Recovering your life is FOR survivors, BY survivors.......
This is MY recovery story
Who am I and what right have I to talk about recovery from abuse?
I came into the world quite unexpectedly.
My mother didn’t realize she was pregnant until it was too late to do anything other than have the baby. I was born just a few weeks later while she was at home in the bath. Caught unceremoniously and then rushed to hospital, tiny and blue – I must have had some will to live to make it even that far.
I was four when my dad took me for a drive and started playing secret little games with me. That was when I discovered that a man has something that can be used as a weapon.
My family was already dysfunctional. Mum and Dad both went to work and my brother and I (he was just 11 months older than me) had an au-pair girl who was supposed to care for us. She didn't do a very good job of it and we were often brought home by the police. Sometimes it was just for wagging school – at the tender ages of 5 and 4 - but we got into other mischief too – like throwing rocks at passing cars from the overhead bridge. We got into trouble, but the au-pair got into more and was soon replaced by another. It seemed both of them however were more interested in our dad than in us, and none of them lasted long.
We moved out of our house and into a caravan when I was almost 5. We were supposed to leave England and start a new life in Australia and the caravan was meant to be our temporary home while we finalised everything for the trip. But Dad had another secret - a criminal record that would prevent us be accepted as assisted migrants and all the plans were stalled. We had already sold the house and all the furniture. We had to find somewhere permanent to live. Dad was away a lot then. I didn't know at the time – I was told he was away working – but later I found out that he had been in prison for a while. It didn't matter – for me his absence was as welcome as a summer’s day. I could be free from the anxiety his presence brought.
A year later we were settled in a cozy flat right next to the sea in a tiny village in the southern Kent village of Hythe. I loved it and memories of that night in the car and Dad’s secret game began to feel as if they belonged in the past. A couple of years passed and I began to really believe it was just the one incident, the one episode and he was done.
I was twelve when I was confronted with the shocking realization that the games were far from over. It was relentless then. For the next five years I was never safe. I was constantly pursued. Daily. At every opportunity.
Telling anyone was out of the question. I totally believed that the welfare of everyone in the family rested on my silence. ‘Mum would lose it completely if you told her,’ he would say. ‘The police would come and take me away and then what would happen to your mother?’
I learned that by doing this one thing I would keep everyone else safe, keep life 'normal'.
I couldn't stop the abuse but I became adept at finding ways to try and avoid being alone with Dad - I would try and stay out after school – going to the town library to do homework assignments – waiting for Mum after work and walking her home – anything I thought I could get away with. But nothing I could do protected me - he’d get to me some other way - find another time to get me alone and then make sure I knew the consequences for depriving him or for making him wait. His ‘make up’ sessions, he explained had to remind me to be a good girl in future.
I was 17 when I thought I had become pregnant. I was terrified. I knew he would never admit that it was him. I knew that whatever happened next would be all down to me.
That’s when I first knew I had to stop him. That the consequences of not stopping him were worse than anything he would do if I tried.
He came to where I was babysitting. I tried to stop him getting in but when he proved too strong for me I stood in front of him and said the words I had wanted to say my whole life. 'Enough. Don't come near me again'.
A week later I knew I was not pregnant. I felt I had been given a reprieve but I was never going to let my guard down. If it wasn't over I had to make it be over.
By some miracle he left me alone for the last 9 months I spent at home before I was able to get away. I went to Uni. I studied social work. I became a Christian. I began the long journey to recovery.
I didn’t do so well. I married a man who seemed to be kind. But on our honeymoon I saw another side of him. But it was too late then. I had made my bed and literally had to lie in it. We had a family. Eight children in all. Then after almost 18 years - he left.
That’s when I really unraveled and started to do the painful but necessary work of undoing the tacking stitches that had held me together all those years. I was able to start to rebuild my life.
I went to counseling. I read anything I could find that seemed helpful. I attended Co Dependents Anonymous. Co-Da proved to be just what I needed.
I began writing down every detail of my life. Every detail. It was a slow and horrible process but so necessary. I started understanding stuff about myself and the men I chose, and I started to move closer to being the healthy, well woman I am today.
