Inherited poison

Children are a reflection of their surroundings. It is an accurate statement that provides us with an important tool one needs when it comes to parenthood: if your kid's behavior is supposedly inexplicable you should consider looking inwards. For a lot of parents it is hard facing this fact which is understandable because it's jarring having to realize that you're the reason why your child is misbehaving. Not only have you given them the gift of life but also the gift of an inherited poison. This is one of the reasons why, amongst others, I've chosen not to have children of my own. The fear of passing down more than genes is just too overwhelming since I carry a lot of intergenerational trauma with me. If only my parents had known this before they'd given birth to any of their children. Because of them I've lived a life filled with abuse, both physically and mentally, from both my parents. None of my family members will ever deserve my forgiveness, but years later I've discovered the root of some of its issues.

A Royal Palace In Morocco by Jean Joseph Benjamin Constant

My family has a lot of secrets, like most of them do, but these are harmful secrets. One of them I'd only discovered because I'd googled my father's eldest sister a couple years ago. In 2004 she was interviewed (paywalled) by De Standaard, a Belgian newspaper, more specifically by its vice editor-in-chief. Back then he had a column named In de kantine (English: lit. in the canteen) in which he'd interview people in cafés and community centers all over Belgium in Dutch (can't forget we are a trilingual country). She explained how my grandfather came to Belgium to work in the coalmines of Limburg. Apparently my grandfather died in 1975 which means that the person I'd seen next to my grandmother on her portraits was her second husband making him my stepgrandfather. She continues on how before her eighteenth birthday her mother had tried to marry her off to someone but she fled to Brussels to escape from this arranged marriage. Months later my grandmother passed by my aunt's apartment in Brussels to drop off her six siblings before leaving Belgium forever. Furthermore my aunt admits that her sisters are struggling psychologically claiming "they are addicted to medication."

Three friends by José Cruz Herrera

After reading that interview so many puzzle pieces started falling into place. I remember my mother telling me when I was about nine years old that my father has a lot of admiration for his uncle (Darija: 3ami), the brother of his father. I responded with: "So he's like dad's second dad?" It was never explained to me that his father had died when my father was only six years old. I understand it must've been a very touchy subject, but it's still better to tell your children your own father passed away and that you got a stepfather than obscuring the truth. This made the topic a taboo, which meant that every time it'd be mentioned you could expect a beating afterwards with no explanation. Over the years more information on my family's past started trickling down. While we were looking at pictures of my father in his teens my mother mentioned that he was given no chance even though he's really smart. They forced him to go to trade school for welding and steel fixing. I asked her why he didn't ask his parents if he was allowed to do something else. She told me that he didn't live with his parents anymore at that moment. My mind started making up stories on how his parents couldn't take care of him anymore. I could've never guessed that his mother just up and left the country without them when my aunt didn't want to marry someone she'd picked out for her. 

Zorah on the Terrace by Henri Matisse (1913)

We never had much contact with my father's side of the family; an explanation was never given. I did see my great-grandmothers (Darija: hana and mouima) from time to time without realizing they were my great-grandmothers for the longest time. I still remember the shock in my cousin's eyes when I told him they were our great-grandmothers: "What? You know them too?!" Hana and mouima both had traditional face tattoos, like Chaïbia Talal, and hair dyed with henna. When I was in my early teens I hoped that I'd get those face tattoos as well, but, alas, I still sit here with no tattoos. My father's siblings did visit us on special occasions such as birthdays and holidays. Unfortunately this stopped once we'd moved to a different house. My mother had given me a reason for this. When I was in first grade the teacher gave us a presentation on how smoking is unhealthy. This information was quite shocking since my father smoked a lot. So after I got home from school I told him all about how cigarettes are killing him and that I don't want him too die soon. Apparently this is why he stopped smoking (if only he'd listened when I'd ask him to stop being violent). However, his siblings smoked a lot too and before he had stopped they were allowed to smoke indoors. My mother said that they didn't take that news all too well. Thus they allegedly decided to never visit again unless they were allowed to smoke indoors. A couple years later my father's brother passed away. When I had decided to break the news to my family that I'm cutting ties with them, one of the things my mother told me to pity my father is that his brother had committed suicide because his wife had left him. Did she really think this explanation would have me change my mind?

Harem by José Cruz Herrera

All of these secrets have caused so much damage to almost all of the members of my family, including myself. My siblings and I have suffered so much psychological and physical abuse from my father, and eventually my mother as well, that it had become quite normal. You could expect a beating at least once a week, and if it didn't happen that week you could expect the next one to be twice as violent. It's just gruesome thinking back to it now. Imagine the lives that would have been lived if my ancestors would've actually dealt with the issues and hardships they'd faced. Instead of doing this they just ignored these issues, kept them secret so they could fester and let their offspring suffer from it. This fatalism is the cause of all the hurt I've had to deal with until my early twenties. It's been hard facing these facts. It is a poison that's been seeping through several generations of my family. Even with me having distanced myself from them I still have yet to find an antidote for it, because I'm still being treated for my hereditary depression. Don't worry, I'm actually doing fine but it did take a lot of effort to get to where I am now.

Thank you, and take care.