Quiet Healer

By Elyce Valiquette

Quiet Healer is the story of one woman's extraordinary journey from a world of deep, dark oppression, to the heights of transformed liberation and powerful intuitive capabilities.

 

Elyce tells a fascinating true story of her many struggles through abuses and sickness, to finally find her authentic self. Raised in a secular Jewish environment by a narcissistic family, she never felt that she belonged. As a young adult she opened herself up to spirituality and eventually became a contemplative Christian Quaker. Later, she discovered her true calling as an intuitive healer. 

 

She shares her significant discoveries and life skills; How to cope with adversity and to gain wisdom and power from within. Her perceptions allow the reader to examine their own life in a new, brighter light. Full of drama, humor and meaning, the reader will enjoy the simplicity and insights that are easy to understand and apply to their own lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elyce Valiquette
• Release date: Jul 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201745646

Book preview

Chapter One: Broken Ground

The Childhood Years

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I was born in 1953 and raised in a secular Jewish home in Northeast Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and the surrounding suburbs. I was every parents’ dream; quiet, loving, obedient, and sweet natured. No one noticed.

The first memory of my ultimate calling came when I was very young, maybe four or five years old. I was with a girlfriend and we decided to draw a picture of God. My picture turned out looking like a ghost, and not the Holy Ghost! I was so disappointed in myself that I cried. I just couldn’t draw God as beautiful as He was to me.

At about the same age, my friend and neighbor Penny took me to a play at her church. While the other kids knelt, I just sat there in my seat. When the priest came around to see us, Penny told him, She’s Jewish. I didn’t know what a priest was at the time, but when I looked up at him I noticed that he wore long robes and had a big, tall hat on his head. He smiled down at me, patted me on the head and walked on. I wonder if I was the conversation piece at the clergy’s dinner table that night.

My Aunt Marie (my Mother’s sister) had Hanukkah parties and Passover Seders, but there was no teaching of morals or spirituality. It was all tradition. Even at synagogue services, there were only traditional readings mentioning God, but no teachings about a real connection to God. My family would have considered it to be crazy or fanatical to discuss or depend upon God. I knew at an early age that being Jewish meant not celebrating Christmas. My aunt tried to make Hanukkah special for my cousins and I so we wouldn’t feel deprived.

Butches Auction was the only country store around for miles in all directions, so it was always crowded with people from neighboring areas. It wasn’t really an auction. They may have had auctions there, but during the week it was a large, long warehouse. Vendors sold their wares in stalls on both sides of the aisle; everything from food to home products. Aunt Marie had a son David, who was about three years old at the time. It was the Christmas season and Santa was there entertaining the children. Everyone shopping could enjoy Santa’s conversations with the children because it was broadcast throughout the store on loudspeakers.

I was not there at the time, but as the story goes, Mom, Aunt Marie and little David were all together at the store. Somehow David slipped away from them unnoticed. The next thing heard over the loudspeaker was Santa asking a little boy what his name was. David he answered. David, what would you like for Christmas? With a loud, almost indignant reply, David answered Santa, I have Hanukkah! Mom and Marie looked at each other and screamed at the same time. Realizing that it was their David, they made a mad dash to rescue little David from Santa Claus. At the same time, there was an immediate uproar of laughter throughout the store from all the customers who heard it over the loudspeakers.

The passion to be connected to God in a holy way was always a longing of mine. And that is saying something, because the only expression of religion ever heard in my family concerning God was when they were cursing, Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I had no idea they were talking about the holy family.

Mom would over-dress me when it was warm outside, fuss over me, act overprotective and then ignore me. It was like she was playing with a doll. A child pampers her doll until she finds some other interest, and then the doll sits on a shelf for days. This is how Mom treated me. I was never socialized. I only visited a nursery school class one time. I came home and Mom said, You don’t want to go back there, do you? Because I felt insecure, I said no. I never went back there or to kindergarten.

Lucky for me I had lots of outside interests; friends, nature, a wonderful school with loving teachers, and a fine neighborhood to feel secure in. My Aunt Marie and Uncle Arnie lived right around the corner, and I often went over there to play with my cousins. Uncle Arnie once showed me how to plant watermelon seeds in his garden. I was so thrilled because he paid attention to me and let me help him! Dad didn’t want to be bothered with me when he was tending to his garden. I managed to get a little bit of revenge though. Dad brought in a tomato from his garden and was getting ready to eat it. I told him there was a worm in there. He discounted me. Boy, did he get a surprise at first bite!

