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Things a smile can’t tell you

A visit to the past

By Juli CofresiPublished 3 years ago 4 min read
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A photo from when I was Greece

Today I am going to take you back to when I was about 15-16 years old give or take. I remember like it was yesterday. I love my mom, but, I would lying if I said there were times in my life, on multiple occasions where I felt less than loved. One would even argue that I was seemingly uncared for. The thing about familial relationships, especially those with our mothers, they tend to be complex. When you’re like me and understand people almost to a fault. You tend to not lay blame on them, and more so, turn the blame, guilt and shame on yourself. If you ask me what circumstances were leading up to this event in my life. I would not be able to tell you because there was no “moment”. There was not a single thing I did wrong to anger my mom as much as I did that day or need to go through that situation as young teenager. I remember we were talking in her room one moment, and another moment passed and it was like someone flipped a switch and my mom was gone. She was replaced by an angry, hateful women in front of me who seemingly was filled with rage. She made a comment and I responded, and I remember specifically that she lifted her hand to slap me, and I caught her wrist. I could feel the sensation of terror creeping up on me, realizing what I had just done. Defend myself, because in the Puerto Rican culture, god forbid you defend yourself from abuse. Let’s call it what it is, it’s not corporal punishment, it’s abusive behavior. After I caught her hand, any chance of my mom being in there had all but deminished by now. She kept at me and put both hands around my neck. She was now choking me and holding me against the wall. I was fucking terrified. I just started panicking thinking to myself “why the fuck didn’t you just let her slap you”. Her grip was tightening and I was choking. It started to really set in. Oh shit, my mom is choking me. I grabbed at her wrists until she let me go. I caught my breath for a second and ran to the phone. “If you fucking touch me again, I will call the cops on you for abuse”. My mom got this frightening look in her eyes like she might really hurt me, as though, hurting me might bring her some actual joy. She looked crazed, like she snapped. My stomach sank at her response “oh yeah you little bitch ? I’ll you a reason to call the cops. She kept at me again, we struggled against her bed because she was trying to pin me down, and, was just swiping at me and hitting me. I jumped on to the bed and grabbed her chair that was in front of her vanity. At this point I was fucking absolutely terrified. My mom had been long gone in this moment. Replaced by what I would later find out was likely the irrational, abusive behavior of a cocaine addict. Which, was not uncommon in my family, I was just a kid though, and, I didn’t know any better. I held the chair up to her, shaking, and yelling for my brother or sister. I was holding the chair with one hand with the legs facing towards her like a lion tamer trying to hold off a lion. I used the other hand to bang on the wall as hard as I could until my scared brother and sister ran across the street to get my grandparents. They showed up about 5 minutes later, which felt like an eternity. They escorted me out of the house, sobbing, and a mess. While I listened to my mom say awful things about me and how ungrateful I was. Me being an ungrateful little bitch, is a pattern in my family, you’ll learn more about that in another article. But for now, I wanted to share this experience because it is one that traumatized me, and stayed with me into adulthood. I can recall this as though it happened yesterday. I have had to examine a lot of not only friendships but familial relationships after having my daughter, because, it has triggered me into wondering what kind of parent I will be and want to be. Could I ever do those things to my own daughter ? Probably not. It also leads me to question, why, culturally this is acceptable behavior. Why is it that Puerto Rican parents are so suffocatingly controlling ? Why are you treated like an extension of them and not your own person ? So many questions and no real logical answers. The only thing I can do because I cannot change the past, is move forward and be a better parent, and, break the cycle. My daughter will NEVER know such pain, such guilt, such unresolved anger towards me. I will not put her through that, ever.

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About the Creator

Juli Cofresi

processing through writing, and letting others know that they are not alone in what they have felt or experienced.

Sharing my journey to healing

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