I recently had an experience with my 89 year old mother that opened my eyes to a lingering side effect of my husband’s infidelity and related nonsense. Namely, I am accustomed to making myself small.
I am not small in stature or in voice. Despite that, I realized that my goal since DDay, has been to blend in with the wallpaper. The seeds were certainly sowed before then, during the period of my marriage where I was slowly manipulated into making my needs nonexistent. I was astonished though to see how it still impacts me, even when I least expect it.
Picture a stereotypical New England clam shack at a beach. Great lobster rolls and seating at picnic tables with paper towels for napkins. It’s me, Handsome, and my mom. We have a terrific meal. As we go to leave, my mom gets her legs kind of caught up on the picnic table bench. At her age, her skin is incredibly thin. She immediately has blood pouring from both shins.
To be clear, I’m not talking about a normal person slow trickle from a scrape. By your standards or mine, these were small contusions. Nonetheless, I’m talking about a blood thinner- induced river of red that was running down her shins, pooling in her shoes, and soaking the ground around her feet. We were totally silent, but yet the mere fact of the situation made every movement seem loud.
I’m somewhat accustomed to this. It happens any time my mom gets cut and the slightest bruise makes her look like she has been battered. But there we sit, in the midst of this outdoor dining area, and I found myself resenting my mom for drawing attention to us. For inconveniencing the other diners. For ensuring we were sticking out like sore thumbs. For taking up too much “space” in that moment. WTF??
Of course, like a diligent and loving daughter I was on my hands and knees in the sand trying to stop the bleeding, fielding offers of assistance, and trying to get my mom situated to get her to our car. And I was so incredibly, terribly uncomfortable. Just to pile on, I recognized the absurdity of the discomfort in the moment and it made me angry at myself. Have I really allowed myself to be shoved into such a tiny box that a minor accident makes me feel bad for inconveniencing (at worst) a bunch of strangers??
Having had some time to sit with this I can look back and note times where, during Handsome’s acting out, my whole being revolved exclusively around him and our kids. Therereally was no me. Yes, I worked, but I never really got to enjoy the fruits of that labor other than on a vacation or two. Forget self-care. I recall enduring incredible inconvenience and sacrifice to accommodate him and his needs. I recall not asking for anything, ever, because I knew my request would be discounted or ignored. I’ve written elsewhere here about the one Christmas where I got absolutely nothing from him, and the birthdays and Mother’s Days where I bought gifts for our kids to give me because he couldn’t be bothered and had probably spent all his money on skanks and sex.
When you grow accustomed to that smallness, of course you start to believe that your very existence is likely a nuisance to those who don’t even know you. Fast forward to a sunny day at a clam shack and I was turned right back into that gaslit, manipulated woman, undeserving of space to exist. And I deflected that right onto my mom. How dare she have needs, in public.
I swear, trauma is a bugger. Every time I start to feel like I’m making some progress, something like this kicks me in the butt.
I often de-escalate myself in these situations by telling myself “that was then, this is now.” I need to deliberately remind myself “this is reasonable” to counter all the residual effects of the gaslighting telling me that my needs or wants are unreasonable.
In this instance, Handsome was there, working with me to help my mom and offering reassurances to us both that it would be fine. He wasn’t focused on himself. He was present, both literally and mentally. He was trying to be helpful.
He knew I was suffering, but not why. I wouldn’t know how to explain it. I’m not sure I could make it sound logical. And yet clearly this compulsion to not take up space, not make waves or rock the boat, is still deep inside me. I want it to be gone.
Trauma is a bitch. Also, the years of manipulation and gaslighting is (are?) a bitch. I’m sorry your mom cut yourself – and also that it triggered such a trauma response / flashback for you. I think it is so powerful that you almost immediately identified and understood your own feelings as well as where they were coming from. Honestly, I think this is the pinnacle of trauma healing. This will never go away, but if you do get a grip on things like you do, you are a trauma healing master ladly. As you described the memories of being manipulated into being small, feeling small, ignoring your own needs and believing, slowly but surely, that you do, indeed, deserve nothing – almost identically my experience in my own manipulated, gaslighted relationship with my husband. As I am healing, and working on finding healthy everyday relationships, am I understanding, slowly but surely, that I am worthy and good. It takes time, and work, and, patience, and, well, the understanding that the goal can never be to reset/restart. Recovery is not a state we will one day achieve, rather it is the path we are on. You’re mighty, friend. Hugs
Trauma is a both MWS. And sadly, the source of all of my trauma is my husband. I grew up knowing that I was loved and had worth and the first years of my marriage were no different. It wasn’t until my husband’s addiction pulled him back in that the great mind f**k started. By the time it was done, it’s like he stripped away my self-worth in just a small frame of time. You are completely correct that there is no reset/restart button. It’s just the daily exercise of not putting yourself last, taking up your space in the universe, and ensuring your needs are met. Sounds simple, but after 5 years of near daily gaslighting it’s not. Not at all. Sending ((hugs)) back. ❤️
*Trauma is a bitch. (Stupid spell check.)
Word by word, word by word my experience. How even a loved and stable person can be mowed down with years of mindfuck abuse. Years of self work to get back on feet and potential psychosomatic impacts completely unrecognised by law, society and moral standards.
My eldest daughter has often asked me when I started making my needs so small. It saddens me, as I am strong, feisty even. But I got dragged down, ever so slowly. Smaller and smaller and smaller.
