Surviving the School Run
I spent most of my 20s/30s/40s feeling worthless, useless and not worthy of any kind of love
By Julia
Warning: This article contains themes of sexual assault and domestic abuse.
You’re 14, and puberty hits you. it’s almost like you wake up one morning and you suddenly have boobs and curves where you have never had them before.
I grew up in rural Ireland, and went to a convent girls school. I had an absolutely idyllic childhood. I was blessed. I had a pony, knew how to calve a cow, was surrounded by countryside, the beach and animals - I was loving life. And then one day… I was in the local shop when a man, a friend of my Dads in fact, grabbed me on the backside, did not let go, and told me “I had a great arse on me”. I froze.
Nobody said anything, nobody did anything, and nobody tried to stop him.
My first thought was “Oh god, I am fat!”, not understanding puberty or that us lovely ladies have curves. there were only women in the shop at the time, and I waited for someone to say something… and I waited… and nobody did. No one stopped him, and no one said anything. So I’m stood there, 14 years old, with a fifty something year old man with his hands on my arse, just waiting for someone to tell him to move, stop, or just say something. But nobody said anything, nobody did anything, and nobody tried to stop him.
The drive to school
Later I had the pleasure of being driven to school by him, and this would subsequently set the stage for the string of sexual assaults that followed. He was always clever enough to not try to have sex with me, and used to joke about us not having “ugly” babies. I begged and pleaded with my parents to not allow him to give me a lift anymore. To be fair, they had no idea what was going on, and I knew my dad would literally have gone after him with his shotgun and killed him if he found out. I knew I couldn’t. I just had to crack on.
The unwelcome lifts to school inevitably continued, but the final straw came when I was 16. I remember being in the car on the way to school, and he was physically trying to move me. At First I had no idea what he was doing. Then I realised that he was trying to manoeuvre onto the gearstick. I completely lost it! I hit him, he threw me out of the car, and by the time I got home from school later he had been to my parents and announced that he could no longer drive me to school.
Covering up
I drove past him several times and thought about driving in to him. Just bloody killing him. But I didn’t.
After I moved to Dublin, on the weekends I would pass him as I drove down the country roads. I thought about driving into him. Just bloody killing him. But I didn’t. I thought. why should I end up in prison? He wasn’t worth it.
I remember thinking I was free when I moved to Dublin. I was free physically, but I certainly wasn’t free mentally or emotionally.
I stayed away from men. I basically became closed off. I covered myself up when I went out. If I could have worn a bloody burka I would have done. Just no skin on show. If any man came near me, I was off. Anytime I got close to a man, I would end up freezing. What do you do? Tell them beforehand or wait until you freeze up and say “oh, someone tried to place me on the gearstick of the car, so sorry, i’m not really feeling up for it today". Most men do not know how to respond. And in all fairness, what is the right response? This was rural Ireland in the late 80s, early 90s.
Fighting back
I was overpowered by guilt for how I made her feel, and I still feel it when I think about it today.
Around the same time my mum started telling me I was fat & ugly. I don’t know what was going on with her at the time, or where this came from. My dad would try to intervene but got nowhere. She obviously had no clue what had been happening to me, but it was relentless. I was useless, ugly, and fat!
One day, I decided to fight back. I threw something at her and gave her a taste of her own medicine, telling her she was fat! I can still see the hurt on her face now. I felt bloody awful, and immediately apologised. But why did she never feel that same remorse? I was overpowered by guilt for how I made her feel, and I still feel it when I think about it today.
So, I spent most of my 20s/30s/40s feeling worthless, useless and not worthy of any kind of love. And i’m angry! I look at pictures of myself from 20 years ago, and think “God, I was a babe!”, but I didn’t bloody know it then!
Hiding my emotions
I’ve always been told that I’m ‘emotionless’ by friends, partners, and work colleagues. I’m the person who never lets anyone in, and never gives anything away. I’m an ‘emotionless brick’, apparently.
I guess I got that from years of not being able to tell anyone what was happening to me - I learned how to keep everything to myself. I couldn’t tell my friends because I knew they would eventually tell their parents, who would then tell my parents. I also never cried in front of anyone, I just kept on going as if nothing was happening. I bit my lip, put my game face on, smiled and cracked on. Do not cry or get upset, because that shows weakness. It’s a kind of mantra that I lived by in my teenage years.
Do not cry or get upset, because that shows weakness. It’s a kind of mantra that I lived by in my teenage years.
I’m the person watching a sad film eating crisp’s whilst everyone else is crying. There’s a scene in Titanic where Jack and Rose are in the water. Jack is frozen solid, and Rose almost snaps his hand off. I must be the only person who saw that scene and laughed.
Getting physically and mentally abused by two different people (one of whom I should have been able to trust and confide in) took its toll. My walls went up, and they stayed up for many, many years. I probably came across as a right miserable so-and-so, displaying my resting bitch face, but it was just far easier to just not let anyone in or let anyone near me.
Caring more about others
I still feel I’m not really good at showing my true emotions, which isn’t very helpful, especially in relationships. I say one thing but my face says something else entirely. And strangely, I find I worry more about other people’s feelings than I do my own. Even when writing some of this down and sharing it with Seb, I was apologising, because some of its heavy and I worry about upsetting people. I kind of go with the rhetoric that I’m a cold hearted, emotionless bitch, but the truth is that my heart breaks for other people. Reading or hearing about other people’s horrible, crap experiences in any aspect of their lives has me in tears.
I liken us all to swans. On the surface, it looks like we’re all just gliding through life. But under the surface, our legs are going like the clappers, and we’re all just doing our best to keep our heads above water whilst trying to maintain a swan-like grace. I do have emotions and feeling, but for other people. Just not for myself.
My Mum is still alive, but I have no desire to speak with her. Being abused, being told I was fat, ugly, being told that my calves wouldn’t fit into boots (one of my mother’s favourite insults) definitely had an effect on me. It’s hard not to feel little bit bitter that I lost the best years of my life feeling so rubbish on account of the words and actions of other people. But now, I’m no longer bothered by anybody else’s thoughts or opinions of me.
