Home, sometimes all we wonder what exactly is a home. A shelter, a safe place, a family, or just four walls of deep misery? Lucky are those who understand what they suffer from, cause abuse isn’t always direct nor consciously presented. It could not be necessarily said, between broken words and directive anger. Neutrally, it isn’t even spoken out, there are times where action could cause more than just a flinch or closed eyes which have lost the taste of reality.
Eleven letters, two worlds, different perspectives but affects us for our whole lives – “Mental Abuse.”
Now, people do face this in different situations or maybe even in different homes, places and in relationships. All that matters is the fact that we’re so into the patriarchy of the society and ourselves that we could not see it being presented towards us. So into it, that we couldn’t even differ between love and toxicity lately.
Forgetting the fact that sometimes toxic are the ones we love or are loved by. The abuse is harsh and implacable in matters big or small. It all starts with our ignorance towards deem actions and words of dominance.
Or it started when our parents yelled at us for our good fortune, though the immature neglected selves confused anger with kindness and thought it was okay to give someone the authority to direct their rage at us, for something we were not even part of.
As we grew into a woman who let others decide her fate since her birth, after marriage dominancy played loops as they ended in the hands of the husband. Taunts suffered by the in-laws, manipulating into something so bizarre as, “When are you going to give us grandchildren?” Or as basic as, “She’s the reason why we can’t have a cradle swinging in our house.”
How naïve it is to blame someone who wasn’t even at fault. But sometimes we forget the part that this is how exactly the abuse takes place.
Or maybe it started when we pressured the young males in our houses to behave a certain way. To take the responsibilities over their stiff shoulders which could even barely hold the weight of the teen world.
Sometimes all the parents could do is not let their kids see the experience of the pathway between pessimism and positivity, afraid it could only break their small bean. But can’t they just promise to stay at the end of the cliff to hold us if we ever fall as we walk through the small thread of independence and ugly truths of the universe.
The most I have seen in people who were the victims of this mental abuse is that they went through the dilemma of not understanding the difference between endearment and abuse. Abusers usually show their dominance through the words, if directly, using derogatory “pet names” such as “My chubby pumpkin” or “My little knuckle dragger” aren’t terms of endearment.
They might even humiliate in public, conveniently giving the sufferers low self esteem. Mostly dependency, so that the victims would find it hard to let go of them. Personally, I might just say people are even afraid of the word mental, when googled could enlighten you with the meaning as “relating to mind” which is quite elaborative, yet it seems as if it’s been mostly used as an idiom to curse at someone.
As a person who has anxiety issues and depression, I would like to put forth my own experience. I wasn’t mentally abused the way people put an image in their heads of the terms but I guess I still was. How you may wonder? How you may wonder when I wasn’t smacked by a belt or used physical force to show dominance? Or how you may wonder when I wasn’t directly using the “words’ ‘ at my face. It took me a while to admit this to myself but yes, I was.
By my own loved ones. And no, sometimes even the abuser doesn’t know you have given them the right to hurt you. But they use it nevertheless as a voodoo doll, pinching at the sides with words and the gestures as it stung more with every touch of emotion.
The extra effort to bang the utensils against the granite counters could make me flinch, as I used to wonder what I did wrong.
The neglect of my parents towards the academic fall only enhanced the performance of being miserable at everything. And I wished rather than asking where I went wrong, they have asked themselves where they were lacking in the relationship of parent and kid.
Let’s come to the part about how to deal with this. To be very honest, even though I may have read thousands of articles and virtual and personal experiences of people, I would never be able to understand how to stand against this. But if you do, please let others know, the ones who you think need the help most. From my perspective,
firstly it would be about admitting to yourself that “YES, I WAS ABUSED.” Rather than thinking how society would respond to your situation.
And secondly until and unless, you don’t know your own worth and how much you deserve better, you will never be able to differentiate between the image of the abuser in your brain and the reality of how they really are.
Abuser could be the person you love the most too. Or the one you think would have never turned THAT way. Or your colleague who you believed in too much. And sometimes even the people who were supposed to stand by your side.
So in conclusion, I would only ask if you check in with yourself and around you today, if someone is going through the same process? In those four walls? And if yes, what will you do? Stay back and watch? Or would have taken an action long back?