My Mother was a strong fighter. She fought a constant battle on the
battle ground of doubt. How could she have known, how could she have
accepted… That she was picked by her Sadomasochist mate because of her
strong battle with doubt. She was already waging a war against doubt
when he married her. But he picked her out of the prime of her life, out
of her strongest most alive moment. He picked her to become his groomed
doubtful victim. This was not a role she accepted easily. In-fact I
believe he had so much more then he ever bargained for. My Mother was a
fighter, she fought with great strength and will. Even as my father used
gas-lighting and manipulations to corrode at my Mothers confidence she
fought fiercely against doubt. I saw her fighting against the doubt and I
admired her. But then my dad taught me to see her another way. He
taught me to see her as a bad and neglectful wife. He taught me to view
the fights as my Mothers problem. He taught me to resent and hate my
Mother for defending herself against the constant attacks on her doubt.
My Mother was never stronger in her fight against doubt then she was
when I was a young teen. Right after I tried to report my father. I was
traumatized so I would disassociate and try to crawl in my skin when my
mother was fiercely defending herself against my fathers war on her
doubt. I just wanted the fighting to stop. I had already been broken. I
viewed her resistance as wrong.
This is the brutal moment when my father took control of his
daughters. We all stood firmly on his side of the war. We stood in
unison blaming my Mother for my fathers attacks on her doubt. We stood
in unison begging my Mother to be a good wife and stop fighting against
my father. But her strength, and her fire, and her fight would not
subside. She was always more then my dad bargained for. She held her
ground and fought alone. She decided it might be prudent for her to get a
divorce. As far as I know her church leaders recommended against it. I
know the community she was surrounded in frowned on it greatly. But
still she was bold enough to consider divorce as an option.
But my father would not be beaten so easily. He saw the workings in
her mind, he saw her consider the option of divorce, and he attacked her
with it. My dad declared he wanted a divorce. My dad went to his church
leaders and regaled them with horrible stories about all the reasons he
was justified in getting a divorce. My dad became the victim. But this
was not his only weapon. Me and my sisters were brought into the battle.
My father had been manipulating us and grooming us until we were
primed and ready to play like puppets in his parade. I followed my older
sisters, because I needed my older sisters. They declared with
confidence and fight that they would rather go with dad then with mom,
in million years. My sisters stood on his side of the battle field and
declared that my mother was an abuser. My sisters declared that my
father was one of the best dads. My sisters declared that they would
stand before the divorce court asking to be placed with our dad. My
sisters were willing to tell of my mothers many abuses in order to get
what they wanted, to live with dad.
My dads church leaders recommended that my father move out for a
while, a temporary separation. This was so that all those involved could
see if being separate suited them both.
My dad got an apartment in the ward next to ours. It was scandalous
to us. Would dad go to Church at the ward next door, alone? Would
everyone in the ward next door know that my parents might be getting a
divorce? Would the kids at school know? So my dad was benevolent… Though
the ward next door could see him going and coming from his own
apartment, he did not go there. My dad went to our church. He came and
sat at the back of the room, decisively apart from my mother. My mother
sat at the front of the chapel on the right, the whole congregations
eyes boring into the back of her head. My dad came in at last minuet
before it started on the left and sat in the back. This is when it
happened… This is when my sisters got up and went and sat with my dad.
I sat by my mother and felt the eyes of the congregation boring into
the back of my head. Every week it became a conflict. Where are you
going to sit Jeanine. Are you going to sit with your dad, or with your
Mother? I regret to say that I remember sitting with my dad. I became
one of the eyes behind my Mothers head, looking at her. Her
vulnerability was easy to see. Her doubt, and aloneness, sat there with
her. I felt strongly like I was betraying her. But I needed my sisters
so much.
I found out in horror that we were suppose to go and stay with my dad
at his apartment. To my sisters it was all an exciting adventure. They
had some pocket money from dad. We walked across the busy street after
school, went to the 7-11. We spent some pocket money and then walked up
to that strange apartment building. I felt this pressing, haunting dread
the closer we got to it. But my sisters did not dread, they laughed,
joked, even rejoiced because we were “winning”.
The apartment was barren. Nothing was in the one bedroom apartment
except for a mattress. A mattress on the floor in my dads one bedroom.
We were suppose to stay with him but where would we stay? Surly not in
his one bedroom? Where would we sleep? Surly not on his mattress? I felt
fear clamping my lungs. My sisters looked in the fridge, nothing, that
must be why dad gave us pocket money. I felt caged, I wanted to escape. I
looked out the window and I could see horses at ease and peace in a
farmers pasture next door. I longed to be with those horses. I longed to
be out there and free.
My dad came home. Took me with him to the store to get some food, was
kind and friendly and happy. I tried to get past my dread, I tried to
feel comfortable. When we were checking out I saw him staring longingly
at a photo of a beautiful fully dressed lady on the cover of a magazine.
The checker was running our items across the scanner, which included
ice-cream, I was excited about that. I looked up and said to my dad.
“You wish mom was more like her don’t you? Maybe if you get a divorce
you can marry someone beautiful like her.” My dad was startled and
pulled out of his trance. The checker looked agape at my dad and me, she
had heard what I said loud and clear. We quickly checkout and I could
tell I had upset my father. Once in the car he said “You should not say
such things around people we know.” He did not deny what I said. He did
not say my impression was wrong. He just told me I should not tell
others that is what he thought.
We slept that night in the middle of the front room, on sleeping
bags. I was so afraid. I insisted that I sleep in the middle between my
two sisters. When the ravenous wolves came in the middle of the night
they would attack them first. Maybe even my sisters could defend me
against such attacks, they were good defenders. No, it was not wolves
I was afraid of, but that was the level of my fear. My sisters slept.
But I did not. I kept up a strong vigil as long as I could manage. I
listened to my fathers every move, every breath. He got up to go to the
bathroom, and I believe he sensed that I was not asleep, that I was on
strong guard. I was not attacked that night, and my sisters stayed
safely by my side. I do not remember ever sleeping there again, though
my sisters did.
At some point the manipulation worked. My mother gave into the battle
of doubt. I believe she came to the conclusion that being separate did
not suite her, my dad made it too miserable. The fighting subsided, dad
came home, and we became the perfect happy family…. From the outside.
