I was never a child

Dear Little Sister,

I was never a child. I wasn’t allowed to be. My so-called childhood was taken from my tiny hands and shoved aside in order to survive. The sweet tender-hearted and all trusting little girl slowly got lost in a hardened adult soul that over time became more and more doubtful and self-loathing. I’ll share this with you little sister in hopes that you never lose that playful little girl inside of you and instead fully embrace her and shine her curiosity and light into this world. We need more of you.

As a little girl, I remember seeing a huge tree in the front yard of our new house and imagining the many things that I could do on and around that tree. It was ginormous! It would take three sets of arms around the trunk to be able to get around its entire circumference, or at least that’s how my child mind remembers it’s size. The tree had a huge branch that was shaped like a U and over time it would become the perfect spot for me to climb on and sit to observe the entire yard. I also thought that this would be the perfect spot for a treehouse, something that I only knew from tv but a place that I longed to have. My desire for that treehouse was unknowingly a similar desire I had for the childhood that was stolen from me years before. The childhood of the little girl who loved to play with my little pony and tea sets was short lived and instead marred with a deep set fear of what would happen to her when she was left alone with her brother or when her father would get angry with her mother.

I'm saddened to say that distrust and rage against men were instilled in me from a young age because of what I had experienced and witnessed. I didn’t realize how deep this anger was until I spent time reflecting on my relationships and even recalling the unexplainable fear that I felt towards the male custodian at my elementary school. At the time it made no logical sense that I would practically burst into tears when he approached or that I would watch him from afar and shudder with fear. Now I understand that this was my well-trained body reacting to what it perceived as a threat based on what I experienced at home. The two men who were supposed to love and protect me the most in this whole world, my older brother and my father, had instead taught me to trust no one and much less a man.

Despite this fear, I pleaded for my dad to build me a treehouse and to my surprise months later I did have my own little house, maybe not in the tree like I had wanted but instead my dad had built me my own little house in the backyard. What I loved the most was that my dad made sure that it resembled a real house in every way...from the linoleum as the floor, to little shelves for my dishes, a little door that I could lock, and a roof made with actual shingles. As much as I saw my dad’s rage and fury, I cannot deny the fact that as a little girl there were times when I looked to him with such love. How could I not? This was the man that built me my own little house from scratch with his bare hands. That little house became my safe haven, the place where I could hide from everyone and everything and escape from the chaos that was my life inside my actual house.

You see, Life inside my actual home was unpredictable, volatile and felt like I was constantly walking on eggshells. My father was extremely verbally and physically abusive to my mother. Anything could set him off, a meal that he didn’t like, my mom, taking too long at the grocery store, or the receipts not adding up, you name it, he could bust at any moment. This led to so many ruined occasions from birthdays and celebrations to family outings.

And then there was that horrific night that is forever etched in my mind and to this day still brings tears to my eyes. The night my mother fought for her life and the night I ran out of my house barefoot screaming to the neighbor's house to call the police. I thought he had killed her because she was lying on the bed practically unconscious, bruised and bloody, and somehow speaking words to her dead father. The things I witnessed and heard, no child or person should ever have to see. How could I ever be a child in that environment?

That night was the night before Christmas Eve. During a time when my biggest worry was supposed to be if I had gotten the presents that I had asked for, instead, I was worried if I had just ruined my family's life. I spent the night alone crying and confused about what had happened because now my father had been arrested and my mother was lost in the sea of her own pain. And no one ever told me that I did the right thing, no one ever said it’s okay Maria..instead this became the first of many times that my father choose to stop talking to me for taking a stand against him or for protecting those around me. And to make matters worse my family sided with him and I was eventually forced to apologize him. I learned at a young age to take care of myself and to be strong and independent because, well, I had no other choice. How could I be a child when I had to survive on my own and try and save my mother?

No one outside of our home knew the terrors that we all endured. Instead, my mother honored the family code to maintain secrecy because well that was easier. There were so many nights that I would go outside in the middle of the night and sit on the roof of my little house and look up to the sky wondering if this was really all happening and wishing that maybe I would wake up the next day and realize it was all just a nightmare. I was ashamed. I was alone. I was terrified. My childhood was haunted by secrets. And sadly I knew the day would come when I would have to confront my demons. I feared for when that inevitable day would come.

Love,
Espe