My Inner Child Rages Against J.D. Vance

 

My insides have been churning like a boiling cauldron about to spill over.  It’s my inner child silently screaming “No, no, no, no more hurting children like that!”  Vance is the Republican candidate for an Ohio Senate seat.  He believes that people should stay in a marriage even if it’s unhappy and, worse, even if there is domestic violence (DV).  He seems to believe that children are better off growing up with DV than they would be if their parents got divorced. https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2022/07/jd-vance-violent-marriages

My inner child screams: How can he say this?  He says he was a witness to domestic violence in his own family.  What is wrong with him?

And: I grew up with domestic violence.  My brother and I saw our parents attack each other physically when they drank.  Trying to intervene didn’t work.  Hiding shut out the sights but not the sounds.  I locked myself in my bedroom and turned up the music as loud as it would go.  My brother took to roaming the neighborhood.

And:  One time the fight was so violent, we both ran from the house and took refuge with our next-door neighbors.  We lived in a row house and we could hear the crashing, punching, slapping and screaming through the wall.  Heads down, we felt fear and shame.  No one spoke about the noise.  The neighbors didn’t call the police.  So, was this normal?

And: I had to call the police during a violent brawl.  Both my parents were bleeding from wounds they’d inflicted on each other.  Two policemen arrived and were instantly uncomfortable when they realized my parents were Deaf.  One turned to me and said: “You don’t want us to arrest them, do you?”

Yes, I did.  But I didn’t say it.  Instead, I asked, “Can’t you make them stop?”

He answered: “Why don’t you leave the house for a while?  They’ll stop eventually.”

So. This explains the effects domestic violence has on children. https://www.marriage.com/advice/domestic-violence-and-abuse/effects-of-domestic-violence-on-children/

My mother had an undiagnosed mental illness.  She could fly into scary rages, turning into a red faced blazing eyed demon right before our very eyes when my brother and I were little.  I was afraid of her.  I would try to hide and that just enraged her even more.  She would hit or punch us.  This would happen when my dad was at work. 

What was wrong with her?  I have no clue because she never received any real help.  Many times, she was depressed in addition to being angry.  She tried to commit suicide a couple of times.  The first time, I called the operator to get help but my dad took the phone away and hung up.  It was too embarrassing to ask for help.  She had taken a bottle of pills so my dad and I dragged her semi-conscious self around the house until she woke up.

When I was much younger, we lived on Long Island.  My beloved Grandma, my safe place to fall, was a short drive away.  We were surrounded by my mother’s loving relatives: my aunts, uncles, and cousins.  I stayed with my Grandma frequently on the weekends and didn’t like to go home.  None of the family realized what was happening with Mom.  We seemed to be the perfect little nuclear family.  It was comforting to know that there were places I could feel safe, even if no one knew what was really happening.

When we moved to Baltimore, my brother and I lost the love and support of our extended family.  We were on our own.  My parents started going to a social club for the Deaf and began drinking excessively.  That’s when the violence between them began.

My brother and I are not who we are supposed to be.  My inner child was left behind when I was still very young.  Our personalities changed.  Both of us developed PTSD although it wasn’t recognized then.  Only soldiers who’d been in combat suffered from recurring memories.  It was a shock to both of us to be diagnosed late in age (50s).  Our therapists had to explain: you’ve been in a combat situation yourselves.

As a teenager, I became reclusive and introverted.  I had friends but did not want to invite them over.  I didn’t want to go out, either.  If I stayed home, maybe I could keep my parents from fighting.  When my dad would come in from work with a case of beer, I’d begin trembling. I couldn’t reach out to anyone because “don’t ever tell” was a family rule.  Don’t think.  Don’t feel.

I was depressed.  I began to have panic attacks and thought I was losing my mind.  I explained to my parents what was happening and asked to see a doctor.  They were horrified.  No way!  Everyone will find out.  Oh, the shame!  I finally got counseling and medication to manage the attacks when I was out of high school and working.

My brother?  He quit school when he was 16.  He began drinking, smoking and running with a neighborhood gang.  He didn’t want to be home at all.  He would be out of the house for hours and hours.  I envied him but I couldn’t do any of it myself.  I had to be the “hero”.

My brother and I have talked about our growing up years a few times.  He has no happy memories of childhood.  I remember my loving Grandma; he doesn’t.  He doesn’t remember our father taking us to the beach to give our unhappy mother a break.  He doesn’t remember the family gatherings we had with our Long Island relatives.  He is angry and bitter.  I feel sad.  I don’t know how to help him other than to keep loving him.  He’s been married three times.  I don’t know what his home life was like and what my niece may or may not have witnessed.

I have been in and out of counseling for years.  I’ve been to 12 step meetings.  These have been enlightening and have helped me change behaviors I witnessed but don’t want to repeat.  I still have memories come up that enrage me.  When I heard about J.D. Vance’s comments, I felt rage building as memories began flashing back.

J.D. Vance, if you were victimized by domestic violence, how were you affected?  Did witnessing what you did normalize it for you?  Is that why you expressed such ignorance and insensitivity with your comments?

My inner child wants you to know she became lost with all that she was forced to see.  My inner child would have preferred to live in a divorced family.  Being poor and hungry would have been preferable to living in fear, wondering when it would happen next.