Dearest Friend,
Growing up, I never gave the concept of God, or spiritual matters, much thought…
I mean, of course, as a born Catholic I occasionally went to Sunday mass with my Grandmother, took confession, went to religiously structured schools (not uncommon in the Republic of Ireland) and took notice in bible lessons. But from a spiritual capacity, it never held much meaning in my life…
I appreciated the order of things and following in line to make my educators and family proud, yet deep inside something was always nagging at me; something my immature young self knew was too early to comprehend, but was confident of one day finding a path and place of meaning that spoke to me and my soul.
Funny, isn’t it? I’ve always had quite the strong and determined spirit within me!
That young boy would go through many years of hardships and feelings of isolation before forming strength and meaning from it. I simply had no dear friend or outlets for expression, with whom I might confide in and forget my struggles.
The hardest years during my growing up was most probably the time I was put in a special school, from the age of nine till I was over thirteen.
Despite having a learning disability and needing those special resources to tend to my educational needs, for me it was an experience that felt extremely isolating and a time where I felt deeply misunderstood in my capabilities.
I certainly struggled with maths and developmentally I was extremely immature compared with others my own age, but my understanding of how that came to happen may seem unusual to pronounce…
It's quite a long story, so please bear with me while it may get tiresome in places; it’s by no means an easy part of my life to confess up to.
Nevertheless, I feel it’s also necessary – if you are to really understand why I approach life the way that I do… So, here we go!
I believe the home environment, what with all its chaos and disruption, also played a role in my struggle to learn and retain knowledge.
My thoughts were completely caught up in all the fighting between Mum and Tony, my increasing sense of loneliness, and believing I wasn’t contributing enough to support my family.
No offence to Mum and Tony, who I know were simply products of their environment – but I didn’t receive any adequate guidance or encouragement from them in the area of my education.
It’s understandable why, however, since their habits with alcohol and drug-use, while at the same time having violent outbursts with each other, would have limited such required attention.
In fact, most memories I have of doing homework with “guidance” brought with it feelings of fear and doubt.
I distinctly remember a time, when I was still quite young, of being assigned to memorize my timetables for primary school.
I’ll tell you how it happened: Tony and Mum had my sisters and me in this unfamiliar house somewhere out in the countryside, and I vividly remember the driving journey there as been pretty frightening.
Picture this; it was in the middle of night, we were surrounded by trees and darkness, and suddenly the headlights of Mum’s car runs out of use!
Discovering this before our eyes brought a lot of shock and frustration, particularly my two young sisters beside me, who began to cry frantically.
We were all afraid, of course, that an incoming vehicle might speedily approach around the corner and crash into our unrecognizable car…
Luckily, at this point in time, we weren’t far from our destination, and made it there safely!
Anyhow, I just wanted to provide you a picture of the situation as we came up to what happened.
So there I was, later on going through my mathematics; its exercises seeming beyond me, and – with the added frustration – I had no option but to ask for help with them.
I left the bedroom where I was told to study, and approached Mum and Tony about it all.
Tony was in the corner of the sofa rolling up a cigarette with marijuana, and Mum and my sisters were busily engrossed with whatever it was that they were watching on the television. I believe it was a light horror movie called The Sandman.
Cindy was fast asleep in Mum’s arms.
I told Tony and Mum about the maths problem I was having, and they strictly warned me that I couldn’t go to bed until I learnt off my timetables.
As Tony put it: “I can be here all night, and believe me you don’t want that!”
Immediately understanding what that meant, I shifted upright from where I was slouching on the couch, and headed back to the bedroom to unrealistically reattempt the assignment.
Their method was mind-boggling; once supposedly remembering off my division, I was to return and read aloud a piece of maths asked at random…
Boy, if I got it wrong!
The reason this request proved difficult was due to the fact that I wasn’t shown, at my limited level, what it all meant, how to connect the numbers, and why…
Aside from that, there was also the fear!
It was better to avoid asking for help than to receive most definite punishment.
In general, I’ll be honest with you; as a child, particularly when caught up in a vulnerable position and required something from the adults, this is when I was most afraid.
Mostly it was because I anticipated the judgements to come, and extreme measures of discipline brought upon me.
