There was a secret room in our house.
A room where we weren't allowed to open the door. I remember being curious about that room-conspiring with my brothers to find out what was inside. What were my parents hiding?
I can see now, how this formed the underlying belief that adults I loved & trusted kept secrets. I learned on a subconscious level that there are things you keep secret, even from the people you love.
I also learned that it is okay to go to extreme lengths to keep a secret.
I have a memory of being in a line-up with my brothers-and being questioned about who had tried to open that door to the room?
Honestly, it wasn't me. I was maybe 8 or 9 years old.
Apparently my dad had slipped a tiny corner of white paper into the door jam-it had fallen to the floor, cueing him in on the door having been 'tampered' with.
Neither of my brothers fessed up.
Here is where the memory gets a little fuzzy.
I can't remember why I was deemed perpetrator, but my brothers were sent to their rooms. I was left there to 'Confess'.
My dad wanted a full confession from me. But I hadn't done it. Honestly.
I remember feeling confused, conflicted, overpowered & diminished. What I said didn't matter.
Why didn't he believe me? What did it matter anyways? It wasn't my fault he had a secret room.
Frustrated, he said he could get fingerprints to prove it was me-he dusted the area (now looking back, I think he used flour) then used tape to 'lift prints'.
To me they just looked like smudges. He said they were my fingerprints. Therefore I was LYING, just confess he said.
How could I argue with proof? My dad was smarter than me, I trusted him, he was powerful.
Had I done this? Now I was starting to disbelieve my reality, my own TRUTH.
Again I would not confess to something I did not do. WHY hadn't one of my brothers relieved me and confessed the truth? Why was I the one in this position?
Frustrated again, my dad had me stand there with arms out beside my body, palms facing the floor. I was to hold this position until I confessed.
My arms felt heavy, I felt weak. I had never contemplated how difficult is to hold a position like that. Uncomfortable.
To this day I can not remember past that point. I have no idea whether I gave in and confessed or if I stayed in my truth. Maybe I have suppressed, the forsaking of my truth, swallowing the lump in my throat in order to escape the pain. I truly don't remember. Maybe it will come back to me, maybe it won't.
But, what I can tell you is that this event reinforced feelings I was already experiencing in my world at that time.
My truth was not valid, my emotions & experiences were not valid, I am guilty even when I am not, something about me is wrong, un-loveable & flawed, I am bad, there is something shameful about me & my feelings, people keep secrets, secrets are normal, trust no one, stay guarded & suspicious of people especially those you love.
You are probably thinking I hate my dad. The opposite is true. I love him, he isn't bad guy. We all have our own struggles fears & limiting beliefs.....even your parents. They are just humans having a human experience too. I do not feel angry for having had this experience among others.
I can imagine he had his own reasons. Maybe he was keeping us safe. Maybe he had guns in there. I don't know. To this day I don't know. 37 years later. And I have never asked.
I am thankful for the experiences that I have had. ALL OF THEM. Without them I would not have a catalyst for deep healing & introspection.
I tell you this story in hopes that you can relate in some way with some event in your life. Know that these events happen for us and not to us. Maybe I can inspire you to use your trauma & pain as an entry point for healing.
When you heal the wounds within your self.....you also heal them for your parents, parents parents & your children . You break the cycle. You are very literally a LIBERATOR of your family's generational trauma.
xoxo,
Inga Kervin @ A Lightened Life
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