“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” ~Anne Lamott
To say I had a tough life would be a gross understatement. Growing up in a strict Catholic Italian family I endured my fair share of emotional and physical abuse. I was unloved and suffered great violence at the hands of both my parents, mostly my father.
No one ever talked about this. On the outside, we were the ‘perfect’ family. Both my parents had decent full time jobs; Mom was heavily involved in the church and was the pillar of the community. Everyone respected and liked my parents.
Growing Up Scared
I spent most of my teenage years terrified of my parents. I hated them and wished I had a normal mom and dad like my friends did. I craved love, compassion, and affection. I so desperately wanted a normal life.
I’ll admit, I wasn’t winning any “Teenager of the year” awards, but I’m sure my punishment never fit any crime I committed. Dad’s brutal force and mom’s lackadaisical attitude toward it all had me wishing I was dead. On many occasions.
I have very clear memories of dad storming downstairs into my bedroom after an evening shift at work, ripping off my blankets, pulling me by my leg out of bed, and whipping me. He stopped when he was tired.
I never knew when these random visits would happen. They just did.
I feared coming home after school, I feared when they came home from work, I feared bedtime.
Seeking Redemption
Long after I moved out and had a child of my own, my mom became parent of the year. No one ever spoke of the abuse. It happened. It was their normal. And life went on.
My mom finally became the mother I longed for. Dad wasn’t too far behind. Still unloving to me, he adored my child and with that, finally treated me somewhat like a human being. My parents would do anything for me and my son.
I welcomed these new parents into my life. Loving, supportive, caring, and affectionate. Mom became my best friend. Dad became a father figure to my son. I appreciated this, as I’d separated from Julian’s father when he was just eighteen months old and we never saw him again.
Through the Years
As time went on I maintained a very close relationship with my parents. With my father it was mostly for my son; with my mom, it was simply because I let bygones be bygones. I forgave them both and we just moved on.
I carried the trauma with me throughout my entire life. I spent a lot of time healing and growing. I needed to do that for me. I wasn’t the least bit interested in carrying all that heavy weight around. I had to learn to let it go. And I did.
I let it go through writing, much to my family’s dismay.
Finding My Voice
I can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but I discovered blogging. At first I was blogging about fun Feng Shui stuff. Then I slowly slipped into personal development, and there I found my voice.
I would share my stories and my readers would reply. They felt me. They totally got it. I wasn’t alone in my healing, and I realized that people desperately needed to hear my stories so they could heal too.
At first I would share stories of healing from bad relationships (Lord knows I had enough of them), and then I started sharing stories on self-confidence and self-love. The more I wrote, the more impact I was having on others.
I had found this voice that was helping people around the world, and I was more than happy to use it.
And Then It Was Time
I held back for the longest time on sharing my family trauma. I wasn’t sure. Should I or shouldn’t I? Will I hurt people? Will I help people? I struggled with this for years, until one day I finally put it out there.
I wrote of the trauma, the pain, and the abuse. I poured my heart out about the lack of love and encouragement in my childhood—two things every kid deserves from their parents. I spoke of random beatings and being terrified.
The replies and emails I received from people around the world shocked me. They thanked me for helping them forgive. They cried. They asked me how I did it and how they could let go and move forward.
Finally, something good was coming from all this pain. I was not only healing myself, but helping others heal too. The more I wrote, the more we all healed together. And it was a beautiful thing.
Not Everyone Shared My Enthusiasm
I was sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that none of my family would ever read my stuff. Surely none of them were open minded enough to read self-help stuff, especially mine. They didn’t read blogs.
They followed the news and immersed themselves in negativity and drama. They craved and hung on to misery and trauma. They’re not going to read anything from me ever. I was positive of this.
I was wrong.
Someone read a blog. I’m not sure who it was exactly, but I have my suspicions. A cousin perhaps. I’ll never know and at this point, it no longer matters. Someone read a blog and shared it with other members of the family.
It was a good one. It was a Mother’s Day blog, and I went on about how my mom wasn’t always the mother of the year. How she beat me and let my dad do the same. I talked about how not all moms deserve to be honored on this special day.
