The Luckiest Child

By

Becky Fields

"Becoming a "Warrior" and ending my silence has not been easy."
"Although I did not trust anyone enough to tell my "Secrets", Life stepped in and made me the "luckiest child" in my family."

Here is the preface and chapter one...

Preface

For those of you who will already know some or all that is written here because it is happening, or has happened to you: I hope that reading this book, whilst possibly triggering off memories you would rather not deal with, may help you to feel that you are not alone. I hope it will make you feel stronger to know that your Secrets, though you cannot yet voice them yourselves, are being heard by the world. It is my wish that this will make people believe and help you when you are ready or able to seek their help. To you too I would like to say that, if you feel overwhelmed by anything you read here, you put this book down and try to find some distraction, or try to find someone to talk to. If you have no one in your life just now that you feel you can talk to, please go to Chapter Twenty, where I have listed some organisations that might be able to help you. These people are committed to helping in a non-judgmental way and they truly care. You do not need to give your name and they will not make you do anything you don't want to do. They will just listen.

When, three years ago, I heard New York lawyer, author and child advocate, Andrew Vachss, refer to abused children as "Children of The Secret", I felt as though I had at last found a category in which I belonged. Mr. Vachss believes that those of us who, having transcended a childhood of abuse, endeavor to make ourselves heard, may be able to encourage others to speak out about their own problems. He likens us to "Warriors" in what he calls "the only Holy War", the war against Child Abuse. Although I was no longer a child, his powerful words spoke to me and, in an odd way, released me from the need to keep my own Secrets. Becoming a "Warrior" and ending my silence has not been easy. I have shed many tears and had to set this book aside many times to give my heart a break from reliving the awfulness that was my early life. However, like a true "warrior", I saw my task through to the end.

The term "warrior", used by Mr. Vachss is a very apt term, since living with abuse often feels no different, for those enduring the torture and pain, than living in a war-like situation. During the Second World War the slogan, "Loose lips sink ships", gave a stern warning that, in war-torn Britain, "enemies" could be anywhere so "talking" was dangerous. Abused children live in a similar atmosphere of constant fear. They too feel "talking" is dangerous. They "must not tell" if someone touches them in a wrong place or in a wrong way. Neither must they tell if they have been burned, bitten, whipped, kicked or have any bruise or marks on their bodies from their abuser. Nor must they tell anyone that they are hungry, cold, or scared. There are so many Secrets an abused child has to keep that life becomes unbearable. They do not know whom to trust and coerced, threatened, or manipulated into believing their very lives depend on their ability to keep silent, they protect themselves from their "enemies" by adhering to their own unwritten, unspoken code. "Loose lips let Secrets slip." Yet, tragically, for such children, the opposite is true. For, in their lonely "war-torn" lives, it is abused children's steadfast adherence to this invisible code of silence that dooms them.

Some children hide their secrets and cover their confusion and pain by trying to be 'happy on the outside' in the hope that, if no one thinks they are sad, they will not have to answer awkward questions and their "Secret" cannot slip out. Other children hide their terrifying Secrets by withdrawing into themselves, and becoming loners. Yet other children cover their fear and pain by becoming aggressive and violent towards others and some children turn their loneliness and despair upon themselves. There are as many ways children find to hide their terrifying Secrets, as there are Secrets to hide.

When I was a Child of The Secret I kept quiet and played the 'happy on the outside' game and I played it very well. So well in fact, that for much of my life my proudest boast was that, "When it comes to acting, Liz Taylor has nothing on me!" I soon learned that if I smiled a lot people would not "look" at me. I learned that people believe what they see, so if I made sure I looked happy, they would think I was happy. But what kept me silent is very difficult to explain. Like all Children of the Secret, I knew that my life depended on choosing the "right" person to trust. But when you are a child, how do you know who is trustworthy? I knew "bad" people got punished because they deserved such punishment. And, since I so desperately wanted to be liked, some part of me was scared that those I told would think I was a "bad girl" if they knew whar was happening to me. However, what drove me to guard my Secrets so vigilantly, was fear. I was terrified of the consequences if I did 'tell' and no one believed me. My biggest danger came from ordinary, kindhearted people. I felt that, in their good hearts, they could not comprehend nor believe that people do such horrible, cruel and damaging things to children. It was my belief in their inability to believe or acknowledge such abuses happen that ensured my silence. I was scared they would try to have a "little chat" with my abuser to see if they could "sort things out". I wanted to be told, "I will protect you. You will never have to go home again". But I did not believe anyone would say those words, so I kept quiet.

