My Fractured Self and The Lessons I’ve Learned
In which Teófilo comes to terms with the damage he suffered during his childhood, damage from which he’s been healing his whole life.
The beatings will continue until morale improves. – Anonymous
People are often amazed at how much they remember from days that seemed to last forever in their youth. It’s not that their experiences were much deeper or more meaningful, it’s just that they were being processed in rapid fire. - Adrian Bejan
The beatings started when I was still in Kindergarten, a year before Mamá died. I remember because the school would release us for home at about 11:30 AM. Everything appeared normal to me until shortly after arrival. There was no one home. I don’t recall what foodstuff I refused to eat. Violent slaps on my thighs started with what I thought was no clear end. They left marks. Of course, I cried. But I wasn’t to be force-fed.
To this day I can’t express the feelings of surprise and utter betrayal those violations aroused in me. In fact, at the time I couldn’t express them, but I know now I did feel fear, terror, pain, and guilt.
And that was to be only the beginning.
Pondering a boring heaven while living hell on earth
Once Mamá Ana departed the one thing holding Mom’s worst character traits collapsed. Mom had free reign.
The beatings restarted once the nine rounds of Requiem Rosaries came to an end. Those rosaries formed my first (flawed) impression of heaven took shape:
Eternal rest grant unto her O Lord; And let perpetual light shine upon her, Amen
“Mom, what does ‘eternal” mean?’" I asked. “It means ‘forever, without end" she answered. “OK, and what does ‘perpetual’ mean?” “Same thing, forever, never ending" she intoned.
These concepts were hard to grasp for my 6-year old mind. In my mind I imagined heaven as a place where one stayed in bed forever, with a hanging lightbulb always on. Boring to the point of restlessness. Yet heaven so conceived was much better than the hell I was about to face.
From hand buffets Mom graduated to the soles of her chancletas (flip-flops). Then on to fake leather and full-leather belts. Or shw would invent other “chastisements.” Like, not getting this or that toy, or banned from family outings until I yielded. These all left profound physical and emotional marks. Still I didn't yield despite all the consequences. The only word I have to describe her behavior is the Spanish word saña: an uncontrolled paroxysm of fury and rage.
Having café con leche (coffee with milk, heavy on the coffee) every morning as part of breakfast didn’t help either. I was always in an anxious, jittery state I couldn't describe. I lost my baby fat and became very skinny, another thing that drove her nuts. But my appearance was also genetic inherited from my father's side. All my paternal half-siblings went through their own stages of meat-on-bones physical appearance. The thing is there was no way for her to know at that time, nor for me.
Still, I would only eat what I wanted on my own schedule, thank you very much. Since food and feedings were the only things I could control about myself at that time, I did control them. I did it my own way.
I marvel at my resilience at that time though. I would stop crying, I would feel no resentments, and I picked up where I left off. Mom would come down from her angry mood and things would go on. Only the nextdoor neighbors would know.
Papi and Titi Gloria suspected something was going on. But they did nothing to stop Mom. They had their own issues with anger and violence, each in their own way.
I've often wondered why Mom mistreated me so. The best answer I’ve been able to come up with has been my physical resemblance to my father. I became a target of opportunity to vent her resentment against him. I stood as a convenient proxy for her to get even for the shame, dishonor, and abandonment she felt. That only reinforced her defenses and buoyed her narcissism. In the rare instances Titi Gloria she did so to get back at her sister. In the even rarer instances Papi hit me he did so because that was the way he fixed a malcriado (spoiled) kid. And that was that.
For most of my childhood after Mamá Ana's passing this violence formed part of my normalcy.
Like I've said, I felt no resentment early on. As I got older and started to draw my boundaries, I began to resent it, and these only started to grow.
Mother hid this facet of her personality very well. She was claridad en la calle y oscuridad en la casa (This was an accusation of being two-faced. In the literal sense of the phrase, she was “all sweetness and light outside, but darkness and bad while at home”). I remember that phrase because she often accused me of it. I learned the phrase from her. I didn’t see how but I came to accept it as true. Afterall, it was my Mother who was telling me so. I had to believe her, I must believe her. It had to be true. It was a terrible burden for me to bear.
