Talking to the void

As my sister threw the telephone at me, she cried, “Here, take it!” The receiver connected with my left cheekbone with a crack. In 1984, phones were still attached to the wall, and most households had only one line. A friend of mine was on the other end of that call, and my sister thought she was being funny, impersonating me while I scrambled to get the phone from her. The throw broke my cheekbone and left me with a swollen face and a black eye. I remember being thankful it was summer break, so I didn’t have to go to school with the shiner.

My sister never got in trouble for maiming me. In fact, there is a photo in our family album of my sister pointing and laughing at the damage she had caused. “Fight my own battles,” my mother would tell me. If I hadn’t been pulling at the phone cord and pleading for her to give it to me, she wouldn’t have thrown it, was the message. I was at fault.

This incident wasn’t the only incident of her bullying and physically hurting me when we were young. I have scars on my arms in the perfect arch of fingernails digging into my flesh. She would pull my hair, hit me, and do anything else to keep me frightened of her, and I was. I understand children often fight (although my own rarely do); however, our fights were never broken up. My mother let us work it out, however that may proceed. Unfortunately, as the younger sibling, this was rarely fair for me. Sadly, our relationship has never been close.

Two years after the phone incident, when I left for college, my parents sold my childhood home, packed up their sailboat, and sailed away. Once again, I was handed the lesson of self-reliance. I couldn’t call home for help or advice. There was no longer a home where a phone would be, and cell phones were still a decade in the future. I was 17 and alone. At the start of that year, I encountered a mix-up with my meal plan as well as my spending allowance. I had no meal card, no money, and, as of yet, no friends. The only food I could get was what my roommate could steal from the cafeteria. By the time I was able to sort out my financial situation, I lost 15lbs and learned to be okay with my stomach growling.

As the years went by, I had the “you can only rely on yourself” trait down pat. When my husband and I moved from Rhode Island to Massachusetts was a glaring example. We had sold our house but had yet to find one to buy. We planned to rent while we were house-hunting. And, because we were in between homes, we rented a POD to store our things until we found something to buy.

My husband’s long hours meant the lion’s share of the packing and moving lay on my shoulders. While stacking boxes and furniture in the POD one fateful afternoon, I encountered a mini avalanche. Stupidly, I reached up, trying to keep the wall of boxes from falling to the floor, and broke my arm. At least I self-diagnosed that I broke my arm. The searing, hot pain radiating from my wrist to my elbow when my arm twisted told me all I needed to know. I didn’t get it formally checked because a cast wouldn’t allow me to continue packing. We were on a timeline, and despite my husband’s entire large Italian family living within a 5-mile radius, no one offered to help or lend a hand. If I twist my arm just right, I can still feel a twinge from this injury 20 years later.

In the years that followed, I have undergone surgeries, breast cancer scares, Lyme disease, and mental health crises, all with a stoic, stiff upper lip. I went to doctor’s appointments alone so I wouldn’t bother anyone else. I cared for my 7yo daughter along with my new infant the entire day after spending the entire night giving birth so everyone else could go home and get some sleep. I suffered in silence. I even went grocery shopping on a broken leg before it was diagnosed because my daughter wanted chicken Alfredo for dinner that night. I learned not to ask for help for fear of the answer. It is tough for me to be vulnerable. I have had a lifetime of lessons teaching me others would rather not put themselves out there for me. I carry on regardless of my own needs. I am trying to change this. I NEED to change this. I have had many long, meaningful conversations with my husband, telling him what I need and how I can no longer be the pillar of strength everyone relies on. So, when he stood up for me the other day, telling our daughter she needed to treat me with a bit more kindness after she snapped at me as I attempted to help her with homework, it was the sweetest thing I have ever heard. My heart swelled, and I finally felt supported.