This took a very, very long time to write
In all of the posts that I've written about my past, this one contains the most pain. It was more than I intended to share. It took many hours to collect the courage to publish it. Regardless, I decided not to edit it as the events are real & they had a very real impact on me. This post also contains the most profound change that I've experienced in motherhood. This is the reason for sharing this information. As well as the benefit of a cathartic purge.

Last week, one of my sisters told me about some events that had happened in the House of Horrors that used to be our home. Our youngest sister is still living there. I don't have a relationship with her because I moved out when she was 4. I was 15. I didn't keep up with frequent contact while the three of them were there because it was entirely too painful for me. After my final blowout with my mom, I didn't call the house ever again. Relationships with my sisters grew stronger after they moved out & I could talk to them. Our youngest sister has 3 more years to go before she escapes. However, I still hear about what happens through my other two sisters (because they choose to still have a relationship with our mom).

I've looked back through posts about my childhood & I've never explained why I hate my mom so much. I never really gave any details about my Hell.

When I was 8, our parents divorced. Even though our Dad was a drug addicted, abusive, alcoholic, I blamed our mom for a lot of it. At the same time, she was a drug addicted alcoholic too. But even with the blame, I still had some level of respect for her. Even admiration. After the divorce, she worked & took care of us girls (in retrospect, she didn't really) & I saw her as a strong woman who didn't need a man (another childhood delusion about her).

Very soon after the divorce (too soon), our step-dad (AKA: Satan) entered the picture. He was another drug addicted, abusive, alcoholic. But he also had pedophile attached to his resume. The following 7 years of my life were the most traumatic & painful years I've ever experienced.

I endured torment in one form or another from both of them. Beatings & verbal rages were daily occurrences. The deepest pain was that our mother just stood back letting it happen. Not only was she to blame for the pain, but she was also to blame for not stopping it. She flat out denied that anything was wrong. When the time came & I told the whole story of what was going on, she called me a liar. She chose an addicted, abusive child molester over her own first born daughter. And still does to this day.

It was a miracle that I made it out alive because when I left, it was to the point where someone was going to die. Either "Satan" was going to kill me from slamming my head into the back door one too many times, or I was going to kill him by pushing him down the basement stairs or I was going to kill myself because I could not take it anymore. Whatever scenario it was, death was a daily thought in my mind.

When I left, I had major issues with the guilt I had in leaving my sisters behind. After Bill & I got married, each sister made it a point to graduate early so they could leave. Once they finished school, our home was a place that they could escape to.

When the first "escape" happened, I had grown to hate my mom even more. Not only did she damage me, but she damaged my sister too. When my sister had a conversation on the phone with our mom about why she left, I could hear our mom cursing & screaming at her. I grabbed the phone from my sister & screamed like I have never screamed at my mom before. That was the last day I ever talked to her. I decided that my life was better off without having to deal with such a toxic person.

When the second "escape" happened, the hate for my mom grew like a cancer. I had come to understand what living a childhood like that does to a girl. All three of us were dealing with major issues, from a range of panic & anxiety attacks, depression, drug & alcohol addiction & eating disorders. Each time one of my sisters fled from home, I wished my mother an instant & extremely painful death.

Years have gone by since the last escape. My sisters & I have grown much closer than we were in our early years. We've been there for each other & we understand the shared pain we carry in our hearts. The hatred for my mother never diminished though.

Then last week I heard that our youngest sister was going through some hard times. It echoed my experience, but much worse. She has been bounced around from one house & back, not doing well in school, hanging out with the wrong crowd & making poor choices. A final blow up happened & she is going to live with another sister over the summer.

This is the part that I'm having a very difficult time accepting....

Upon hearing this news, my initial gut reaction was, "How incredibly sad. This mother has lost all of her children by choice. That was her last chance & she blew it. She must feel an enormous amount of pain. She must be dealing with some serious self loathing".

It was a feeling of empathy from one mother to another. It was the first time in my adult life that I didn't have an instant hatred & death wish upon her. It was the first time I saw her as a person rather than a monster. It was a feeling that totally caught me off guard & I was completely unprepared for it. I wasn't "working" on trying to feel differently about her either.

I didn't (& quite frankly, still don't) know what to make of this. It's unsettling because that hatred was comfortable, familiar & safe. It's confusing. Is this forgiveness? If it is, does that excuse the events of the past? Am I ashamed that I didn't instantly feel she was a villain? Is this the beginning of finally letting it all go? But I do know, whether I like it or not, whether I made a conscious effort to do so or not, it's a step in the right direction in being completely healed. If that's even really possible.

I've asked my sisters what our moms says when they explain their feelings about our childhood. They say she cries & says she's sorry.

This empathy has been conflicted with flashbacks of the past as well. How can you empathize with someone when remembering being pelted with rotten apples from the back yard trees when you weren't picking them up fast enough. Or standing in the front yard with your friends explaining why the DEA & swat team were there on a drug bust. Or explaining to the Doctor that "I fell down the stairs" when really you were beat with the entire phone, base & receiver, after it had been ripped from the wall in your mothers fit of rage. Even more so, remembering the stages of grooming a pedophile does to his victim. Remembering the day after, going to school feeling like a completely different person-like a hollow shell-forever changed. And remembering that the only way I felt safe at night was to move my dresser in front of my bedroom door, barricading myself in.

Somehow, empathy & forgiveness seems wrong.

I struggled with these conflicting feelings all week. I cried thinking about my mom as a mother in pain. I cried knowing that even though she's sorry, she still doesn't make any life changes. I cried at night not wanting to accept this change of feelings, not wanting to acknowledge that I really might be taking the steps to letting go. I tried to sort them out this morning, wondering what this may do for our future. I'm not ready to go there yet. And all I can say, is that it still makes me cry.