Today I know she was engaging in narcissistic projection. For those outside she projected an image of a good, congenial, dedicated, and tender mother. No one ever saw her darker side. She cultivated this good image with great care.
I was trapped, with nowhere to go. No outside help was ever forthcoming.
How I reaped the consequences: personal fragmentation
Needless to say, her mistreatment had profound consequences upon me. I was developing a skewed personality.
I developed low self-esteem. Against it I compensated by showing off my "superior intellect." I used my prodigious memory as a hammer and chisel. I became unbearable to others as I corrected others' mistakes of fact and expression with no tact. My behavior formed a feedback loop to Mom. My supple mind fed Mom's narcissism because she saw my accomplishments as hers more than mine own. My achievements became further proof to others she was a good mother for everyone to see. No wonder why whenever I got “B” on a test or in a class, emotional and physical fury followed. She didn't want anyone else to see her failure.
I also began ignoring my own emotional needs. As I matured I thought this was my particular cross and my sacrifice - which they were. Yes, Jesus sublimated my suffering but without ignoring others’ responsibility. In fact, I developed deep-seated anger issues because of my unresolved childhood traumas. I also suffered from an inability to love myself. I overcompensated for these in other, bad ways.
Her abuse had many other effects upon me I won’t bore you with. In my appreciation, the worst effect was that I started channeling her to others. I mean, I adapt her worldview, needs, ways of treating other people. Later, God’s grace would take care of chiseling those traits away from my personality. Yet I remain a work in progress.
Nor was my fragmentation due to my Mom’s abuse alone. My father’s absence also factored in.
Children look to their fathers to lay down the rules and enforce them. They also look to their fathers to provide a feeling of security, both physical and emotional. Children want to make their fathers proud, and an involved father promotes inner growth and strength. Fathers not only influence who we are inside, but how we have relationships with people as we grow.
The way a father treats his child will influence what he or she looks for in other people. Friends, lovers, and spouses will all be chosen based on how the child perceived the meaning of the relationship with his or her father. The patterns a father sets in the relationships with his children will dictate how his children relate with other people.
Boys seek approval from their fathers from a very young age. As human beings, we grow up by imitating the behavior of those around us; that’s how we learn to function in the world. If a father is caring and treats people with respect, the young boy will grow up much the same. When a father is absent, young boys look to other male figures to set the “rules” for how to behave and survive in the world (Source).
I lacked all those checks and balances. Papi did his best, but he was a man born in 1907 trying to understand a boy growing up almost 70 years later. We were on different planets. I looked up to my neighborhood fathers, to priests, and some sports figures. But those were palliatives, not cures. Dad’s presence would’ve counterbalanced Mom. It’s a void no one came to fill.
I did learn some things for life, though
I came to learn many things from these sad facts. Some of my conclusions will no doubt surprise you.
I came to learn that "society" owed me nothing. I don’t blame "society" for my childhood travails. I don’t feel entitled to reparations from anyone, nor have I ever demanded such entitlements. People trespassed against me. Forgiving them all for everything they did to me has now become a daily spiritual exercise.
Also, I have learned to consider people’s backstories. I now know there are some who have been able to transcend their upbringings to become good people. Others still carry their wounds but still have been able to push through. Yet others have not been able to rise above their past. Of these latter ones I say there but for the grace of God go I. I will not judge them. I will be their companion in their way of sorrows.
When reflecting about it all, had I grown up with Mom and Dad together my life would’ve turned a very different way. Odds were I wouldn't have grown up in Puerto Rico. Thus I would've never met the love of my life, and never had the sons and grandchildren I have now. I may have faced other challenges I would’ve been unable to surmount.
My cross had a substance and a meaning. Now I know I would go through everything I went through again to have what I have now. My suffering was worth it. I praise and thank for the cross He decided I was strong enough to bear.
One more thing. I’ve learned to look about me when I’m with people, in a store or down a street. I’ve learned, and continue to learn, that I’m surrounded by fellow brethren many of whom live “fractured”, like me. They’re me and I’m they, beloved by God, in a world gone mad.