Under Rug Swept
I've said it, thought it so many times. It all started over a fight about sweeping the floor. The destruction of my life, my mind, the havoc that would follow began with an argument about sweeping. A simple house chore, right? Clearly not something that would warrant the extreme reaction that would follow. But it is the truth. It is the catalyst for my fall from grace, or whatever position I had made it to at the age of twenty.
Let me provide some context. I'm twenty, home for the summer after my sophomore year of college. It's that sweet spot where you transition from the new student to finally one who knows there people and can move more smoothly into who they are becoming. I'm an English and Philosophy Double Major and former high school valedictorian. The week before I leave school for home, I go hiking with friends. We climb to a summit on the side of Lookout Mountain. We can see the great blanket in front of it that is Chattanooga, but might as well be the the world. Our futures are unrolling in front of us and my eyes are wide open loving those green trees and bright blue clouds. I still have the picture of that day. I had pigtails. I'm standing like an X with my arms out ready to embrace what's next. I can't wait for what's next.
But only because I can't see it.
I drove away from the mountain and towards the haunted house. Well, I didn't think it was haunted then. Now I have wrestled with images of demons living in the walls, but back then that place on Lake Drive was simply called home. My mom's house was a hard place. My mom was an intense person. Back then I would say we just didn't get along so well. Now I will say she was verbally and emotionally abusive. In a very few cases, physically abusive. Telling the truth helps me. I have to remind myself over and over again that what I am saying is true.
My mom's favorite thing to control is time. If you have some, she wants it. She wants to dominate and own it. These seem like harsh words, but the toll her behaviors have on me truly cannot be dismissed. If you are to understand me, really believe me, I have to be honest.
The other thing my mom loved to exert her authority with is chores. At any time of any moment, she might pick something - dishes, sweeping, cleaning a room - and demand it be addressed. She'd say, "The dishes in the sink are a mess. You need to clean them now. You can't go anywhere until you clean them. You don't live in a hotel. Clean them immediately." Any kind of argument, request to do them later would be a tug of war. And often, so often it resulted in her screaming. She'd spit when she screamed. Her eyes get wild. It still happens now, but I am less afraid. I cannot forget how she used to throw things across the room, drag her arm across a desk violently so all the toys would clatter and crash to the floor. At some point I learned that no amount of cleaning was enough. I lived so much life in with dormant fear, never knowing when she would get hungry to yell, demand, antagonize. Dormant fears are sneaky. They tear you up from the inside out.
The floor sweeping fight happened in early June of 2004. But before I explain the fight there are a few more contextual details.
I took a job that summer at a camp in North Carolina. I was at that camp for a few weeks before the fight. I was only home for my brother's high school graduation. So much of my life since then is a blur and it does hurt an awful lot to try and gather the details. So, I was home to celebrate the graduation and my 20th birthday. The thing about those 3 weeks at camp is that being there changed me. I was re-evaluating life. I was weighing the value of life working outside with nature versus academia. I was enjoying kayaks, morning runs, camp games, fireside storytime and the people there. I was absolutely loving it. It extended my hiking moment from Chattanooga just a bit further. I made a friend who also had some difficult relationships (like my mom) and gave me advice about setting boundaries and declaring my time, my time. While I was there I was getting more physically fit. My arms were stronger, and I was losing weight, something I have rarely been able to do. The friend happened to be a cute Australian guy that I was developing feelings for, but I really can't tell if that's an important part of the story.
Leaving camp for the trip home, I knew I had to set a line in a sand with my mom, stand up for myself for once. Don't be pushed around. The graduation party happened. People celebrated my brother and wish him good luck as he had joined the army and was about to head to boot camp. Things seemed okay. Then a slow afternoon my mom decided I had to sweep the whole house. She decided instantly and said do this right now. I told her no. I told her I would do it later. She did not accept this. She was not used to me refusing to bend to her will. So she went right for the jugular. She said - and I remember the words like the pronouncing of a death sentence - which she would later deny, deny and deny. She said, if you don't sweep the floor now, I won't pay for college.
My mom had cancelled my 15th birthday. You never knew when she would keep an ultimatum - and my junior (and senior) year was at stake. I had to stand up for myself. It was so confusing. Should I risk my education to stand up for myself? But it she wasn't paying I would be stuck home with her. More out of control. I didn't have savings. I wasn't prepared to fend for myself. But I knew I deserved defending, so I didn't sweep the floor.
