Everyone was dancing. I, having just sprained my ankle, was wearing a nice dress with a heavy boot, so did my best to avoid the dance floor. Instead, I sat there observing many familiar faces and many strangers and felt as I always did at these family gatherings, grateful to belong and incredibly unworthy. I was attending a Bat Mitzvah. My ankle was starting to hurt so I told the Bat Mitzvah that I was going to go home, but she insisted that I stay. Not soon after, I was invited in front of the assembly and honored as a very special person in her life. Little did she know how much her and her family have honored me.
As soon as the sexual abuse memories resurfaced, I asked my biological family for space. I needed time to process and come up with a strategy of how I was going to approach them about what happened. Quickly, it became clear to me that for a few members of my family space wasn't an option. The co-dependent theme ran deep through my family system: I was called daily, emailed weekly, and sent messages on various social media platforms monthly. At one point, they even showed up to an event I was attending uninvited. Eventually, I had to change my phone number, email and residing addresses, and become very familiar with "the block" button on a variety of social media sites. The space turned in a decision to never return, a letter written explaining why, and shaming from my family unit. This is by the book behavior for a family system where sexual abuse has continued for generations. I was determined to break the cycle. So, break the cycle I did and left my family to never return again.
Not soon after I closed that door, another one opened. I was in my second year of graduate school and needed some extra income so decided to join an online matching website for nannies and families. Quickly, I saw a posting for a family with three girls just a ten minute drive up the street. I wrote the poster, Carrie G., immediately and hoped for a response. Carrie called and invited me to interview.
I showed up to a forest green house nestled in the woods of Tilden Hills. Carrie opened the door and welcomed me in. This moment has burned into my mind: it was a new cycle, a new beginning, a new way of living, a new way of receiving. The house felt magical to me. It was filled with books, and toys, and fairylands. As soon as I walked into the door, I knew this place was special. I was offered the job and jumped right in.
I graduated a few months later and started a new job as a teacher in the fall. I had never really felt worthy of belonging to this family, so when I moved away, I didn't reach out. But Carrie G. didn't give me space for long. She called, and emailed, and reached out on social media to remind me that I was a member of her family. They invited me to holidays, Bat Mitzvahs, the presentation of their fourth born and first son, and to simple Saturday night dinners. As my sense of worth grew, I began to visit monthly, call regularly, and spend the holidays at the house, cooking, eating, and laughing, just like families do. At one point, I even moved in with them during a job transition. Their home literally became my home.
Taking space from abusive members of one family allowed a new family system to enter into my life. This family has honored me since the day that I walked into their door. Recently, the Bat Mitzvah showed up at my door surprisingly with her ten closest friends and asked to be welcomed in. Joyfully, I returned the favor for this very special person in my life.