by Ford, Donna
'Jump up here onto my lap,' he said as soon as he sat down. 'You're too wee to sit on the stool.' So I did.
As you read this, I want you to remember that Helen had only been away from my life for a couple of weeks and I was experiencing freedom for the first time. I had been eating food and there had been no parties since she left. Things were the best they had ever been, and here was a man who was always nice, helping to teach me how to play the piano.
But I'd no sooner jumped on his lap, eagerly hitting the keys, than his hand shot straight between my thighs. I tried to jump down but his left hand went around my waist and I just couldn't get away from him. He kept saying 'pretty girl, pretty girl' to me. I can't remember now how I did get away or how long we were there. I just remember the stinging pain and the humiliation of the whole situation. This man came and stayed over at our house for two weeks at one point after falling out with his wife, and although I tried at all costs to avoid him I didn't always manage it. He is probably in his seventies now. I know where he lives. I have friends who know him and know where he drinks. Maybe if he reads this he too will know who he is. I have survived it but I do wonder how many lives he wrecked in pursuit of his pleasure, and how many more people he violated. How does he sleep at night?
After a little while – far too little – Helen came back and things resumed as they had been before she left. During the time she was away, I had a small glimpse of how things might be if she stayed away, despite the abuse I was still suffering. My Dad didn't lock me up in my room or make me stand for hours in the bathroom – and there were no parties. It was like a holiday away from her. I just wished that she would stay away.
I believe that it is so important to tell your story, no matter how difficult it is or how long it takes to be heard. Now is the time to tell the tale of what happened to me as I tried to find the woman I wanted to be, the woman who was hidden within the child locked in the cellar. I need to reflect on how far I have come. I know that the negative relationship experiences I have suffered are a direct link from my past, and that I must rebuild myself by looking at what happened to me and then moving on. I have had to let certain memories into my life – but it is now time to let them go. The search for my mother turned up no new leads, and the publication of my first book led only to negative responses from my remaining family. So – where do I go now?
Chapter Thirty-four
A BEGINNING FROM MANY ENDINGS
RECENTLY, IT WAS MY SON Paul's 22nd birthday and we celebrated it like we do all birthdays in our house – together as a family. We always have a homemade cake and we all join in preparing a meal. This time, we made Japanese food as Paul's fiancée is half Japanese and she showed us how to make sushi. We bought gifts and cards for Paul and we showered him with love.
I remember having a birthday party in the children's home, just a month before I left. It was a happy occasion, made even happier by the thought that my Daddy would soon be coming to take me home to my real family and my new Mummy. I remember getting a nurse's outfit with a striped dress, white hat and apron. There was even a little plastic watch pinned to the front of the apron. That's the only birthday I remember in my childhood. I don't know what happened to the nurse's outfit because when I came home to stay with my Dad and Helen, I had no toys at all.
I don't usually think about the fact that my birthdays were so different from those of my children. This is yet another aspect of my life that was just so wrong and it hurts. Sometimes, however, the past comes back to me when I least expect it, such as on Paul's birthday. Seeing my children and Ayumi laughing as we all attempted to roll sushi – and Saoirse's face lit up by the candles on the cake that Claire had made – I thought about the contrast between my life and theirs. Of course, I'm ecstatically happy to see how different my children's lives are from my childhood, but sometimes I still weep for the little girl I was. It's strange, but the memory of little details like birthdays can be more hurtful than thinking about the physical, sexual or emotional abuse. I was always alone as a child; I never felt that I belonged; and to not even have a birthday or a Christmas was terrible.
Throughout my adult years I've questioned many aspects of my personality. I've looked at just how what I endured as a child has affected the woman I've become. Some areas of my life have been rewarding – such as parenting and art – because they were easy for me to grasp. It was, in my eyes, so easy to be a good mother because I knew how it felt to be unloved, uncared for, abused and starved. I knew that I only had to listen to my children's needs and respond to them; I only had to respect and love them and always protect them.
My children have always known that I have a great sense of fun, and we've used every opportunity to enjoy ourselves. They would often come home from school to discover that we'd be having a picnic tea down on the beach or up in the hills. Every morning I woke them with a song – I still do it now with Saoirse, in spite of her telling me I'm out of key! Our house has always been somewhere for my children and their friends to congregate. Whenever I can give them fun I will, but my children have always had boundaries, such as regular mealtimes and bedtimes, because I believe we all need a certain amount of routine to allow us to accept the discipline we need in our adult lives. I have insisted on them having good manners because rudeness is ugly. I am no different from many parents in that I just want the best for my children. The only thing that sets me apart from many is that I had such a terrible example of parenting set for me by my own father and Helen.
