The Early Years

I must say that I feel very vulnerable. I have never told anybody the extent of the abuse I suffered as a child or in as much detail as I am planning to do here. The last couple of days have been hard. My mind has been racing with thoughts, all muddled up, pacing from past to present and back again. I really do feel that by sharing this I will become free.

I obviously don’t actually know exactly what happened to me as a baby, all I know is what my birth mother and my grandparents have told me. I know that my grandparents (my birth mother’s parents) didn’t approve of my father, and to be honest, I can’t blame them. My grandparents told me that I used to love sitting on my grandad’s lap, sharing his walnuts whilst he sat at his desk where I believe he spent most of his time. However, that suddenly changed one day when my mother dropped me back off. I would have been very small, maybe 2 or 3 years old. I suddenly shied away from all men (I have 3 uncles who still resided with my grandparents at the time). I would no longer go to my granddad and stayed very quiet. I have no explanation for this and neither did my mother, or so she said.

Another story my grandparents always told me, which always fills me with such a warm and safe feeling is that of my grandparents dog Tina. I don’t remember Tina, however, I still feel such love for her. I was told that Tina stayed close to me when I was just a newborn. Still residing with my grandparents, she would lie by my cot and growl at anyone who tried to get close to me. She was my protector and for that I miss her. Unfortunately, Tina was an old dog already and I have no real memories of her. Maybe this is where my love for animals started, but I will talk about that in more detail another time.

My first real memory is that of my parents fighting. The kitchen in my mothers flat was very small and directly opposite my bedroom. I remember feeling scared and alone. I felt invisible and unfortunately, I still feel like this now sometimes. I can still see my mother standing in front of the washing machine and my father directly opposite her. Screaming and shouting. It sounded so violent! Eventually my father left and that was the last time I saw him, until I was 12 years old. I must have only been 2 to 3 years old as my brother was born when I was 4. His dad didn’t live with us, but when he was there, it wasn’t safe for me anymore.

During this time, I regularly stayed with my grandparents. My mother would drop me off when she couldn’t handle things and pick me up when she wanted. I didn’t form a real bond with my mother or grandparents. I often felt lost and unwanted, even at a young age.