However, the instinct to survive is a powerful force. There are well-documented cases of people surviving great personal tragedies and overcoming seemingly insurmountable hurdles to regain something of the life they had clung to so passionately. I do not know why some people have the stamina, determination or courage to go on fighting when others would have given up long since, but they do. Something inside must drive them on, lift their flagging spirits and possibly bring them a sure and certain knowledge that Life really is worth living. Perhaps they had a vision or an idea of what Life could be and would accept no circumstance that sought to mar their vision, or perhaps like me, they "got lucky".

Although I did not trust anyone enough to tell my "Secrets", Life stepped in and made me the "luckiest child" in my family.

However, what of the abused child? What good fortune can that child find in his sad life of mind-numbing fear and pain? I think that, for each Child of The Secret, the answer may be different. I believe that most of us desperately seek something in our abuse-filled lives that make us feel we are "lucky" and that other children's lives must be more difficult than our own.

When, Angela, a 16 year old girl from Canada e-mailed me, she said she believed she is luckier than other abused children because, when she was 11, she was raped. "But," she told me, "I was only raped once" by the babysitter. She went on to say,

"When I think of what happened to me, and then I read other people's stories, I always think that what happened to them is worse then what happened to me."

It broke my heart to read that and it made me very angry. It is cruel that children feel they are "lucky" because someone else has more abuse, or even a "worse category" of abuse than theirs. Who can say it is "better" to be raped once than be kicked three times? Who can tell a child: "It is very sad to be told you're stupid, ugly and unloved, but at least you are not being battered"? Children of The Secret know that all forms of abuse are painful.

"I'm a lawyer with an unusual specialty. My clients are all children-damaged, hurting children who have been sexually assaulted, physically abused, starved, ignored, abandoned and every other lousy thing one human can do to another. People who know what I do always ask: "What is the worst case you ever handled?" When you're in a business where a baby who dies early may be the luckiest child in the family, there's no easy answer. But I have thought about it-I think about it every day. My answer is that, of all the many forms of child abuse, emotional abuse may be the cruelest and longest-lasting of all."

"When you're in a business where a baby who dies early may be the luckiest child in the family"

I felt as though a dam had burst and my heart had been flooded with an inexplicable feeling of relief. I felt as though I had, at last, found someone who KNEW, someone who, I was in no doubt, would have believed me. Mr. Vachss is one of the few people who really know the confusion, the pain and fear and the terrible guilt that abused children have to live with.

Although it happened many years ago, I can never forget the abuse I endured as a child. But what still haunts me, and chills my heart to this very day, are the memories of the cruel words and the atmosphere of constant fear. I was never subjected to the dreadful, terrifying, batterings and kickings that my sisters had to endure, but the threat that I might was very real and very frightening. However, something happened to me as a baby that saved me. It was something so awesome that, despite other people's opinions, I truly believe it made me the luckiest child in my family.

My good fortune came in the guise of a disability. Some people think being disabled is something sad or bad, others feel they would much prefer death to life in a wheelchair. However, I feel it was the best thing that could have happened to me and is something for which I have always been glad! For I know, had I not caught polio as a baby, I would never have known times without fear and abuse nor would I have experienced any real happiness and security. For, after spending much of my first years in hospital, like most disabled children in those days, I was sent away to attend a 'Special School'. I believe this is what made me the luckiest child in my family, for my 'Special School' was a boarding school which meant I lived most of my childhood away from home.

