Post by contrary on Jul 9, 2016 18:04:42 GMT -8
I don't know if covert incest is what happened to me.
My mom was a pious Catholic woman whose 20+ year marriage was crumbling because of the sexual deviance of her husband. She wouldn't engage in some of the sexual activity he sought; she would only concede to unprotected, vaginal intercourse. Then she found his condoms. He was cheating on her. She fell into a depression and at one point decided to drive her car into a tree, until God planted a funny thought in her head and saved her. Then she had sex with her husband and conceived me in an attempt to save her marriage. He didn't want any more kids (they'd already raised two boys) and left her for the woman down the street.
She continued suffering from depression in my early years but God gave her me and that ultimately saved her life. She did her best to give me every opportunity to grow into a saint, despite being the daughter of a single parent and not having a strong man in my life.
I've known this story as far back as I can remember. I don't remember the conversations where she told me these things, but I know they were frequent topics of conversation. I subsequently discovered she brought my dad to court for sexually molesting me. She won custody. (I do not have any memory of being molested by him and after some time of therapy have concluded he didn't).
When I was young, she worked during the day and sent me to her friends' houses to take care of me. I was afraid every night (maybe because of the nightly stories she read to me about young girl martyrs resisting the devil...martyrs who died protecting their virginity left a particularly strong impression). So I would ask to sleep in her bed, and I did until I was 8 years old.
I remember having big conversations with her at a very young age. She told me about her neglectful, alcoholic mother. About her brother beating her and her siblings. About how her family hated her for trying to tell them about Jesus. How they shut her out.
When I was 8 years old a man proposed to her. She told me she wanted to give me a father and to have someone to support us so she could home school me, and be sure my curriculum was consistent with the Catholic doctrine. She asked me if I was okay with her saying yes to the proposal. I cried and said yes.
They got married. I could no longer sleep in her bed. She told me it was her responsibility to sleep in his bed with him, and without me. I was seethingly jealous. I asked her if she had sex with him (again, I'd known what sex was as far back as I can remember) and she got upset and told me it was not my business.
During the day, she home schooled me. At night, stomach aches were a constant. I would wake her up and drag her out of their room. My step father would be annoyed. I'd ask her to rub my back and eventually the stomach ache would end when I threw up.
They divorced after 3 years. We moved into a shelter, she told me because my much older brother wouldn't let us live with him and his wife and kids. My brother seemed like just another man who should have taken care of us and didn't. I was furious for my poor mom. We continued moving around but slept in the same room until I think I was 12 years old, when she told me I wasn't allowed to anymore. I would cry, have stomach aches. She would stay up and pray by me.
She would tell me I had bedroom eyes, like my father. When she was angry at me, she would tell me I was just like the men who had hurt her.
I hit puberty, made friends, started detaching from her. It was the first time I remember feeling like a separate person from her. We would have huge blow up fights about my clothes or her not letting me "hang out" with my friends ("hanging out" meant idle hands which could lead to bad behavior). I told her I hated her, normal teenage stuff, she stopped hugging me.
I begged her to let me go to high school and she acquiesced. I met a boy and inherently knew I couldn't tell her about him. I still don't know how much of the reason was the Church vs. her wanting to keep me to herself vs. her wanting to keep me away from men, who are sexual. But I snuck out to meet him at the park. We would sit on the bench and hold hands. Then I discovered she was following me to the park and watching me in her car. I was furious. She said holding hands would lead to sex.
I escaped to college and with the exception of when I had appendicitis did not spend a single night under the same roof as her again. She moved into the town where my college was. She begged me to move into a house with her. I refused. She bought a house and said she'd rent it out to me and other students for cheap. So I lived there. She constantly told me I should let her move in. I realized the house was an attempt to manipulate me into living with her. I said no. I told her I was moving out of the house, that I wanted nothing to do with it. She said not to, that it could be my inheritance. I was insistent that I didn't want anything from her, and she sold the house.
She continues in my adulthood to try everything she can to manipulate me into living with her, including making herself homeless. And it's this experience that has me looking back and questioning so much of what happened when I was a kid.
I bounce between rage at her and guilt for being selfish and not taking care of her. I am anxious, sad, I isolate. In college I was a dancer. Now I don't have the capacity for anything outside of my job and my boyfriend. And despite my boyfriend being wonderful, I vacillate between swelling affection towards him and crippling distrust, which I keep wrapped tightly inside. I don't know what healthy eating looks like - I'm either binging, over eating, or dieting.
If you read this novella, thanks. When I even approach the topic of my mother in therapy I burst into tears and can't process anything. I do think the therapy is helping, or at least the act of going means...something, but its slow going. I don't know if what happened to me is covert incest but based on what I've read I think treating it like it was might help me feel better.