It’s like, for example, when you’re about to be hit, slapped or shouted at, etc., your body can automatically act to defend itself, and that can seem cowardly; like mine did, when I would quickly raise my arms above or tremble all over from being punished in this way.
So, too, it was no different as a mental reflex when it came to my learning, and anticipating what came after, should I get it wrong…
That night, going through the maths with Mum and Tony, was especially harsh!
Every time I got an answer wrong, I was hit over the head, called stupid, and asked to go away and attempt again. Mum and Tony must have had a good laugh seeing me mess up, and it wasn’t long before they concluded the practice pointless and gave up trying to support me with the homework.
I was given an awful scolding and rushed off to the bedroom. I remember falling into bed that night, crying my heart out and believing I was a failure in every area imaginable.
And yet, as the thoughtful child, I never once fathomed that I was lacking something which was my human right; nurturing from a loving parent, or maybe even emotional guidance as I grew up into my own person.
I simply internalized that the fault was primarily mine (and maybe, in a certain sense, it was!), but I also realized that it was up to me, too, on what I did about that knowledge, and working around those limitations in my environment to do the best that I could.
I felt (though it’s silly to admit) I was an embarrassment growing up to the adults around me, so I learned quickly that if I wanted anything in this life, I had to rely on myself to figure out what worked, and how to receive those ideal results.
Certainly a harsh gulp of reality to swallow…but in another sense I’m glad to have received such awareness, and not simply fallen under reproaches and lived a life that was inevitably expected of me, in such circumstances.
I don’t say that just in regards to the limitations of my familial supports, but also the systems in society - which had their own predictions of how my light might lead…
I can see benefits from having overcome those earlier obstacles, and can now proudly say I’m beginning to develop a better sense of worth, a better sense of where I’ve come from, and also where I might be headed in the future!
I’d just like to note that I love Mum and Tony very much, despite the struggles we all faced as a family - and I hope they also forgive me for any troubles I may have caused them while they were raising me.
I always, always wanted to be the kind of son they needed from me, and to do them proud - but my sensitive personality somewhat proved different in their eyes.
I am a fighter
But not in the way you use your fists
I am a believer
But not in the way you preach
I am a survivor
But not in the way you decide to act
I am yours
Love me as I am!
(This isn’t me attempting poetry; it’s simply words in a straightforward prose, put together for those important to me, and to maybe one day express to them what I really want to get across from the heart!)
It’s always hard to meet high expectations, particularly when they aren’t realistic. I had my own expectations of my guardians, which can be felt similarly by any young person.
In my case - above all else - I was longing to receive love, without yet articulating what that really meant…
The only real consistent male role model in my life growing up was Tony, and that wasn’t always positive…
We had a love/hate relationship to say the least.
Partly it was due to my fear and anger towards him for how he treated my mother when they fought, and the way he was tough with the girls and me when he lived with Mum. I found it very hard to respect him!
On Tony’s end, I remember him finding me odd – very introverted, afraid of eye-contact, head aimed to the floor, and pretty cut off from the others emotionally.
I spent most of my time in my bedroom playing video games, to avoid drama or harsh judgements flung at my head. My household had a very different sense of life than I aspired to live; sad to say, but I felt utterly trapped and misunderstood by those around me.
Don’t be deceived, by the way. Don’t assume just because I spent most of my time in the bedroom that this is what I initially preferred. Other kids in my neighbourhood would bully me a lot, and I hadn’t any friends that stuck at this stage.
My only resources were really: going to school, to be around different kinds of people, or Nanny G’s, and there I was really able to relax.
At primary school I simply acted out as the class clown and was eager for approving attention. This more often than not brought more harm than good; what with disrupting class lessons and making saucy jokes.
Teachers sometimes reported my behaviour back home, and so a vicious cycle ensued. From there, new limitations became acknowledged…
You would be absolutely astonished by seeing the transformation in me from back home to when I would visit Nanny G... It was at Nan’s that I really lit up, could be myself without care, and let loose. But ultimately, it was where I felt really cared for as a kid.
At a young age, I had this fascination with Harry Potter. I even remember me wearing the black cloak and – with the plastic spectacles falling to the root of my nose and toy wand in hand - I’d jump out from behind the clotheshorse and cast a spell on Nan as she was quietly peeling potatoes. This always made her let out that infectious laugh, which I adored seeing.
