As far as I was concerned, my real family lived on TV.  I spent my days watching I love Lucy, full house and family matters wishing I could have that. I used to giggle at how unrealistic those family dynamics were. But I longed for it anyway. I wanted a father like Danny tanner. A family like the Winslows. Parents like Lucy & Ricky. A friend like Ethel. I wanted to feel what it felt like to be cared about like that. This is where I lived in my head when bad things were happening.

I always tried my best to be perfect but as we all know, perfection doesn’t exist, especially for a child. So I would inevitably break a rule and get punished for it. One of the most painful beatings I received came at the hands of my mother.  My mother was rarely home because she had to work. So I was left with my caregiver who would usually be the enforcer, but this day she shared that privilege with my mother.

My caregiver decided that I’d broken a rule. She took her belt off and proceeded to beat me. I usually would take my beating in silence. I’d leave my body there and imagine a better life with my TV family. But this beating really hurt and I couldnt take it anymore. So I ran. Not the best decision, but I wasn’t thinking about that. Just wanted it to stop. The more I evaded her, the angrier she grew and I knew that what awaited me was going to be so much worse. But she gave up after some time. When my mother got home, my caregiver told her what had happened and encouraged her to punish me. She made her feel guilty for having to take care of such an uncontrollable child.

My mom took me into the bedroom, put me over her lap and started whooping me with her belt. I sobbed quietly. I didn’t want her to feel bad. It was my fault. If I would’ve just taken my beating earlier, she wouldn’t be put in that position. I heard her cry too and it broke my heart. As she was beating me, she told me that she was doing it because she loved me, and that if I would just “be a good girl” Things like that wouldn’t happen again. When the beating was over, she hugged me and told me how much I meant to her.

I cried that night. I felt horrible that I’d made my mother cry.  I beat myself up for it. “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just be good?” So I tried harder to keep my caregiver happy. But that was not possible.  So the beatings continued because they “loved me.”