The first Rock ‘n Roll radio station in Philadelphia was WIBG. My sister Tina and I had a hard time getting it tuned in on Dad’s car radio. It wasn’t until we were adults that dad confessed that he had a foot pedal that controlled the radio dial. He didn’t like our kind of music, so each time we dialed close to WIBG, he’d hit the pedal to another station. We never noticed that he was laughing at us.

Whatever I tried to do on my own at home was criticized for not being good enough or correct, but at Aunt Marie’s house I always got the same thing right on the first try! For instance, When I tried to make my bed I always did it wrong by Mom’s standards, but at Aunt Marie’s I always got it right from the start. It was confusing to me. How do you know when you are doing something right or wrong? I had no discipline, direction, or communication with my parents at home, but at Aunt Marie’s place there were strict rules, duties, and responsibilities. Between both extremes I never felt significant, safe, or relaxed. Neither of them had time for me or a desire to know me. I was lost. Since Mom and Dad were not getting along, I went back and forth from a home where anything went, to my aunt and uncle’s home where everything had strict rules. With extremes of all or nothing or black or white, I grew up without the perspective of moderation.

I became scared of everything. Nannie (my Mother’s mother) told horrific Holocaust stories in front of me. I was afraid that if I took a shower, gas would come out of the showerhead and kill me. Popsie (Mom’s father) was always mad at someone for something they did to him. He would yell and rage in loud Yiddish with fists clenched, on and on. It happened each time he came to visit. The toilets at school were very big. I was afraid to use them, so I wet my pants a lot.

Dad would touch me inappropriately and I would squirm. He never fully molested me, but it still caused me to feel uncomfortable. He would have fits of rage when you least expected it. Mom was always nervous and preoccupied with herself.

I was known as the mentally slow, sickly child in the family. It became my role. Mom needed a child to pamper when it suited her. Dad needed to feel powerful and controlling. Tina, my older sister of four years, needed to avenge herself upon someone, and I was convenient.

When I was born, my parents stopped catering to Tina and gave all their attention to me. As I got older, they dumped me on Tina to watch me when she wanted to play with her friends. No wonder Tina grew to hate me. I don’t ever remember conversing or playing with her.

I was four or five years old when I awoke from a nap to discover that no one was home. I sat in the middle of the couch and cried. A few minutes later Mom and Tina drove up in the car. When they walked in the house, I heard Mom say to her, See, I told you she’d be upset if she woke up and no one was home. Tina began making decisions for Mom when she couldn’t have been more than nine years old!

My parents were not getting along, but I was too young to understand that. I ended up being dumped on my aunt and uncle a lot to care for me. I was also dumped in camp. That caused more trauma. Again, not being socialized, fearing criticism and being in a strange environment was scary. Subconsciously, I knew I was a burden to others and was getting flipped around from place to place to be kept out of their way.

Then a small miracle happened. I watched Rodgers and Hammerstein’s "Peter Pan" on TV. It was the magic I needed to deflect from my inner pain. Every night I fell asleep watching the window, wondering if Peter Pan would come tonight to take me away to Never--Never Land and save me from my unhappiness. Of course, Jesus would have been a better pick, but I didn’t know about Him to choose from at the time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I was sitting in a big chair in the school office being evaluated for first grade. The assessor asked if I knew what the word tap meant. I did know, but I was so afraid of being wrong and later being criticized by my mother, that I didn’t answer her and pretended not to know. I had test anxiety. On the way home, Mom questioned me. Why didn’t you tell her? You know what that word means. I could feel that Mom was ashamed of me. I knew that I was being put in a class for slow students. I was developmentally slow because of the environment I was raised in. I was not engaged with, nor praised or taught simple things like numbers or letters. I hadn’t gone to nursery school or kindergarten. It had nothing to do with my intelligence, but how could I know this at the time?

In 1959 we had drills at school to prepare in case of bomb attacks. We practiced curling up under our desks. My teacher said that wherever we were, if we saw a bright light in the sky we should stop, drop to our knees, and curl up to protect ourselves. Well, I was walking home from school and I saw a bright light in the sky (the sun) and yup, you guessed it. I curled up next to the sidewalk just outside my house, and just stayed there. Along came the paperboy on his bike. He stopped, looked down at me for a minute, then said, What are you doing? I told him, and he said, Oh, that bright light? That’s just the sun. I will be eternally grateful to that boy, that he never laughed or made fun of me.