My school is in a most lovely part of the countryside. Built some time in the late 1800's, it had been the Stately Home of Sir Norman and Lady Atwood and their two daughters, Alice and Victoria. I heard that during the Thirties and Forties, there had been a day school for disabled children in the large, industrialised city nearby. However, when the Second World War came along, the city became a rather dangerous place. The Atwood family, wishing to save the disabled children from Hitler's bombs, generously donated their lovely house and grounds, freely and forever, to the City's local Education Committee for their disabled children to attend school in safety.

By the time I arived the war was over, but the Old House, a very impressive gray-stoned building, inspiring daydreams of girls in straw hats and flowing dresses, bowing men doffing their hats, croquet on the lawn and high teas of scones, tiny sandwiches and hot buttered crumpets, was lovely! The tree-lined driveway, along which horse-drawn carriages would have swept up to the House, in by gone days was truly magnificent. I always felt that my school was one of those you might read about in books. We had magnificent lawns and gardens that one would pay pounds to visit today. We also had Jim and Horace, the two gardeners who had been there since the Atwood's day. I always fancied that, like the House, they were the type of gardeners one might also read about in books. They were (or seemed to be) as old as the hills, with rosy cheeks and weather beaten faces. Their Gardeners' Shed was totally out of bounds, but was always open and welcoming to any of us with an adventurous or brave spirit! I used to think it was like an Aladdin's Cave. There would always be tea brewing on an old fire, interesting things hanging on the walls and so many new and interesting smells. I suppose to anyone living in the country it would have been an ordinary place but for we city dwellers it was wonderful. Jim and Horace lovingly tended the grounds, which included rose gardens and vegetable gardens. They were also responsible for building the huge bonfire we all enjoyed on Guy Fawkes Night!

I remember with great pleasure, playing in 'blue-bell woods', counting daisies in 'the fairy circle' or sitting under my favourite tree whilst I learned the words to the latest pop songs, read a book, wrote to pen pals, or needed to think, or have a 'good cry'. My favourite tree, a huge, old copper beech, which gave me shelter from the sun or wind, was round the back lawn, at the bottom of a steep slope. This gave one the advantage of total privacy whilst at the same time being able to see all comers. To the right of the slope were the playground, the classrooms and our physio department, but the lovely flora and fauna provided a wonderful sense of being alone. One thing I cannot adequately describe, for I do not know how any words can, was the sight and smell of the glorious rhododendrons, which abounded in our grounds. Their myriad of colours and hues were breathtaking. Straight across the lawn, facing my tree, was a lovely view of the back of the Old House. Above the roof one could see the turret and throughout the day one could hear the old clock chime the quarter hour. Behind yet more bushes and trees of every description lay the old Courtyard and Stables. Where once horse-drawn carriages, after depositing their loads, would be housed and horses rested, now there were laundry rooms, sewing rooms and a full dentist's surgery. The path from the left came past the rose garden, shielded from view by a wall and was strictly "for staff only". My best friend, Hazel, and I did once sneak in there, let in by our trusty gardeners, Jim and Horace, who assured us we would not be caught! I will never forget that momentous day, with the combination of the heady scents and riotous colours of the roses, plus the thrill of danger! It was truly magnificent.

My school was home to around sixty pupils of a wide range of physical disabilities from ages five to sixteen. By the time I arrived, the outside of the Old House or the "Old Wing" looked pretty much as it had originally, although it's interior was extensively redesigned and a purpose built "New Wing" had been added. There was an excellent physiotherapy department, complete with hydrotherapy pool, which doubled as a swimming pool two nights a week. The school hall (with the most lovely parquet' flooring I have ever seen) was a huge square, with the classrooms branching off three sides, whilst the fourth side was made up of floor to ceiling windows. At the far end was a wonderful stage which, on appropriate occasions such as 'Concert Day', was set up with the most luxurious curtains that any local theatre would be proud to own!

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The Luckiest Child

By

Becky Fields

Here is the preface and chapter one...

Preface

Chapter One

The Luckiest Child