I too came from a loving background. No trauma whatsoever until I left home. Whilst Rog was not my only trauma, I was dealing with the others until his straw broke the camel’s back
It’s like slowly being boiled. You aren’t dropped into the scalding hot water because of course you would jump out. You get in and it’s all nice and comfy and maybe it starts to get uncomfortable but you grin and bear it lest you seem rude or needy. By the time it has incapacitated you, it’s too late. Smaller and smaller and…
I feel like I have some years to course correct this with my kids, but I’m very deliberate with my daughter about what is tolerable in a relationship. She’s older so I can’t soft pedal the message.
Why is it that it is mostly women who find themselves in such predicaments? Do we love too hard and bit too much?? I hope you realise there’s a powerhouse of strength within who needs to occupy a chunk of space and proudly claim it.
Yeah, I think we love too hard, or we love others too hard and love ourselves too soft. Generations of societal abuse of women puts us here: abused in marriages (and we’re silent about it), abused in the workplace (and often were silent about it), it’s time to claim our place.
Absolutely! 👏🏻
Absolutely 💯
About time I’d say
Thanks Gibberish. It’s a daily effort/ practice to reclaim that space, but I’m working on it. I think all empaths are susceptible to this, but I also think it disproportionally affects women. Maybe over generations that will change, but we women are certainly stripped of our agency in a lot of situations men don’t deal with in their daily lives.
I think it’s really interesting that we’re often unaware of how small we’ve made ourselves … the extent to which we have told ourselves we must have no needs … and the way we recoil from standing out in public (making a fuss when we really should be making a fuss.) However, experiences like the one with your mother jolt our grip on reality, and show us the extent to which we have suppressed, quashed and lost ourselves. And that loss and silencing of the self is a terrible thing.
However, I find these kinds of experiences also make me indignant and mad. They make me feel I will never let anyone stop me taking up my rightful space again, or stop me embracing and showing my true self. Thanks for a thought-provoking read.
You are certainly welcome DLH. These types of experiences make me indignant and mad (and probably resentful) too. I worry a bit about over-compensating for my …diminishment?…. and try to avoid swinging the pendulum too far in the other direction. At the same time, I know how much I need to respect my own needs and wants and take charge of ensuring they are met and fulfilled. That’s the only way these things – like the scene with my mom – will stop happening.
I take much better care of others than I do myself. I never want to bother anyone, be the center of attention, or make anyone uncomfortable. I never want my discomfort to bother anyone even if I have to keep secrets and lies.
Chef and I laughed recently at REI. I wanted new gators for being in the woods. Instead, I bought Chef a pair (she wanted new gators too), and hoped she would let me borrow them.
Yep, trauma sucks…and casts a long shadow.
I can relate to your REI story. I have needed a new car for some time. Went car shopping with Handsome and he’s now driving a lovely new truck and I’m not. It’s so routine for me to say “you first” and smile about it. A few months later how I really felt about that all came pouring out. Not my best moment, but I’ve really been trying to be better about saying “me first” when I’ve needed to.
I asked for a short trip to NYC for my birthday. Effort was made to talk me into going to Chicago instead (where his family lives). I said “no, thank you” and booked the hotel and theater tickets in NYC. It felt a bit brazen and selfish (which is nuts) but I know I’ll wither and die inside if I don’t ensure that I put myself first on occasion.
I hope Chef shares those gators with you.
Lol. Me too.
The thing is at least I realized I did it. I’m not positive I would have noticed a few years ago.
Chef and I have this joke, “Your happiness is my future resentment.” We toss it out there when one of is realizes what is happening. It adds levity and brings the focus back to what it is we actually want or need.
My two cents- worth even less than that- would be to TALK to him about how you feel. You might be used to him being the dismissive person he was, but assume he is not that- or at least trying not to BE that person. Let him in. Talk to him in a way he can understand it- you know him, let him in. Opening up with him might even make him feel closer to you in that you are trusting him for advice and looking to him to help you. When you help others, you really help yourself, so it might make him feel better about himself knowing you value his advice. In the end, it’s about doing what you can to mold the person you know he can be.
Like I said, just my two cents.
Oh, I do talk to Handsome about things like this. After all the therapy and whatnot he can intellectually understand where I’m coming from and show some empathy. It can, however, still be challenging for him to connect certain dots. For example, if you read the other comments you know I booked a trip to NY for my birthday. When I did that, I told him how much I loved and missed going there on theatre trips. It wasn’t a dig at him. It was just an expression of how much the trip would mean to me. His reply was “Well, I never stopped you from going or said you couldn’t go.” True, but he DID spend the better part of 6 years gaslighting me about money. I had no idea all of his disposable income was going to hookers and massage parlors but if I was getting screamed at for buying $80 tickets to see Sesame Street Live with our kids in our city, I wasn’t about to spend the funds to book a costly trip to satisfy my thirst for Broadway.
Handsome did not deliberately set about to strip me of my sense of self worth. It was a long series of actions over a long time, many of which he likely doesn’t even remember (legitimately). And yet these things happened and they happened to me. I can – and do- try to talk through them with him but it is very, very challenging for him to put himself in my shoes. His empathy skills are iffy to modest on a good day for things that don’t involve him. Looking to him for empathy on things he caused or had a hand in is even harder. He can say “I was such a jerk and I’m so sorry I put you through that” and mean it. He can’t, however, know what it’s like to be yelled at multiple times a week for spending money or to be accused of wastefulness while working my butt off and bringing in a hefty salary. I can describe what that felt like till the cows come home but it’s not the same as living it… the walking on eggshells, the pit in my stomach at a cash register, going years without buying anything for myself. I can try to teach him what that experience was like, but it’s a heavy lift.