Sawdust

by Deborah Kay

  At best, perhaps I gave them the confidence to make those choices, gave them the safety, the openness and discipline of a home that allowed them what my parents never allowed me: to grow up according to the best of my abilities. There was something waiting to burst in them, my children, as there is in all of us, and I think in my small way I was able to help release it.

  For me, the safety and openness of reasoning with adults that my children had from birth did not come until I was about thirty. That was when I first went to counselling. Until then I believed that everything that happened to me was my fault.

  If anything, I deserved whatever demented actions and punishments were dished out to me. Just as I had pulled Dad into me on that bed as he read to me from his dirty books, I was guilty. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

  In many ways, thank heavens for my marriage breakdown, because without it the chances are very small that I would have been led to this one positive thing: further professional counselling. Everybody tense, miserable, maybe even suicidal, I would still have been married to a man I no longer loved; would still have been burying my secrets, deceiving my children, and blaming myself for everything.

  It is my message, my one big message to the world: Seek help if you need it. If it is true and proper it will give you the tools, will unleash the strength and acumen in you, and by God, I think there is in all of us that have been felled by “the hand that saws” a need for insight – and valour.

  It is something we should be given in school – before reading and writing and history and geography and even arithmetic – the lessons to prevent the damage committed by our own blood. The knowledge to combat the seemingly wonderful families and adults around us.

  I was a warrior now. I had a “counsellor’s shield” as my guide; I was no longer anybody’s exotic instrument or any kind of plaything. I had received warmth and light when I needed it: through Aunty Bev, through her beautiful warm hands and eyes that did not judge; through that school principal who allowed me to lie my banging, mixed-up head down in her office and keep my secrets to myself; and through the Godbolts who showed me more than anyone what it was to be a normal, loving family.

  The smell of candles in their caravan, that thickening beeswax with its creamy, smoky flavour still brings a shiver of warmth to me – both for the Godbolts and for the early days with my knight in shining armour.

  Why do we open up the door and let them in? I should mistrust men, but I do not. I take them at face value. I look at their lips and try to read their mouths. Maybe it’s a fault, a weakness in my character? But somehow when I see – or feel – honesty in the mouth, I still do not mistrust. I give benefit of the doubt. Except when it comes to my own children. Then, don’t even come near me. Stay away. Most men don’t know how to play with small girls anyway. They are too rough or overcompensate by being too soft. At any rate, and in any event, they can be awkward with female children. It makes me feel protective.

  I suppose before I put it all on Dad and men, there was Mum too. She did nothing – absolutely nothing – except in the most absurd ways – to protect me. In terms of Mum, it was useless.

  In a twist, recently when I visited her at my sister’s place I became emotional due to a conversation I had with her where she asked me if I’d forgotten – or forgiven – Dad and her brother (yes, Mum even knew about that) – for the terrible things they had done to me. I faltered and held in my reply. I didn’t really want to talk to her about it.

  My sister, after realising what had happened, later sent a text message to me saying she was sorry Mum had upset me. My sister told my mother that she should not bring up that stuff anymore as Dad was dead now and couldn’t hurt anyone again.

  She also told Mum the reason I get upset with her now is because I don’t understand why she didn’t protect me all those years ago. Mum’s reply, quite simply, was that Dad had threatened to kill us. She felt she had no other choice at the time but to let things be.

  What I learnt from Mum was that, in the end, I had to grow up in myself. That was the only place it could ever be resolved. Even if I came out losing it was always good to know that.

  Another thing that’s good to know is the excruciating pain and exquisite joy of giving birth. There is only one thing more wonderful and more magical than giving birth, it is watching your own child giving birth to her child.

  I have experienced that too now, only just two years ago, and there is nothing more sweet, more delicate, more spicily miraculous, especially as that ripping, shooting, bloating pain does not belong to you – only the marvel of it. I could not believe it, I absolutely could not believe the sacred communication driving like a wave between mother and daughter and newborn soul, and all I can say, because I have seen it for myself now, is yes it is true, us women are truly amazing.

