Mom’s Sick. Dad’s Abusive. I Have Let Go.

Guest post by Jenni Z

My mother is very sick, and no one quite knows what’s wrong. She has flu-like paralytic episodes which leave her weak. Her voice becomes froggy and scratchy. She’s been tested for just about everything, but there has been no firm diagnosis yet.

The sicker she has become the more I have been able to clearly see the depths of my father’s abuse. His nonchalance regarding her medical care is really the tip of the iceberg in an ice-cold sea of psychological and emotional abuse. It has become the straw that broke the camel’s back.

I am the camel.

I couldn’t do it anymore. I could no longer act like everything was fine. That this is just the way he is and I needed to quit being dramatic. At least he’s not physically abusive, right?


So I began to pull back. I started to work on myself. Because I am the only person I can control.

I put boundaries between my parents and me. If you’ve ever dealt with a narcissist you know that isn’t easily done. Any boundary you put up they will barge right through with ‘how dare you do this to me’ entitlement.

The more I pulled back, unfortunately and unsurprisingly, the sicker my mother became. From the time I was a very young girl, she needed me to withstand my father’s abuse. I can see now how unfair it is to impose that responsibility on a child.

I ended up having to cut ties with my father completely. I feel like he left me no choice. I was falling apart. Anxious (still am, extremely so) and constantly afraid. What was I so afraid of? As I thought more about this I realized I couldn’t ever remember not being afraid to some degree.

I finally had an epiphany. A slow epiphany of sorts because it took me all of these years to get to this point. Here I was in my late 30’s, and I still worried about making my parents, especially my father, mad. Walking on eggshells. Trying to do what I could, only to be told it wasn’t good enough. That epiphany helped me realize something.

He can not hurt me if I do not allow him to hurt me.

So what if I make my dad mad? His opinions, actions, moods, and abuse do not have to dictate how I feel. In fact, they can have no bearing on me whatsoever, if I don’t allow them the power.

Though it was extremely hard, I put a shield up against him and his attacks. I blocked him on Facebook. I blocked his number on my phone. I no longer let him in my house. Not that he tried to contact me often. Most of the contact was usually done though my brother or my mother. My brother texted me often to tell me how bad of a daughter I was.

I imagine cutting off contact with him probably made him treat my mother worse. I’m sure he took his anger out on her. I feel tremendous guilt over this. I should be able to protect her. But it is not my duty.

Because I am not the one abusing her.

Though they would have me believe the opposite, I am not the one at fault, and I cannot be held responsible for fixing an non-fixable situation. I have no control over how my mother chooses to live her life. I have no control over how my father treats her. I can’t force her to leave him. Just as I can’t make my father see how abusive he is. I can only protect myself. If I did allow contact then that would, in a way, condone his behavior as I would be forced to I sit idly by and watch it happen. Not to mention he would think it’s okay to be abusive towards me again.

Going from doctor to doctor my mother ended up at the Cleveland Clinic. After going over her records and doing some tests, the doctor asked how her childhood was. It was probably no surprise to the doctor that her childhood was pretty rough. Of course, he wasn’t going to ask how her marriage was with my father sitting right there, though I suspect the doctor knew. He knew how years of abuse can affect the human body.

As it happens far too often, my mother went from an abusive childhood straight into an abusive marriage. She was barely 18 when she married my father. She’s now 65.

She doesn’t think that her illness is psychosomatic. And, who knows, it might not be, but she doesn’t think her emotional health has any bearing on her physical health.

Yet, it does. The body carries trauma. We find ways to cope, to excuse away the abuse. The brain may allow us to forget, tucking it safely away in the hippo campus, but our bodies don’t forget.

I imagine if you add up 65 years of abuse it can do a real number on your nervous system. The weakness she keeps having, the body aches, the scratchy voice; it all tells a story.

Her body is screaming loudly what her voice can’t actually say.

I still maintain a relationship with her, though it is quite different than it used to be. I am no longer the codependent daughter she was accustomed to having.

Letting go and coming to terms with the reality of my family dynamic has been one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. Knowing I can’t change my father, that I can’t make him see the error of his ways and accepting that I can’t fix or save my mother has been simultaneously heartbreaking and freeing.

Ultimately I had to step away from their dysfunction and relinquish their power over me so that I can heal.

