Transgenerational Trauma-My Mother’s Story

Transgenerational trauma is trauma passed down through the generations. Science says trauma can be passed down not just emotionally, physically or socially but also in the very DNA that makes us who we are. This is my families story. This is my mother’s story.

My Mother’s Story

My mother was born in 1956 to my set of teenage grandparents. At sixteen they got married. They went on to have 10 children. My grandparents were very poor and just keeping a roof over their heads and feeding all of their children was a struggle. My mom was born with a club foot and developed issues with her eyesight. She needed what they called “pop bottle” glasses to see.

She often was told and felt like she was ugly. Her father could be cruel with his words. Her mother was quiet and reserved always relinquishing to her husband’s needs. My grandfather drank quite often, and they had many parties at their home. My mom was closest to her youngest brother, Wilbur, one evening when he was 13, he walking home on a dark country road with a friend. A drunk driver came out of nowhere, driving into and killing Wilbur.

Along Comes Me

My mother met my father through a friend when she was 15. He was a year older than her, and she loved the attention he gave her. It wasn’t long before she was pregnant with me and seventeen. My grandparents did not like my father and they wanted her to have an abortion. My father’s mother stepped in when she found out and my mother moved to Toronto to live with my father’s family.

His family had their own issues. My mom was five hours away from her own family and on her own with a very demanding mother-in-law. Nothing she did is considered good enough. It wasn’t long before my parents got their own apartment, and I was born.

Trapped

My mother found herself trapped in a marriage with a man who had a quick temper. She had no friends or family to confide in and she was very much alone. My grandmother would criticize how she kept the house, how she dressed me and the condition of my skin. She would just walk into their home and take me to her place. No asking. My sister was born in 76 and my brother in 78. They moved to Ottawa for a couple years and then back again to Toronto where they remained.

The Narcissist

My father was a selfish man. Everything was his way. When he had a bad day or things didn’t go his way he would take it out on us all. Sometimes my mother was the target and sometimes we were the target. I can remember one time driving to Ottawa to see my mother’s family. I can’t remember what he was mad about, but he was mad about something. He pulled off on the dark highway and told my mother to get out of the car. He sped away with the three of us in the back seat whaling. After some time had passed, he turned around to find my mother. She had already called her father to pick her up. I can’t remember how it ended. I only see my mother’s sad solemn face watching as my father pulled away leaving her in the middle of nowhere.

She went from living in a chaotic home where neglect was always present to being married to a man who cared only about himself and his own needs. Who could flip his mood in seconds. He had affairs on her. She suffered emotional, physical and sexual abuse at his hands. She remained married to him till her death in 2008.

Unavailable

My mother was uninvolved. I can remember her sleeping a lot. Deb has depression. She was unavailable for me emotionally. She did not show any affection towards me. I cannot remember my mother hugging, kissing, telling me she was proud or saying she loved me. She herself, felt very much unloved. With me there was the added tension of my grandmother. I chose to be with my grandma more than I ever wanted to be home.

My punishment growing up was that I was not allowed to go and see or talk to my grandmother. This was the same grandmother that would take me away from my mother and tell her that she did not know how to care for me. I sometimes wonder if she didn’t resent me for having to marry him. Not that it was my fault that I was conceived but her problems got worse after the pregnancy.

Addiction

The day my mother died; I was with her when she took her last breath. She held on till her siblings came. I held her hand and told her it was okay to let go. She was 54. She had become addicted to opioids. I believe that my mom had some of the illnesses I do but they were undiagnosed. She also was an alcoholic. I can remember one time when she was admitted, and the doctor told my dad and me that she was taking enough medication to kill a horse. She was seeing several doctors and getting multiple prescriptions. I believe this was her way of not only dealing with her physical pain but her emotional pain as well. It was her way to escape an unhappy life.

Transgenerational Trauma

Her trauma of losing her best friend and brother, the neglect, emotional abuse and poverty she grew up in, and marrying an abusive narcissist was passed down to myself and my siblings. Her unresolved trauma and her inability to be there for us to keep us safe and protect us from him. I am not angry; I don’t blame her. She was as much a victim as we were. She had no place to go and nowhere to turn. My father threatened her and would not let her take us away. She feared he would hurt us if she left. My sister and I brought her to a woman’s shelter once, hoping that she would leave him. She went back to him. She could not escape the hold he had on her.

Not many people can say they called the police on their father because he made her call me in the middle of the night to tell me she had an affair. He then threw her out of the house onto the street naked in the middle of winter. He had many affairs and abused her, his stepsister, his sister-in-law and his daughters but he made sure she felt like she was the bad one. Even though I had left home at 17, I could not escape him either. I would have nightmares that I would get a call that he had killed our mother. It was a real possibility.

My Children

Even though I did my best to stop this cycle, my children have inherited my DNA and internalized my views of the world. They have anxiety I went the opposite way; I was so anxious that something bad would happen to my girls that I held them so tight that it made them anxious. By watching me they learned that the world isn’t a safe place. They both still struggle with the anxiety, and I feel guilty for that. I did however hug, kiss, and tell them I loved them and how proud I am of them. I want the world for them. They have a great father who is kind, caring and compassionate. They have great life partners who truly love and care for them. This cycle of abuse will stop with this family we have made.

No More Trauma

I am proud of my fight. I am proud that I took a stand three years ago and made a police report. He needed to pay for all the damage he did. Justice was never served because he drank himself to death before he had to go before a judge and explain to the world why he did what he did. I know mom is watching me from heaven and she is proud of the woman I have become. I understand and forgive her for not being able to save us from the monster. Victims we are no more. I am working hard in therapy to release myself from all my unresolved past. Mom is in heaven, no longer in pain and surrounded by love.