A bad begining continuation While my father was a raging bull, my mother was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, hiding her abuse amidst kindness and affection. She was the “savior” against my father and had a very generous, sweet and giving demeanor when she was in a proper mood. I will not deny that she did many wonderful things for me and in fact, when she was nice, it was great to be with her. But, in a Jekyll/Hyde or Bruce Banner/Hulk fashion, when she unleashed her anger, it was explosive rage. Although she never hit me, I was a figurative punching bag on which she used insults, humiliation and expressions of anger instead of kicks and punches. Despite “keeping my nose clean”, my mother still found reasons to unleash her anger at me. One day, after spending time with a known and trusted friend, I came home to hear my mother telling my father how I was trying to be rebellious like my siblings. It was between 10:30 and 11:00 pm, a time which I had come home before without any repercussions and for someone in their late 20′s, was not an “unGodly time” to come home at. When she heard me coming, she burst out of the front door without her hijab on, screaming at me that I was no longer her child, disowning me until the Day of Judgment and that she would put this in writing and send it to several shuyukh. She also locked the door and told my father not to let me in. Even if I was out doing evil things, I didn’t deserve that. No one does. Because this was my mother and because this behavior was common and accepted in our family and my parents’ culture, I didn’t see just how abnormal this was. Actions like these were always excused with “She was mad because…” or “Well you shouldn’t/should have done…”. I felt too hurt, hated and even partly responsible for her actions to be able to see how abusive she was. I felt that if if somehow, if I had been a better child, she wouldn’t have done or said that. I now see I could not control her behavior, only she could. It was traumatic to see her behave in such a way and hurt to be the target of such horrible comments, and this is only one example of her pain-inducing words and actions. She teetered between kind and caring woman to a cruel and vicious woman. She would praise my siblings and I to her friends one minute and then say how she wished she would die so she wouldn’t see our faces again, that death was better for her than life with us. I couldn’t tell if she loved or hated me, if I was good or bad. I cannot explain to you the confusion or the pain that I went through, only that I am glad I finally see the truth for what it is. Like other abusers, my parents wanted to exert their control over us. They yelled at me for being sad and for having individuality. Having autonomy was not allowed and success was simultaneously encouraged and deflated (sometimes by the same parent). My mother wanted us do to everything her way - from how we looked, how we dressed, what majors we chose, who we married, even what we named our children – and criticized us incessantly when we didn’t follow. My father tried to “straighten us out” through physical and verbal assaults when we spoke up for ourselves or didn’t do things exactly as he wanted. Imams and shuyukh of Sunday school, Islamic lectures and Friday khutbahs told me constantly that parents deserved our utmost respect and unyielding obedience. And because they had heard the same lectures, my parents demanded this as well. It is a fact of life that children, more or less, emulate their parents’ behavior. Thus, through their actions, my parents taught me how to be defiant, angry, hateful, spiteful, resentful, disrespectful and aggressive, and simultaneously punished me for expressing these emotions and behaviors. This created a tug of war in my head, between wishing that someone would say I had the right to be treated kindly and believing that I was being rightfully punished for being a bad child. No one ever spoke of children’s rights or obligations of parents, so it was the latter that always won. The ill effects of abuse Growing up with abusive parents took a heavy and serious toll on me. From my childhood and even until now, the abuse has affected me in several facets of my life, mentally, physically and spiritually. I suffered from low self-esteem and had problems in my health and relationships, even with Allah. The abuse has affected my family as well - emotional problems, jealousy and spitefulness between siblings and emotionally incestuous relationships between parent and child developed – although they still choose to deny it.