I won an award for an art project in the first grade. I created farm animals made out of paper. I colored them and cut them out, each in the right shape for that animal, and had them standing up together in a corral. It wasn’t anything special to me. I didn’t know why everyone was making such a fuss about it. My parents encouraged me to continue my interest, but I was afraid of being criticized so I didn’t pursue it. I was smart enough to know that when I achieved anything, my parents criticized me. Every day was like being put under a microscope. My parents were always looking for my flaws.

My first memory of an unusual craving for food happened at school when I was six years old. Someone had dropped a piece of French bread on the cafeteria floor, and I thought to myself that if no one was looking, I’d pick it up and eat it. In my family, if I didn’t eat and eat and eat, then I would hurt their feelings. When I got fat, I was criticized. Extremes! At that young age I didn’t know the difference between real hunger, the hunger to please my family or compulsive hunger. Love, security, and safety was something that I needed and longed for, but never received. My unmet needs became addictions, obsessions, compulsions, and disorders in my adult years.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Unfortunately, when I was about eight years old my innocence and playfulness of my childhood ended the night I was awoken by a noise coming from my sister Tina’s room. I heard screaming and crying. I stood in the doorway while Tina yelled at my father, Don’t you dare touch my mother!

Dad had punched Mom in the eye. He suddenly stopped and was startled by Tina’s words. Then he made a mad dash out the door. I was standing in the doorway. In his rage, he flung me out of the way, and I went flying. Tina sat on the edge of the bed consoling Mom. I just looked at them, feeling as though I was watching a movie. I was too young to understand what was happening. If this happened today, my Father would have been put in jail for domestic violence. Since it was the early 1960’s, no one talked about it and no legal actions were filed.

After that incident, Tina took on the role of the parent, while my parents became childlike, reliant on Tina to make all their decisions for them. We received no discipline or direction from either parent. They were preoccupied with their own problems. Tina had been given all the power. Not only had the family given her a role of dominant parent, but she also became a master manipulator and persuaded family, teachers, and friends to do things her way. I believe it all started from the incident when Tina convinced my Mother to leave me alone in the house while they went somewhere in the car. She realized how much power she had.

When a child is put in the role of a parent, this dynamic is called non-physical sexual abuse.

When I was nine years old, my parents separated. Mom, Tina and I moved from our lovely house in the suburbs to a small two-bedroom apartment in the big city, in Northeast Philadelphia. Tina, having all power and making all decisions, got to have her own room while I shared a room with Mom. Tina had her own phone in her room, while Mom and I shared a phone. Tina drove Mom’s car to school every day, while Mom took the bus to work. Even though Tina and I were more than capable of cleaning the apartment ourselves, Mom hired a cleaning woman. Tina didn’t want to clean, and she didn’t think I was competent to do it. Mom was a clerical worker and made little money, but Tina ordered Mom to get a cleaning woman and so it was done.

There were no friends my own age in my new neighborhood. The school had no playground or jungle gym. The teacher was not warm or friendly. The only secure world I’d known was gone. I became friends with only one girl at school who was as lost as I was. Her name was Eleanor. She had a speech impediment that other kids made fun of. We were like two ships lost at sea, drifting along with each other.

The stress and trauma of the move was exasperated by the fact that no one at home spoke to me, listened, or had time for me. Mom went to work, Tina was into partying with her friends, and my Father, who went back to live with his parents after the separation, was distant at best. They were only divorced three months when Dad left his parents’ home and married Helen. She had one son Robert, who was thirteen, the same age as Tina. Helen was kind to me, but not attentive. Robert was much like Tina and excluded me. There was no support for me from anyone.

When Tina and Robert were just getting to know each other, they would get a kick out of telling people that they were brother and sister of the same age, yet not twins. They’d see the confused look on people’s faces, but never explained it to them. Dad was driving us home from visiting Helen’s family when I noticed that Robert had put his arm around Tina in the back seat of the car. I was only nine years old and hadn’t been taught proper etiquette, so when we were dropped off at home, I yelled loudly a few times, Hey Mom! Robert has his arm around Tina! It was loud enough for everyone to hear. Dad laughed about that incident for ages. The romance didn’t last, and Tina and Robert became platonic friends.

