Bentley, my 3 year old, is so inquisitive. He loves to explore, he loves to ask questions and he loves to know and examine all that is around him. Come along for a car drive with us and he will let you know everything we drive by and all the details about it. It’s the best.
Over the last few weeks he’s been noticing our bathroom door and how there is a part that is patched together.
He keeps asking me what happened to the door and each time I tell him that it was broken by someone that used to live here. I have left it at that and changed the subject to something else and we continued on with our day. What I can’t tell him is that it’s broken because it was kicked in when I locked myself in there….
Him bringing it up has brought up memories that I have long buried and had chosen not to think about in the past. I know now that feeling all the feelings is acceptable and okay and the only way to heal and I have allowed myself to go back to that day, to that moment a few times. It isn’t pleasant and I really need to plan on the times I want to rehash many days but I do know it is healthy to feel even though now I feel so much shame.
I remember that night so well. It was after 4 days of continuous drinking and he was sobering up. He had realized that I had his keys, phone, wallet hidden and there was no alcohol and no pills anywhere to be found in the house and he was pissed. There weren’t many nights that I was truly scared about my safety but that night was one of them, and after too much I needed to just be in a safe place.
Thinking back now, leaving the house wasn’t even an option I considered. I had my keys and could have run outside and driven away but the consequence of doing that, and the repercussions of that, would have been way worse than whatever was about to happen so locking myself in the bathroom (the only room with a lock) was the best I could do at that time.
The thing that I question often now is – why did I not think that was scary? Why did I think that I deserved to live like that?
There were many things being yelled at me through the door, many that aren’t worth repeating, but the thing that stands out to me the most is how all of a sudden he went from an angry attacker to the victim. He started asking why I was treating him like this, how I could act so selfish. He was able to turn the entire situation around to it being my fault?
And then it switched back…the door was kicked in and I was removed from the bathroom. And the next day he glued the door back together and it was never talked about again.
When I think back to that version of myself and what I accepted and thought was okay, gosh I just want to give her the biggest hug.
