Surviving “Traumarchy”
Sharon Smith
I grew up traumatized by Patriarchy. I didn’t know it at the time, but now I can see clearly the negative effects this androcentric Dominator System had on my body, my mind, and my soul as a girl growing into womanhood during the ‘60s and ‘70s.
My first experience was physical abuse at the hands of my mother who had been, herself, the victim of child abuse perpetrated by her own mother who told her (as she beat her), “Girls are no goddamned good! Only boys are good!” She was the only daughter in a family of eight children. And she was the only one who ever got beaten.
This abusive domination of my mother undoubtedly traumatized her. But it was also an early and destructive imprint upon her “love map,” and it dictated what kind of mother she would be to her own daughter.
And then I was born, the second child and only girl of three children.
The first beating I recall was when I was still in a highchair. I remember this event clearly. Pain has a way of etching itself upon body and mind. My mom had sat me in the highchair and given me a bowl of jello. I was expecting the little wiggly cubes she usually cut it into, but this time she had whipped the dessert into a frothy substance that I didn’t recognize. So, I pushed it away to let her know I didn’t want it. Unfortunately, I pushed the bowl a little too hard and it went crashing to the floor, spilling the frothy jello all over the linoleum.
My mom was furious! She got one of dad’s belts, and then she grabbed me by the arms and yanked me out of the highchair. She lashed the belt across my back and buttocks hard… with the buckle end. I remember screaming in pain. But she kept on whipping me till my body shook. Finally, when she stopped, the pain had spread itself into a total body numbness. That was my first memory of dissociating from my body.
My mom apparently had internalized the patriarchal belief that “girls are no goddamned good; only boys are good” which had been beaten into her. And she taught me in return.
“Traumarchy”—that’s a word coined by Meera Atkinson, author of the book, Traumata. She describes it thus: “the way patriarchy perpetuates trauma, making it ‘inherently traumatic’ and giving rise to a multitude of sufferings and strife.” My life has been a struggle to overcome traumarchy in more than just physical abuse.
At age three I also suffered child sexual abuse at the hands of an uncle, who digitally raped me… and then threatened to kill me if I told anyone. I was so frightened that I began to cocoon myself under the covers in my bed each night, thinking I’d be “hidden and safe” if he came through my bedroom window. I also began to bed wet, which had the unfortunate consequence of angering my mother, which resulted in more beatings.
But the trauma didn’t end there.
Throughout my youth, I was subjected to the groping hands of neighborhood boys and even some of my own male cousins. One teenage cousin asked me to go into the woods with him so we could “fuck.” I was too young at the time to know what “fuck” meant, but it didn’t seem like anything I wanted to do, so I said “No” and ran home. The boys always got away with their harassment and assaults, because—and who hasn’t heard this one?—“boys will be boys!”
Sad thing is, the boys who groped my body (without my permission, of course)—sometimes grabbing my breasts or my crotch or pinching my behind—talked dirty about me and spread lies and rumors, so, of course, I was called a “slut” and a “whore.” Funny, because I hadn’t even “fucked” yet. But that didn’t matter. Boys could say whatever they wanted to shame and blame girls. And girls just had to keep their mouths shut.
Traumarchy: Patriarchal trauma. It left me feeling ashamed and dirty. And I hadn’t really done anything worthy of it. Except be born a girl.
After high school, I, like many girls of that time period, got married. I had met my husband in my senior year (he had already graduated and was working as a stock boy at a local grocery store) and we had “fallen in love.” We got engaged during that final year of school and “tied the knot” (wonderful saying, no?) in August of 1972. The “honeymoon” didn’t last long.
I found myself going from an abusive home-life to an abusive marriage. Except this time, the abuse wasn’t physical. It was mental and emotional abuse and neglect. And, in many ways, it hurt far worse.
For most of my 28-years with this man, I was neglected and mentally/verbally abused. For instance, while I was very pregnant with his child—belly large and protruding—he seemed to get a kick out of focusing on my weight gain. On one occasion (at church, no less), he saw me walking toward him and exclaimed aloud while our church friends looked on: “Hey, Hey, Hey: Here comes Faaaaaat Albert!” in the cartoon voice. I wanted to disappear through the cracks in the floor of that “sanctuary.” He thought it was “funny;” I found it humiliating and demeaning. He laughed… I went into the bathroom, locked the door, and cried.
