Unsung Heroes

Blog developed from previous Instagram posts about the impact of Child Sexual Abuse on pregnancy, birth and motherhood.

I read an article recently by Gretchen Schmelzer called The Courage of Parenting with a History of Trauma.

There was a part that really stood out to me:

“If you had been physically disabled by a past trauma and chose to run a marathon—people would call you brave. But we don’t do that with emotional wounds. They are invisible and the parents who rise to the occasion—and parent with love and purpose—who give what they never got—they are unsung heroes.”

This is so true. Navigating parenthood as a survivor of Child Sexual Abuse (CSA) can be an isolating experience and this starts at the very beginning. Nobody speaks about it. There is limited or no opportunity to bring conversations into antenatal appointments. There is no mention of trauma in parenting groups. We deal with the often highly triggering process of pregnancy and birth on our own, we might struggle with breastfeeding, to bond, or even have fears around gender – but we crack on because we have to.

The Last Taboo: Produced by Redzi Bernard and Phoebe McIndoe. A Falling Tree production for BBC Radio 4

Hurt People Hurt People goes round in our heads and we can’t risk our struggles being misunderstood as poor parenting. We want to be good parents. To break patterns, not be accused of causing further hurt. So we stay silent.

Here’s to all the CSA survivors doing their best to parent without the support they deserve. The ones doing their best to work it all out… to heal, to stop trauma passing to the next generation.

They are unsung heroes indeed.

Continue reading “Unsung Heroes”

Pondering the Little Things

It’s the little things.

My child, older now, video calls.

Can we go to the garden centre together? I want to buy some plants; will you help me choose?

It’s the little things like:

The pointing out of names.

Geraniums, you’re also looking for Pelargoniums. They’re the same plant.

A little thing, but she didn’t know. I did so I passed it on.

Look for both names, I say.

I help her choose.

White? Or pink? Which one do you like best?

Will they last?

Yes, if you water them every now and then.

We observe the little things:

Like how to remove the old flowers to encourage new growth. Like the surprise of a small bud.

Like twenty percent off at the till, because it’s a bank holiday.

The little things are looking forward, together. Making plans. Little ones, like pointing out the burger van on our way to the car… shall we go next time?

It is the little things that are the most important.

Like walking by her side. Like holding her arm and remembering her first steps at thirteen months. She had blonde curls at the nape of her neck. A stork mark underneath that would flush an angry red when she cried. I wonder, is it still there?

So much time and so many little things have passed, and they went by very fast, when my attention was stolen. When my journey was frozen in time.

If i hadn’t found my way out, would she have gone alone to buy plants? Wondered about seasons and sunlight, annuals, and herbaceous borders? Who would she have made little plans with?

That thought of it makes me want to weep.

I focus on the little things that remind me I’m living: that make me feel alive.

It is the little things that are insignificant yet so momentous. I must hang on to each one. Write it. Document it. Remember it, to make up for the little things I lost when I was present and absent. A million miles away. When there was layer upon layer of thick glass between me and The World. When I was lost in the fog, when I loved her, I loved her so much, but I couldn’t find her, because I couldn’t find me.

Thief


“I feel like he took my soul” is a phrase that I’ve heard from more than one survivor. The first time I heard it, I wanted to cry with relief. That is exactly it, I thought. I was overwhelmed with relief that someone felt the same way as me. It made me feel less alone.

Continue reading “Thief”
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