All the trauma took its toll shortly after the move. I fainted at school and was put in the hospital. The doctor thought I had Rheumatic Fever, but it was never proven. Even though I was physically developed at nine years old, I was put on the pediatric unit with younger children. My doctor was way too friendly with me. I told mom about it, but she did nothing. She refused to change doctors and forced me to see him. The nurses made a big deal over my early development. The doctors must have given me drugs to go to sleep, because when the nurses woke me up at night to take my vitals, my head was spinning, I was in a fog, and I felt like I had no control over my body.

In 1962 the safety procedures in pediatric wards of hospitals were not as proficient as they are today. There was only one room at the end of the hall to take a bath. I was put in a bathtub in a closed room with big heavy wooden doors. As I bathed, I heard little giggles coming from somewhere. I looked in the direction of the sounds and discovered that the boys’ bathroom next door had a soap-like covering on the window between the rooms, but it was lacking an inch from the bottom. Three pairs of eyes were staring in at me and laughing. Because the doors were so thick, no one could hear me yelling for help, so I was forced to get out of the tub nude and allow them to see me. If that wasn’t humiliating enough, the doctor insisted that my temperature be taken by my rear end. Of course, having my period, the nurses couldn’t help but see the sanitary pad and made a big fuss about it. The humiliation and degradation I experienced in that hospital was appalling.

I told a nurse about the bathtub incident. She overheard the young boys on the ward laughing about it, and she scared the heck out of them. She told them that she was going to make them take off all their clothes, put them in the tub, and have me come in to look at them. That never happened, but they stopped laughing about it. I cried myself to sleep each night.

Because Mom had never socialized me, and I was not taken anywhere far from home, I was petrified to be in the hospital for several weeks alone. When Mom came to visit, I’d start crying. She told me that if I didn’t stop crying, she wouldn’t come back. On top of all the trauma in the hospital, I was also suffering from abandonment syndrome, petrified that she’d leave me forever.

At nine years old, I was like broken ground in a drought. There was no substance to my life, and I felt dead.

It was a Catholic hospital, and one day a nun came to talk to me. Her name was Sister Marguerite. She was very young, maybe 19 at the most. She was tall and thin with beautiful blue eyes. She spoke to me like I was significant. I don’t remember what she said, but I felt valued for the first time in my life. That incident never left me. In my adult years I tried to contact her, but she could not be located. Today I realize that even in the middle of a nightmare experience, there can still be a defining moment that will change your life for the better, forever.

There was a young Asian child on the ward that took a liking to me. Every evening she’d jump in bed with me, we’d cuddle, and she’d fall asleep with me. This really wasn’t allowable, but the nurses looked the other way. I always remember this sweet little doll because she would call to the nurses, Nuse, I have to go potty!

I watched another young girl around six or seven years old, be held down by several nurses while another one did some sort of procedure on her. She’d yell, kick, scream, cry, and battle the forces the best she could until the process was over. She had stark white hair. I had no idea why her hair had turned white or what they were doing to her, but it was scary and traumatic to watch. Now I believe she must have had some sort of cancer.

After getting home from the hospital, I was on bedrest for several weeks. I would beg Mom to talk to me, tell me a story, just notice me! She had a type of tunnel vision. She only saw three things; TV, talking on the phone, and food. When she got home from work it was as though she was in a stupor. She’d sit and talk on the phone, eat junk food and watch TV until she fell asleep on the couch for the evening. I realized later in life that she was also hooked on prescription drugs. She was often groggy, and only half coherent when I spoke to her.

While on bedrest at home, my temperature had to be taken often. I kept breaking the thermometer and Mom was getting angry. So, I decided to put the thermometer at the very edge of the shelf in the bathroom cabinet so that when she opened the door, it would fall out and break. And it worked! She had a big laugh about how she was as bad as I was, and she never mentioned it again. Just one of my many tricks!

Every so often Tina and I would go through Mom’s drawers and throw out half of whatever was in each drawer. She never noticed that anything was missing. She was a hoarder. In order to cope, she created her own little world where she could feel comfort and be numbed to anything else. Mom was never taught how to cope in life. She would go to any length to escape and deflect from consciously facing her inner pain.

After I was fully recovered, Dad took me to the New Jersey shore with my step-brother, Robert. It was a rarity for Dad to take me anywhere. There must have been a reason for it, but I was never told. I was only nine years old and I didn’t question it. Dad put the shower on for me. When I was finished bathing and it was time to get out, he was supposed to turn off the spigots for me. Instead, he had Robert, who was thirteen years old, come in and do it. I was not ashamed of my Father seeing me, but a thirteen-year-old boy? It brought back all the trauma from the hospital incident in the bathtub, as if the humiliations there were not bad enough. I froze in fear. Robert didn’t face me, he just turned off the spigots and left. I don’t know why I couldn’t have done it on my own. Perhaps Mom told Dad to help me with it. I don’t know why Dad asked Robert to do it, because Dad hadn’t left the room, but it shamed me just the same.