My art has always been with me. I just knew in my heart that one day I would be an artist. When I started truanting from school at around the age of 13, I sometimes went to the National Gallery on the Mound to keep warm. Here a world opened up for me. I was blown away by the paintings. I'd stare in awe at the Botticellis, Rembrandts and Mac Taggarts, to name a few, and I'd wonder just how they were created. I knew then that one day I would find out.
It took me until I was 30 before I started on my path as an artist, after my marriage to Robert had broken up and I was at a very low point. I decided then to go to college to study art, and although I haven't done everything in the way I would have liked, I am happy because I feel successful. There are many ways that we measure success as an artist. For some, it is enough to sell the odd painting here and there; while other artists would argue that unless you are truly recognised and displayed in the major galleries then success is not yet won. For me, I paint and draw because I love it and because my work brings pleasure to other people. I have exhibited and sold in the UK and abroad, particularly South Africa. Many people have bought my work and are respectful of my achievements. To me, that is success. I do have further hopes and ambitions as far as being an artist is concerned, and I intend to pursue every one of them, but I am delighted with the relative success I now enjoy. Art has always been an escape for me, the one thing that nobody could ever take from me.
I would say that my major problem in life has been my inability to sustain and nurture relationships with men. I have thought long and hard about this, and I have often wondered just how much what happened to me as a child has had a bearing on my role in personal relationships. There have been four important relationships in my life and I value each one for what it has brought me, but I wish with all my heart that I'd had one and only one, because I believe that families should stay together. I know that break-ups are sometimes unavoidable, and that many single parents do a fantastic job, but I really do believe that it is better for everyone to stay together.
When I was around 15, I started going to the local youth club. One of my friends at this time was a happy-go-lucky, popular girl who had lots of friends, both male and female. I always wished that I had her confidence because she was happy and fun to be around. For her, it was the most natural thing in the world that boys fancied her, and to flirt and have fun with them. I, on the other hand, was terrified of boys coming near me at all. I felt dirty and used, and I thought that boys would know straight away. Although this was the m
id-1970s, attitudes in our neighbourhood were still very much stuck in the 1950s when sex before marriage was taboo, and 'nice' girls didn't let boys near them sexually. Another friend of mine who got pregnant, unknown to me, was whisked off to stay with an aunt, returning some months later with a baby.
People who know what it's like to have their innocence stolen will understand what I'm trying to say here. For those who haven't experienced sexual violation in childhood, I would like to explain. When we are children, we don't have much choice. We are ultimately at the mercy of the people who care for us or are involved in our lives. Sometimes these people do terrible things, like my stepmother did, and as did the men who, in their sick depravity, took from me my innocence for their own sexual gratification.
My first important relationship was with Robert. For the first time in my life I was a sexual being. I could give and receive love and know that sex wasn't something that was just taken from me. This feeling was very new as I had previously only known invasion into my secret private places. But when I met Robert, what shocked me was the natural way we enjoyed each other.
We really loved each other in those early days, but we were so very young and we both carried baggage. Unfortunately, at some point in our relationship, life got on top of us. Something had to go and we parted. So many times I look back and think if only I knew then what I know now, maybe we could have stood a chance. I know so much more about how I was damaged and how that would have a bearing on any relationship. If I could go back there armed with that knowledge and wisdom, I believe we could still be together.
I'm not exactly sure when we started having problems but I do remember arguments about why I was no longer interested in sex. I can remember that we were having many difficulties because Robert's business was not succeeding. I was juggling working in the Social Work Department with bringing up two children under five. On top of that, my father-in-law, whom I loved and respected, had a stroke and was paralysed. It seemed like my world was falling apart. I blamed myself and felt that all this bad luck was down to me being rotten inside. I just didn't want sex, and the very thought of it took me back to dark places in my childhood. Rather than dealing with this problem and others that we were having, I just let Robert walk away.
I was heartbroken, and I'm sure Robert was too, but neither of us seemed to have the ability to address any of the real issues we were experiencing. To be perfectly fair, nobody knew what had gone on for me. People have always thought that I am strong and capable of bouncing back, but inside I was a broken little girl trying to deal with the aftermath of many years of abuse, and I didn't know how to cope with the adult world.
As I sit here now it is easy to be melancholic about the past and those times. It is also easy to blame myself or what happened to me as a child for my inability to sustain a relationship, but I know that it takes two people to make a relationship and two people to break it. After Robert and I split, my self-esteem and confidence shattered, and I felt really down about my situation. I had to pick myself up, brush myself down and start again. This was not an easy thing to do because I really believed at this point that I was tainted and inadequate.