After about the third year of our marriage, my husband stopped getting me cards for any occasion—not even my birthday or Mother’s Day (although I had two beautiful daughters with him). And no gifts either. Not even at Christmas. I continued to buy him cards and gifts, and I strived to be a “Proverbs 31 Woman,” according to my Fundamentalist Christian beliefs. I was a stay-at- home Mom and did my utmost to make that man feel like the King of His Castle, as we were taught Christian wives should.
But nothing worked. And, for a time, I kept blaming myself, kept working harder, kept giving and doing and being what I thought he needed—forget what I needed. That obviously didn’t matter. Because under patriarchal teaching, all that truly matters is the man—his wants and needs, his thoughts and opinions.
Then in 1993, I discovered my husband had been having an affair with a woman from his place of employment. It had been going on for at least a year, possibly more. That was the ultimate slap in the face. Yet, still I persevered, thinking that “saving my marriage” was the right and dutiful thing to do.
At first, my efforts seemed to be paying off: my husband quit his job and went to work for a company in another village, closer to our church. We decided to try to sell our home and relocate to a place in between this new job and our church. But a few months in, my husband was terminated, due to lack of seniority and a troubled economy. He immediately went back to his former place of employment… and his “girlfriend.” The affair took up where it had left off.
I found them together in our home one Sunday afternoon, when I drove twenty-two miles from a neighboring village, where our youngest daughter had starred that weekend in a “Best of Broadway” theater production, thinking he might want to attend the after-show cast party. First thing I noticed, upon returning home, was a strange car parked out front where I normally parked my car. It might be someone visiting a neighbor, I told myself… but I had this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. (Sisters, always pay attention to that “nagging feeling.”) When I went inside and called his name, I heard him come running down the stairs. He met me in the kitchen. I noticed right away he seemed edgy, nervous.
After hemming and hawing a bit, making small talk, he said, ”You need to know that *Becky is upstairs.”
“What?” I said, my stomach sinking.
“She came by last night to pick up a piece of jewelry I had fixed for her and, when she went to leave, her car wouldn’t start. It was storming out and she had nowhere to go, so I told her she could stay here.”
I could feel my blood beginning to boil. I looked him in the eye, parted my bangs and said, “Does it look like I have ‘STUPID’ tattooed on my forehead? Get her out of my house NOW!” I had had it. Something in me finally broke.
He disappeared and a few minutes later I heard them coming down the stairs, mumbling together, and then the front door opened and closed. I waited until I heard the car leave before I walked into the living room, where my husband stood, looking out the window. “How could you do this to me again?” I asked through teary eyes.
He turned to me and said, “Because I’m a man and I have my needs!”
I had a small glass of orange juice in my hands. I threw it at him. And left.
Man’s needs. Patriarchy: It’s always about a Man’s needs. With no thought whatsoever about what a Woman needs—like self-worth and respect and some genuine love.
I knew then that it was over. I wanted a divorce. But first, I went to the elder women in my church and told them my story. I expected they would rally around me in “sisterly support.” But instead, this is what I got:
“You can’t leave your husband! That’s not God’s will. God hates divorce. You have to go home and try harder to be a more submissive and loving wife, so that he doesn’t feel the need to look outside the marriage for his comfort.”
I was stunned. They blamed ME. It was ALL on me. My fault he cheated on me. My fault he was abusive and neglectful. I had to work harder.
I went home that night totally disillusioned, dispirited, and deeply depressed. After the girls went to bed, I stood in the kitchen, washing the supper dishes. At one point I picked up a sharp carving knife and thought how easy it would be to slit my wrist and just bleed out on the floor. That was how depressed and desperate I was feeling. Even my own God wasn’t on my side. I lifted my eyes heavenward and said, “God, if this is all you have for me, then I don’t want it!” And I meant it.
I didn’t take my life (obviously), thanks to my two daughters. I couldn’t leave them with a selfish, neglectful, and abusive man. They’d never really had a father, and I couldn’t leave them without a mother too. They deserved better.
So I prayed—not to the “Father God” I had spent so long worshiping and serving. I was done with him. Instead, I prayed to whoever would hear me and offer me some help… and some real hope.
I needed to grow a backbone and finally stand up for myself. So, that night, I packed my husband’s clothing and personal items and set them by the front door. When he came home from work the next morning and saw the suitcases and bags he said, “What’s all this?”