Another incident happened when I thought I was just visiting the dentist to get my teeth cleaned. Before I knew it, I was feeling drowsy and my head was foggy. I felt the dentist pulling out my teeth, but I had no control over it. I was drugged, but still awake enough to know what he was doing, without having any control over it. Finally, he was slapping my face to wake me up. The next thing I remember is Tina taking me on the trolley to go home. I had lots of gauze in my mouth and was confused. What happened? Where was I? Why was the dentist pulling out my teeth? When I got home, I asked Mom why she didn’t tell me. She said she didn’t want to scare me! A pattern of fear was being created. It was a fear of being shocked and out of control. It became a trigger that caused me to feel trauma for most of my life.

It was 1962. Kids in my elementary school took the bus home for lunch. All the other kids had mothers at home to give them lunch. Sometimes neighbors would feel sorry for me because they knew I came home to an empty apartment, and they’d invite me over to their house for lunch. However, most of the time I was on my own. Mom never prepared a lunch for me, so I did what most kids would do. I played my records, danced to the music, ate ice cream, and then returned to the bus stop to go back to school. Unless Mom invited company, I pretty much lived on TV dinners and junk food. When she did prepare a meal, she’d use processed ingredients. Nothing was fresh or healthy. I was diagnosed with high blood pressure and anemia at nine years old. Today I can also speculate that all the hormones in the processed meats may have caused me to get my period and physically develop at such an early age.

A mother’s love is only possible if she knows what love is, and how to give it.

~ Elyce Valiquette

I grew up watching American Bandstand and other dance shows. When I was ten, a new music craze was buzzing in Philadelphia. We kids had our favorite radio disc jockeys, our own dance steps and local dance shows to watch on TV. Some of the dance steps were unique to Philadelphia, such as The Stomp and line dances such as The Wagner Walk. Every young person was consumed with the sound of rhythm and blues, also known as soul music. It was a special unique sound of music in Philadelphia called Sweet Soul Music or The Philly Sound. You would be surprised at how many songs and movies have been created focusing on this era in Philadelphia. The uplifting beat of the music made me feel happy and lighthearted. Some of the older kids in my neighborhood could be seen dancing on TV. It was pretty funny to watch a kid freeze when the TV camera homed in on them. It was a positive outlet and distraction from feeling sad. It was a time when we had fun teasing our hair, wearing miniskirts, bangle bracelets and long hanging ball earrings. But the girdles I could do without!

Several of us girls would get together to do a line dance. Everything would be going well until one person stepped in the wrong direction. Then it was like the domino effect. One by one, each person knocked into the other, and our line would vanish. But the laughs were as much fun as the dancing.

When I was ten and Tina was fourteen, she found a boyfriend--AND he wasn’t Jewish! This was a crime worse than the inquisition. It was Tina vs. Family, and it was more exciting than Friday night at the fights! Strike one--the family threatens her. Strike two--the family assaults her. Strike three--the family rejects her. But Tina always came back fighting. She was the boss and the champion of the family, even though she broke the 11th Commandment, Thou shalt not get romantically involved with a non-Jew.

It was only twenty years after the Holocaust. Jew and Gentile separation were a given. Us Jewish kids were considered different from others. We were not allowed to date out of our faith. In the United States during the 1960’s there was plenty of hostility; the Civil Rights Movement, the Women's Liberation Movement, the war in Viet Nam. It seemed like everyone was separated into their own separate groups, and each were fighting to feel significant and right.

Whatever Tina wanted, Tina got. Now she wanted the low-class gentile boyfriend that liked to drink, ride a motorcycle, and have sex with her. She entertained her friends with parties in the apartment when Mom was at work. Again, I got in the way. I was pretty much snubbed and ignored. However, we did have the coolest neighbors. They knew what was going on and never ratted on her. But I did once, just because I wanted to. I showed her who was boss!

The Family vs. Tina and her boyfriend Chuck continued for four long years. Her relationship with him was like her relationship with Dad. She called the shots and controlled everything. Chuck went along with everything Tina said.

