I have posted about confrontation and the difficulty that victims have in standing up for themselves. I even posted some about how terrified I was of my mother and how immobilized I could be in her presence. Now I'm going to post about the times I have confronted her.
The first time was not long into my therapy. I was still working on the issues of being molested by my brother. I hadn't planned confronting my mother, in fact the opposite was true, I was still in that place that I really didn't want to upset my mother. All I really wanted was to heal and get free from the depression that plagued me. I had no idea of the repercussions to the family.
My mother came by and asked me to go for a ride with her. I should have known then that something was up. I can't recall a time in my life when my mother ever wanted to "talk" with me, let alone do it going for a ride. It caught me off guard without time to think so I agreed.
Once we had gotten moving down the road, my mother began to make it clear that she was not happy that I was delving into my past. While she was willing to admit that I was molested by my brother she didn't want anyone else in the family to know particularly my step-father.
Since my step-father already didn't care much for my older brother, my mother knew that this information would cause problems. She was adamant that I not rock the boat but that's not all she wanted. She wanted me to quit going to therapy altogether. She said it was only causing problems for our family and she ordered me to stop.
I tried to explain to her why I needed therapy but she wasn't listening. As far as she was concerned, I should just buck up and and put the past behind me. The more she talked the more agitated I got. I knew I needed therapy. It was life or death to me and I kept trying to explain but she just would not listen. Things were escalating and my fear level was rising exponentially.
I felt trapped. Riding in her car moving down the streets of our neighborhood, I thought if I didn't get away from her I would not survive. I tried again to stand my ground and convince her that I needed therapy that my very life depended on it but she kept insisting that I must do as she said.
For the first time in my life I was trying to stand up to my mother and it wasn't going well. Those old feelings that I would die if I stood up to her grabbed me by the throat I swear. I felt like I was suffocating and had to force words out of my mouth. I knew if I didn't get away from her that I would give in and then I would be dead. I had to escape.
As I opened the car door, I choked hysterically to my mother that I could not and would not do it her way. Then I stepped out of the moving car. My foot hit the ground and threw me into a tumble that I couldn't control. I rolled head over heals, I don't know how many times before I stopped.
By this time my mother had stopped the car and gotten out. She was trying to come towards me. I got up sobbing hysterically and ran off down the road towards my house screaming at her to leave me alone. I stumbled several times as I ran towards home but managed to get to my feet and keep on running despite my injuries. I couldn't take any chances of her catching up with me. I didn't stop until I crashed through the front door and into the open arms of my husband.
He had heard the commotion of my hysteria and had come to see what was going on. He arrived at the door just as I broke through it sobbing "Keep her away from me!." My mother was directly behind me wanting to follow me in but Dave pulled me behind him and told her to go away even when he had no idea what had transpired. For the first time in my life I was protected from her.
As my mother left, she said that she would tell my step father that my brother had molested me. That was the first time in my life that my mother did something that I wanted but she didn't. I still don't understand why she did. It was the only time it ever happened and is one of those things that doesn't fit with the rest of her behavior. I'll always wonder why she did.
I probably suffered a concussion from the fall. I had trouble seeing and my head was spinning. I also had multiple lacerations and contusions. I wouldn't go to the doctor because I was afraid they would lock me up for having jumped out of a moving car. I knew it sounded like a crazy thing to do, but it hadn't been crazy, jumping for my life was not crazy, but I doubted that anyone would understand how my life was at risk. But I knew, if I had stayed in that car I would have done what she said, I would have quit therapy and I would not have survived the depths of my depression.
While I'll admit this isn't the best way for a confrontation to go, it certainly made a big change in my life. The message travelled throughout my system that I could stand up to her and survive. I think that this one act is what allowed the abuse I had suffered at the hands of my mother to surface.