Having to leave Nanny G’s always brought up mixed emotions in me. I even remember once pleading with Nan, asking that she take me in. I done this as she walked me home one late evening.
Another occasion, Nan even witnessed for herself the chaos that I was accustomed to; Tony and Mum had been fighting - and it must have been pretty violent because Mum took the girls and bolted over to her brother’s house. So, when Nan and I turned up at the house, we found Tony leaning out of the upstairs window talking to a lad in our front garden. He informed us that Mum wasn’t home, that we should check my uncle’s house and see if she’s there.
This bewildered Nanny G; she didn’t know what to do or say. Nan could only leave me off at my uncle’s and rush off to work, as she was already late that morning.
With deep sadness, Nan would later relate that incident and tell me that she wishes she took action there and then.
But I always reminded her it was never that simple, and probably unlikely; not only because Nan was afraid of Tony and the outcome, but also because she didn’t have strong enough convictions, to have to report and prove a case of child neglect, and getting social workers involved – which is always unpredictable.
It’s a very grilling process, and never a decision made lightly – God, don’t I know it!
Not until many, many years later, when things got so out of control at home and I was desperate, did I take that great risk and done all those things by opening up; using my love and protection over my sisters as a primary force coming forward.
I wasn’t at all sure of my ground, or where the outcome may lead me; I only knew what was happening for us wasn’t right, and it needed to stop so that things could change and get better.
I never felt so alone in all my life, and you must remember it felt like a form of betrayal; I thought exposing this truth would let my family down and cause them to disown or hate me.
Worse yet, things could remain as they did and I’m quite sure it wouldn’t have been long before I found the nearest exit and ended my life.
It was incredibly toxic and abusive, yet I loved these people very much – so it was a very overwhelming place to find yourself; not to mention, being so young.
Afterwards, it certainly broke down the family dynamic more, what with us kids going into the care system, being under the social workers watchful eyes; Mum’s relationship with Tony beginning to deteriorate, and the whole change causing much speculation in my relatives towards me as the first informer…
Many thought I was simply attention seeking, acting out or doing all this to get some “better gain”. All very ridiculous assumptions, of course.
What would I achieve by only bringing more hurt?
By the time my sister Maria and I reached out at that youth club, it all happened instinctually and under a great deal of panicked emotion; we didn’t for one second foresee that we’d have to be interviewed by police officers, be brought to the hospital where our bodies were examined for bruising and signs of child abuse, and of course being introduced to the social working team that would change our lives…
We only wanted to get away after a violent outburst with the adults, who demonstrated their discipline on Maria and me after playing up at a summer camp; never expecting the consequences that came after for all the family…
When I saw Tony slap Maria hard across the face and she fell to the floor (seen from my bedroom, as I sat crying on the bunkbed), that was the last straw for me.
It had me quick up on my feet and ready to run away; there wasn’t any time to think!
I remember strongly saying to myself: “No way! This is wrong…enough!”
Despite probably disappointing my family and making a selfish act, I don’t regret having confronted harsh truths if it meant doing what was best for mine and my sister’s safety and well-being!
No adult around us was doing that for us, or thinking about that first, and besides all to the contrary: how we were being treated was uncalled for and especially cruel!
We deserved to be treated better than we did; we were only children, and any human being only ever learns from making mistakes…
While we’re discussing this, I would like to point out that no one child has to react the same so such situations; it affected Maria, Cindy and myself all very differently. In converse, our outward behavioural reactions may have been unique, and our thoughts about it all, but ultimately it was equally troublesome and traumatic. What’s more, my sisters and I accepted this earlier treatment from our caregivers as the norm; something to be expected when we were badly behaving.
These experiences do leave a long-lasting impression.
Even today, I’m nearly sure my sisters believe it was tolerable. They weren’t raised any differently, and so they became conditioned and understood that as their appropriate punishment.
Sadly, this isn’t at all uncommon – especially parents from our older generation acting it out!
