NOT MY FAULT

I couldn’t say why. I couldn’t tell her I was afraid my father would start up again with me. I couldn’t even think it. NOT MY FAULT

Claire O’Leary

Composition by Claire O’Leary

It was New Year’s Eve 1970. I was 18 years old, home from college for the Christmas holiday. I’d brought home my boyfriend, Dan from college who was staying nearby with a friend.

My Mom had the flu, so I was fixing dinner — a roast beef with potatoes and carrots. My father comes by as I’m peeling the carrots and makes a lewd comment. The first one since I’d been home but enough to trigger me.

I quickly walked into the bedroom where my mother was resting and said “I know that earlier this afternoon, I told you I’d stay home and take care of the kids as long as you need me, but I can’t. I just can’t. I’ll be leaving with Dan and the rest of the gang tomorrow to go back to Denver.” I left the room. I couldn’t explain why.

I couldn’t tell her I was afraid my father would start up again with me. I couldn’t even think it.

She went into the hospital that night before I got home from the New Year’s Eve party just down the street. He (my father) never even bothered to call or send one of the kids 3 doors down to let me know. He knew exactly where I was. So, at 2:00 am, I came home to a note.

“It’s your fault your mom’s in the hospital” the note read. “She’s afraid of Dan”. Dan was 6’2” and weighed close to 300 lbs. My gentle bear I called him. “If you want to see her in the morning, be ready at 7:00am. I’ll pick you up.”

I cried until at 5 am, I was in hysterics, knocked over a lamp, and woke up my 10-year-old sister. Startled by the noise, she walks into the living room. I’m still in hysterics, I can’t speak.

Finally, I say “Go get Mrs. Smith” (our next door neighbor), hoping she’d know what to do. By now my 13-year-old and 5-year-old brothers are awake too.

Mrs. Smith comes over and takes us all to her house next door. She serves us hot chocolate and I begin to calm down a little. I tell her that Mom is in the hospital, but not about the note. Nobody ever knows about the note. It was my fault she was in the hospital! While I knew it was not, part of me still believed him for years. I remember screaming out that night in hysterics “It’s not my fault. She isn’t scared, you are! You’re scared if Dan finds out what you did to me that Dan will beat you up!” “And rightly so!”

I went to the hospital with him that morning while the kids stayed at the Smiths.

I struggled with the question “should I stay?” The Smiths came to house to convince me, the priest came over to convince me. I’d graduated from my 6-month computer programming program. Why wouldn’t I stay? They didn’t understand — thought I was selfish and stuborn. I couldn’t tell them why I wanted to leave so badly. No one understood why I wouldn’t stay.

I still couldn’t say the words. I still couldn’t say “He comes to my bed every Saturday morning while my mother sleeps in late and the kids watch cartoons.” “It’s my fault” he always tells me. “It’s your fault, if you got up earlier, I wouldn’t have to come wake you up.”

It would be 10 years later at his funeral that I’d finally tell my family and 40 years later that I’d finally share with the world.

Weeks later, when nothing had happened — no remarks, no advances — I sent for my things. I assured my mom I’d stay home until she got well. She gradually got better and seven weeks later she was scheduled to come home, just in time for Norm’s (my 5-year-old brother) birthday. We’d planned a birthday party for him. Excited as we were to have her home, we added a banner that said “Welcome Home Mom.”

But she didn’t come home. The night before, she was found on the floor bleeding out at the hospital with a stroke. She was moved to a larger hospital in Albuquerque. My father and I stayed in Albuquerque until the end of March when my father finally made the decision to pull the plug.

The only thing I remember after she died is from a photo at the funeral. I looked like a Zombie — eyes unfocused staring out. I’d been on tranquilizers ever since I got the news. Though I didn’t know what it was, I’d gotten good at dissociating by then so most likely that’s what I did.

Life went on, we moved to Phoenix, my old boyfriend from high school moved there shortly afterward and we eventually got married. It didn’t work out — a story for another time.

Writing this story today makes me realize why I believed so easily, that it was my fault — why though I knew mentally that it wasn’t my fault, emotionally though, my body took it on. My body believed it. I understand why so many of us feel it’s our fault for so long.

It’s not my fault. It’s not your fault. No child is to blame for being a victim.

While I hear this all the time and have believed it for many years. I now understand why I took on the blame for my mother’s death so easily. Why I’ve taken the blame for so much other stuff easily. I also know, I no longer accept blame for that which isn’t mine to carry.

Finally, I really get it! We are NOT to Blame.

I knew mentally that it wasn’t my fault, emotionally though, my body took it on. My body believed it.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Founder of The Empowered Voice and Voices Heard, Claire O’Leary is a survivor of incest. She created Voices Heard as a safe space for survivors of sexual abuse to share their story so they can shatter the silence of their sexual abuse. She is an advocate, speaker and mentor. She wants to change the average age a CSA (child sexual abuse) suvirvor discloses their abuse from age 58 to age 18.

She is also a Reiki Master, artist, and loves to dance her heart out whenever possible.

You can find Claire on Facebook, and Instagram.