I went back to camp defeated. I believed she wouldn't pay for school. I believed I was on my own and had to figure out how to pay for anything - everything. I started running harder. I was eating less. I was so so confused. And yes, here, my body did turn against me, but I was living in terror. I think my reaction makes sense. My life in college was ripped away from me. I stood up for myself and faced the brutal response. I couldn't not live in that home. I knew that much. But where should I live? While my fear mounted, my friendship with the Australian had grown and I thought maybe those feelings were love. That has been a great shame I've carried for years. I have been so ashamed for loving the one person that at that time inspired me to stand up for myself.
And standing up for myself cost me everything.
Let me provide some context. I'm twenty, home for the summer after my sophomore year of college. It's that sweet spot where you transition from the new student to finally one who knows there people and can move more smoothly into who they are becoming. I'm an English and Philosophy Double Major and former high school valedictorian. The week before I leave school for home, I go hiking with friends. We climb to a summit on the side of Lookout Mountain. We can see the great blanket in front of it that is Chattanooga, but might as well be the the world. Our futures are unrolling in front of us and my eyes are wide open loving those green trees and bright blue clouds. I still have the picture of that day. I had pigtails. I'm standing like an X with my arms out ready to embrace what's next. I can't wait for what's next.
But only because I can't see it.
I drove away from the mountain and towards the haunted house. Well, I didn't think it was haunted then. Now I have wrestled with images of demons living in the walls, but back then that place on Lake Drive was simply called home. My mom's house was a hard place. My mom was an intense person. Back then I would say we just didn't get along so well. Now I will say she was verbally and emotionally abusive. In a very few cases, physically abusive. Telling the truth helps me. I have to remind myself over and over again that what I am saying is true.
My mom's favorite thing to control is time. If you have some, she wants it. She wants to dominate and own it. These seem like harsh words, but the toll her behaviors have on me truly cannot be dismissed. If you are to understand me, really believe me, I have to be honest.
The other thing my mom loved to exert her authority with is chores. At any time of any moment, she might pick something - dishes, sweeping, cleaning a room - and demand it be addressed. She'd say, "The dishes in the sink are a mess. You need to clean them now. You can't go anywhere until you clean them. You don't live in a hotel. Clean them immediately." Any kind of argument, request to do them later would be a tug of war. And often, so often it resulted in her screaming. She'd spit when she screamed. Her eyes get wild. It still happens now, but I am less afraid. I cannot forget how she used to throw things across the room, drag her arm across a desk violently so all the toys would clatter and crash to the floor. At some point I learned that no amount of cleaning was enough. I lived so much life in with dormant fear, never knowing when she would get hungry to yell, demand, antagonize. Dormant fears are sneaky. They tear you up from the inside out.
The floor sweeping fight happened in early June of 2004. But before I explain the fight there are a few more contextual details.
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| Working at Summer Camp, the day before D-Day |
Leaving camp for the trip home, I knew I had to set a line in a sand with my mom, stand up for myself for once. Don't be pushed around. The graduation party happened. People celebrated my brother and wish him good luck as he had joined the army and was about to head to boot camp. Things seemed okay. Then a slow afternoon my mom decided I had to sweep the whole house. She decided instantly and said do this right now. I told her no. I told her I would do it later. She did not accept this. She was not used to me refusing to bend to her will. So she went right for the jugular. She said - and I remember the words like the pronouncing of a death sentence - which she would later deny, deny and deny. She said, if you don't sweep the floor now, I won't pay for college.
My mom had cancelled my 15th birthday. You never knew when she would keep an ultimatum - and my junior (and senior) year was at stake. I had to stand up for myself. It was so confusing. Should I risk my education to stand up for myself? But it she wasn't paying I would be stuck home with her. More out of control. I didn't have savings. I wasn't prepared to fend for myself. But I knew I deserved defending, so I didn't sweep the floor.
I went back to camp defeated. I believed she wouldn't pay for school. I believed I was on my own and had to figure out how to pay for anything - everything. I started running harder. I was eating less. I was so so confused. And yes, here, my body did turn against me, but I was living in terror. I think my reaction makes sense. My life in college was ripped away from me. I stood up for myself and faced the brutal response. I couldn't not live in that home. I knew that much. But where should I live? While my fear mounted, my friendship with the Australian had grown and I thought maybe those feelings were love. That has been a great shame I've carried for years. I have been so ashamed for loving the one person that at that time inspired me to stand up for myself.
And standing up for myself cost me everything.
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