First of all, let’s clear the airways for those of you with
normal families that you mistakenly call, “dysfunctional.” A dysfunctional family involves
severe physical abuse, constant conflict, outright neglect, deadly addictions,
pedophilia, and mental illnesses running rampant. The family is so out of
control that the members have become accustomed to and normalize such behavior,
to the point where the practices are carried into following generations. Basically, my parents beat me so badly that I have to beat you because it's the only way I know. Now,
if your family doesn’t fit that description, you’re in the clear.
My family is dysfunctional. People literally hate one
another to the point of murder threats, and in other families, those murders do
occur. Siblings haven’t spoken in decades and are only referred to in the most
ungodly names. Younger members know nothing of the other youth because it’s as
if they don’t exist. I’ve had cousins tell me that they’ve only heard of me
through stories of grandeur. Look, the only thing I did differently was become
the first to graduate from college (second on my maternal side). My graduation
caused an insane uproar of hate from several family members. Some even claimed
that I didn’t really graduate…though my graduation was nationally broadcasted.
However, this isn’t about college. This is about slave
upbringings gone even further wrong. Former generations beating the hell out of
their children so “the white man” wouldn’t catch them doing something wrong in
public and kill them. A “good ass whoopin” as so many call it, was the
difference between life and death. As a child, I was sliced across my face with
a “switch” (or thin tree branch) and even beaten until I couldn’t walk. My
parents didn’t do that to me. Relatives did. The only explanation was, “It’s
nothing compared to what our parents did to us.” That’s insane! Tell me you
know how CRAZY that sounds. Imagine me, six-years-old, wearing a cutesy dress
on a summer day, only to be snatched into the air by a 6’4 male and severely
beaten all over my back and bare legs. That was a slave thrashing. This
happened right in front of one of my parents and it was acceptable. For my
parents, those beatings were the norm, and for their parents it was even
worse. There’s this notion of gradually
decreasing the intensity of the beatings as generations progress, but when does
it stop?
Spare the rod, spoil the child; I’ve heard this saying time
and time again. “It’s in the Bible!” There’s a hell of a line between a
spanking and abuse. Some people
have been beaten so badly that they wouldn’t dare touch their children, and
others received the same punishment and feel like they MUST beat their children
the same way. The latter is full of lines such as, “It worked for me, it’ll
work for you,” and “It’s the only way I know.” Those people need therapy.
That’s where it’ll stop. Unfortunately, many adults who were abused to this
extent don’t believe in therapy. I know for a fact that therapy is seen as
“taboo” in most of the African American community. Seeking psychological help
is a sign of weakness and “telling other people our business.” There’s so much
anger and pain built up in people who were abused, that many of them are numb
to actual feelings of love.
Have you ever met anyone who couldn’t fully receive love?
This isn’t to say that these individuals don’t get married or have children.
Acting the part does not denote feeling the part. Sometimes there’s even a
grudge toward their children because they weren’t abused to that extent:
“You’ll never know what my mom did to me”; and, “You wouldn’t have made it in
my daddy’s house.” At this point,
that level of negativity probably needs a pill to go with it. It’s the sad
truth.
I could write on this topic forever. There’s always talk on
being victims of one’s environment, but what about being a victim of one’s
family?
It’s ok to talk about it. It’s even better to seek help.
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