Last week we ended with a sad conclusion from Isis that she has lost herself over the years.

After a moment of silence, Isis recounts her own rebirthing experience, in which the therapist asked if Isis might have been born after an induced labour. She could not answer that question, but her mother confirmed it. The healthcare providers were not waiting for a delivery on Sunday, so her mother was induced on Saturday evening. “I experienced that I was born powerless, that I couldn’t do anything… The birth went too fast and was too intense and I can often still experience that feeling of powerlessness. Strangely enough… Robin was born after a natural home birth, but a day later I developed childbed fever and I was taken to the hospital by ambulance. I was suddenly very ill and that was probably also traumatic for Robin and for the eldest. So here, too, there is an overlap with my own life.”

I ask Isis what it is she thinks of when she hears the word ‘traumatic’: “That’s a broad concept, isn’t it…? I am thinking of a sudden event or of neglect or other chronic conditions…”
I share what many trauma experts see as the essence of trauma: being alone with the pain of difficult experiences. It is not about that experience itself, but about what that experience does to your inner, emotional world and how that limits your behavioral repertoire and makes it less flexible. You quickly fall into the well-known survival strategies: fight, flight, freeze and fawn (to fake, to ‘please’ your opponent in order to escape sanctions). The earlier in life this happens, the greater the consequences. Isis had tricks not to incur her father’s wrath and to avoid name-calling and imprisonment, but the fear was always there. She was forced to sacrifice some of her authenticity. She didn’t show certain parts of who she was so that she could maintain some degree of security in the relationship with her parents. She says that because she was often out and about, she did not know everything that happened and was not strongly aware of it. Nevertheless, the impact is usually there, because while we cannot reproduce everything we experience through our narrative memory (we can’t tell the story), we do store the imprint that our stress hormones have left in our cells. So we do have a physical memory of it, even if it is not conscious, and that physical memory is triggered by situations that resemble what we experienced before. What we experience in the ‘now’ is therefore often a reminder of what happened ‘then’ and in which we were alone, because there was no buffering protection from an adult to provide co-regulation and reassurance. Then we look for other ways to feel safe and satisfied, which are often ‘bad habits’ and addictions, due to their hormonally satisfying effect. They are no stranger to Isis either: she mentions smoking, drinking, sleeping medication and coffee.

Addiction has long been viewed as a behavior to be punished, then as a brain disorder, and now among advocates of a more holistic view as a solution to an underlying problem, which is almost always trauma. Not everyone with trauma becomes addicted, but people with addiction almost always have trauma in their history. From this perspective, we can look at what is going on with more compassion. It also shows that it is likely to be difficult to end the addiction if there is no genuine attention and recognition for the underlying trauma.

We note that there have been many moments when Isis could not maintain the connection with herself and that in many situations in her childhood her parents were not there for her to lovingly guide her: “It never occurred to me to discuss difficult things with my parents. I got through it and made sure I had a relatively good time.” She has been carrying a great burden for a long time and as sad as she is right now… she is also tired of it and not having to take care of Robin for a while, feels partly as a relief from that burden. This also makes it clear that body and mind are closely linked: what we experience as a heavy burden mentally, has consequences for our physical well-being. The powerlessness that Isis currently experiences is very old, she has indicated, because it dates back to her birth. It is impressive to be able to see these kinds of connections and to experience that we should not think too lightly about how we treat our little ones when they come into the world and in their first 1000 days.

We agree that it can be very confronting for you as a parent to see that your children mirror you. What you find difficult in them is usually what deserves healing in yourself. The self-reflection that is required for this, however, requires a safe environment, one in which you do not immediately fall back into your coping strategies, into behavioral patterns that you once logically developed in order to survive. Only when that safety is there can you look at and question your own pain with compassion. Then you can learn to listen to your intuition again and determine what you want to take in from your interaction with others and what you want to leave with them.

