So having grown up without a father I never quite made a big deal about it really. I’d visits my aunts (moms sisters) and be expected to call their husbands ‘dad” and it seemed only normal cause my cousin’s called them dad, so it just sounded ok. Funny enough my confusion of not having my own father still had not quite meant a thing.
The realization came to me when in the 7th grade I started my period and my mom shouted at me asking if I had just had sex, leading to the bleeding and not thinking that at 12 years old my period should be expected. It dawned on me that my mother had always been so hard and disconnected, not being that loving nurturing woman that other kids would describe their mothers as in our ‘show and tell’ sessions in class. In her defence I’ d say well she’s trying so hard to close the gap of a fatherless home that she ended up ruining that ideal “motherly” image. I never connected with her in a mother- daughther way and its created this messy woman I have become.
I began resenting this man for not being there to be the hard, stern protector that my mother was trying to become, making me lose out on the soft, gentleness and pure love that I should have received from my mother.
The day that a family relative touched me the way that my mother should have touched me I got confused as to whether what he was doing was really wrong because he did it with such care, in a way that made him smile and ask me if I liked it. “This is normal” as I would tell myself because he is smiling while doing this, then it should be done. I didn’t tell my mom though cause I thought it would anger to know that there is some one who actually touched me with so much patience and pleasure knowing that when she did bath me or lotioned me would always be in a hurry and shouting at me to get up and finish up.
It was later when another touched me, but him so angryily that I realized that even the previous touch from the family relative was never done for me but for him.
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