Because of my overexposure to childhood trauma, I felt a duty to the next generation of the family. With my children, every five minutes I would ask, "Did someone touch you?" I would say, "You can tell me. Big or small, I'll beat them up. Did you know I have superpowers? No matter what they say, they can't hurt you or me." A necessary conversation? Absolutely. But there is no doubt that I was transferring my trauma to them through fear.
With my nieces and nephews, I extended the same care and concern. It was a bit more difficult since I wasn't present in their lives daily. I remember when one of my nieces lived in Oregon, and she'd been online communicating with a grown man who lived in Georgia. She had to be around 17 years old, and he was nearly thirty. At some point, it went from online dating to her getting on a plane and flying to Rome, GA.
One day, I received a call from my sister. I braced myself before I answered because she had never called just to say hello. "Hey sister. Can you do me a favor?" I rolled my eyes because this was the norm. I said, "Hey, what's up?" She told me the guy my niece went across the country to be with was a registered sex offender, and my niece had just given birth to his baby. My first thought was, why in the hell aren't you and her dad out here to take her home? But I had to remember who I was talking to. My sister's trauma left her void of empathy for someone else's. She went on to say, "She has nothing for the baby and has no money. Can you help me and buy her the things she needs and take them to her?"
As much as I wanted to say no, my heart wouldn't allow me to do nothing, knowing my niece was in a dangerous situation. So my daughter and I went to Target to purchase as much as could fit in my car. I grabbed my gun, and we hit the road.
As we drove, I thought about the cycle of trauma and how it permeates our family. I remembered my own experiences and the fierce determination I felt to break the cycle for my children. Yet here I was, once again trying to protect a young woman in my family from the consequences of choices made in the shadow of trauma.
When we arrived, my niece's face lit up with a mixture of relief and shame. She hugged me tightly, and I could feel her desperation. We unloaded the car and set up what we could for the baby. I took a moment to sit with her, to listen, and to offer what little wisdom I had. I told her she deserved better, that her baby deserved better, and that she had the strength to change her situation.
The trip back home was somber. My daughter and I barely spoke, each lost in our thoughts. I couldn't help but wonder if my efforts were enough, if I could truly make a difference in the lives of those I loved. But I knew one thing for sure: I wouldn't stop trying. The covenant my mother spoke over us, "You all need to stick together. You are all you got," echoed in my mind. Despite the pain and betrayal, I would continue to fight for my family, to be the protector I needed when I was young.
S
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