I saw her as an enabler to my dad’s behaviour (Picture: Getty)
I was 10 years old when I stopped talking to my dad.
It was 2012 and we’d just learned that my sister had fallen pregnant at 16.
My father’s response was to kick my sister out, and beat my mum.
This wasn’t the first time he’d been violent. But something inside of 10-year-old me snapped. What had been a relatively happy childhood – with occasional caravan holidays, playing in the street with friends without a care – turned sour.
I’d like to say that things got better – that bridges were mended, apologies made and forgiveness given.
In reality, I’m 21 and I haven’t had any real relationship with my mum in over three years, and all because of my father and the PTSD he has left me with.
In the weeks after my sister’s pregnancy announcement, I spent a lot of time visiting her in the emergency temporary accommodation. Meanwhile my mum lied to my dad about where I was (the park with friends was the usual ruse).
When my dad asked me where I’d been, I would ignore him. If he asked again, I would swear or shout and he’d chase me to my room where there was a lock on the door – on the outside.
At this point, it’s reasonable to question where social services were.
Unfortunately, this happened in the early 2010s, otherwise known as the ‘austerity years’ and budget cuts meant I lost my social worker (assigned after my sister’s pregnancy and dad’s violent outburst). Social services needed criminal convictions if they were going to keep you under their remit.
With my circumstances no longer monitored, I felt alone and helpless. My door got locked more frequently and I feared going home.
In the three years that followed, my mum attempted to leave my dad a few times and I would find myself sofa surfing, yet I always ended up back behind the locked bedroom door.
My door got locked more frequently and I feared going home (Picture: Getty Images)
Things were so up and down that I started to have anxiety attacks – sometimes so bad that I would pass out in school – always worried about what I would go home to. Bulimia and sleepless nights followed.
It wasn’t like domestic abuse was a foreign concept to my mum. Her day job was to support victims.
I even remember talking with her the day after England lost a match in the 2010 World Cup – research shows that reports of domestic abuse rise by 38% when the team loses – and she was exhausted. Work had been hectic.
Part of me admired her strength: she would go to work day-in-day-out to help survivors, all the while keeping her own situation under wraps. Yet, the other part of me couldn’t forgive her.
I saw her as an enabler to my dad’s behaviour. I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t just leave; as far as I was concerned, she …read more
Source:: Metro
