Beaten, berated, broken but not defeated (Abridged version)

By Dr Adele Victoria and Hope Gordon

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me”

I don’t know who wrote these words, but I suspect I know why they wrote them and why so many of us have been taught them.  It is, I believe, precisely because the author knew how powerful words are that they put these words forward to try and create a buffer or build a barrier between words which could break the spirit and their intended target.  I wish it were sufficient, but it’s not. 

Children are quite capable of recognising the power of words both as the wielders and as recipients of the weapon.  They know too well how we use our words, our looks and our attitudes in ways that we should know are harmful to others. 

Too many of us are unaware of the impact our words can have upon those who have been traumatised.

I struggled through primary school, failed high school, had no friends.  There was no Sweet 16.  I never learnt to apply makeup or shop fashion. 

Abused at home, bullied at school, while my peers were dating at the movies, I worked on a farm and watched for fists, too hyperalert for study.  Others went to uni: I watched them go.  And everyone was furious, such a waste of time and money.  It wasn’t assumed that I would pass, it was expected.  On top of everything else. 

“You are useless,” I was told.  The pain was extraordinary. 

Some of the people around us were horribly wounded as children.  They were beaten, berated and some were broken.  The abuse may have been physical, verbal, sexual or all three. 

Some survived in spite of the abuse and live and work among us largely undetected.  Others, however, have not recovered from their injuries and are not as strong as we expect them to be.  For reasons they may not wish or be able to verbalise, they simply cannot do the tasks so many of us take for granted; they are unable to carry the load we would expect of them. 

I left childhood exhausted, unprepared for life, my head full of horrors which still hijack my mind.

Later, there were no pregnancies, no career, and no wedding dress.  I just wanted to sleep.  It was like a chronic fatigue of the spirit. 

I was broken early. 

Many struggle to achieve or maintain healthy relationships, believing the lies they were told as children about how weak and worthless they are. 

For some it manifests as physical and/or emotional pain which they try to bury using drugs, alcohol, inappropriate relationships or even suicide.

And then the fear.  It’s not fear of failure – it is knowing that I will fail.  I expect failure because I was told I was one.  And all this in a traumatised body which is painful and slow.  I embarrass my friends so there’s the insults, loud voices, soft voices, sometimes just a disapproving look.  

I burn with shame.  Aware that I got it wrong, cannot follow instructions, took too long.  There is nothing right about me, I am all wrong.  It is exhausting trying to prove others wrong. 

Overwhelmed, my head is now exploding – I just want to rip it open, reach in and stop it. 

I am afraid to ask for help, forever waiting for the words “can I help?”  They rarely come.  I cannot cope because I have to navigate too much.  Alone. 

I’ve attempted suicide twice, drunk too much for decades.  People think that these things help.  It is a fallacy. 

The pain never stops.

What is our response?  Do we speak words of kindness and healing or words that injure?  Words that further break an already broken child. 

For some, we knowingly or unknowingly trigger their pain, transporting them back in time to the moment they were injured or broken. 

It can be a particular word or phrase, a certain look, a request to do a specific task or any combination of these or something entirely random. Something that does not harm or injure those who grew up in the secure, encouraging environments.  Those whose journeys were supported, who were not asked to carry loads that were never theirs to bear.  Those who were not broken and who don’t understand the pain inflicted and the difficulty of facing the fear of further injury, brokenness or failure.

When I was a little girl, every year on my birthday I would say a prayer as I blew out the candles on my cake, figuring that a prayer and a wish combined is more powerful than a simple wish.  Because I needed double power, a miracle I thought, my wish impossible. 

So, I prayed.  I prayed to become loveable, to be ‘fixed’, believing that I was so worthless that I deserved abuse.  Believing that kindness is not for creatures like me. 

I was never rescued.  The abuse did not stop, the kindness, scraps.  Broken child, broken adult.  And still the same prayer – to be seen as lovable.

Because you see, I am still not good enough - you (society) keep telling me - not knowing that you are a step away from irreparably breaking my heart.  Your negative words, verbal misinterpretations of me are like an abusive childhood which never ended.

I was one of those hidden children, the ones not spotted as abused, now the adult loaded with the fatigue and pain you may never care to see.  So, don’t assume that I should function as you do, or that you know why I may not.  And, don’t assume that you have nothing to learn from my story.

I can tell you what brokenness is like - It is about a broken childhood and a tired soul.  About loneliness, chaos and pain which has shattered me so much that I may never be put back together.  And it is about bravery in the face of all that.  All under the lead coat of your words and expectations.  Look at me.  Under that weight is not laziness.  It is anguish.  Yet, I keep trying.

There are many like me.  Instead of writing us off, reach out.  Have patience.  Listen.  And understand:  Fists break bones, but words break souls.  Talk gently.

No child should have to use their birthday wish to pray for kindness.

Originally written Oct 11, 2019