.
So when the memory of those feelings washed over me, I quietly went to the locker room and sat in a toilet stall and let the tears flow. Little Lee whispered, “I wasn’t bad.” And I reassured my younger self, “No, you weren’t. You did not deserve it.” And another load of shame fell away.
Lee (both little and BIG)
I wasn’t bad!
When the abuse by the step-dad started, it was framed as punishment for something I had done – whether exaggerated or imagined – totally disproportionate to the presumed offense. It was always my fault. I was bad. I was contemptible. I was worthless. I deserved whatever I got. At first, I rebelled internally. I knew it wasn’t true. And I was angry that I was being blamed when I was not guilty. I was angry that I was being punished when I did not deserve it. But I was powerless. I was only 5 ½.
At first it was verbal along with physical abuse – whippings with belts or switches. Later it sometimes turned sexual as he discovered that it was an even more effective way to break me. Exposing me, ridiculing my body and my feelings, my sensitivity and my interests, calling me names, questioning my orientation, sometimes manipulating me physically as well as verbally and emotionally, culminating in rape with household objects as a pretext for loosening me up for enemas to clean me out.
At some point, I must have given up the resistance to the pressure and just accepted the message that was repeated and re-emphasized with each assault and negative word: I was bad. And the obvious and logical conclusion was that I deserved this treatment. Why continue to fight the blame when I couldn’t fight the abuse? It was easier to believe I was bad than to have to deal with the constant inner conflict and anger at the injustice and helplessness I felt. Life then “made sense.”
What I remembered this morning was how my younger Lee felt – the moral outrage – the “it’s not fair!” certainty – which had been lost – and replaced with the resignation and acquiescence and passive acceptance of my lot. I re-connected with my earliest emotions and was able to identify and make sense of those reactions.
So when the memory of those feelings washed over me, I quietly went to the locker room and sat in a toilet stall and let the tears flow. Little Lee whispered, “I wasn’t bad.” And I reassured my younger self, “No, you weren’t. You did not deserve it.” And another load of shame fell away.
Lee (both little and BIG)


