Mum, love demanded intervention

Mum. Why did you stand idly by whilst dad launched Exocet after Exocet into the very centre of our beings? Surely love would have demanded that you would protect your little ones? That you would have placed yourself in harm's way in order to protect your offspring?

Mum. Why did you justify dad's explosions by telling us he was hurt? What was it that we did when we were three years old that justified a towering inferno of utter rage? Or even eight? Why didn't you protect us?

Mum. Why did you blame us for dad's anger? Telling us that we mustn't get him angry - as if it were somehow our fault? We tiptoed around, prisoners in our own home because you didn't have the guts to tell him he was wrong and not to treat us like that.

Mum. Why did you pretend it never happened? Kids - don't take it personally. He didn't mean it. He'll calm down. Let's pretend nothing happened. How crap is that?


So mum, where love demanded intervention, you stood by. Protecting yourself, rather than me. You are twenty/thirty something, me at barely walking stage. Dad's big fists threatening to knock me into next week, you pretending nothing was happening.

And then - when I tell my Sunday School teacher that I wanted God to help my dad with his anger, you pull me to one side and give me the lecture of my life. Tell me that I had dishonoured dad. That I had shamed the family. That I had hurt dad. That I had washed our dirty linen in public.

Lardydardydah. Absolute bollocks. The lot of it. And yet it did the trick. When I finally started to talk about my parents to others it was not until I'd left home. And doing so felt like I really was dishonouring them. And thus dishonouring God. How utter crap.

So mum. You didn't have the guts to stand up to dad. Instead you let him abuse us, dominate us, threaten and intimidate us throughout our entire lives. You then backed him up in his disgusting behaviour by telling us to keep quiet and pretend. And you can see the consequences if only you would open your eyes.