The Step Child
Page 22
It was not easy for me to assent to an investigation into my childhood which would lead to the prosecution of my stepmother. However, I thought that if I could achieve some form of catharsis and an understanding of why, despite being relatively happy, I suffered from inexplicable guilt, fear and anxiety, then the whole process would be worth it. The reality, churning up the past, has been difficult to the point of unbearable at times. The pain has resonated through my life, stopping me in my tracks. At times I have been unable to function. For two years I was sick every morning and crippled with anxiety. I couldn’t sleep for fear of nightmares. My relationship with my new husband was tested to the limit, and I had to explain as well as I could to my children what had gone on.
So why did I do it? As I have said before, it was necessary for me to tell my story, if only for the purpose of giving a voice to the child I was. A voice that should have been heard all those years ago. I know my story is shocking but for me it was reality – a reality I lived through with no choice. There have been a number of books in recent years which have told of the personal experiences of others who were abused in some way; in many ways that is heartening. However, if all that we have managed to do is to develop a new form of ‘entertainment’, it has all been for nothing.
I don’t know if this book will touch anyone else in any way but it is my hope that there may be some lessons to be learned. I not only survived heinous abuse but went on to become a success in my own right. I pride myself on my parenting skills and rejoice in my talent. I am blessed to have the love and support of some very fine and respected people, without whose caring I could not have found the courage to travel this journey.
I believe if we have a story to tell then it should be told. Although mine is not a pleasant one, I hope it will bring encouragement to others. I have achieved my parenting goals, to rear my children to be loved, respected, valued and individual without fear, remorse or guilt. I have successfully nurtured my artistic talent enough to enable me to enjoy a career from something I love. I also have valued, caring friendships based on love, trust and respect. These are my successes. They show my stepmother that she did not break me. They are my raison d’être.
My story should also bring a warning of how we must all, as adults, be vigilant. Even if that means risking retribution by sticking our necks out to protect any child whose welfare we are in any way concerned about, we must do it.
Most importantly, telling this story allows me to close those chapters in my life. I don’t want to live in the shadow of these memories for a moment longer. I want, need and deserve the opportunity to find the inner peace I have always known could be mine.
After reading this, you may be shocked at the behaviour and actions of this woman, this Helen Ford, and how others also took advantage of such an appalling situation. As a mother I will never, ever understand her actions – but the important thing is that I no longer fear her. And I now know that I can live with the understanding that I was not to blame for her actions.
For me, this is not just about what was done to that child all those years ago, but the long-term effects of growing up with that history. It is also about you, the reader. You chose to pick up this book and read it to this point, and I am curious to know what you’re thinking. Has it been a ‘good read’? Did you ‘enjoy’ it? Perhaps you counted your blessings at various points, or perhaps it reminded you of something which you suffered. Maybe you are even an abuser yourself – there is a possibility that you bought this book because you hoped to find pleasure in the tale of a wrecked young life. You may have been looking for a sexual thrill or for some handy hints about how to keep your own perversions hidden or make them more successful. There is also a chance that you don’t believe a word of what I say. You may have checked the Internet to see whether Helen Ford really was convicted, whether she even existed, and seeing that the case was real, you may still want to deny it all.
I think I can understand all of those reactions because I have considered many of the responses to this story while revisiting it. No matter which camp you fall into, I would like you to remember one thing.
I had to learn how to hug.
I didn’t know how.
You don’t have to believe every word that has been written here – I know it’s all true, but you will have your own reason behind your interpretation of it. But please think about what I have just said. I didn’t know how to hug someone. I didn’t know how to have that natural, innocent, basic contact. Is that a remnant of a normal childhood? Is that a consequence of a natural upbringing?
For those who love me, I wish to convey not only my story but the complexity of being me. I want them all to know how vital their role has been in my development as an adult through the love and support they have offered. I want to appeal to everyone else that they always think of the child at the centre of any story. Children have a right to be loved, valued, respected, cared for, heard, nurtured and fed.
There may be people who feel uncomfortable at some of the content of this book, for reasons only they will know. But whoever you are, I ask that you consider your role in the life of any child with whom you come into contact. It is terrifying to think how much power we have over children and how easy it can be to abuse that power. The strongest in any society are the ones who put the rights of children first. The weakest, the most pathetic, the most worthy of condemnation, are those who decide that their needs take precedence over those rights.
If you are strong enough to be one of those people who put children first, through any contact you may have with them, then you have made a contribution. I don’t say that with lightness, because I know what it is to desperately hope that someone will change things. Even now, I can’t express what it would have meant to me if someone, some adult, had decided that enough was enough. The scraps of kindness I did experience showed me that goodness did exist – I just couldn’t understand how so little of it ever came my way.
Things are changing for me, but as you have been reading this, a child will be living a nightmare. They will be being starved or raped or beaten or humiliated or any one of the thousand things that good people don’t want to think or do anything about. They could be your son or daughter, another family member, a neighbour, a child you teach, a child you see each morning on your way to work, a child that bothers you by their behaviour or attitude. Those children are all around us, but we don’t really see or hear them. It is your choice whether you, as an individual, allow that to continue.
My story ends here for now – my life does not.
Becoming the woman I am from the stepchild I was has been a long, involved process with no shortcuts. But I’m getting there. I’m getting there.
Thank you for listening.
At last.
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Published in 2007 by Vermilion, an imprint of Ebury Publishing
First published in 2006 in hardback by Vermilion
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Copyright © Donna Ford and Linda Watson-Brown 2006
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