  People already say of my relationship with my granddaughter, Sophia, ‘You’re going to spoil her. You’re giving too much of yourself to her.’ The reality is I always wanted to be a mother, now I want to be a grandmother. And I want to spoil my grandchild and all my other grandchildren when they come along too. I want to spoil them with affection, with love, with complete and soft pillow-like joy, with space and oxygen and safety.

  Like that little girl, Sophia, already growing up, walking unsteadily, flapping her arms like ducks’ wings with excitement whenever she sees me, I see myself sitting on the back steps of our house in Anondale, just near the passing cars dashing by on the highway, a small child unconsciously seeing the future, a small child with hope, and I feel the sun shining on the golden honey as it drizzles from my bread in lines of expectation from my warm little fingers onto my arms.

  And in the end I am glad Dad didn’t choke me that night on the way home from Grandma’s, just so that... just so that, without malice, without venom, I can tell you my story. So that instead of saying woe is me, instead of simply being a victim, I can warn others.

  And there is another reason. So that I can tell you of this: that behind the darkness, after the shadows of it, there are warm little places, tiny little holes where the light shines through. It is true, we are women, we are survivors.

  I found that engagement ring, hadn’t I? We can do it. I know we can.

  Postscript from a Daughter

  Mum’s story really is quite amazing. Well, the fact that she has become a caring, intuitive, empathetic and warm person and a fantastic mother is the amazing bit. How she managed to turn into the wonderful person I know and love blows my mind. I think some people have amazing resilience to horrible situations and Mum is a great example of this.

  Mum always told us that all she ever wanted to be was a mother. She taught us to keep our eyes open, to listen, to question, to love and to be safe. I am so proud of who Mum has become. I remember bits of the “old” mum: the person who would try to hide her face if you spoke to her directly and compare that to now: a woman who is quietly confident and has learned to understand what happened to her was not her fault.

  I’m not sure if Mum ever made a specific decision to tell us about her past. But somewhere inside of me I’ve known her story since I was a child. I was the one who figured out who the perpetrator was because Mum didn’t want to tell me who it was (understandably).

  I still remember it taking me ages to solve it... I kept saying to Mum over and over: ‘But who could have done this to you without your parents knowing? Grandy and Nana would have protected you!’ I guess that just goes to show my innocence and naivety at the time. I still remember the day I figured it out and I was so shocked it was difficult to breathe... I still feel bad that as an eight or nine year-old, I asked Mum why she didn’t stop him.

  When it came to Mum’s past, she would only ever answer my questions in the way I asked them. She never volunteered information. Nevertheless, that’s the main reason I knew more than my sister and brother: I simply asked more questions. For some stupid reason I thought sexual abuse was just touching (Mum had always told us that nobody is allowed to touch our private
parts). I was nearly sick to my stomach the day I made the mistake of asking – in general conversation – when Mum had lost her virginity.

  I actually didn’t think her father had had SEX with her. This was now really bad. Then I thought he’d only done it once! I almost couldn’t bear the thought. I still can’t. It’s almost like my definition of hell kept changing with every new question and answer session. Looking back, I think Mum wasn’t sure how much to tell me – for my own sake but also her own.

  She was coming to terms with her childhood while at the same time trying to be honest with me. Looking back, there probably were times I was too young to know what I knew. Funny, writing this now, I still haven’t made up my mind whether I want to read Mum’s book cover to cover – except that I probably know most of it anyway.

  I think, looking back it was hard to learn the details of what happened to Mum. I continually pushed to know more, it was as if by hearing the gruesome details I could somehow share some of her pain and hold her hand through it.

  I remember getting to a point where I felt physically ill, and ANGRY. So ANGRY this had happened to her. I got to a stage where I refused to see my grandfather and I think I secretly told myself if he ever died, I’d be glad.