The Buddhists say: if you give a present and the recipient does not accept it, then the gift remains yours. That applies to beautiful things (attention, love, joy) and also to your anger: if the other person does not accept your anger, it will come back to you, often doubly, and then that anger can trigger all kinds of things. When we can learn to see that underneath anger is often very deep pain, we can experience more compassion, both for ourselves and for others.
“I like that”, says Isis, “about not accepting that anger… I also try that with Robin. I can’t change Robin’s mind about me. I said ‘I love you’ and that’s all I can do now.”

My thought is a bit more positive; I do think she can influence Robin’s feelings. I mention another Buddhist wisdom, which says that if you fail to achieve active growth or improvement, it is already progress if you stop doing harm. Then the dust of the battle can settle and there will be a better view and breathing room for everyone. It also allows everyone to feel more closely into what is happening in their own body and to reflect on it, without the escalation that is ‘heavy on the stomach’ or that ‘takes the blood from under the nails’ – talking about the language of the body. Moreover, creating more space means that you do not burden each other with what you want and expect from each other. Robin cannot give Isis what Isis missed as a child. Isis also can’t give Robin what Robin missed as a child. They both have needs that they cannot meet in one another. That is on the one hand a sad and on the other hand a crucial insight for both of them to move forward. If they can both find a conversation partner with whom they feel safe, who can listen to them without judgment, without threatening sanctions and without creating shame, to everything they feel and experience, they can slowly but surely reconnect with themselves. And that, say trauma experts, is the essence of healing: restoring the connection with your authentic self. That connection is the basis from which you can recover or build the connection with the other.

We conclude with that hopeful thought. The coming time will show how things are going with Isis and Robin and I wish Isis and Robin all the best in the world!

The practice room is well heated; the candles are burning and there are fresh flowers. From the window I see Isis coming and I walk down the stairs to welcome her. It is nice to meet each other now, after a brief telephone exchange. We start our conversation with a short creative check-in and then we lay the Mattenspel to visualise how Isis experienced her own childhood and which relationships were important to her at the age of 16. During the laying, already certain things come up: “I tried to turn it into something cheerful”, is her reaction when I point to the happy smileys that are added to a number of places and people only at a late stage. Later in the conversation we come back to this common need to uphold an image of a happy childhood for the inner and outer world, even if deep down it did not feel that way. When in Isis’ opinion the laying is ready, we look at it extensively together, for example at the anger that lies with father. “I had tricks to make him happy. I knew what to do to avoid punishment. For example, you should not say anything wrong at the table, because if everything was not decent and appropriate enough and you ‘misbehaved’ despite a warning, you were locked up in the warehouse behind the store. Unlike a sister, it never happened to me, but the threat was always in the air. So I kept quiet, or I would hide myself, and I always felt that tension. Sometimes I got grounded when I was caught lying. We were not seen for who we were and I did all kinds of things to get attention, such as stealing things from my parents’ store, or money from my mother’s wallet. I confessed to her about that not so long ago and although she didn’t want to believe it, she finally accepted my refund. Things were not easy with her either, but as a child I still felt relatively safe with her; she was more of a stable factor in our family, although at times I felt more comfortable with my father’s greater light-heartedness and acting silly.”

Isis tells how she sought refuge outside of the family with friends, how she skipped school and did wild things. She started a relationship with one friend, but at his home the situation was almost as difficult: unrest, tension between the parents, a rude father… the dynamics were familiar. They broke up, later reunited and married when Isis turned out to be pregnant. After a miscarriage, three children were eventually born, but the marriage did not last and resulted in a fighting divorce, which had a major impact on the partners and the children. When, during our conversation, we look in more detail at the situation of Isis, whose father died young, and that of her own family, in which the children lost their home base at a young age, there are striking similarities.

The reason Isis visits me is actually that her middle child, 30-year-old Robin, is not getting their own life in order. After an improvement last year, when Robin returned to live with Isis in an attempt to develop more structure, there is now a relapse. Isis is sad and fears to lose the connection with Robin, also because she feels overwhelmed by everything that is evoked in herself by the unrest. “You could put the pictures on top of each other and you see that there are many overlaps in what happens in our lives. Robin and I both left home at a young age and fled into going out and addictions.” We speak about the different forms of addiction out there that are much more than just drugs or alcohol. Also always being rushed, constantly working, demanding attention in a negative way… these are all behaviours based on a deep desire to numb feelings of pain and loneliness and create the conviction that you belong, that you are being seen and heard. They are helpful in the short term, but cause damage in the long term and you can hardly let go of them.