I’m pretty sure if you asked my sisters about their experience of growing up, you would probably most receive a very different interpretation to mine. And I can see why…
Maria and Cindy were certainly more attached to their parents and got more of their affections; in my case, it was tough love and being a man of the house – which I understand had well intentions…
I was fortunate, in that I received much of the love and support I needed – to feel secure and wanted – from my grandmothers.
In saying that, I don’t mean to imply that Mum and Tony didn’t love me in their hearts; quite the contrary!
I’m simply acknowledging that they were unable to provide that love when I most needed it (as a kid growing up and forming his sense of the world).
Interestingly, it wasn’t until my sisters and I went into the care system that I, myself, developed new insights into family life and how they operate, particularly having a better understanding on what makes one healthy and another dysfunctional – while equally sharing their own troubles.
Unfortunately, nobody could ever explain to me “why” …
I wanted to understand the underlying cause for actions under my roof, since it couldn’t just be that parents believe, in their hearts, that corporal punishment works and solves much as a method to have their children really respect them.
If anything, what it really does is instil fear in minors and sends mixed signals; later on causing young people to develop unhealthy attachments and destructive habits, bottling up their angers and resentment, and building strong dislikes towards authority figures – starting with their caregivers as models for that.
These are all phases I, myself, am sure to have experienced as a young teenager.
I imagine it can bring up different kind of reactions for different people.
Luckily for me; enriching friendships, and being exposed to different forms of life, really opened my eyes.
But yes, I always questioned why in the back of my mind; why things had to be the way they were, and why I thought I deserved such treatment at the time…
From me, I have a poor explanation for it. It’s because I was brainwashed, based on a ritual of behaviours seen and experienced frequently, but more so it’s due to having such an undying love for my family, and trusting that they knew best.
I remember many times Mum and Tony yelling out: “This is the way our mam and dad taught us!” before receiving a wallop from either their hands, the belt or a wooden spoon, etc.
And from me to you here, I completely sympathize with the pain and suffering they must have experienced as children, too. I couldn’t possibly throw blame on them alone, since it was a method of punishment they only knew too well (by it being put on them from their own parents).
From what I gathered, discipline styles like these seem to repeat itself through the ages, and a cycle that can be difficult to break if much anger issues go unresolved, for parents and children alike.
Some suggest it’s a generational problem, due to one’s poor education and guidance, but I would dispute this view strongly.
Extreme forms of discipline, and the consequences of those practices, can show up in any social class type, and parents from all age groups.
But back to me. It took many years – until I became my own man, really, and educated myself – that I actually developed some genuine compassion and forgiveness for the people of my past.
I carried much judgement and heavy disappointment towards my mother, since I loved her so deeply and needed things from her that she couldn’t give. Worst of all, I had a father (my biological link) who was barely part of my life, or crossing my mind with care; I was so caught up in the everyday that he didn’t yet measure expectation. Those concerns would crop up much later.
Despite Tony’s faults and limitations, he certainly filled that fatherly role, at most in practical terms.
Overall, it was undoubtedly a very complex way to grow up – and all for the better!
It’s saying something that I always found things to make me smile. It’s as if the spirit within always had a way of accounting for things, and catching sight of those wonderful things to come.
Children can be very resilient, and my sisters and I no doubt were.
Our experiences and hardships made us all the more strong, despite what anyone may say!
We are human; comprising within us both potential to do good and bad things, with a mind so creative it can transform one’s way of both seeing and living life. There are no certainties; only possibilities!
It’s peculiar, isn’t it?
Once I had so much anger and frustration towards those that raised me; now exists only compassion.
Now – now at last – I can see how exhausting that must have been; carrying around that burden, not letting my past go and giving it wings.
It’s understandable, of course, why I’d feel as I did – but I just wasn’t willing to forget.
I was too stubborn with everybody, because all they really wanted was to put it out of mind and pretend it never happened.
This habit became very typical in my family, under a variety of challenges.
All this only fuelled my sense of abandonment more, and brought my daily progress to feel like a losing battle. It’s because all I really wanted was some closure, which my family were unable to give – and that was a tough realization to come to grips with.
The only real things that were going to help, with this pain and accepting things as they were (because these were emotional hurts I was experiencing) was time and some faith in something.
These signs of hope would emerge much closer in time than I expected to receive them!