However, in my defense, I closed this piece with how my mom later became my best friend and the mom I had always longed for. No one read that part apparently.
I didn’t become aware that my relatives had read my post until my mom’s funeral in February of 2019.
My Final Goodbye
Mom had been suffering with Alzheimer’s for the last fifteen years. We were waiting for her to die. We wanted her suffering to hurry up and end. (Dad had passed away five years earlier).
I’ve been living in Guatemala for the last four years and hummed and hawed about whether or not I should return to Canada for her funeral. I had said goodbye to her when I left Canada.
Somewhat reluctantly, I made the decision to return, be with my sisters and family, and say my final farewell to mom. And besides, I hadn’t seen most of my family in a long time. I was looking forward to catching up with them.
That never happened.
Being Shunned at My Mother’s Funeral
I arrived in Canada and spent the first few days catching up with friends and two of my sisters. I was looking forward to seeing the rest of my family over the next two weeks. The day of mom’s funeral I knew I would see them all.
Not the best place for a family reunion, but isn’t that usually the way? Weddings and funerals?
I walked into the church and greeted a few people. Then my eldest sister walked in and brushed right past me, uttering a very brief and cold “oh, hello” as she continued to walk away. That’s odd, I thought. We’ve always been pretty close.
Then another family member walked by without even a word. Hmmm. And then another one. I was numb. What was going on?
We all congregated in the church for mom’s service, and the whole time I was confused and saddened by the fact that my family was shunning me. Why was this happening? Especially on this day?
The Final Straw
After the ceremony, we all headed to the basement of the church for fellowship. There, even more family members ignored me. I’d say hi, and they’d turn and walk away, leaving me standing with my heart broken and my jaw on the floor.
I still didn’t know why I was being treated like this, though I had my suspicions—that someone had read a blog. And sure enough, two days later, I found out.
My family members wanted to strangle me. They were disgusted with me. I embarrassed the family. I was a disgrace.
This is How We Heal
I spoke to no one after that aside from one sister. She understood.
I found my voice and lost my family. I learned how to use my voice to help others heal, but not everyone understands this or is ready to heal. Keeping family secrets is sometimes more important.
I long to have them back. But I realized this is also part of my healing, since it’s led me to release things and people that no longer serve me or my higher good.
It breaks my heart into a million pieces to know that my family will choose losing a relative over healing. It frustrates me to think that people would rather stay broken, tormented, and in silence than repair what needs to be fixed.
But I know I’ll never make them understand any of this, or grasp the concept that anger is toxic, negativity is poison, and only in love and forgiveness can we heal what hurts and move beyond the past.
What’s Your Story?
Too many of us keep our stories buried deep inside, afraid to share them with the world. Afraid of upsetting the apple cart. Embarrassing our families. We keep the trauma and the pain to ourselves, hiding behind secrets and drowning in shame.
I did that for years, but when I finally released the truth I was set free.
What’s your story? What family secrets and lies are you keeping buried deep inside that are tormenting your soul? It’s in talking about them and sharing our stories that we can heal from the pain.
It is also in sharing our stories of pain and recovery that we can help others find healing and freedom too. Generational curses can end when we speak up and speak out.
Always remember, the truth will set you free.
My Final Goodbye
My time with my family has come to an end. They are no longer part of my life (aside from a few). My heart is broken and I know without a doubt, this healing will take a bit longer, but it’s necessary.
I know how hard it is to forgive. I also know that some people will never choose forgiveness and would much rather live with anger and hate.
My wish and sincere hope is that one day, they will see that forgiveness will set them free.
About Iva Ursano
Iva is a self-help blogger from Ontario Canada who now resides in Guatemala. Her two goals in life are to inspire people around the world with her blogs and to feed hungry little bellies in the poor town she calls home. Sign up for weekly inspiration here or check out her self-help eBooks You Are Amazing. Her new course “The 21 Day Challenge” is now available. Use coupon code TINYBUDDHA for $60 off!!