♥ ~ Sue
© 2017 Susan Parry-Jones
I came into the world quite unexpectedly.
My mother didn’t realize she was pregnant until it was too late to do anything other than have the baby. I was born just a few weeks later while she was at home in the bath. Caught unceremoniously and then rushed to hospital, tiny and blue – I must have had some will to live to make it even that far.
I was four when my dad took me for a drive and started playing secret little games with me. That was when I discovered that a man has something that can be used as a weapon.
My family was already dysfunctional. Mum and Dad both went to work and my brother and I (he was just 11 months older than me) had an au-pair girl who was supposed to care for us. She didn't do a very good job of it and we were often brought home by the police. Sometimes it was just for wagging school – at the tender ages of 5 and 4 - but we got into other mischief too – like throwing rocks at passing cars from the overhead bridge. We got into trouble, but the au-pair got into more and was soon replaced by another. It seemed both of them however were more interested in our dad than in us, and none of them lasted long.
We moved out of our house and into a caravan when I was almost 5. We were supposed to leave England and start a new life in Australia and the caravan was meant to be our temporary home while we finalised everything for the trip. But Dad had another secret - a criminal record that would prevent us be accepted as assisted migrants and all the plans were stalled. We had already sold the house and all the furniture. We had to find somewhere permanent to live. Dad was away a lot then. I didn't know at the time – I was told he was away working – but later I found out that he had been in prison for a while. It didn't matter – for me his absence was as welcome as a summer’s day. I could be free from the anxiety his presence brought.
A year later we were settled in a cozy flat right next to the sea in a tiny village in the southern Kent village of Hythe. I loved it and memories of that night in the car and Dad’s secret game began to feel as if they belonged in the past. A couple of years passed and I began to really believe it was just the one incident, the one episode and he was done.
I was twelve when I was confronted with the shocking realization that the games were far from over. It was relentless then. For the next five years I was never safe. I was constantly pursued. Daily. At every opportunity.
Telling anyone was out of the question. I totally believed that the welfare of everyone in the family rested on my silence. ‘Mum would lose it completely if you told her,’ he would say. ‘The police would come and take me away and then what would happen to your mother?’
I learned that by doing this one thing I would keep everyone else safe, keep life 'normal'.
I couldn't stop the abuse but I became adept at finding ways to try and avoid being alone with Dad - I would try and stay out after school – going to the town library to do homework assignments – waiting for Mum after work and walking her home – anything I thought I could get away with. But nothing I could do protected me - he’d get to me some other way - find another time to get me alone and then make sure I knew the consequences for depriving him or for making him wait. His ‘make up’ sessions, he explained had to remind me to be a good girl in future.
I was 17 when I thought I had become pregnant. I was terrified. I knew he would never admit that it was him. I knew that whatever happened next would be all down to me.
That’s when I first knew I had to stop him. That the consequences of not stopping him were worse than anything he would do if I tried.
He came to where I was babysitting. I tried to stop him getting in but when he proved too strong for me I stood in front of him and said the words I had wanted to say my whole life. 'Enough. Don't come near me again'.
A week later I knew I was not pregnant. I felt I had been given a reprieve but I was never going to let my guard down. If it wasn't over I had to make it be over.
By some miracle he left me alone for the last 9 months I spent at home before I was able to get away. I went to Uni. I studied social work. I became a Christian. I began the long journey to recovery.
I didn’t do so well. I married a man who seemed to be kind. But on our honeymoon I saw another side of him. But it was too late then. I had made my bed and literally had to lie in it. We had a family. Eight children in all. Then after almost 18 years - he left.
That’s when I really unraveled and started to do the painful but necessary work of undoing the tacking stitches that had held me together all those years. I was able to start to rebuild my life.
I went to counseling. I read anything I could find that seemed helpful. I attended Co Dependents Anonymous. Co-Da proved to be just what I needed.
I began writing down every detail of my life. Every detail. It was a slow and horrible process but so necessary. I started understanding stuff about myself and the men I chose, and I started to move closer to being the healthy, well woman I am today.
♥ ~ Sue
© 2017 Susan Parry-Jones