Trust me when I say that this chips away at a person and destroys all confidence (Picture: Tatiana Maksimova/Getty)
I could only have been seven when it first happened.
Now in my 40s, I vividly remember being hurried along to leave the house. My brother and half-sister were already standing on the driveway, and my stepdad was waiting for me.
I was always a little clumsy and far from practical. The basics of tying shoelaces would just take me much longer than anyone else. This time, however, I clearly took too long.
My arm was grabbed and put behind my back. My stepdad then hit me on the back of the legs and backside, over and over again. All I was told was that I was being disrespectful for taking so long.
My half-sister said nothing; my brother and I only talked about it years later.
As was always the case when my stepdad beat me, my mum was out. Like much abuse, it was a secret from other adults.
It took me until my late thirties to finally speak out. The thing is, the abuse had never really stopped – it just changed, and I couldn’t live with it any longer.
My mum and biological dad divorced while I was still a baby. At this time, I had a brother who was a couple of years older. My next memories are of my stepdad on the scene and the arrival of my half-sister, who is a bit younger than me.
My stepdad had always been Dad. He was all I knew but he was never ‘dad’ in the real sense of the word.
There was no affection, no encouragement and no congratulations. No matter what the achievement, it was never good enough, and he always knew someone who had done it better.
My stepdad then hit me on the back of the legs and backside, over and over again
Trust me when I say that this chips away at a person and destroys all confidence.
It’s only looking back that I realise that my mum was a victim, too, though I’m pleased to say that she can now see this herself.
The abuse was never physical when it came to her. Instead, it was undermining, belittling, and slowly destroying her confidence.
My brother was also a victim. I’ve learned through therapy that we were targeted as we were seen as a threat. We are both intelligent, high achievers and good at sports. That was too much competition for my stepdad to deal with, so he brought us down.
I have memories of him hitting us both with massive force, using belts and slippers. It never took much to invite a beating. In fact, it always felt like he just wanted an excuse.
At the time, I knew what was happening was wrong, but I had no idea what to say or do.
Strangely, something that perhaps had the most profound impact was seeing him beat the dog. If it dared to do its business in a part of the garden that he didn’t agree with, it was beaten, too. The weapon of choice? A broom.
Source:: Metro
