I remember when I was 3 years old, walking out to a very familiar willow bush in our front yard. I can’t remember what I had done, but I was there to cut a willow for my punishment. I approached the bush and the memories of being hit by the other willows came flooding across my mind. I was terrified, but I knew that I couldn’t get away. I looked around hoping that there would be someone on the street that would come and take me away, but there was no one coming. I knelt down, holding my dad’s pocket knife in hand and looked at the bush knowing that I had to cut one of the sticks and carry it back to my dad.
I had been hit with a willow many times before, but this was the 1st time my brother was not there to cut it for me. He was also not there to tell me not to cry or it would last longer. I looked back towards my house knowing what waited for me there. I knew I could not return without the willow, but I also couldn’t return being afraid. I had cried the other times and it seemed to last a long time. I had to be different this time. I was not going to cry. I remember so clearly deciding that the part of me that cries and cared about what happened to me needed to not exist. I made a very determined decision, that as I cut that willow, that I would rise up off the ground, I would leave that part of me at the bush and never come back for it. I walked back to my house, with the willow in hand, feeling hollow.
As I grew up, I remember my mother saying to me, frequently, that I was so cold and without feeling. In my mind, I would respond this is what you created in me. Living with an extremely narcissistic mother and aggressive father, I knew that I was just an object to them and didn’t really exist. I always felt like I was just a shell of a person, existing in life. I had no attachment to anything.
As I spoke of this experience with my counselor, I realized that if I had not made that decision, to cut off my identity at the willow bush, I would not have made it through the many years of severe abuse with my parents and ex-husband. The 3 year old made a life and death decision that day. I know my 3 year old self did not know what it was doing and how it would impact me for the rest of my life. I have come so close to death many times and wished I would die so many other times. But for some reason I am still here on this earth.
I think of the torment that little 3 year old was in. She had experienced so much brutality at such a young age. The loneliness that was so clearly felt at that willow bush was shattering. To know that she was looking around for anyone to save her. Someone to be her rescuer. Yet, there was no one. She took the pocket knife and cut the willow; knowing that it was going to cause excruciating pain. But, she was not to respond with any emotion; otherwise it would last longer. She stood and walked back to her house, changed. That little one was so brave to return to the sick individual that would wield the willow against her little body. She had no protector. No one to comfort and soothe her.
The willow bush was not the last obstacle for her to overcome. Even though she was dead inside, she kept standing up after being knocked down, and bravely managed her pain. She always looked for someone to rescue her, but there was not anyone brave enough.
That little one is grown and has left her abusers. Today, she is one strong and persistent woman. She has raised 2 healthy, intelligent young adults.