(And a voice in my head immediately tells me that's stupid).
My mom was a pious Catholic woman whose 20+ year marriage was crumbling because of the sexual deviance of her husband. She wouldn't engage in some of the sexual activity he sought; she would only concede to unprotected, vaginal intercourse. Then she found his condoms. He was cheating on her. She fell into a depression and at one point decided to drive her car into a tree, until God planted a funny thought in her head and saved her. Then she had sex with her husband and conceived me in an attempt to save her marriage. He didn't want any more kids (they'd already raised two boys) and left her for the woman down the street.
She continued suffering from depression in my early years but God gave her me and that ultimately saved her life. She did her best to give me every opportunity to grow into a saint, despite being the daughter of a single parent and not having a strong man in my life.
I've known this story as far back as I can remember. I don't remember the conversations where she told me these things, but I know they were frequent topics of conversation. I subsequently discovered she brought my dad to court for sexually molesting me. She won custody. (I do not have any memory of being molested by him and after some time of therapy have concluded he didn't).
When I was young, she worked during the day and sent me to her friends' houses to take care of me. I was afraid every night (maybe because of the nightly stories she read to me about young girl martyrs resisting the devil...martyrs who died protecting their virginity left a particularly strong impression). So I would ask to sleep in her bed, and I did until I was 8 years old.
I remember having big conversations with her at a very young age. She told me about her neglectful, alcoholic mother. About her brother beating her and her siblings. About how her family hated her for trying to tell them about Jesus. How they shut her out.
When I was 8 years old a man proposed to her. She told me she wanted to give me a father and to have someone to support us so she could home school me, and be sure my curriculum was consistent with the Catholic doctrine. She asked me if I was okay with her saying yes to the proposal. I cried and said yes.
They got married. I could no longer sleep in her bed. She told me it was her responsibility to sleep in his bed with him, and without me. I was seethingly jealous. I asked her if she had sex with him (again, I'd known what sex was as far back as I can remember) and she got upset and told me it was not my business.
During the day, she home schooled me. At night, stomach aches were a constant. I would wake her up and drag her out of their room. My step father would be annoyed. I'd ask her to rub my back and eventually the stomach ache would end when I threw up.
They divorced after 3 years. We moved into a shelter, she told me because my much older brother wouldn't let us live with him and his wife and kids. My brother seemed like just another man who should have taken care of us and didn't. I was furious for my poor mom. We continued moving around but slept in the same room until I think I was 12 years old, when she told me I wasn't allowed to anymore. I would cry, have stomach aches. She would stay up and pray by me.
She would tell me I had bedroom eyes, like my father. When she was angry at me, she would tell me I was just like the men who had hurt her.
I hit puberty, made friends, started detaching from her. It was the first time I remember feeling like a separate person from her. We would have huge blow up fights about my clothes or her not letting me "hang out" with my friends ("hanging out" meant idle hands which could lead to bad behavior). I told her I hated her, normal teenage stuff, she stopped hugging me.
I begged her to let me go to high school and she acquiesced. I met a boy and inherently knew I couldn't tell her about him. I still don't know how much of the reason was the Church vs. her wanting to keep me to herself vs. her wanting to keep me away from men, who are sexual. But I snuck out to meet him at the park. We would sit on the bench and hold hands. Then I discovered she was following me to the park and watching me in her car. I was furious. She said holding hands would lead to sex.
I escaped to college and with the exception of when I had appendicitis did not spend a single night under the same roof as her again. She moved into the town where my college was. She begged me to move into a house with her. I refused. She bought a house and said she'd rent it out to me and other students for cheap. So I lived there. She constantly told me I should let her move in. I realized the house was an attempt to manipulate me into living with her. I said no. I told her I was moving out of the house, that I wanted nothing to do with it. She said not to, that it could be my inheritance. I was insistent that I didn't want anything from her, and she sold the house.
She continues in my adulthood to try everything she can to manipulate me into living with her, including making herself homeless. And it's this experience that has me looking back and questioning so much of what happened when I was a kid.
I bounce between rage at her and guilt for being selfish and not taking care of her. I am anxious, sad, I isolate. In college I was a dancer. Now I don't have the capacity for anything outside of my job and my boyfriend. And despite my boyfriend being wonderful, I vacillate between swelling affection towards him and crippling distrust, which I keep wrapped tightly inside. I don't know what healthy eating looks like - I'm either binging, over eating, or dieting.
If you read this novella, thanks. When I even approach the topic of my mother in therapy I burst into tears and can't process anything. I do think the therapy is helping, or at least the act of going means...something, but its slow going. I don't know if what happened to me is covert incest but based on what I've read I think treating it like it was might help me feel better.
(And a voice in my head immediately tells me that's stupid).