  When Grandy did die of a brain tumour, Mum told me she wanted to go to the funeral and although I didn’t intend to go, I told her I would go but only to support her. On the day of the funeral, a strange feeling came over me: I no longer felt angry anymore…. And I still don’t know why. Everyone including Mum wore black/grey to the funeral (as you do), but I still remember Mum wearing a fuchsia pink hat on the day. I think it was Mum’s way of saying – I’m not a victim, I’m free.

  Sarah Gallagher

  February 2013

  Further Resources

  • ACT for Kids – www.actforkids.com.au/– Provides therapy and support for children who have been abused or neglected. Telephone: (07) 3357 9444.

  • Adults Surviving Child Abuse – www.asca.org.au – Self-help resources and Professional Support Line: 1300 657 380.

  • Australian Childhood Foundation – www.childhood.org.au/home/ – Aims to strengthen community responsibility for promoting the well-being and protection of children throughout Australia.

  • Bravehearts – www.bravehearts.org.au/– To educate, empower and protect Australian kids from sexual assault.

  • Brisbane Rape and Incest Survivors Support Centre – www.brissc.org.au/– Services for women survivors of sexual violence and their supporters. Telephone: (07) 3391 0004.

  • Bursting the Bubble – www.burstingthebubble.com/ For teenagers who are living with family violence.

  • Child Abuse Prevention Helpline 1800 991 099 – www.childwise.net/Help-Advice/child-wise-national-child-abuse-prevention-helpline.html.

  • Children and Youth Health – www.cyh.sa.gov.au/ – A South Australian government resource with practical health information for parents, carers and young people.

  • CREATE Foundation – www.create.org.au/ – Non-government organisation connecting and empowering children and young people in care.

  • DVconnect – www.dvconnect.org/– Provides free 24/7 help for women, men, children and pets affected by domestic and family violence across Queensland. DVconnect womensline: 1800 811 811. DVconnect mensline: 1800 600 636.

  • Hands On Scotland – www.handsonscotland.co.uk/ – A Scottish government sponsored online resource for anyone working with children and young people.

  • Healthy Start – www.healthystart.net.au/ – An Australia-wide strategy to support parents with learning difficulties and promote a healthy start to life for their young children.

  • Kids Help Line – www.kidshelp.com.au/ – Confidential and anonymous, twenty-four hour telephone and online counselling service specifically for young people aged 5-18.

  • Lifeline – www.uccommunity.org.au/– Provides twenty-four hour telephone counselling and services to assist people in Queensland communities. Telephone: 13 11 14.

  • National Association for Child Abuse and Neglect (NAPCAN) – www.napcan.org.au/ – National organisation focused on promotion and primary prevention of child abuse and neglect.

  • National Child Protection Clearinghouse – www.aifs.gov.au/cfca/ – Australian Institute of Family Studies advisory and research unit focused on the prevention of child abuse and neglect and associated family violence.

  • Parentline – www.parentline.com.au/ – Confidential telephone counselling service providing professional counselling and support for parents and all who have the care of children. Telephone: 1300 301 300.

  • Protect All Children Today Inc. – www.pact.org.au/– Services for children and young people aged 3-17 who are victims or witnesses within the criminal justice system. Telephone: 1800 090 111.

  • Queensland Child Safety – www.communities.qld.gov.au/childsafety/protecting-children/reporting-child-abuse– Reporting child abuse in Queensland.

  • Raising Children Network – raisingchildren.net.au/ – Joint Victorian government/community organisation website providing information to help parents with the day-to-day decisions of raising children, and looking after their own needs.

  • Relationships Australia – www.raq.org.au/services/counselling/victims-counselling-and-support-service.

  • Women’s Infolink – www.communities.qld.gov.au/women/about-us/womens-infolink – Provides a state-wide free and confidential information and referral service about community services and government agencies supporting women. Telephone: 1800 177 577.

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