The fact that Robin does have contact with father makes it emotionally extra complicated for Isis, who is very busy pondering what her own role can be for Robin, what is needed to experience connection again. We talk about what happened when the lucky clovers were placed in the Mattenspel; several people already had clovers, but not yet with Isis herself and she had asked, while looking at me: “I can also put clovers with myself, I guess…?” I had replied that that was totally up to her. Her response was: “Hmmm…yeah…I’m kind of forgetting myself…” I mention that later in our conversation and Isis indicates that she herself had been aware of it, too. Now that I explicitly ask about it, she says that it is a familiar theme in her life, that she tries to do things right for the other person, but does not often ask the question whether those choices are also good for her. We speak of authenticity in that context and Isis says: “No, my authenticity does not hold up well in all of that; I realise that and lately I have been working on that somewhat more. I just find it difficult to distance myself and guard my own boundaries, because people crossed them so often when I was a child. I keep asking myself: ‘Was it good enough? Couldn’t I have done more?’ So complex, all of this…”

We are quiet together for a while; I pour another cup of tea and I ask her how she feels right now. She thinks; her eyes fill with tears as she responds: “I feel sorrow; I wonder… how does all this relate to my relationship with Robin? I experience that sometimes I just feel so lost, that I don’t know what to do anymore. Robin did try things during the divorce to bring us back together, but the meeting with my ex and me Robin once organised unannounced was intense. I felt manipulated.” She is aware of Robin’s almost certainly good intentions, but it still didn’t work out. I look at her and feel her inner struggle. Manipulation… I’m reminded of another interviewee who used that word about herself and we went into more detail about it. We found that it was a term that reflected the pain of the past, which was about how she was treated by her parents, after which she came to believe in that mantra. To what extent was Isis manipulated as a child and did Robin’s action trigger the pain that had previously been caused? I ask Isis when she first felt manipulated. She mentions her marriage, but if we look further, it was already present in her home situation, where relatives said they did not feel like listening to Isis. “They still say that and then a very deep pain comes up in me; I feel sadness and anger.”

We talk about her earlier statement of the ‘relative safety’ that she felt with her mother. “I knew it wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, but I settled for it. I had no choice and had the feeling that I had to deal with this and that they did not know and could not do any better. Since then, I have achieved quite a few things in life and then it may be tempting to explain everything away and downplay everything again, but…” She falls silent and the tears flow again: “Many patterns from the past still exist and I have a deep fear that I will lose Robin. I now indicate my boundaries, but at what price once again? My fear of losing Robin was already there at birth… the fear of losing that little one… but maybe it was me myself…”
We are silent together, deeply moved, because she now almost literally says what she means, what she feels as a result of what has happened, namely that she has lost herself in the course of her life. She now sees that reflected in her child and that hurts intensely.

Next week we will analyse some of the points Isis raised.

My client and I had gotten in touch through an unusual route. I had spoken about my work with someone and that person reached out to me a couple of days later, asking: “Do you do consultations on this trauma topic, aside from your lactation work? I know someone who is struggling with an adult child that has addiction relapses and they are not on speaking terms right now. Both parent and child have a difficult time dealing with all the pain of the disrupted relationship and maybe your knowledge and insights could help them to get things moving again, if only a little bit. The child seemed to have made progress last year, but things have taken a worrying turn for the worse now.” My response had been that I can certainly be approached for this work, although I do not pretend to be a therapist. Then again… as humans, we don’t need to be a therapist to have a therapeutic effect on processes our fellow humans go through. Offering our time and true presence can already be so soothing.

I had felt confident that my knowledge might be of help and explained that such a conversation would have as its goal to figure out what childhood was like for that person, either parent or child. I have a game that is helpful to that end and although it was developed to be used with children, it can also be used with adults. You will then have to ask the adult to pick an age for which they would like to lay the elements of the game. I had said that if I would see the 30 year old child (let’s call them Robin), it would be advisable to have some follow-up care available, because a session with me might bring up triggering and intense memories and emotions.

