My story begins as an adult; this is when we have the first true look at our lives as a child. I feel there are seasons of our lives, which are much like the seasons of the year. Our life begins in the spring when all is new and fresh and all the expectations for life are ahead. This springtime should be a time for joy and just being a child. The most important thing on your mind should be growing playing and having fun. The memories carried forward from this time should be sweet and precious. This is not the case with the child who has been abused; the memories are those of pain distance and a constant longing for what others around you have. These longings arise in the early summer of our lives. We see other children when we are in our early adolescence who have parents that revel in the accomplishments of their children who are our friends. We have no such joy our parents are a constant reminder that we never will meet their expectations. We are taught at an early age that all we can hope to do is only fail less for we will never succeed. In this summer of our lives we should be experiencing love for the first time but that to is spoiled because the people that we choose will never measure up either. They are demeaned and put down. Never to their face of course always behind their back and to your face. The people and friends we choose to love are always another bad choice we have made in our lives.

This is another long line of failures we have come to expect. The sun should be shining full in our hearts yet from early childhood we have carried this strange coldness in our souls. The memories from early childhood from beatings and screaming have led to being fully intimidated by the time we reach adolescence. We second-guess every decision we make, even those which should be so simple. There is this constant fear in your heart and soul convincing you that all you do will be wrong in some way. This coldness in our souls is winter. It is bitter, biting, cold that is at the very center of all you feel and do. It is the opposite of warmth and love it kills all it comes in contact with. From an early age, this causes a conflict within you. It is much like the sun shining bright on a January day. You can feel it’s warmth but the biting cold of the wind, which surrounds you, will not let you enjoy the warmth of the sun. The winter in our soul is much the same, the love, warmth, from life from a person we love from a job well done cannot be fully enjoyed. We cannot enjoy these things because in the back of our mind in our hearts are the doubts that not life but another person has put there. We want desperately to let ourselves go and feel love, laughter, and success but we cannot because we feel that any choice we make will be the wrong one. We do allow ourselves fleeting moments of happiness but they do not last. The coldness always returns it is always there. Long after the abuser is out of your life the winter is always a permanent unwelcome guest.

I reflect back on my mother, she was the abuser in my family. My father died when I was five years old. The verbal abuse that I suffered started when I was in the second grade. I was told on a daily basis “you are stupid” “you will never amount to anything” “you will never have anything” I did not full understand I just knew that these words were painful. The physical abuse started around fourth grade I believe. My mother would often slap me in public and verbally ridicule me at the same time. I remember feeling this crushing embarrassment. I felt less than human, I wished that I did not exist.

The closer that I got to adolescence the worse the abuse became. I vividly remember being hit with any object my mother could find to beat me with. I remember the wild look in her eyes as she beat me. It was a look of both someone possessed and at the same time, I believe someone getting pleasure from my pain. I had friends by this time. They never saw this side of my mother. I also tried to keep the secret hidden. This pain was my fault after all. I had only to do more, be more, work harder and it would stop. After all, I heard on a daily basis all the things I had to do and she would not have to beat me. My friends of course were all “silly” “stupid” and “would never amount to anything” as well. It was not their fault they had to have all these problems to be associated with me.

I remember my first girlfriend; I will call her Kathy. I was 14 years old and we asked my mother to take us to a movie. She wore jeans and a blouse it was our first official date. When it was over, I gave her a kiss at the door, my first kiss. My mother witnessed this. It should have been one of the happiest times of my young life. Again, the winter winds swept this away. “If she will kiss you on the first date, she will kiss anybody” “in my day a girl like that would be considered a slut” again it was not her fault she just picked the wrong person to go to the movie with, after all she had to be a slut to go anywhere with me. This of course was not true but after all the years of constant verbal assaults; I was worthless in my own eyes by now. I truly believed all the words that had been pounded into my head and flesh by now. I truly would be nothing and have nothing it seemed. Life at home was not life it was survival. I found many ways to cope and many skills to survive the abuse and my feelings of worthlessness. I remember changing a grade on my report card in the tenth grade to escape a beating. This did not work the school caught it and called her. In another instance in fifth grade, a teacher asked was I scared of my mother. I was so scared I answered no. I felt they would tell her and it would be unbearable. I did not ever trust anyone to help me. I was completely alone in this nightmare. All I could do was try to measure up and hope it got better.