“It’s your stuff!” I replied.
“Well, what am I supposed to do with it?” he asked.
“I don’t care,” I said. “Take it to your mother’s. Take it to Becky’s. Just take it and GO!”
He left in a huff. But as soon as he was gone, a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. A couple of weeks later, my youngest daughter said to me, “You know, Mom, the house seems so much lighter and feels so much better now that Dad isn’t here.” She paused a moment and continued, “You should have kicked Dad out years ago!”
I looked at her, stunned by her comment. “I stayed with your father all of those years for you and your sister,” I explained.
My daughter looked me in the eye: “Mom, really, you didn’t do us any favors!”
The next few years were difficult as my husband did his best to make my life miserable, Although he knew I was still homeschooling our youngest daughter, and that, should I have wanted to get a job, I couldn’t see to drive at night and our little country town in upstate New York had no jobs to offer a woman with only a high school education and no real job experience outside of the home (which, of course, didn’t count), he stopped paying any of the bills, including the mortgage. This put me in a real bind.
When I took him to court to try to get some spousal support, the “judge”—a man I later discovered was Becky’s cousin—said there was no reason I couldn’t get a job, so he denied me any support.
Again, the System is rooted and founded upon Patriarchy, and often run by men for men. The fact that my husband’s name was still on the deed didn’t matter; the fact that I was finishing up our daughter’s schooling didn’t matter. The fact that I couldn’t see to drive after dark didn’t matter. The fact that finding any jobs nearby didn’t matter. Once more, it was all on ME.
This is how Patriarchy traumatizes women—it forces us to be dependent upon men, and when men aren’t present in our lives, it penalizes us for trying to stand on our own. Patriarchy continues to try and knock us off our feet and keep us down. Patriarchal religion wants us to be under the dominion of men, subject to men’s wants and desires… and God forbid if we balk against that system! We’ll get penalized by the patriarchal politics of the patriarchal judicial system. We’re screwed no matter which way we turn.
That’s why we must be tough, and why we have to get involved. But we can do nothing so long as we are left traumatized by Traumarchy.
We have to heal from that trauma first. How can we do that? Here’s what worked for me:
We heal through our Sisters. Through groups of women who have survived and learned how to thrive, despite the pervasiveness of patriarchal thought in our society. I began to heal when I discovered a wonderful Women’s Retreat in the Pacific Northwest, after moving there in 2012. Twice a year for five-and-a-half years (Spring and Autumn) I attended these retreats that used dream imagery, empowering Goddess myths, song & dance, creativity through writing and artwork, and opportunities to share our personal stories in Circle Time to facilitate healing. The love and support of that beautiful Circle of Sisters was very much the healing balm I needed. The ability to tell my story in a safe place— and not be judged or condemned—was cathartic. All the lessons I learned during those retreats have become a part of my self- healing work, as well.
Healing from patriarchal trauma takes time. We have to unlearn a lot of lies and misinformation that was taught to us, whether knowingly or unknowingly, whether innocently or purposefully, by our parents, our school systems and our society in general— through politics, religion, capitalist economics, and through TV and movies, magazines and advertisements. We’ve been inundated by Patriarchy most of our lives, so undoing the damage is not going to be a “quick-fix.”
There are a lot of wonderful books on the market that can help women understand the root of Patriarchy and how it became the dominant system in much of the world today. I would suggest googling these books, getting copies, and reading and studying them. There are also many empowering books created to help women love themselves and discover their sovereignty as unique and sacred beings (like Girl God Books!). These can be great tools for building self-confidence and in developing spiritual practices that reintroduce the Divine Feminine (Goddess-consciousness), rather than the patriarchal “Father God” concept that has kept women in a “lesser-than” submissive role for several millennia.
We can overcome Patriarchy’s trauma—“Traumarchy”—no matter the damage it has done to our self-esteem or our self-worth. But it takes courage and determination… and a lot of hard work to heal our wounded selves. I know because I’ve lived it. I nearly lost my life to it. But I am not a victim; I’m a survivor—and my life, today, is happy, productive, and peaceful.
I’ve gone from Wounded to Wonderful… and, Sisters, so can you!
* Becky is not her real name, but because she is a victim of spousal abuse in her first marriage and a woman wounded by Patriarchy herself, I choose to protect her privacy.
(To be continued)