Do You See?

 I think you know the moment I officially decided I was done.

I told you so, on the bathroom floor after he left for work. I had been screamed at over a piece of plastic packaging that disappeared at some point within the last several days and was decided to be my fault since I had just cleaned the bathroom. He lunged at me, I screamed, and you came running. It was the first time I think I ever saw you truly look afraid of what he might do to me.

You told him to go ahead to work and cool off, and sat on the floor with me. I think you asked me what I wanted to do, and that surprised me. I told you I didn’t want to live in the same house as him any more, and also expressed that I wanted to call the police but was scared of how he would retaliate. I remember being surprised you didn’t punish me for saying those things, but I also remember you talking me out of doing anything like talking to the police. In hindsight, I wish I had involved them. I wish I had gotten out of that home and away from him way sooner than I did. 

I’m not sure if you knew exactly what happened that made me scream, but I think you knew enough to put together that he had been physically violent with me. 

I hope you’re just scared to acknowledge it. I don’t think we can ever be in contact again if there isn’t at least some acknowledgement that I was traumatized by him. And at this point, I don’t really feel any need for a relationship with him again. He is not my father, though I will tolerate him and find it within myself to be cordial if that is the price I have to pay to reopen contact with you. 

I don’t know what he said behind closed doors about me. I often wonder. What lies did he tell? How did he explain himself that night? What was his account to you of what he did to me?

Do you know my very first memory? I was 3 or so. I was in the bedroom of the mobile home but I had a regular “big girl” bed, not the crib. All my “buddies” were around me but I was super attached to a stuffed sheep. Lambie. He sent me to bed without lambie and without letting me say goodnight to you and I was crying so hard. My entire world was upside down and I still remember that as the worst feeling I had felt. Abandonment and insecurity. 

Then he opened the door and screamed at me “shut up! Just shut up!” And slammed it again. 

I was terrified, and heartbroken for the first time. 

When people ask me what my first memory is, I usually make something up so I don’t have to tell them the real answer. 

That moment I knew I could not trust him. Not ever. 

That was only reinforced as I got older. It became about survival and secrets, not love and compassion and trust. I told you over and over as a little girl that I did not want to be left alone with him. He twisted it into me being clingy, but normal clinginess shouldn’t persist as long as mine did. 

I can’t remember, but I think that was the moment I realized whoever that man was did not love me. He only tolerated me because of you. Behind closed doors, he was a monster. When I sat in his lap, he pinched me hard. He squeezed my small arms and legs to make me squirm away and yelp in pain, then act like I was being difficult for no reason. One of our family pictures with your side of the family shows evidence of him doing this. My face is scrunched in pain and he’s smiling at the camera, hands obscured from where he is digging his thumbs into my leg, squeezing hard until I break and he gets an excuse to punish me. 

I didn’t like to be touched growing up and you joked that I was autistic for that, but it was actually because I was so on edge from him touching me. 

Do you know I’m still terrified of public restrooms to this day? I have to plug my ears and close my eyes every time I have no choice but to use one, and that also has something to do with all the bed wetting that went on until I was 5 or 6 years old. It wasn’t defiance. It was trauma. 

Do you know even as a college student in my 20s, he would stalk me? He would show up to my work unannounced, or be seen in parking lots trolling around to see if my car was where I said it was? I had to cover up for him so many times so that people would not call the police on him for creeping around repeatedly. 

How about at the beach in 2019 when he smacked my ass while I was doing the dishes? He did it in of everyone and NO ONE said anything, everyone just froze and awkwardly moved on. 

Sometimes he slipped and couldn’t keep it a secret from you, and sometimes other people saw and caught on but he quickly severed ties with them. Do you remember the Peyinghaus’s? That was me. I told them a few things that happened and that I was afraid. Cops came to the door demanding a wellness check and then pretty soon things got horrible and my chance to get help was gone. I screwed it up too because I got scared and had to lie to cover up that I said anything. 

I wish you would put the puzzle pieces together and see how awful he treated me. I can’t believe you haven’t already, and sometimes I wonder if you do know but are scared to leave him. He was nice to me sometimes, sure. But he didn’t love me. Not like a parent loves a child. I understand that more acutely every day that I experience motherhood, and step motherhood. When I first started therapy, I was pregnant with L and I kept saying “maybe I’ll understand better when I’m a mother.” Eventually, when L was about 3, I went to a therapist who heard me tell a few memories I have of him, and I said I just didn’t understand. The therapist asked me, “so can you imagine yourself talking to L and saying those words?” And “can you picture yourself yelling at her as a toddler for crying and slamming doors?” I walked out of that building sobbing so hard I had to take an Uber home. I can not imagine treating my child that way. Nor can I imagine allowing anyone else to do that to any of my kids, which is what perplexes me about you. Are you just terrified? Or are you in on it too? How can you listen to your 9 year old scream in the other room while a belt strikes her bare ass over 15 times in a row? How can you stay silent when it’s bath time and you see the bruises left on her body? How can you believe your 5 year old still wets the bed simply because she feels like it?

That’s why I hated when you decided to be a submissive wife. I knew it was over for me. You were giving up, and I had no one to stick up for me any more. 

Other people can see it plain as day. After I moved out, I had people coming out of the woodwork right and left, showing me pictures and screenshots of how creepy and scary he is. A family friend showed me a picture of how he destroyed a computer at work.

I just wish I knew the answer. I wish I knew if you knew how bad it was for me, or if you just don’t believe me and think I’m dramatic. I think you had some idea though. You didn’t fight it at all or argue at all on the bathroom floor that day, and for that reason I think some part of you knew. The only part of that incident he ever apologized for was scaring me. And that was only because you saw. He never apologized unless you saw.