Though I run this site, it is not mine. It's ours. It's not about me. It's about us. Your stories and your wisdom are just as meaningful as mine.
I rejoice for you, Iva. It takes courage to tell our hard truths. Unfortunately, I could relate to so much of your story. We both deserved to be loved, protected, and cherished as children. And, yet, my remarkably failed parents would also rise to the occasion when I ended up a single mother. They helped me co-parent my son. I was grateful that they loved and cared for him so much, but I couldn’t help but wonder if they had treated me the same, would I still be suffering from lifelong depression? Years after we were grown, my dad would finally admit to my mom, “I was a bastard to those girls when they were growing up.” He destroyed me and my sisters, and my mom, who could also swing a mean belt and failed to protect us, was complicit.
Thank you, Iva, for sharing your story. So, so resonate with you! I recently entered my story of my greatest love (music) in a contest to win music festival tickets thinking that, certainly, nobody in my family would read anything I had written. Though I didn’t point out to specific traumatic events, my story was threaded with the theme of childhood loneliness and disconnect and described how music was often my sole companion, confidant, and muse. Word got back to my mom, who questioned if I really felt that way growing up, basically, gaslighting my experience. That she chose the impersonal use of FB Messenger to inquire about this, as well as that any of this was a surprise to her, actually proves my point of the disconnect, and I told her as much. For the record, in the story when she was specifically mentioned, I had portrayed her as the “cool rock ‘n roll mom”, a persona that she still thrives on til this day, so I truly intended no harm. But I haven’t heard from her since replying to her questioning of my experience. Guess that about sums it up, right?! Also, I had a similar experience to yours when you went to your mother’s funeral, but for me it was at my sister’s wedding. I was not in the wedding (of course!) but was cold shouldered by everyone the entire time. My mother and my sister and cousins hardly acknowledged me the entire wedding event until it was over and my mom and cousin were leaving together. They were in the car and saying goodbye (to everyone, not specifically to me), but I was standing by the car’s door which was ajar on my mom’s side (probably a pathetic and last ditch attempt by me to have at least one connection during the occasion). My cousin, who was driving, started driving off while I was still standing directly behind the open door, from which I had to jump out of the way before it ran over me. They both just snickered and took off while I stood there shocked that they didn’t at least say “oops”. And after it occurred, nobody else in the wedding crowd acknowledged it (none of the bridesmaids talked to me, just sneered the whole day). It was like I was invisible. I’m still traumatized by that. So yeah …. keep telling your stories, sisters and brothers, because we all have them to tell and release, some of it toxic, holding us back, and needing to go! Thank you so much for validating what I suspected was true and for the encouragement to share our stories so that we can set them free and heal.
Missionary boarding school – physical and psychological abuse, along with bullying allowed to continue unchecked, neglect of physical and mental health issues.
Being honest with what happened has resulted in mostly negative responses- from “what did you expect, a hippie commune?” to trite “forgive and forget” from those that enabled the abusers.
How do I question my family about why they did nothing? Why I was left at the school after they became aware? My mother passed before I was able to acknowledge my treatment as abuse. Before I was able to ask about what she was thinking. My father was more absent when it came to the parenting, more involved with his missionary work. My older sisters- were they aware? We’re they conditioned by the school to believe that was “normal”?
I want at the very least, the school to acknowledge their failure – nothing can fix the emotional scars, the stunted emotional development. But just to say “we failed”, “we’re doing better” would make a difference.
Forgiveness is a long way away- possibly out of reach.
Oh, Iva, this could just about be my story, with a few tweaks. I have spoken about it to some people, and have toyed with the idea of writing about it for years, but have not yet had the courage. Your article is another pebble on the scale of “yes, do it.” thank you for sharing such a heartbreaking story. I always find it so hard to believe how cruel some parents can be to their children.
You are incredibly brave Many people simply will not accept that their families are not what families should be and spent their lives in denial. I was adopted by a person who should never even have been considered for adoption. He was outwardly ‘respectable’ teacher chapel deacon etc but thought the world revolved around him and his petty concerns and if he couldn’t get his own way, he shouted so loudly he could be heard by neighbours several doors away and was also physically abusive. I can only hope that people are more careful in future when they recommend someone for adoption and look way beyond the surface.
