I hear crying and screaming, then banging and shouting. There’s a whirl of emotions that are uncomfortably palatable. I know what’s happened straight away. He’s chucked the little baby and cot in the hall once again. Her little pleading wails pierce my young heart but for the moment there is nothing that I can do, I must wait silently and patiently, even though hearing this unfold is making me want to vomit.
“Will this cruel madness ever end?” I whisper.
I’ve always understood that babies cry; they have needs and to communicate their needs they cry. Even as a child, I knew this to be a fact because I cried, even as a teen. However, I cried and no one met my needs and it seemed that the same was happening to the baby. She was so small, still in a cot, still vulnerable and in need of so much more from these adults; she wasn’t yet as resilient as me, but she would be, she would have to be.
The neglect and abuse of innocents is never ok!
“Why the fuck won’t she shut up? All night she just whines... Shut the fuck up, brat!” the big brute yelled as he towered over the cot now residing in the hallway. He stood there just in his boxer shorts, a large gut hanging over them with his hands gripping the cot still. The sweet baby inside went pink in the face and flailed her tiny arms around as she screamed, pleading to be picked up. How could an adult not feel empathy for this little being, who just wanted to be held?
He might as well have been banging his chest because he was certainly acting like a wild beast. I witnessed all of this as I peered through the crack in my bedroom door. I would have to wait until he stopped having his little boy tantrum to go and collect her. This is where sleeping together began, me protecting her from the noise of this flat and showing her the love that a human being needs and should give.
I do not know what crime she had committed that night, hungry, toothache, ill, but whatever it was ‘the parents’ weren’t in the mood to deal with it. Obviously, being selfish drunks and having children doesn’t go hand in hand.
My mother didn’t make any attempt to leave the bedroom to protect her daughter. Either she was so drunk that she didn’t realise what was happening or she thought it was best not to get involved, so the evening didn’t progress into violence. Whatever the reason, I was beginning to hate her more each day for not being a mother and protecting her children.
At this point, the little one cried more forcefully, waving her arms around desperately in need of comfort. She didn’t know what was going on, she just wanted love, she wanted to be held.
“Oh God, I’m going to lose my temper soon!” he barked.
I could have laughed at this if it wasn’t such a crap situation. He probably thought he was as cool as a cucumber and that this was parenting at its finest. I didn’t laugh, though, or make any noise. I just waited and waited, for what seemed like an eternity. I got used to waiting as I grew up, I was always waiting for something.
Still there was silence from the bedroom, no movement, nothing. Maybe she was dead! Come on, anything’s a possibility, here, I thought. Though I was not worried for her.
Physical abuse takes so many forms!
He shoved the huge cot a little further down the hall, away from their room. He snarled at the baby and turned back towards their bedroom and he slammed the door so hard a picture fell off the wall, which shook my baby sister into silence, her little face in an expression of pure terror; she looked ready to burst into an ear-shattering scream at any minute.
It was at this point I stuck my head around my door and just motioned for her to remain hushed. I must wait just a few moments so he doesn’t reappear, else I would just get punished as well and that would serve no one.
Her delightful little face lights up when she sees me, she knows she will receive some tenderness now, whatever the original problem was, it doesn’t matter now because we have each other.
After waiting for a few more tense minutes, I walked into the hall and scooped her up. I loved cuddling her. Since she was born, I hadn’t felt so alone or sad. Now I must be mature and make sure she is okay.
Extract from the best selling memoir Escaping Bohemia.
These are the words of a small girl, who lived with abuse and neglect every single day, who navigated the cruel words and physical abuse of the adult’s around her.
Healing from childhood abuse is possible!
This child survived and thrived but not before her story took further dark twists and turns.
In a world that is full of experts and professors, who have studied for years to gain insight and knowledge into such grim subjects as abuse, we must remember the real experts are those who have travelled through it.
What to know about how this child survived? Please do reach out.
What to read more about this young girl?
01/11/24
Copyright © 2024 Sophia Norley
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