Looking back at other relationships, I now know that all the elements must be right for two people to enjoy a healthy sex life. My second marriage was a violent, abusive, controlling one. Ian's idea of sex was about having 'his' needs met. He would bring up my past, and accuse me of being frigid. He broke my nose, terrified the life out of me and my children and then wondered why I couldn't love him in the way he wanted. In the end, I could only have sex with him if I'd had a few drinks.
The relationship with Ian took me to a very bad place. All the time I was with him I was reminded of my past. Having read some psychology I know that this was subconsciously what I expected. With Ian, I knew what to expect all the time. I was always frightened, and that was a feeling I was used to, even though I hated it. I believed that he loved me because he would cry, apologise and tell me that he loved me, and that nobody would ever love me like he did. Everything about his behaviour was wrong and he took advantage of my vulnerability.
That's not love. That's abuse all over again.
Chapter Thirty-five
BREAKING THE SILENCE
IT WOULD BE FOOLISH TO say that I wasn't affected by what happened to me as a child because it is widely recognised that sexual abuse in childhood has a lasting effect. There are many symptoms, some of which I have experienced myself, such as anxiety, panic attacks, nightmares and flashbacks. For some people, sexual abuse leaves them with shame, self-hatred and depression. The betrayal of trust that we experience as children can leave us feeling uneasy in relationships as adults. Some people may cope with these feelings by overuse of drink or drugs. Others may overeat or starve themselves, or self-harm to express the terrible pain and confusion sexual abuse leaves us with. But it is possible to get over these feelings. For me, I can overcome a lot of these effects by talking about them – on my terms.
Talking about it breaks the secrecy and allows us to let out the hurt and shame. It helps us see who is really to blame, and rebalances our thoughts about the thing that happened to us that we had no control over. Talking about what happened to me has been the most valuable way of overcoming the anxiety and fear I was left with. I spoke a lot with my good friend Linda, who has helped me write my books. I had spoken to a policewoman about much of it when I gave a statement to the police, but Linda was really the first woman friend I poured my heart out to. I am so grateful that I chose her, and for her sensitivity, because through being able to talk about it and be supported, I have managed to exorcise many of my demons.
Since the publication of my book The Step Child, many people have written to me and said how brave I am for speaking out. I don't think I'm brave. I spoke about it because I always knew that what had happened to me was wrong, and I truly believe that if we do something bad, one day we will be punished for it. When I was a little girl I thought I was bad because that is what I was told. However, as I grew up and realised that people liked me and that I was a good person with good values, I knew that I had to tell my story. I have had to do this no matter how shocking it has been to others, or how painful it has been for me, because being able to talk about it has relieved me of some very terrible memories and dark moments.
If memories have been stirred for you while reading this, please tell someone. Be careful though, because the person you choose will affect how you feel about your own story. Find someone whom you trust with this knowledge. You have to know that this person will be respectful of your story and guide you in the right direction, in the same way Linda has for me. If you are struggling with issues from your past I would suggest that you look for the best professional help out there. I put my past away when I left home because it was too awful to face and too terrible to talk about; and, to be perfectly honest, I just didn't think anyone would believe me anyway. But burying the past is not the right thing to do because you don't know when it is going to affect you. In the relationship I had with what I call my 'abusive' partner, I didn't see the warning signs until it was far too late.
If you take anything from this book, please let it be not to leave things too late. You owe it to yourself.
It all seems to have come full circle. By telling my story I have faced up to so much of my own life. The horrors I experienced as a little girl didn't stop when Helen Ford left my Dad, nor did they stop when I became a woman. That day, not so long ago, when I went to see Paul's new flat with him will never leave me – but I can grow stronger from it.
As we approached the basement together, I was overwhelmed by the smell: the sweet, acrid, musty smell of an old tenement. That smell was enough to transport me back to around the time I was nine, to one of the very few occasions I was allowed out by Helen. Although I wasn't involved in the games being played by the other children, I was just happy to be out in the fresh air. Sometimes Helen would do this – she'd send all of us out all day, tell us not to leav
e the street, and to come as soon as we were called. At those times, there would be no food and I wouldn't dare go in and ask for anything, not even the toilet. I often wondered then what she was doing and why she sometimes had this bizarre change of heart. Now I believe it may have coincided with visits from the man she was having an affair with.
The memory that came back to me that day was from the school summer holidays. As usual, I was sitting in my bed when I heard Helen shouting: 'You! Get out of that bed and get dressed! NOW!' I did as I was told, then she opened the bedroom door and gave her usual spiel about not coming back until I was called and not leaving the street. I was so delighted to be allowed out that I flew out of the door as if I had wings. I liked this occasional opportunity to get out because there was always the chance I could pick up a sweetie or something on the street, and if I went in the back greens, I could pick up stale bits of bread that had been thrown out for the birds. I was as excited as could be.
