What happens when you wake mama bear?

Coming to age.

I see this prompt and I really wonder who wants to hear this story. The doubt, rage and overwhelm swirl in my head. I don’t want to be a sob story, but the truth is this experience DID change my life.

Without this act, no one in my family would be who they are. Nearly nine years ago, I told him to stop drinking, I told him that he was not as ok as he said he was. I added, that if he kept it up there would be major changes in how he was allowed to parent. He, of course, snapped into defense at this. I mean who wouldn’t, right? I couldn’t help it, I was so tired of being nice, so tired of carrying this load of “if I am nice enough, he will change.”

A few weeks after this conversation, I heard from a sketchy community member that they were at a party over the weekend and had met my daughter. My daughter was 6, not the age of a person who should have been at a party at 2 am. When he saw my expression he was like “oh no it's cool man", rubbing his nose and quickly shuffling his feet, it reminded me of someone who was on cocaine. He was jittery, “She was sleeping.” What concerned me is that he thought that made it ok. My face instantly grew hot, burning cheeks, and suddenly dry mouth. My stomach seized up and I felt like I might faint. I am not sure how long I stood there or if I said anything. This was the first time I called child protective services and also the police, to begin documenting these types of things. The woman very calmly told me that there was nothing she could do but write down the details. My voice trembled through the phone, trying to control the tears, fears, and outrage. In my head the thought “how could this be happening?” It (the thought) floated in my mind like a mist over a lake in the cool morning. “So there is nothing to do?” “No she said, I mean, I am writing the information down, but there is nothing that we can do with this information at this stage. We just have to wait.”

The line disconnected and I sat there in my living room on the floor alone and cried. I felt so lost, and ashamed, frozen. How was I going to save my baby? How could I have made a child with a monster? And I knew, even though I couldn’t actually stand that I would get through this, and she would be safe. I didn’t know how, but it was a feeling in the bottom of my stomach. I knew that the temptation to disassociate, the way I had done when I was being abused as a child would not save her, that I had to force myself to do something different. To this day, I do not know what awakened in me to carry me through this.

There is a terror you live with, a fear of being harmed when dealing with an addict. I knew that the most important thing to him was not our daughter, and that was a big problem. I was afraid of the things he was capable of if I spoke up. But speak up I did, and in retrospect, I wish that I was more bold sooner, perhaps if I had been she wouldn’t have been wounded in this way. The anxiety and guilt that ran through my body on most days was richer than any coffee I had ever had, and I didn’t know how to calm down. Being on high alert is exhausting, and the surging of body chemicals felt similar to the jitters you get when you have had one too many cups of Joe. I wish the solution was to stop the coffee, but anxiety didn’t work like that in my system, any attempt to stop it would escalate it, I often fainted, or threw up from the overwhelm of it all. All the while also not telling anyone because I was too nervous about what they would think. It was horrible.

About three months after this “sleepover” episode came to light, I overheard my daughter talking to her best friend, we had been at the beach and they were rinsing off before dinner. Since we had used all the hotel towels earlier in the day I went down to the front desk to get some more. When I opened the door to the bathroom to put the towels down, I heard her say “my dad touched my butt like this,” and because they were behind the shower curtain I couldn’t see, but I heard her friend say, “What? That’s weird.”

I interrupted them here saying, "here are your towels girls" using a lot of effort to sound normal. And went onto the porch where my then-boyfriend, now-husband was sitting and said, “oh my god, I can not believe what I just heard, that asshole.” Again the flush of hot, hot red through my body, and the feeling that someone else’s hand was squeezing my stomach from the inside, I had to hold onto the frame of the door, and consciously breathe. Like a run-on sentence “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” was duplicating itself over and over like it was coding my cells. I knew I had to ask her more about it and it was terrifying.

I gathered more details and her description of what had happened was definitely inappropriate and horrifying. To say horrifying is not even the right word. The telling of said event happened on a Saturday afternoon, we were supposed to be celebrating her birthday, and I was completely gone. I was there in the physical, I couldn’t stop hugging her and telling her people who do this to kids need help, this is not ok, thank you for telling me and I love you. I am going to do everything I can to keep you safe. This is not ok, and you did not do anything wrong. You were right to tell someone.

Kids are resilient, she went through the rest of the weekend giggling, having fun and maybe she felt relief, but I knew that come Monday I was going to have to make some calls and make some strong boundaries. I, on the other hand, was vomiting, sweating, shaking and completely terrified. My boyfriend completely took the reins and was so incredible through this whole thing. This was again, so scary. For someone who has been through trauma themselves, simple tasks can be debilitating, and often there is no “good reason” why. This is because trauma lives in our bodies, trauma is not something that can be controlled by the mind. The mind's job IS to control, problem solve, and direct. This contradiction is a quagmire of frustration and shame. So even though my body was triggered, because this was MY CHILD, I was able to make this call. I was able to show up and say no in a way no one had done for me and I wasn’t even sure I could do for myself. But do not mess with my kid, ok?!

I stood outside on the lawn, in the moment so that I wouldn’t be overheard by her, but maybe in retrospect, I did that to find a sliver of calm support. I remember it was a cool morning, and I didn’t have socks or shoes on, the ground was damp, and my feet ever so slightly squelched in the dirt between the grass clumps. I watched the trees sway, and though they are so tall. How could I think that, while I was also freaking out? I called Child Protective Services and told them all about what had happened. They told me "thank you for calling, and please do not have any contact with him, and they would get back to me with further steps."

There is so much more to this story; details, freak-outs, and the sheer terror that ran through my body. Each day I would wake up at 5 am and listen to an hour-long calming meditation, trying to soothe my thoughts, trying to muster myself up for whatever the day would bring, for 1.5 years we waited, rescheduled trials, new DUI charges against him until finally, he settled for a plea bargain - I didn’t want my daughter to have to testify in court. She had already talked to a detective and recorded testimony. We were willing to do that if the plea wasn’t accepted, but hoped for her not to have to. A caseworker who walked with me every step of the way told me, “let's put up the biggest boundary and you can always choose later to take it down, but you can not go the other way.” This stuck with me.

And so even though when I hear the coming of age story I think of something that was supposed to happen in my late teens, happened in my early 30s. The relief I felt knowing she was safe and would be protected by not only me and my husband but also the law. Because of this situation, I was able to trust that I have a voice. That I deserve to feel safe, we all deserve this. That I would not wish this experience on anyone, even an enemy. It was brutal. But I made it, I said no and asked for help and I got there. Again to someone who has had trauma, it is vital we are believed and supported, and in doing this for my daughter, it was also doing it for me. I was also able to say what happened to me was also wrong, and that I am not alone, that there are so many good, kind, and supportive people that helped us along the way.