We had decided that my acquaintance would inform the parent that I could be contacted and while talking a bit further, still, we had discussed Robin’s negative experiences with healthcare providers, which is always a sad thing. We all may come into situations that need specialised care, but if previous experiences with healthcare settings were upsetting or even (re)traumatising, then they can lead to the client or patient to evade care, even though it is really needed. At the same time, it is important to be aware that healthcare providers are also simply human beings with their own life histories and possibly with unresolved trauma. This is why it is so important that we reflect on our own experiences, so that we take care not to work as ‘hurt people who hurt people’.
In my own consultations with clients, I always focus on their autonomy. There is nothing in what I say that they should do; I give them information after trying to support them in accessing their inner wisdom and when we wrap up and say goodbye, it is fully up to them to what extent they decide to apply what I offered them. (Oh, there is one must after all… payment of the bill… 😉)

I had asked my acquaintance whether parent and child were both ready to reflect on their own role in the relationship, because children may bring up tough stuff, experiences that are hard to hear for the parent. Maybe the parent did not know about something or maybe the parent knew at a deep level, but was too scared themselves to dive further into it. It turned out that the parent, like other family members, was about to give up. When parents find it difficult to look at their own part in the dynamics, it is often also very hard to cause breakthroughs and it seems that this parent had trouble finding the courage. My acquaintance had brought in the aspect that when something is ‘your own fault’, it is also something that you can change. My reply had been that I do not speak in this terminology of ‘guilt’, because most of the time, it is not very helpful. There is a fundamental difference between ‘guilt’ and ‘cause’. You can be the cause of something, without carrying reproachable guilt for it.

That is the essence of working in a trauma-sensitive way, being aware that trauma is mostly intergenerational and that everyone has most likely done their utmost within the personal and circumstantial options available to them. That is a crucial realisation. Then again, the child can live with the perception that the cause of their problems lies with the parents. And we must also appreciate how hard it can be for parents to keep faith and constantly rekindle courage to be there for the child if relapses happen over and over again. As hard as it may be, however, if the parents do not work on their own healing, chances are that they diminish or at least complicate the healing potential of the child. For the child, the only option that remains may be to release themselves from the parental influence to completely work on their own healing, hopefully with support from close and cherished others.

During our conversation, new information had come up about the parents of the parent, so quite quickly we had come to the conclusion that, once again, there seemed to be intergenerational pain that gets handed down, without anyone intentionally aiming to do so.
We had agreed that it might be an empowering step for the parent to get in touch with me, seeing the difficult communication with Robin right now. At the moment, Robin was pictured as playing the victim role, partly by posting embarrassing stuff on Instagram and thus causing turmoil among other family members and friends. Guesses were that Robin had been under the influence of drugs while doing so, although Robin had appeared to be clean in the previous year.  I had said that both parent and Robin were welcome and that I hoped that the parent might be able to also encourage Robin to come, even if their own consultation with me might turn out to be difficult and triggering grief.

That was where we had left off. It only took a day for the parent to call me – how brave! We talked a bit, I explained a bit, they illustrated a bit… we got a feel of one another and ended our phone call by setting a date for the week after. I was touched by the courage shown and the confidence given. I decided I would prepare well and make sure I would be able to offer my full and attentive presence.

Next week, we will see how the conversation with the parent unfolded.

Last week, we started with Simone’s memories of her childhood, made clear in part with the help of the Matenspel. This led to a long conversation, in which many facets came to the fore. We will discuss her experiences in more detail in a later publication, because there is so much in her story that shows how much intergenerational trauma has an impact on the well-being and health of those involved.

