The Sound of Silence by Jeanne Eisele

You know that time of day early in the morning where it is so quiet the only sound you can hear is your own breathing? It seems as if everyone in the world is asleep at that very moment. It’s the middle hour. The moon is high, the sky black. People are nestled in their beds, while even the moths have left their little spot at the light post outside in order to settle down to rest.

When I was a child, I loved that time. It was the only time I didn't have to pretend to be someone else.

Now… Now, I hate that time. It’s during that time when all the self hating and self doubt I have always carried, swings up out of my very core, just to smack me in the face to fuck with me. It is during that time I relive my past, and despite the years I have tried to grow, I fall back just enough in that moment that things get ugly. I think of the childhood I missed, and the daughter my mother ripped from my arms, because she didn't think I was worthy enough to raise her at 16. The time I worry that someday my husband will look over and decide that he couldn't remember why he still comes home to me every night.

While growing up, I was an outcast- at home and at school. I was the oldest of three girls who was never as pretty, never as skinny, never as smart as, never as --just fill in the blanks--. Elementary school I had a few close friends, however most of the time, I just sat there waiting for someone to play with me, and dreading the hour when I had to go home, back to where I was invisible. I would try so very hard to fit in everywhere. And when that didn't work, I ended up hating myself. The self loathing was always festering; thoughts of suicide before I even understood what that truly meant.

By the time I hit junior high, I became “that kid”. My grades started to slip and I couldn't seem to keep up with the rest of my peers. I was a dreamer who couldn't keep still, who lost focus of her surroundings, just furthering the constant disappointment my mother held. I started smoking at the age of twelve when a neighborhood boy I had a crush on offered me one; it’s an addiction I still struggle with twenty-eight years later.

By thirteen I was thrown into my first drug rehab. It is sad when your fondest memories of your childhood are the 9 months you spent in rehab. It was a place where I received attention that wasn't filled with anger. A place where I could finally vent about all the bullshit. I could hide from all my insecurities, and brutal disapproval. I met so many great people, who could actually put a name to what I was feeling. They never judged me. They liked me for me. However what it did not do, was fix the relationship with my parents. Furthermore, it didn't change the isolation I felt, despite how desperate I was for that very thing.

My mother would never stop reminding me of the things I would never amount to. She would still dote on my sisters, and complain to her friends about the raw deal she got when she birthed me when she didn't think I was listening. My sisters would still be better. Still skinnier, smarter, less trouble. I would still never fit into the ideal mold they had put in place for their perfect family. They would never see that everything I did was a battle to gain their acceptance. I was a child who acted out because she was so damn angry all the time, and had no idea how to express that. I would always be that little girl looking in. Waiting. Wishing.

My high school years were riddled with drugs, eating disorders and sex. Sex became my ultimate super power. I could control people. It was a way to gain attention whether it was healthy or not. It lead to more depression and a teen pregnancy.

When I met my husband he was my saving grace. He was instantly my biggest supporter. He never judged me for my past, always encouraging me to be myself. He didn't use me for sex, and had never touched a drug in his life. He was the man that would show me at 18, the world had color. It wasn't just gray and miserable.

Nonetheless, it still wasn't perfect. I smothered him with my uncertainty and doubt. Always worrying he would leave me for someone else after he figured out I wasn't good enough. It made for a miserable first ten years; ten years that I still can’t believe he stuck around for.

When we started having kids, I put all my pressures to be perfect, and all the insecurities I harbored onto them. If I had perfect children, wouldn't that prove I was a good mother who was worthy of having children? When we would visit my parents, I would lecture them for a week prior, quizzing them about rules they should not have had to follow.

“Don’t run around the house.” (Even though you are three and that’s what three year-olds do)

“Don’t talk too loud or make loud noises.”

“Sit nicely.”

"Always say please and thank you. Better yet, do not speak unless I say so.”

"Don’t get your clothes dirty or mess up your hair”

"And please….whatever you do… do not ask Grandma and Papa why they take your cousins everywhere but they never take you.”

For every minute we were at their home I shook; terrified things would go wrong. Worried there would be more proof of why I wasn't worthy enough to be regarded as family. Worried my mother would hold true to her promise, and take the other children I had. I would fear their judging eyes and the shakes of their head. Disappointment and ridicule filled the air. The paranoia would suck me in and take weeks to crawl out of.

It took me thirty years to end that toxic relationship with my family. It was ugly when it happened and I still have some regrets. However, I no longer set out to be someone I am not. I became empowered. I have blossomed into someone that most days, I truly like.

I stopped waiting for my mother’s approval in everything I did. Stopped waiting for her to see me for the woman I had became, instead of the snotty rebellious teen with the shaved head and Doc Martens that she remembers. Looking back, I can see that my mother didn't always act this way on purpose. She had her own demons she harbored, and I am sure dealing with an angry teen never made things easy. In an ideal world, maybe someday we can both look past things and build some type of relationship. Until then, the only people I care about making proud are my husband and my boys.

I will no longer carry that hatred in my heart. I am proud of who I am, and the mother she always assumed I couldn’t be. I have worked hard and proven myself to the world. I am good enough, and I will no longer allow my inner demons to take that from me.

Jeanne Eisele resides in sunny southern California in a small desert town. You can easily find her trying to balance her crazy life as a wife, mother to their eight boys, and the never ending basket of laundry --that she swears someday will get finished-- She’s tattooed, with a quick tongue and a love of all things that make her laugh. Any free moment she can muster, you will find her camping with the family, dirt bikes, and her 3 dogs, or swooning at her husband while he belts out a few of her favorites at the Karaoke bar. She loves her wine, and admits she’s a bit of a beer snob. If you would like to see more of her, you can catch her slinging words over at her blog

www.sippycupsandbooze.com

or on her facebook page https://www.facebook.com/SippyCupsAndBooze