Opposites attract. Controllers are attracted to those they can control.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I will tell you the same sad story that happens to most kids. His name was Pepper, and he was a cat that adopted me. He gave me something to love when I was so alone at ten years old. Then one day I found him dead in the alley. I was beyond consoling. I was hysterical. Mom grabbed and huddled me into the apartment, embarrassed by what the neighbors would think. I knew what they thought because I saw and heard them. One said, Oh, poor thing! The other one shook her head with tears in her eyes watching me. Mom was more concerned about what the neighbors thought than about me.

Pepper and I had a ritual each night. He would wait for me to get into bed and then jump up and pounce on the bed, and cuddle and sleep with me for the rest of the night. For three nights after he died, I felt him pounce. And it was a real pounce! Perhaps my subconscious mind needed to feel him near me. Perhaps his little spirit wasn’t ready to leave me yet. Acknowledging Pepper’s little spirit for three nights drew me into thoughts of a new place where God lived. For the first time I experienced spirituality. But I didn’t tell anyone about it. They would have thought I was crazy or making it up.

It is often in our suffering that we find God.

~ Elyce Valiquette

I continued to experience depression and loneliness, crying myself to sleep each night and fantasizing about going home, back to the suburbs. I had few friends in my new location or any interests outside of music, dancing and eating junk food. By ten years old I was overeating and dieting, back and forth. Food was my best friend and soothed the inner pain. I was too young to understand that I was becoming addicted to food. One good thing was that it kept me from killing myself. It was a faithful friend. It never abandoned me. Even when I visited my aunt, uncle, and cousins, I was under stress. My Aunt took my behavior personally, as if I was ignoring her, when I was just depressed and homesick. I was made to apologize to her for offending her. She didn’t understand that a ten-year-old child showing symptoms of withdrawal could have mental issues or be depressed.

I was embarrassed because I was the only girl in school that was physically developed. I suffered terribly with menstrual cramps. It was so bad that the doctor put me on narcotics. Once I told my Father about it and his response was, Oh, it’s nothing! He was insensitive about most things. He didn’t understand that pain is pain, no matter what the source. He had a fierce temper and a disapproving manner. I always felt powerless around him. I wonder what he would have said then, had I told him that I thought his migraine headaches were also nothing.

Part of the divorce agreement was that I would visit Dad on weekends. He’d pick me up and while I was alone with him in the car, he’d criticize me the whole way to his home. When we arrived, he’d disappear and dump me on my stepmother, Helen. Then he’d reappear to take me home again and would continue to criticize me the entire trip home. And that was our time together until the next week, when the same routine would repeat itself. Once when I confronted him about dumping me on Helen he said, So, what’s the difference? He thought it made no difference that he didn’t want to be with me. For some reason, Tina never had to spend time with Dad. I wonder how she manipulated herself out of that one.

The anticipation and trauma of those car rides were unbearable. I felt trapped. I didn’t know that I could say STOP! I was afraid of him. After all, he punched my mother in the eye. He could hit me also. The only thing worse than a father who hates you, is a father who hates you and tells you that he loves you. Dad would often tell me that he loved me. It made me crazy!

Dad was so controlling of me that my entire nervous system would go into hypervigilance at the sound of the phone ringing, when I knew he was calling. If I didn’t do what he wanted, I felt he might destroy me in some way. A father is supposed to protect you, but I had to protect myself from my Father. But at least he fulfilled his week-end obligation according to the divorce agreement!

I believe it goes against nature to hate your own child. A parent that hates their child must have been abused sometime in their life.

~ Elyce Valiquette

When I was eleven or twelve, I went to an auction with Tina and Aunt Marie in the middle of the boonies in Pennsylvania. I was coming out of the restroom when a man came walking towards me with a stance that was foreboding. I knew he was getting ready to assault me. At that very moment, Tina came in from a side door and said, There you are! We’ve been looking all over for you! And just as fast, the man made an about turn and swiftly left the scene. This was more than a sinister threat. This guy was made of pure evil. I had never come face to face with pure evil before, but the feeling and the knowing was clear. I believe this man was a serial killer, and Tina saved my life. I never told anyone about it because no one would have believed me. He hadn’t touched me, so what could they have done anyway? To this day I wonder how many lives he may have taken, and if he was ever caught.

Divine powers that we do not yet understand can work through anyone to protect us. Even though my sister had been hateful to me my entire life, she was used by God to save me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Question: How many dysfunctional family members does it take to change a lightbulb?

Answer: Five.

One to complain about it (Tina).

One to panic over it (Mom).

One to fight over the injustice of it (Popsie).

