Hold My Hand…

After I was born, my mother developed blood clots in her legs and she had to stay in the hospital longer than I. My older cousin took care of me until my mother came home so I couldn’t bond with my mother. I craved my mother’s attention and acceptance as a young child. Another woman babysat me while my mother worked, or if my mother was in the hospital. My mother was not the nurturing kind, and I was so detached from the ones that I thought should love me. My physical needs were met, but I felt so empty emotionally. I don’t remember being hugged, kissed or ever feeling special as a child and even into my adult years. I was the middle child, and I had my part to play in the family role. I couldn’t please my parents, and I spent a lot of my young childhood years crying and wanting someone to love me. I couldn’t do simple things, such as get a shirt from the closet without crying. I felt so inadequate, and the more I cried, the more my mother became frustrated with me. My oldest sister mocked and laughed at me, and I would just feel so much worse. As a child, my mother would ask me, “Why do you cry all the time? You can’t do anything!” I was so helpless , and I felt hopeless . I felt like I didn’t belong in my own family. Now how could THAT be? I didn’t know how to express myself, especially about personal things such as feelings, opinions, how I looked, etc. My heart ached inside – a huge lump, and there didn’t seem to be anything to give me peace and love in my life. I learned to keep my thoughts to myself for fear of being rejected, laughed at, or be criticized. I was very shy, I don’t remember being loved or hugged, but I remember feeling very sad, and I was told to be quiet a lot. Every day I had feelings of disappointment and shame. My mother told me not to climb a tree because I would fall, and I should not go into the river or a swimming pool, or I would drown. She tried to place a lot of fear on my sisters and me . I think that one of the reasons that she said these things to us was that she was an older parent, and she was not sure exactly how to take care of children in a nurturing way. I believe that she tried her best, even though she would have rather wanted to be in a convent. My oldest sister was a perfectionist, she went strictly by what was right, and she didn’t have compassion for those who made mistakes, and I made lots of them! She was very responsible and trustworthy, and she hated my dad’s drinking. She screamed at me for not picking up my feet and smacking my gum too loudly. She said I was spoiled, and she often glared at me. She became a form of authority in my life, a kind that I could not respond to but only react to – making me sadder and having feelings of worthlessness. Our parents expected a lot from her, so she passed down what she had learned. I thought that I would never be able to measure up to my oldest sister’s demands. It was way too hard for me. My next oldest sister was very kind and loving. She cared about everyone around her, even our father, who was extremely hard to love. She captured all of our hearts, and she was the foundation of our family. She had a close relationship with my mother, and I secretly wished I could, too. She was the one I turned to the most, as I trusted her. Only my older sister would give me kind words and she would make me feel wanted. I thank God for her kindness that gave me some stability in our troubled home. My younger sister was five years younger than I was, and she was developmentally disabled. Just hearing her cry was one of the most awful sounds I ever heard, I swear! My mother would say, “Ach, give her what she wants so she’ll shut up!” She was very stubborn and my mother didn’t want to disturb or upset her. We all had to give in to my little sister’s wishes, no matter what. We were taught many rules: Don’t talk back to your parents, do what you’re told, do your chores, etc. My younger sister followed none of those rules and that went against my grain. Shouldn’t all of the rules be the same for everyone? The Black Buggy When I was five years old, I tried to take my little sister out of the black buggy and I dropped my sister onto the floor. (I don’t remember much of the memory, but I will relate what my older sister told me about the incident.) This event reaffirmed that I was full of shame and that I could not be trusted with much responsibility. When I dropped my sister, my mother came running and she screamed at me. She told me never to touch my younger sister again. Throughout my life, I didn’t bond with children (even my own children), because of how my mother screamed at me. My older sister said my mother blamed me for my younger sister’s developmental delays and that Jeanette’s lack of learning was my fault, even though my sister was born during my mother’s menopausal age. The black buggy was a very bad omen to me. I was scared of the buggy until I was about eight years old, or maybe even older. I was afraid to go near it, even when it was empty. I wouldn’t go near the buggy before then, and fear and trepidation came over me just to stand next to it. I started trembling and shaking, because of the memory I had when I dropped my sister. My mother’s words rang in my memory like a broken record, and there was a hole inside of me that wouldn’t go away. This event was hidden from my memory, and I found what happened many years later. It was all my fault, I thought, and it could never be undone. When our mother had no more use for the buggy, we were allowed to put our dolls in it, and we pushed them around the neighborhood. At that time, I still stepped back, not wanting to join my sisters until my older sister encouraged me to go with them around the block. That awful memory of that black buggy stayed with me as an omen that I couldn’t measure up. We dressed up in our mother’s old dresses and her old dress shoes, putting on bright red lipstick. We must have been a sight to the neighbors! We were all laughing and we had the time of our lives! We really didn’t care what the neighbors thought about the way we looked. We were just having such a great time together. In 2010 my late husband prayed for me to be set free from the bondage placed on me and the curse that my mother spoke over me. He prayed that I was never being able to form a bond with young children and to be released from the memory of the black buggy. Before he even laid hands on me, I was already crying, because I knew that I was going to be delivered from the curse that was put on me, and how I wished for so many years to be able to reach out to my own children as a loving mother when they needed me the most. I got set free that day from the fear of an inanimate object that was hovering over me like a black cloud and the words my mother said. Any memory of the black buggy would make me tremble and shake, even when I was in my 50’s.