I don’t often frequent Freethought Blogs; the traffic there doesn’t seem quite as consistent as it is with Patheos. Then a couple of weeks ago, I found this.
Welcome to me, staring at the screen and trying not to freak out. If that sounds familiar, it happened many years ago, when I took an online assessment of whether or not I had been in an abusive relationship. When I applied the questions to my mother, I scored 80%; anything above 50% was considered abusive.
It goes without saying that this is some strong stuff. You can continue if you want. If not, that’s fine too. So when you’re ready, keep reading after the break.
The author compared Jesus to a domestic abuser; the description seems fairly apt, when you think about it. Even the Friendly Atheist himself could see the parallels. But what bothered me was the Danger Assessment, which was an indicator of how likely a woman might be killed by an intimate partner. Now, since I dealt with abuse in childhood, some of the indicators didn’t apply to me. But most of them did. For example:
Partner used or threatened with a weapon.
Check. My mother threatened to beat me with the sticks I kept under the porch, the ones that I played with as a child. It wasn’t just once or twice, either; it was constant.
Partner threatened to kill woman.
Check. This was again a constant threat and it wasn’t a joking one, either.
Partner tried to choke (strangle) woman.
Big fat CHECK. I was fourteen when that happened.
Partner violently and constantly jealous.
Check. If I expressed interest in the opposite sex, my mother got jealous. It was really weird and pretty damned creepy, to be quite honest.
When I look at all these, I wonder just how in the hell I made it through childhood. Even worse? There are days when I ask myself if I’m making a huge deal out of nothing, if I’m simply being too sensitive for my own damn good.
Then I read things like this and realize that I need to remove the Nostalgia Goggles. I read things like this and realize that yes, I need to keep blogging about what happened to me, that my silence is complacency on this subject. I am the only one who can tell my story to those who wish to hear it. No, it isn’t always pretty but it is mine and it needs to be shared.
I also need to chuck those damn Nostalgia Goggles. They never fit me all that well anyway.