I was the class clown; I tried to make everyone laugh at any cost. It made me feel happy and warm inside, it held the cold at bay for a while. Laughter is also a good way to never have to let anyone close to you. The fear is if someone is close that they will see your pain. They will see the fear you live with, and above all, they will see what a worthless person I was. Of course, the price the class clown pays is a heavy one; trouble with teachers, grades, and this caused more trouble at home. The price seemed worth it at the time though. Even for a moment, I was popular, I was worth something in other people’s eyes, and I was good for a laugh I made someone feel good for that fleeting second. It made my pain more bearable in some small way. It was in my junior high school years, I began to question my mother’s family. Not openly, but in my mind. She had displayed her abusive ways in front of them. Then, at fourteen years old my aunt told me I was adopted. This was a relief in one way; I did not really belong to the monster that called herself my mother. On the other hand, how could this “so called” family leave me in this situation, when I was not even hers? I dared not ask these questions aloud, but only in my mind. In some small, way I felt I had the upper hand. She was not my mother so some day this would end I felt sure. I was wrong of course, it would be years before it would end and besides, the damage was done.

My first true experience with a woman came at 15 years old. She was a neighbor we had known each other for several years. She was in her late twenties. I spent the better part of a Saturday night at her house. It was a wonderful experience in it’s self. For the first time I was close to someone, there was no pain no coldness only warmth and acceptance. This of course would lead me to believe later in life that sex equaled acceptance and love. This is a part of love but the two are not the same. My mother never found out about this experience. In the summer of that same year I turned sixteen and bought my first car. This was my ticket to freedom. Of course a very restricted freedom if there is such a thing. I was told when to be home and so forth but at least in some way I was out from under her complete control, if only for short periods of time. You may wonder how such a controlling person allowed me to have a car. This is the true conflict, every time I was severely beaten, the following Saturday we went shopping. She would buy me clothes, new records shoes or something. In her mind things, equaled love I suppose. I asked her later in my teen years “why do you never tell you love me?” her answer, ” I provide a house, tuition, and food and clothing, that should tell you I love you”

You might be thinking this is great, get a spanking, and get new stuff. Let me tell you, if you were abused, and grown up in a house where the only emotion is anger, you would trade all the gifts for one hug, one “I love you”. You see, without love it is worthless you have no compass for later in life. You have a hard time deciding what real love is and where the line between love, happiness, and pain truly are. I was happy at this point. I had a car and had met someone who was very special to me. The problem at this point in my life was I was very immature. In one way I was forced to grow up very quickly. On the other hand, I was never allowed to make a decision for myself. My mother mad all of these, if I did make a decision and the outcome was bad, then it was explained how I should have listened to her. I did not have sense enough to make a decision. When you grow up this way, it is a self-fulfilling prophecy. You are not allowed to make decisions so when you do they really are truly stupid.

The person who was special at this time to me was Karen. We dated for a year and a half. Both her parents were deceased. She lived with her aunt. My mother as usual did not think much of her; this did not bother me as it used to. Looking back, I feel that Karen really loved me. When we were dating, she told me she did and even mentioned getting married after we graduated. I was very immature emotionally and did not understand real love. Even if this was the sixteen-year-old puppy love kind, it was deeper than anything I had known before was. I eventually broke up with her not wanting to be tied down that early in life I thought. Looking back that was part of the reason, the other was my fright and lack of understanding anything as mature as a future and marriage.

It was about this time, I became involved in sports, football, baseball, and basketball. I excelled on the field, and it brought me great acceptance among my peers. This was what I had longed for. I had found something I was successful doing and received adoration at the same time. It was the best of all possible worlds. My mother of course thought it was stupid and a waste of my time. Again, the joy I should have felt was tempered by her cruelty. It did not matter as much any more though, on the field I was in control it was my time to shine and be important. I could truly contribute and be worth something.

This feeling was fleeting as well though. While the physical abuse had lessened somewhat, the verbal abuse continued. She felt me slipping away as I got older and she wanted to maintain her grip on me. I still tried of course to measure up. Each time I got close the standard got tougher and the abuse got worse. I had all of these friends, sports success, good grades, and yet inside I was empty and dead. She met me at the door after I came in from a birthday party for a friend of mine. It was eleven-fifteen and I was due home at eleven. She slapped my face for being late. I grabbed her arms and sat her on the couch. I told her if she ever hit me I would kill her, I had enough of it. She threatened to call the Police. I told her to go ahead, I would be glad to tell them how I had been treated for all these years. She never hit me again after that night. I made it to graduation, the greatest night of my life. I was on the stage with my classmates to receive my diploma. It was of course a sad time. I was leaving friends who had been my refuge from my home life and moving into a future that was uncertain. My mother’s only comment on my graduation was to question why I was not the valedictorian.