My parents can’t or wouldn’t understand why I hate my brothers because they bullied me plus my parents telling me to shut up; therefore, cutting off any kind of communication; however, they still believe that family is important. It is amazing how parents and kids live with each other for nearly 20 years and yet, the parents still don’t know anything about their kids and/or can’t talk to them about anything or everything.
Iva, our stories are very similar. I have refrained from sharing my story publicly because my father is still alive and has narcissistic personality disorder. My mother died 6 months ago and even though my parents were divorced 25 years ago my father went into a narcissistic rage against me and blamed me for things I didn’t do or say but his entire family believed him…shunning me. My siblings know the truth and we are closer than ever. I still live in fear of my father as a 42 year old woman. I share my story with those who will receive it. I do not share it publically because of the abuse that follows. I have walked away from that side of the family and am grieving the loss of many. Thank you for your courage in sharing your story. It gives me hope that one day I will be able to do the same.
Thank you so much for sharing your story and giving hope! I started sharing my story too. I was raped two times, once at the age of 14 and once at the age of 15 and even if i know that it wasn’t my fault i still feel guilty and ashamed. My parents weren’t that big help, as they have their own problems. My dad is bipolar and has an alcohol problem. I tried telling him after the first rape but he just got drunk… so I repressed and never talked about it to anyone else. Now I really struggle with letting people get close in relationships. At the moment I am in a relationship but I have the strong feeling that I need to flee because I can’t let him any closer…
Oh nonono, I am not good at forgiveness. Pettyness, emptyness, lies Ontop of packs of lies and lies. You cannot befriend a father that lives for himself, emptyness, pettyness, weird status vanity… Why am I like this to begin with? I could care less about family at this point I just want inner peace without the staggering hopeless precarious feeling, of having to rely emotionally on anyone (Jesus they will fuck you)
Hi Iva. Always remember that you did nothing wrong. It hurts when family shuns somebody, especially when that person was the victim and so scared their whole childhood. You did the right thing speaking out, healing through your writing and helping other victims to come into the light. You are an inspiration. You are a hero. Keep smiling. Julian has the best mom in the world. 🙂
You are an amazing, strong, wise person. You rose above so much. Thank you for sharing.
As long as we continue to identify ourselves with abuse by saying ‘my abuse’ we will continue to be abused. Technically, we didn’t do this to ourselves and we don’t own it, but it owns us as long as we choose to identify with it and make it part of us. Suffering and happiness are conscious choices we make. Everyday choose to be happy and healthy. Everyday you are happy, successful and fulfilled you prove the narrative that they have written for you and your life to be false – even if only to yourself, the most important person in your life. It’s the same with illness – my cancer, my heart attack. As soon as the determination is made not to own it any more, then we give permission to ourselves to heal and move on. We are not abuse, we are love and all good things. We chose our families and this life before we were born. This is our karma. I was the family scapegoat and suffered with two parents who were narcissists – one malicious and the other covert. Like you, I extracted myself from a toxic family situation because I deserved a better life. Like you, I was hated for giving that life to myself, refusing to allow the abuse to continue. Sometimes it takes oceans and continents. We are hated because we not only survived, but we thrived and did well despite their best efforts. We grew a spine, stood up and took control and wrote the real story of our own lives. Those who refuse to love and protect us are the flying monkeys of the abuser. The aides and abettors of the abuser(s). They never were loving parents, friends, siblings or relatives, making them no great loss to us or our lives. They are weakling followers, we are dependent and strong. They fear and hate us because we are not afraid to speak truth. After all, we have nothing and no one left to lose when we finally stop living their lie. Create your own family and circle of friends by selectively choosing those who love and like you for who you are. The past can not be changed but the future is created in the now. Use your life experience as the wellspring of love and wisdom in supporting others. You are Iva, you are love.