Never Doubt Your Instincts

Enter the doorway into the mind of this incredible Survivor Voice

Jenni Z Official

Jenni Z aka artgirlcreations, is an artist and art journal creator who, through her multi-layered collage work and raw writing, explores ways to cope with her anxiety disorder, as well as the trauma she suffered as a child. Language, art and color lead the way through the muck of her past, as well as bridge the gap to a more mentally healthy future.

Becoming: A Minute Spoken

Dear White People:

Dear Caucasian Friends,

We cannot let our government incite a race war in this country, so please stay with me for 6 short minutes

1. Accept you have white privilege. It’s okay to accept its existence. It doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you intelligent and honest. Your skin color gives you privileges like not having someone clutch their purse in the elevator when you enter it or not being followed around stores because you’re black or not getting pulled you over for your skin color or hung from trees because of your skin color. Accepting this level of mind control white privilege based on your white skin color simply opens and frees your mind.

2. Stop minimizing #blacklivesmatter. You were not enslaved by the hundreds of thousands, tortured, raped, murdered, had your babies ripped from you and killed or forced to believe a religion that was not your original belief. So let go of the guilt because you aren’t entitled to feel it. Replace it with outrage that any human is ever abused and murdered for their skin color.

3. Do something. Stand beside our black brothers and sisters and use your voice. Attend your city hall meetings and ask why the black people in your community are being murdered, targeted and profiled. Black Americans need our white voices to speak. Your silence, or worse, defense of these atrocities, is the same as pulling the trigger, choking the life out of a black person and passively abusing them for their skin color.

4. Your white entitlement is hurting my family. Stop it. My heart is breaking every time I hear my youngest son say he is afraid to walk on his college campus or the surrounding city.

5. Do not comment on this post with arguments. They will not be responded to and promptly deleted. Take your white entitlement and scroll on past. Bite your cheeks against the need to argue because you can’t take the ancestral guilt of what is being done to our fellow black citizens. If you feel defensive right now, you are experiencing white privilege reactionary emotions.

6. Take the time to explore these presentations from a white man discussing white privilege so you can learn your own history properly. Educate yourself so we can be armed with the knowledge to end the onslaught against black people in our country.

The History of White Privilege

5 Things White People Should Do To Improve Race Relations

Colorblind Denial and White Privilege

Thank you for caring. I know beneath the conditioning and traumatic generational DNA passed on from your white ancestors there is a heart for change, support and love. Let it out.


The white mother of a multi-racial child who will only be seen as black because of your white privilege mindset.


Death Is Not Permanent 

Are you afraid?” Someone asked me today. “People die for the truth, yanno.”

Death. If this is the only thing to fear then, no, I am not afraid.  For me, death is never permanent. 

There are little echoes of programming that come in as subtle, cynical whispers.

No one really… Gives a shit.”

and so the argument begins

Programming: “You’re crazy.”

Me: “Fuck off.

Programming:!”No one gives a shit.”

Me: “Fuck off.

And I tell those little doubt programs that come alive to try and stifle our truth or create nervousness or any negative energy that the handlers can feed off of to Fuck Off.

Some will say, “Just love them.”

Not I. I’m a warrior. I take out a verbal pistol and blast them to so many pieces they can’t regain their voice.

I love myself through a lot. Programming isn’t to be loved into non-existence. It’s to be shattered with the same severity with which it split me into a million tiny pieces they could pick up at will.

Except they never can figure out how to completely exterminate some of us. We simply are too strong. They certainly never conceived that so many of us would gather our own shards and make beautiful art of ourselves. 

I am strong. I am a warrior for the unveiling of truths. While sleepers watch the tube, like zombies, I’m preparing for phase two.

A friend said its ended. We are ascending no matter what, and I agree. It’s World War III, and everyone says it’s the Illuminati.

I say it’s you and me. It’s every individual who wakes up and sees. That’s the true battle. Not bombs in the Middle East and staged genocides to keep the sleepers being fear food for the Kabal. No. It is inside of every single human. That’s where the war is as we fight to stay alive long enough to shake a few more awake.

So the answer is no. I’m not afraid. I am ready. I know my truth. I don’t care if it scares you or even if you believe me. The ones who do. They matter. My critics are the non-factors.

We are the calm before the storm. We are rising into our new home.