Essay

Word Damage

By: Barbara Ayars,

0 comments

She whipped around, getting right in my face, her own flushed and angry because I’d asked “why”.
“Just who do you think you are?” She spat.
I hung my head, staring at my shoes.
“Answer me, you brat! Look at me!” She was shaking mad.
I raised my head and looked at her, trying not to cry.
“Barbarann”, I whispered. “I’m Barbarann!” You know who I am, Mama.”
“That’s just your name, not who you are! You’re not so smart!”
I was seven. This was too hard. What did she want?
“Don’t make me ask you again” she sputtered, hands on her hips.
I thought and thought. At last I said, “I’m nobody”.
“What did you say?”
“Nobody, Mama. I’m nobody”.
She stood up straight, smirking, glistening sweat on her brow.
“Yes. And you are never going to be anybody. I can’t love you. You talk back. You ask why as if adults owe you an explanation. Keep your mouth shut. Remember who you are!” She looked satisfied I got the answer right.
I stood there waiting for her to kill the rest of me, my spirit already gone. I understood her pronouncement without argument. I wasn’t made of stuff to contradict her.
Experience suggested others saw me differently; in the orphanage, matrons were kind, encouraged learning, rewarding my little triumphs so I was reading well at the age of four. I knew from them that I was a bright child with a quick mind. The very traits they rewarded were the ones that so irritated my mother. They never objected to my “whys”.
More than six decades would pass before I discovered Mama was wrong.
I got cancer.
For thirty years I’d sung with a large choir. I had a role in the encouragement and contribution to our spiritual growth, writing commentary about our weekly anthems. I had no idea until this life event that they not only cared deeply about this threat to my life, but they loved me enough to say so and then went further to tell me how much and in what ways. They fell heavily on me to insure my wellbeing, anxious to show me in spoken and written words how much I meant to them. I was overwhelmed. They didn’t know I never saw myself as they did.
To them I am a strong woman of faith, living my beliefs in front of them. They see me as able to walk right up to life and take into both hands whatever I’m dealt. They never dreamed I lack self-esteem. Nearly everyone offered to do for me anything I want or need. They’re thrilled to walk this journey with me, amazed at my inner strength and fortitude. They tell me I encourage faith by example. They’ve helped me make myself anew.
Because of them I had to look again at my tapes. To listen carefully to toxic words, to surrender them and choose to reshape myself as somebody. Writing that turns on Mama’s voice: who do you think you are?
I put my arms around the woman I am, love her and accept my “somebody-ness”. I owe it to her. If I can’t validate her I will have become my mother, still heaping coals on her head.

Changes In Life

Becoming the woman you were meant to be

Menu

Newsletters

Essays

Sites for Women Writers