We talk about the role of Simone’s father in the family.
“My mother was afraid of him and he could also scream at us and say we had to clean our room ‘NOW!’ I was always more critical than my sister and I’ve argued against him a lot, had heated discussions and went against it completely, but yeah…” She makes an appeasing gesture with her hands, holds her finger to her mouth conspiratorially and whispers: “Then my mother said that I should lay low!” She sighs, falls silent for a moment and then continues at normal sound level: “There came a moment when I noticed that my father could no longer handle me verbally; I considered that cool, but the consequence was that he started threatening and that sometimes I was really hit. I thought he was a weakling, that he tried to prove himself right that way. He sometimes tried to play with me, but that physical contact felt very bad and I one day I gave him a huge blow. He was almost floored and angry he was! I said: ‘What do you want? Did I not say stop?!’ After that, such behaviour was over, but the distance between us got bigger and bigger and the worst thing was… my mother always stood up for him.

When I was young, my mother was my everything, but when I needed her support she was not there for me. I really blamed her for that, that she always got behind my father and left me in the lurch like that. She was actually always between my father and me and acted as a messenger, as his interpreter. Later I read a lot about narcissism and realised that she was the ideal ‘flying monkey’ for him. My mother said she had to leave home well before she was 16 to work for another family and never learned to stand up for herself. She was just really scared of him. My sister got along much better with my father; she got a lot more done from him, partly because they shared a number of interests and she started working for him in the business. If you’re talking about symbolic capital… being an entrepreneur, that was an example of symbolic capital in my father’s eyes. That I later completed a college education and always generated a good income… it meant nothing to him. I’ve done all kinds of things I thought my parents could be proud of; my mother would whisper that she was proud of me too, but my father was not allowed to hear that.” Her father distinguished between the daughters in all sorts of things; he used her mother to drive a wedge between the children and her mother internalised that role and also created divisions herself. Many of those patterns have persisted to this day, Simone says, and she sounds both angry and sad.

We talk about what may have caused it all and Simone elaborates on what has come to light in the family over the past few years, the role of the Catholic Church and its abuse, and the painful discovery of porn on computers in the older generation. This brings us to the saddest memories, after previously having discussed the fondest memories. Simone speaks cautiously, but does not have to think long; one memory evokes the other.
“My father thought pregnant women were disgusting; he said that to my sister and to me. I was very proud of my pregnancy and I pointed out to my Catholic father that it was something God had given us after all. He didn’t care about that; a pregnant belly and breastfeeding too… he thought it was gross. There is undoubtedly a story behind this, because such an aversion… it touches you when your father treats such topics that way. In any case, he had trouble with physicality and sexuality. We never saw our parents naked, but he did have an opinion about my body and he could also belittle me. As a child I was a bit chubby and that’s why I was called ‘Plompie’ and for years I kept getting negative comments about my appearance. During puberty I became more vocal, partly because I was appreciated at school for my discussion skills. Then again, I paid a price for my critical attitude: it increased the tension at home and made me very depressed. I started to hyperventilate, became stiff as a board, could hardly get out of bed and got all kinds of physical complaints. As a result, my performance at school dropped drastically. My father said I was lazy and that in my room I did not give a fuck about anything and that was why I got such bad grades, but yeah… I was just deeply unhappy and intensely lonely… The strange thing is that, even now, I often get along very well with people who are intellectually well versed. I feel comfortable with them and I have the feeling that they understand what I am saying when I share my story with them.” Simone tells how that loneliness led to her developing her imagination and talking to fictional people in her secret make-believe world.

The disappointments continued for years: no interest in her studies, no financial support for study costs, no phone calls to find out how she was while she lived in her student room, her father’s absence at her graduation, no attention to holiday stories (but the parents’ stories in the spotlight), a cold demeanor and mean comments from her parents after she had a miscarriage, always fearing to stand up for herself because guarding her own boundaries always led to arguments and sanctions, standing up for others out of a deep need for harmony and an effort to keep or restore the peace but then again becoming disappointed or being blamed, emotional blackmail and threats (‘If you don’t like it, then you can leave!’)… it is too much to mention and it has moved her and made her vulnerable. In her own words, it has shaped her into a ‘pleaser’, based on the fear of not belonging at all and seeing everything fall apart. For years, the fact that she contributed the largest part of the family income also played a role; she did not want to jeopardise that, but because of that she lost touch with her authentic self. The pressure she has felt since childhood has gotten heavier and heavier and that is why she has now decided to work diligently on her mental health.

