After a tumultuous childhood filled with abuse and neglect, Nathan C. Daniels reflects on how some of the pain he experienced may not have been inflicted intentionally.
I’ve written a lot about my experience with abuse… The sexual and physical versions I suffered at the hands of my sister, and the verbal assaults and emasculation delivered by my father. Now, I’m going to suggest you can abuse without intent, and ignorance might be as damaging as malice. TMI, neglect, and social isolation added to my complicated issues and crippled my ability to fit in with the rest of the world.
Everyone in my family abused me, including myself. It was obvious when my father and sister were doing it… easy to see it for what it was. That’s not the case with my mother. I hate admitting this, and it’s taken me a lifetime to do so, but my mom also abused me. I know it was unintentional. She struggled with many issues of her own, so I can easily understand and forgive the mistakes… but I had to acknowledge them first.
Here, I want to outline three, less obvious, ways my mother abused me and further programmed me for a lifetime of inner-turmoil.
TMI (Too Much Information)
TMI wasn’t part of our dialogue when I was little, but my mom definitely shared too much information with me. She’s at the heart of all my warmest childhood memories. At the same time, she made sure I knew every possible danger in the world. My mom told me about every threat my father issued and every horrifying scenario she ever imagined.
“He told me he’ll track us down and kill us if we ever leave, and I know he’ll do it too! I told you how he shot that poor guy with that stupid crossbow of his… and, the mouse! Oh… his eyes, Nathan!” She shut her own eyes, biting her lower lip, and took a deep breath. “He’ll kill you too… Your father’s capable of anything. He already has a gun! You need to know that.”
Did I?
Sometimes she’d come to me crying, and shaking, in the middle of the night. I might be seven or eight years old. She’d barricade us in the room, sliding my bed and bureau in front of my bedroom door.
“I really thought your father was going to kill me that time, Nathan.” She’d gasp… scared, and moving furniture. “He said how bad he wanted to strangle me… and he had that look again!”
She shivered and climbed into bed, scaring the shit out of me with her shaky words and nervous actions. These whispered warnings through trembling lips, introduced me to constant dread. Meanwhile, mom’s obsession with supernatural topics, and late night horror flicks enhanced my nightmares.
We watched a lot of monster movies, and we watched some that hit a little closer to home too—scary men who went crazy and slaughtered their families. Images from Amityville Horror and Silent Rage laced my serrated dreams with graphic crime scenes… daddies with shotguns or axes. By the time I hit the first grade, I could quote more Stephen King than Dr. Seuss, and I pictured my own death, at the hands of my father, a thousand different ways.
Neglect
My mother should have gotten outside help and support, immediately after finding out my sister molested me for the better part of a year, but she failed to do so. Instead, she taught me to distract myself from painful things, hide from my own discomfort, and do my best to forget things like that happened.
I tried that approach for thirty years, and almost died several times in the process.
This neglect was not intentional. I believe it was the result of honest naivety, and my mother’s own social handicaps and psychological disorders. I think she was genuinely incapable, on several levels, to get either one of us the help we needed. She did her best for me, I know that, but it wasn’t enough.
I wish my bed-wetting, progressive insomnia, and stress-related ulcer (In the second grade) motivated her to break through her comfort zone or open her eyes to the severity of my problems. I wish my random fits of seemingly unprovoked tears, panic, and a growing collection of scars, inspired her to see if there was more she could do.
Social Isolation
For a year after my parents divorced, and another year later, after my mom discovered she had breast cancer, she removed me from school and the few friends I had. On both occasions, we traveled to the other side of the country to live with my grandmother in Texas. I was going through puberty… that confusing journey through adolescence, and I was destined to travel that road without the benefit of friends, or any other normal relationships.
“I think a lot of my social awkwardness has roots in that dusty little town. My mom did her best to minimize the obvious damage happening to my psyche. I love her for it, but it was an impossible situation. Puberty and social isolation just do not mix well, and I couldn’t even ride my skateboard because there wasn’t any fucking pavement.”—Excerpt from Surviving the Fourth Cycle
I was damaged already, from a lifetime of trauma, and in Texas, I became an odd young man, whose hobby was enduring pain. Every night, I ritualistically dropped barbell plates on myself, punched myself in the face, cut myself, and hit myself in the groin! I even developed a temporary obsession with auto-fellatio. I spent hours, stretching my body in the quiet of the night… until months later I accomplished my sad goal.
The first time we lived there, my mom showed some concern with my behavior, but she didn’t know the extent of it, and still didn’t act. The next time we moved there, she was dying, and I had run out of childhood to save. I continued my lonely life of social isolation, rituals, and abnormal behavior… paving the way for severe Social Anxiety Disorder.