One to have a temper tantrum about it (Dad).

And one to realize that it wasn’t really the lightbulb that needed changing after all (Me)!

Do you know where the most dangerous place on earth is? Afghanistan? North Korea? No. The most dangerous place on earth is the food line at a Bar Mitzvah.

Chapter Two: Building A Foundation

The Teenage Years

Have you ever conversed with a group of people whose thinking differed from your own? Did you sense that you didn’t belong with them? By the time I was thirteen I felt alienated from my family. They thought differently from me.

We had family dinners frequently. It was part of the culture. I was at Dad’s house, gathered around the dining room table with ten or more family members. A discussion led to, What would you do if you only had a short time to live? I was silent at these dinners, but not because I wanted to be. I was treated like I was invisible. Usually I was the only teenager amongst adults. They each had strong opinions, with one person overpowering the other, insisting that their voices be heard. I was considered a child without an opinion and excluded from the conversation. I listened to what each person said; I would take a trip around the world, I would skydive, I would climb a mountain, and then of course the all-time favorite, I would eat as much as I wanted to without worrying about gaining weight.

After everyone finished, I quietly added, I would want to spend quality time with the people I love. All went silent for a moment. You could feel a sort of tension in the room, as though I’d said a dirty word. Then someone said, Well, we don’t need to think about this right now, let’s eat! The discussion ended. This is when I realized that my values were different from theirs.

I was captivated by the TV show, "The Flying Nun. It was the nuns’ holiness to God that attracted me to her. It didn’t matter that she could fly. I was interested in her devotion to God. That is what I wanted! I asked Mom if I could become a nun when I grew up. She was preoccupied doing something else and said, Well, if that is what you want to do, okay. I don’t think she was taking me seriously or really listening to me. No Jewish mother would want their daughter to become a nun!

Once at a friend’s home I overheard her mother apologize to her. I was in a state of shock. I didn’t think that parents ever said they were sorry for anything! As an adult, a therapist once told me that a true sign of mental illness is when the person does not have the ability to sincerely say they are sorry. I also observed that this family sat together at mealtime, communicated, and showed an interest in each other. In my home, there might be food in the oven or on the stove, but you fed yourself and usually ate alone. I discovered that people living outside my home lived much differently than what was normal in my home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My Father’s parents, Grandma and Zayda (Yiddish for grandfather) lived close to my school. I sometimes visited them after school instead of going straight home. Grandma was overjoyed whenever I came to visit. She had four grandchildren but insisted that I was her favorite. I needed the attention and she made me feel special. The day of reckoning came when I overheard her tell Tina that she was her favorite. I realized then that it was no more than a joke, and my visits were mainly to appease her loneliness. The more I visited, the more she begged me to come more often. I had other interests and lost my desire to spend time with her after realizing her motives. I think she was very needy and lonely.

Grandma was a great cook and made all the traditional Jewish foods from scratch. She was sort of odd though. She didn’t trust the butcher, so she plucked her own chickens! She had a phobia about using anything new. If you gave her a gift, five years later she’d give it back to you in the same wrapping paper! She’d chuckle, thinking it was very funny. If she wasn’t getting enough attention or didn’t like something that was said, she’d faint! She never cut her hair and would wind it around her head in braids. Dad bought an air conditioner to put in their window, but they refused to use it. Grandma cooked in this tiny oven which must have come with the house when they bought it in the early 1950’s. She wouldn’t allow Dad to buy her a new one. She managed to use that tiny oven to make meals for twenty family members at one sitting.

She was extremely ignorant of how the body functioned. At age thirteen, I explained the female anatomy to her. She told me that she had no idea how she ever gave birth to two boys; my Dad and his brother Samuel. She didn’t remember any of it. She seemed afraid and timid a lot of the time, but she was also kind, gentle and sociable. When it came to book learning, she was extremely well-educated. She could speak five different languages fluently, and often tutored students in her home.

She and Zayda were comical together. He’d burp and she’d say, excuse me. It was cute to see him help her get dressed or laugh together in Yiddish about a joke that I didn’t understand. On the other hand, Zayda was sort of a bully. He never spoke much and had a short fuse. He’d quicken a thought, abruptly give his opinion and that was that. It was law! I learned how to curse in Yiddish by listening to him! They came to Pennsylvania from Russia in the early 1920’s by ship. Zayda always greeted me in the Russian tradition of kissing me on both cheeks. He seemed glad to see me, but he never spoke to me. After initial hellos he busied himself with home tasks that he was always absorbed in. He was a roofer by trade and extremely handy.