When I ask if she has developed behaviours that she would call ‘bad habit’ as a result of everything, she looks at me intently across the table. “Oh… that’s a difficult one…” I wait and give her time to think. She sighs. She is silent and lowers her eyes. We are silent together. After a while she looks up: “I know, you know…” “You know…?” “Oh yes, I know exactly what it is… but I find it really difficult…” The silence hangs between us. “And what makes it difficult for you…?” She sighs deeply, hesitates, searches for my eyes: “Shame…” “Shame…?” A little inquisitively, I add: “You don’t have to say it, you know…?” “Yes, I find it really difficult. I’m going to say it! I’ve made up my mind to say it more often if it’s appropriate. I also recently discussed it with my therapist and it turns out that there are certainly more people who struggle with it…” I wait to see how she will continue her tale. “Talking about it is part of the phase I’m in right now.”

She takes another deep breath: “From the end of primary school, I started pulling my hair. I was alone a lot, I had long hair with dead ends and I pulled it out, but later it was more pulling in general and my hair has become very thin, with bald spots here and there. It has a difficult name, trichotillomania. I kept it hidden from everyone, but now a few people know. It went from bad to worse and I had the strangest thoughts about it…” She covers her face with both her hands: “I thought it was so strange what I was doing and was afraid that it would be hereditary if I had children…” She says that it was a relief to talk about it with her therapist, to find causes together and to look for solutions for how she can live with its consequences: fear of a rain shower, not daring to swim, afraid that others will see it and make comments about it… We talk more deeply and come to the question of what it brought and brings her: “It doesn’t hurt, but gives a kind of nice stimulus. I find the thick, wiry hairs and pull them out piece by piece. Evenings when I am alone are the trigger moments, when I have a full head, when I am tired or stressed; then it is a kind of distraction and it feels very nice. It gives me peace of mind, especially when life is heavy and feels like a struggle. At the same time, I am very well aware that the negative consequences such as shame and unrest make life even harder… It is difficult…”

The conversation meanders further to where Simone sees bottlenecks in society for children and young people, to recent changes in herself, and to how she takes brave steps on a path to more inner peace, in which her family is and remains the loving core. Her candour speaks volumes about her courage and her story is another illustration of the impact of early life. More awareness about this can help reflect on how we want to treat the youngest in our society, so that they do not have to ‘heal’ from their childhood. ACE Aware NL hopes to keep making a permanent contribution to this!

It is beautiful late summer weather when I arrive at my interviewee for today, Simone (pseudonym). I suggested we would start with a game and that sounded good to her. She looks happy when I bring out the elements and explain to her what the intention is. We clear the table so that she has plenty of room to play. The idea is that we gain insight into what her world looked like at a certain age in her childhood. She chooses the age of 13 and gets to work. She can choose a maximum of six of the eight coloured ‘mats’ and associate a place of a person to it, starting with ‘I’. After the mats, there are dolls, houses, roads, means of transport, lucky clovers and emojis. She needs time to get the relationships between them as desired. When she feels she is ready, we start the conversation, during which she will regularly look at the ‘Mats game’ elements laid down and will be amazed to see how they reveal all kinds of interactions in her life as a young girl.

She has had a tough time and has started a search; she no longer wants to avoid the source of her pain. She realises that, like a family member, she may not be able to completely silence the voices of the past, but she doesn’t want to feel the pain all the time, find more peace, learn to better guard her own boundaries, that for years she allowed to be crossed. “Sometimes it may seem like I have an authority allergy, but I don’t actually believe that. I can tolerate authority, but I have a highly developed sense for power abuse. And lately I have become aware that abuse of power triggers me. Partly, I already have more insight into the causes of this. My parents came from a strict Catholic background and considered things normal that I don’t find normal at all, such as the distinction between man and woman, but also the way we were treated as children and how my father tried to deal with certain aspects of his position to impress other, as did the pastor.” I nod and tell about ‘symbolic violence‘, the abuse of power and prestige, and Simone recognises the different elements. They will come up a few more times later in the conversation.

