The Watchful Gift
by Suzannah Rogan
When you walk into my room, you’ll see a pristine velveteen rabbit sitting on my nightstand — a gift when I was young. You may wonder: why does a woman who is closer to middle age than childhood have a stuffed animal on her nightstand? Well, much like the velveteen rabbit watched over it’s child while he had scarlet fever, this velveteen rabbit watched over me throughout my childhood. Throughout the fragmented memories of my childhood, the rabbit is there, omnipresent.
Around second grade, my rabbit and I built a reading nook in a closet. Just a flimsy card table, some blankets, a lamp, and all the books I could safely fit. Surely a fire hazard, I pushed the clothes aside and felt safe surrounded by clothes and blankets. It was a cave that deafened the sound of fists hitting my mother’s flesh. I balanced wanting to hear what was happening with reading my books; similar to watching a gory movie and covering your eyes, while still keeping your fingers slightly open to see what is happening.
It was later that my mother left. I can’t tell you which house we were living in at the time even though much of my youth was spent in the same one. My dad didn’t physically abuse me or my two older sisters so my mom packed a bag and stayed with a friend. She had been adept at covering bruises, but these ones were too many and too dark. People were asking questions. But, young me didn’t understand. Young me just wanted my mom back. So I begged. And she returned. And the cycle continued. Did you know it takes an average of seven times for a victim to leave their abuser? There are many reasons why. I was one of those reasons. I lived with that guilt for a very long time.
I could continue to share memories, but there is nothing rooting them. I don’t know the dates. I don’t know how old I was. I could share that I was frightened, embarrassed, and confused. I could share how I felt when my dad punched through a wall or windshield. When he threw a dish or raised his voice. I could tell you what it sounded like to hear my mother beg before he hit her. And I could tell you how the cycle always began anew when he would take us kids with him to the store to get a present — flowers, a box of chocolates, something to show he didn’t really mean it. We were always a cog in his cycle of violence.
I could also share how hard it was not to use passive voice while writing that paragraph. Because it is hard to remember that the person who was supposed to love me more than anything in the world was also responsible for so much hurt in my life. And instead, that I found solace in a velveteen rabbit who watched and continues to watch over me.
Before I left for college, I told my mom that if she did not get a divorce I would leave and never return. She got a divorce and she truly is living her best life. I do the work I do now because I don’t want a single person in this world to grow up the same way I did. I know there are people at this university and in our community who are experiencing or have experienced worse and I just want to tell them: you have so much support and you are not alone.
And to those who are unsure what to do, you hold more power than you know. Our culture normalizes these behaviors through words, actions, jokes, stereotypes, and offhand comments. February is Dating Violence Awareness Month. And all of us could learn some healthier habits when it comes to dating and relationships (of any type). Take a moment to think about how you have involuntarily ingested some of these ideas and how you can hold yourself and those around you accountable to do better. That’s your power. Let’s all hold each other accountable.
The blog posts in Forward. Together. are intended to foster an inclusive community of empathy and curiosity at Doane University by providing a glimpse into various individual identities and worldviews. These are community members’ unique stories and should not be presumed to be the experience of all who share the same identity.