I made it to college. This was both a dream come true and a nightmare. I was in charge of my life for the first time ever. I made all my own decisions and was in charge of my destiny. This is tragic for a person who has never made a decision of any consequence in his life. I picked my classes and quickly found all the heavy drinkers on campus. You see drinking means, you are an adult. My mother did not drink very much at all. I felt though to prove I was a man I needed to drink and party. My freshman year is a blur; I drank smoked and used profane language to prove my manhood. They did not succeed. Again, the self-fulfilling prophecy rang true. I almost failed my first year. Was I worthless? Stupid? It would seem so. I got down to business, made it through, and graduated with a degree in business. My mother did not attend my graduation. Shortly after college, I married a woman I met named Carolyn. I was still very immature and did not full understand what marriage meant. I spent the better part of our married life trying to measure up to her family’s expectations. My mother came to the wedding but had nothing nice to say about my choice for a wife. Again, when happiness should abound the cold wind of bitterness steals it away. We had a son I named him Joshua. He was a beautiful baby. My mother could only say that one day she would leave and take my son from me. I was not a good husband or father. I could not let Carolyn close to me as I said before the pain is always just below the surface. I spent my married life being aloof and shallow.

I was the same way with my son. I love him dearly but I was as distant as my mother in some ways. This would change later in life but for now, it was the habit I had learned, and I practiced. Our marriage ended in divorce. I tried for years but I could not change enough to meet her parent’s expectations. I made bad decisions with money and bought things to “prove” my love. This again was what I thought needed to be done to show my love. I was gone all the time on the road and distant when I was home. It was over long before we both admitted it. I had several affairs before we split. Again the confusion that sex equaled love and acceptance was evident in my life. After we divorced I had a few relationships, the most, eye-opening and destructive was with a nurse I met. Her name was Sharon. She had two children that I loved as my own. We dated and I moved in with her. She came from an abusive marriage and childhood. I could save her I thought. I provided a steady income, loved her children, and was sober. I did not realize it at the time but I was living with my mother all over again. Sharon seldom told me she loved me, she would buy me things, and when I did not measure up in her eyes, she would withhold any form of affection or love. I would try harder and the rules would change. Again I would be left alone with the cold feeling in my heart and soul I had known years before. While I was out of town she met another man and dumped me. I vowed I would change in every way. This was not enough; she would not take me back. She had what she thought she wanted now. This was truly the first time the emptiness in my soul took over. All I felt was cold, dark, bleakness.

I made a vain attempt to kill myself. I was put in the hospital for treatment. I spent three weeks in counseling about my past. They had all of these fancy names like co-dependence and so on. The bottom line was that from the earliest days of my childhood, I had been forced to accept the crumbs of life. What ever my mother felt like giving me I had to live up to her standards or get nothing. I was never loved for just being a child, or husband. There was always a new mark to meet and the minute I did not meet it then I was less than a person. Well this is not a life it is a circus sideshow. Which hoop do I jump through today to measure up? I had been trained well though, and it took a near suicide to show me this started as a child. About 3 years after this suicide attempt I met a wonderful woman named Melodie, I do not have to measure up any more. She just wants me to be her husband and love her, which I do very much. My son is now sixteen years old and a fine young man. I tell him often I love him, and I am proud of him. These are the to things I wanted to hear as a child more than anything. These words are the ones that give you worth that melt the cold winter ice away and allow the sun to shine brightly in our souls. I am approaching forty-two years old as I write this. I am in the autumn of my life, with the true winter approaching I think back on the spring and summer of my life. How young I was how the sun wanted so desperately to shine in my soul. It did for those fleeting moments. I think back on how young I was and how it should have been.

I see that young man standing there, no one knowing in his heart was the cold dark winter while outside was a warm smile. I have met my biological mother who lives in New Orleans. I told her of my childhood; she can only apologize at this late date. Life is good now. I still hold people at some distance with my wit and sarcasm. The winter does not come as often but it is still there. I still want to please that woman from all those years ago. I have amounted to something, I have a good wife, children, I have my own house and cars, but in my mind will it ever be enough for her to have been proud of. I have come to believe that we parents do the best we can at the time we make decisions for our children. We raise them the best we can at the time. We do not realize we are making decisions that will affect them for the rest of their lives. So, when they are young in the springtime of their lives, water their flowers with love and praise. When the summer comes they will have grown strong and will relish the sunlight in their souls. You see there is no place for winter in the soul of a child. As with all young fragile things, it will effect them forever. Just love them tell them often, let them know you are proud of them. The winter of our lives comes to early do not rush it.