The Belt - a Returning Memory of Physical Abuse

Survivors of childhood abuse know that memories are few and far between. In some instances of severe abuse, the victim will completely disassociate themselves with reality and will have no recollection that anything ever happened. In other cases, the victim will remember vividly what happened, but will explain it away as not being abuse, as being their own fault, and will protect the perpetrator of the abuse to their own detriment. I have aspects of both extremes in my life. I am somewhat disassociative with the harsher aspects of my abuse. I definately blame myself for everything that happened and protect the abusers because "it wasn't their fault."

I want to share the most vivid, though still foggy, memory that I have from my childhood. It is the only instance of physical abuse that I remember suffering. Most of my abuse was emotional (by my mother) and sexual (by my older step brother). I am doing this in an effort to forgive myself for what happened to me. I still blame myself for most of what happened to me as a child and for the actions I have taken as a result over the last 20 years. Forgiving myself is a big first step in my recovery. I must do this in order to move on with my life and put all of this behind me.

Most of the details of this event are foggy in my memory. I don't remember how old I was. This may have been prior to the beginning of my sexual abuse (prior to age 10), but I think it was afterward. That will become more clear as the story progresses. So, I was around 11 or 12 years old when this happened. I was in the bedroom at my mom's house that I shared with my little brother (my biological brother; my step brothers shared their own room when they came to visit their dad). My older step brother was seated on the bottom bunk (my brother's bed) with someone. I don't remember which of my brothers was there with him. It was in the early afternoon, after lunch but before dinner.

I had a leather belt in my hand and I was snapping it in the air like a whip. I liked the sound. Also, I was really into Indiana Jones when I was a kid and he had a whip. I was standing behind my older step brother. For some reason I began to wonder what would happen if I were to whip him with the belt. Would it hurt him? Or would it just sting? Would he get mad or would he just think I was playing? I decided to do it. I swung the belt back and brought it forward, snapping him on his upper right arm. He shouted in pain and began to cry. I don't remember if he said anything to me before he left the room or if anyone else in the room said anything. He went to either his dad or my mom, crying, and said what I had done to him.

My mother came into my room. She was very angry. She was yelling at me, but I don't remember what she was saying. I was terrified. She was like a different person, a monster. She wasn't my mom. She took the belt away from me very violently. Then she whipped me with it repeatedly. She whipped me over my shoulders and back. I don't know how many times she did this. This point is where the memory gets very clouded. I remember her whipping me, and then I remember being in my bed (the top bunk) crying loudly, and her slamming the door and turning out the light.

I cried for a very long time. At one point I began to say, "I want my daddy," in between sobs. My mom opened the door to my room and shouted, "what did you say?" I stopped crying and told her what I had been saying in what I remember as a very calm, level tone. She shouted back, "that's bulls***!" Then she slammed the door and left me there. I started to cry again. At this point, the memory disappears. I don't remember her coming in any more. I don't remember eating dinner. I don't remember my brother coming in for bed. I don't remember anything after this at all.

I have always remembered the basics of this event very vividly. I whipped my brother with a belt. This made my mom angry and she whipped me with the belt and sent me to bed. When I cried for my dad, she became angry again. I have always blamed myself for this happening. If only I had not whipped my brother, my mom wouldn't have lost control and did what she did. This fed into my self-hatred and depression. I did not see this as abusive until about 2 months ago when I began realizing what had really happened to me as a child. My mom was wrong for what she did. It was not my fault, it was hers. She was supposed to be the responsible, rational adult. She was supposed to keep me safe and discipline me in an age-appropriate manner. She failed me as a mother. These are things I need to tell myself often in order to lift the weight from my shoulders.

If you are reading this, thank you. I hope my story and others I have written and have yet to write are helpful to you in some way. Weather you are in recovery or wish you were, you know someone who has been or might have been abused, or you are abusing or have abused someone else. I am not unique in my feelings and experiences. Millions of children and adults are survivors and victims of abuse. This is a problem that will not go away until people like you and I bring it into the open and talk about it. Thank you for helping me along in my journey. Perhaps we will meet some day as we trudge the road of happy destiny together.