Thank you for sharing your story!! It truly frees us xo
Thank you for reading and your comment and you are so right, some people should not be eligible to be adoptive parents. I think they need stricter screening 🙁
Oh please yes do it but only when your heart tells you it’s time. It took a long time for me to finally do it. xo Thank you for reading and for your comment. Please email me when you finally write your story xoxo
Thank you for sharing your story and I totally understand where you are coming from. oxox
Forgiveness is so hard Natalie and I’m so sorry for everything you went through. But please don’t discount forgiveness. It’s something you have to do for you, not them, so you can move on. <3 Sending you so much love. xo
I totally get that but remember, you forgive for yourself, for that inner peace you want, not for them. xoxo
That’s so true!! Some people prefer to leave everything brushed under the rug..out of sight out of mind
Thank you so much for your words and advice Iva! I hope someday I’m able to have a working relationship.
So much love back, thank you for your brave way of opening up about your life! Stay strong!
Thank you so much Kathy. I hope my story helps others heal and find their voice! xo
Awe thanx so much. I hope others can heal through my stories xo
I’m so sorry to hear this Melli. Sometimes I just write out my feelings and not share them and that helps me heal too. You could also try writing a ‘truth letter’ to yourself and the people who hurt you to help you release your feelings and move on in peace. Sending you so much love xoxo
It is also about parents trying to maintain the image of a good family especially in front of their friends and fellow workers. They don’t want to let their problems be air out in public.
Thank you for reading and for your heartfelt comment. I appreciate you ❤
You have accepted and found your positive way, despite your experiences; and did what you unfortunately must, to free those who can appreciate what you have undoubtedly been through. Jolly Well Done, and keep going, as you only ever should.
I have kept my story hidden for a long time. Should my kids know how abusive their father was? I don’t know the answer to that. The quote at the top really resonated with me- “If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better” so true. I kept my story inside basically to not upset anyone, but why? Great article- it really got me thinking. Thanks.
Sadly, not all parents are meant to be parents and I realized this in the most painful way. Yesterday I told my parents that I was molested when I was a child by my mother’s own brother. Actually, I have no intention of telling them, I’ve been bottling and battling this pain for almost 30 years. I just exploded yesterday as they kept on asking me why I don’t want THAT person to hire to clear the aftermath of Typhoon Ursula, and against my better judgment, I blurted out why. Then a pregnant silence ensued after that. My mother mustered to ask “Why you did not tell me?” as if it is my fault that the child me was not empowered enough to tell them. My father changed the topic to some mundane things about the typhoon and life goes on. Now I am batshit crazy, I never felt this abandoned, as if my own parents diminished all the hurt and pain that I been suffering for years. To further add salt to my freshly opened wound, they go on hiring that person and now every minute of my life, I see that person and I keep on dying inside, no, I feel dead inside already. So, I packed my bags and left home, maybe for good. I cannot live with the thought that my parents did nothing after learning the truth and I was right of not telling them before, my child self would not have handled it well, shit, I am not even sure if my adult self now can handle this.
Like the movie “Mommy Dearest” the kids were show accessories.
It’s true Raine b, you don’t even have to let them know you forgive them (even if partially at first) because it’s for you. Try to think of how bad they must hurt to commit things against a child, or that they weren’t born with love in their heart, or that they were treated the same as a child…maybe just feel sorry for their shortcomings in being a good person. Maybe then took let in a little forgiveness because they don’t know how to Show love and grateful that you yourself are not like them.
Iva, not the exact same as your experience but similar, is a book called “Spilled Milk” by K L Randis. The author is probably only in her 30’s now. What a brave child she was to stand up for herself, then later write a book about her childhood although her family did not support her in doing so. I’m so sorry you weren’t blessed with loving parents like every baby and child deserves! Keep telling your truth & helping others.
Yvonne Davis
What if someone wanted to write or blog about their family and their experience and just changed the names? Would that still bring some sense of relief or therapy?
Dawn, I’m so sorry. Everyone deserves to be loved unconditionally by their parents. It’s a natural instinct. I wish scientists would study why is doesn’t happen for some women.