I attended one more year of school before my mother passed away. My scars and muscles made me a popular oddity but, socially inept, I avoided the normal dating, sports, dances, and parties that filled my classmate’s schedules. I did well academically, spending most of my spare time in the local library, but I couldn’t make human connections, and I felt like a square peg trying to fit in a round hole. As I do today.
I am Tarzan
I grew up in a hostile jungle. I learned how to maintain constant vigilance throughout the night and hide from predators. I had a father, who saw me as, just another male to threaten and bully. I had a sister, who perverted our relationship, and taught me shame and secrecy. My mom kept me fed and groomed, made me smile, and loved me. She made me feel safe with her protective embrace, but didn’t nurture my ability to feel safe without it.
My mom abused me with TMI, neglect, and social isolation. Then, she left me alone in the world, with the social skills of a boy raised by wild animals. I learned many lessons from my family, but how to live amongst humans wasn’t one of them.
Read more on Conflict and On Rape and Sexual Violence.
Photo credit: woodleywonderworks on Flickr.
this is so well written, and deeply, profoundly honest……….which is just as it needs to be, it is the parents’ that don,t question, that will repeat the cycles……… tho as an early seeker, there were few places, to turn, now there are more voices, braving the stigma, to break it and shed light which for me has been the only answer i could find to healing from and hoping to end abuse of children, on every level…….thankyou
As you so eloquently explain, abuse can absolutely be unintentional. And it’s just as damaging as the other forms because it’s hidden and confusing and associated with love.
Nathan, you may feel like a square peg in a round hole, but you’re a strong peg and an extremely valuable one.
Tanya,
“it’s just as damaging as the other forms because it’s hidden and confusing and associated with love.”
That’s a perfect summary for this subject… Thank you for taking the time to read and share your thoughts. I always love hearing from you –such an amazing source of support! I wish you all the best, and know we’ll chat again soon :]
I can relate all too well, albeit different circumstances. How do you survive the haunt of suicide? I’ve been battling it for more than 30 years. I fear someday it will finally happen. Is there some way to contact you directly? I respect your privacy. You are dealing with a demon I know well. No one around me understands. I wish I could talk to someone who does. Thanks for posting this.
M.L. I’m touched by your comment. Thank you for taking the time to read a little about my life, and reaching out to me about this very sensitive and personal issue. You can always feel free to email me at [email protected] and I will get back to you. Also, Facebook is an easy site to chat on, and have more of an actual conversation. You’re certainly welcome to join me there as well… https://www.facebook.com/Nathan.daniels.56863 In the meantime, be strong and try to find some solace in the fact that you are definitely not alone with your struggles (I know how… Read more »
Nathan, I just sent a friend request to you on Facebook, along with a message (which was sent to the “Other” folder because we are not FB friends yet). Thank you for your support.
Bless you, sir, for surviving, and for informing the world of what you never should have had to endure.
Hadassah,
I appreciate that… thank you so much for reading my words and offering your support :]
Thank you for sharing this Mr. Daniels. I often wonder if I’m too expressive with my concerns in front of my daughter. Nothing like what you wdre exposed too, but still, you’ve given me a lot to think about, as you always do. Thank you for that. You have the perfect mixture of life experience, courage, and talent to help make the world a better place. Surviving the Fourth Cycle is one of a kind, phenominal!!!
Yasmina,
I think good parents are constantly assessing and evaluating our overall parenting skills and the things are children are exposed to on a daily basis. We always strive to be better and do better for our kids. It’s obvious from your comment, you fit perfectly in that category, and I appreciate you sharing your thoughts here.
Also, thank you for the wonderful comments, support, and I’m thrilled you enjoyed the book. Take care, and best of luck to you :]
The details are different, but still too close to home.
Megan,
I’m sorry you can relate to my story, but it’s nice to know we’re not alone in this, isn’t it. Anyway, thank you for reading my words here and taking time to reach out to me. Fellow survivors supporting each other is a beautiful thing. Wishing you nothing but the best, for the rest of your life :]
***”””My mom abused me with TMI, neglect, and social isolation. Then, she left me alone in the world, with the social skills of a boy raised by wild animals. I learned many lessons from my family, but how to live amongst humans wasn’t one of them.”””***
Oh Buddy!!! I could have written that paragraph. In fact, I’ve done so too many times.
We learn to walk among the “humans…the normals…the real-kids…I wasn’t a real boy…”
Rob.
Thank you for reading my words. I’m truly sorry you can relate to this horrible inhuman feeling, but I sincerely appreciate you taking the time to reach out to me here. I wish all the best, my friend :]