Do you know that feeling of being trapped, of believing that there is no choice even if you are drowning?
Oh yes, there is one thing that is not accepted in our society but that my children cannot stand; when they say they hate their father or don't have one and they are told that he is still their father, that they cannot say that. Why not? Can others put themselves in their place? What are they doing wrong? Does an individual acquire rights over others only by being the progenitor? I think being considered a parent is earned, not given. They are not the ones to be judged.
Listen to our hours, days, years of suffering and then look us in the eye and dare to judge us. We don't want to be reduced only to what has happened to us. We are much more than that, even if it is part of us and part of who we are today.
Until I left, I spent my life being constipated, like some of my children. It's hard to go to the bathroom when "he" is waiting for that moment to come banging on the door. Of course "he" needs to and we "him" have taken the place. And why do we lock the door in the first place? The little ones are not allowed to lock themselves in, because they might not be able to open the door. It is important to know that on several occasions "he" will use a screwdriver or a knife blade to open the door while we are inside. It is impossible to go in peacefully. Taking a shower is no longer a moment of relaxation. Even forbidden. He wants to be able to go in at any time just in case. And usually he goes in when one of the children is in there without the rest of the family hearing him under the pretext of needing a cotton bud or something. I learned this later. Our time underwater is counted. "He" is timing us. We must not consume too much. He's paying.
I often go and talk to my children when I bring them their clean laundry, help them with homework, when they want to talk without disturbing their father who is sitting in the living room complaining about the noise. Little by little they tell me they suspect him of listening behind the door. I don't want to believe it. They open the door several times in surprise. "He" is there and tries to regain his composure. "He" accuses us of having something to hide because we have stopped talking. We end up talking only when "he" is not there, even about totally innocuous things.
It's the holidays and we are at home. "He" comes home for lunch. We take our time until it's time for him to return. Everyone has to be washed, dressed, the table set and the meal ready. If not, he throws a fit. Our throats are tight. It's hard to eat under these conditions. "He" argues with the children who don't even eat what's on their plates. It's worth "he" bringing the money back to be wasted like that. If everyone is ready and waiting for him, "he" goes to the toilet, watches TV for five minutes and we have to stand at attention until "he" decides to join us.
I don't know what to choose from all the things that make up our daily life so that you can integrate our life at that time. It is impossible to buy new clothes without "he" reproaching us for our useless spending or calling us sluts with the clothes we choose.
This is only the softest part of our experience.
YOU ARE READING
FROM THE NORM TO THE MARGIN
Non-FictionTo tell my life story is to talk about everyone's life, to share our worlds. I prefer to remain hidden in order to open up. Come and discover me through the pages. Perhaps you will also find yourself through my wounds, my doubts and my hope for a...