During the laying of the game, part of the opening question we always ask has already been answered, namely the question of someone’s background.
“I moved quite often within the northern provinces between the ages of eight and thirteen. Onward from the moval when I was thirteen, I had a really hard time. I came into puberty, lost my best friend and my nice, familiar school, had to part with the dog, who had always been my great friend and for whom, according to my parents, there was no longer room in the new house, and my parents and sister were always working in the shop we had there, so I was almost always home alone. My grandfather died while we were moving. My whole life felt strange to me. I couldn’t find the school. Not even once had my parents cycled the route with me. Luckily I met a classmate on the way who had also just moved there. At school everyone spoke Frisian and I hardly understood anyone. I kind of felt dropped into a totally unfamiliar environment… yes… that move was really traumatising for me. When I think back, I think that is where my chameleon qualities originated: I tried to adapt as quickly as possible so that I could fit in again, but I did not really succeed. I felt like a normal child, but the normal children did not hang out with me, only the children who, for other reasons, did not really belong to the group themselves, felt attracted to me and that, in turn, was something I did not like… Yeah, well… that is how you think at age 13…” She is silent and considers the feeling of that time. “A lot of anger developed during this period. Before that, I sometimes found it difficult at home, but after that move everything got a lot worse.”

Photographer: Cecilia Paredes

I ask who she could turn to in her early childhood.
“That was my mother. I cannot remember ever having a click with my father. He was there, but I often found him annoying. He didn’t understand me and made that quite clear. He was very authoritarian, while my mother was a sociable person, with whom everyone was always welcome to join in. With her, I could be who I was and I loved being with her. I remember one time sitting on the couch with my doll and asking her: ‘Mommy, can I marry you?’ I was very disappointed when it turned out that was not possible.
My father was always working during the week and on Saturdays; he was home only on Sundays and then he was very papistic and stern and cold. On Sundays, we had to look neat and he checked whether my mother had cleaned the house well enough on Saturday. If he did not think so, he would grab the vacuum cleaner and a bucket and do it all over again.
My mother, in the opinion of my grandmother, her mother, was actually married late. She was 27 and the first years there were no children and my grandmother did not like that. When the GP told my mother at age 35, after a difficult birth with me, that it was better if she had no more children, my father saw me as the ‘guilty’ one: now he, who wanted a successor for his business, had been denied that opportunity. He now had two daughters, while he longed for a son. He later said things like: ‘Yes, you were a heavy, fat kid; because of this, mama could not have any more children.’ He laid that reproach at my feet and always thought I was a bad person; he literally said: ‘I have nothing with her.’ I’ve felt that all my life in how he treated me and how he differentiated between my sister and me.”

How would Simone describe her home environment?
“There was a lot of structure in the house, the famous ‘calm, cleanliness and regularity’, and I grew up very protected. We never went on holiday, so I hardly experienced anything as a child.”
She says that she more or less fled the house when she was 18. She did not want to work in her father’s company, but living in her student room made her feel just as lonely as at home: “I ran into the world and into myself. I was like an unworldly girl in a student house with almost all boys. Their parents called so often that they kept themselves out of reach, but mine never called. My parents had not helped me with anything and I had to do everything on my own and usually had to pay for it myself as well. I was shocked by all kinds of things that I had to deal with and was always on my guard. With such an attitude you do not experiment and you become very cautious.”

When I ask about the period that contains her best memories, she is very clear: “That was in my birth house, with the garden there and a parasol, children to play with, nicely colouring, baking an egg… the homely, the cosy – I really liked that and I did not feel that way again after I was 8 years old. My mother was also becoming increasingly unhappy and used me to vent. She was treated as an employee by my father, but she was not paid and sometimes could not live on the household money she received. I used to say: ‘That is ridiculous! It cannot be the case that you cannot buy what you need because he does not give you enough, while you are working hard all week, too, now, can it?!’ She thought so too, but then she would say: ‘Yes, but you know what he is like, don’t you?’ I told her to stand up for herself, but she was afraid of him.”

Next week you will read the continuation of the conversation with Simone, in which, among other things, her saddest memories are discussed and how, in her opinion, these have led to a number of habits that weigh on her.