In my early 20s, my stepmother once said to my younger brother and me, “If I’d had a gun back then, I would have used it.” This was her way of apologizing for the years of harsh words she unleashed upon us—yelling, threatening, belittling, and mocking. This was her way of addressing those times she stormed out for days while we were left grappling with guilt and shame for “provoking” her.
I want to believe her apology, especially now that we are adults and her demeanor has softened. She’s become more supportive, and we’ve come to realize she, too, may have suffered verbal abuse in her past. Yet, it’s a struggle to move past the pain she inflicted.
Her comment about the gun catalyzed a deeper understanding of my own experiences—acknowledging that I, as well as my brother, endured verbal abuse. It’s like piecing together an intricate jigsaw puzzle that I wish I could leave unfinished. For years, I dismissed my suffering, telling myself, “They were just words. She never hit us.” I believed I should have been tougher and that others had it worse. After all, there were no physical scars to show.
But then a friend shares an article from Psychology Today, titled “The Long Legacy of Childhood Verbal Abuse.” I read vivid descriptions of a victim that resonate deeply with my own experiences. It states: “In the wake of continued verbal aggression, it’s hard for a child to sort out whether he or she is feeling afraid, shamed, hurt, or angry.” I nod in agreement, recalling my own fear as a teenager and how I bottled up my anger, only for it to erupt at the most inopportune moments, leaving me ashamed.
The article goes on to explain how the internalization of critical and shaming words can alter one’s personality and self-worth. The term “self-criticism” seems innocuous compared to its effects, which can spiral into self-hatred. I find myself tearing up, wanting to throw my computer against the wall because words, no matter how accurate, cut deeper than anything physical.
I delve into the referenced studies, discovering that the pain of social rejection—essentially what verbal abuse entails—activates the same neural pathways in the brain as physical pain. Research reveals that parental verbal abuse can even lead to permanent changes in brain structure, and not for the better. “We know that abuse leaves behind a specific legacy,” Psychology Today asserts.
What legacy has she left for me? My mind races with doubt, questioning whether I’m exaggerating the impact of her words. “I raise my voice at my kids sometimes; isn’t that just normal?” I think. Then I recognize the damage: I’ve become a woman reluctant to acknowledge the scars I carry, justifying my experiences and attempting to repress my pain.
I remember my stepmother’s statement about the gun—it was a stark reminder of the rage behind her words. Yes, I was right to feel terrified. Strangely, I want to thank her for forcing me to confront the severity of my past.
What I truly need is not an apology or denial; I need to find my own voice. I must stand against all forms of abuse, ensuring that it never touches my children. I aim to break the cycle and create a life where I embrace my worth, recognizing the beauty and strength that should have been celebrated all along.
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In summary, verbal abuse is a serious issue that can leave deep emotional scars, much like physical abuse. Acknowledging its impact is crucial for healing and breaking the cycle of trauma for future generations.