The only time I remember being with Zayda was at our apple parties when I was young. Grandma would say Let’s have an apple party! She’d peel and slice an apple and give pieces one-by-one to Zayda and me. She’d make a fun occasion out of it. At other times, I would watch her picking prune plums from their huge backyard tree. She made the most delicious plum pies from that little fruit. I also watched Zayda drink borscht, a red sour soup from Russia. It looked yukky to me. I never had a desire to taste it. Though I could tell that Zayda loved me, he was kind of like a fixture on the wall. He was there, but there was no interaction between us.

Dad and Helen bought a new house in walking distance from his parents’ home. Dad was a grown man but was still tied to his mother’s apron strings and desperate to please her. I thought it was odd that he would stop everything to cater to his mother, even ignoring his own wife’s needs. Tina told me that Samuel (Dad’s brother) was always the favored son, and Dad was never good enough. I wondered, Was my father’s behavior toward me a copy of the way he was treated by his own parents? Tina was favored by him and I was never good enough.

Nannie and Popsie (my Mother’s parents) divorced before I was born. Nannie insisted on living alone in a small apartment because she didn’t want to be a burden to her children. At the same time, she was extremely dependent on them emotionally. She was unsociable to outsiders and had no friends. Though she was openly judgmental and suspicious of strangers, when it came to her family, she showered them all with praise and admiration. She kept every card that was given to her by her grandchildren in neat, tied piles according to date, and accumulated coins until she had enough money saved to give something special to one of her grandchildren. At celebrations, she could out-dance anyone. In her younger days she worked as a seamstress in a factory. Her stitching by hand was so perfect that you’d thought it was done by a sewing machine. She did all our sewing and mending for us which was quite a task. The fashions kept changing, and it seemed like the length of our skirts went up another inch each month!

Like Grandma, Nannie would beg me to come visit her in her apartment. Her dependency made me feel uncomfortable. I was a young teenager and resented being put in a situation where I felt obligated to fill her lonely needs.

Like my Father’s parents, Nannie and Popsie also came from Russia to America in the 1920’s on a ship. Nannie was a very young adult, but I’m not sure of her exact age. As the story goes, she and Popsie were fleeing the pogroms. They hid in a forest before finding their way to a ship with other Jews escaping for their lives and headed to America. Nannie said that the soldiers were so close to where they were hiding, she could see the details on their boots! She was so terrified, and her teeth were chattering so loud, that Popsie had to keep her mouth closed with his hands so the soldiers would not hear them. Nannie was pregnant at the time and lost the baby on the ship. The baby was born healthy, but it strangled on its own mucous because they didn’t have the equipment to suck it out of its mouth. Nannie never recovered from the loss. Most of her immediate family remained in Russia. In later years they became casualties of the Holocaust.

For as long as I can remember, Nannie was a chain smoker and seemed anxious most of the time. She had more ailments than Carter has liver pills! Her hard life had emotionally poisoned her, which I believe was the cause of her many physical sicknesses. However, she did have a funny quirk. Even though she only had three daughters and seven grandchildren, she could never get their names correct. She’d begin a story saying the first name; no, that’s not right, then another, then another, and another, until she just about went through every family name! Then she would stop for a moment with a look of bewilderment on her face and say, You know, I think the first one was right!

Nannie was idolized by her three daughters; Mom (Ruth), Sarah and Marie, and they thought she was the best mother in the world. I had my doubts. If she was such a wonderful mother, why didn’t she protect her children from her abusive husband? Popsie mistreated all of them. Mom and my aunts experienced Popsie’s daily fits of anger, ruthless degradations, and humiliations. He would often make fun of Mom, especially about her weight problem.

Popsie was the youngest of several brothers and I was told that he was very spoiled. When I knew him, he seemed like an egomaniac, always touting about how he was the best at this or that. He sure did have a way with women though! Either by divorce or death, one wife would be gone and in no time, he’d marry another one to take her place. He was married four times!

Perhaps they were attracted to him because he was so funny. That man could tell a story better than any comic around. The way he animated himself while telling the story was part of the humor. The family always kidded him about not being able to talk if his hands were tied behind his back. Whether telling a story to family or strangers, he’d have people in an uproar laughing. He was also a successful businessman and owned his own shoe store.

Because of his abuse, both daughters, Sarah and Marie, cut off all ties with Popsie by the time they were in their twenties and married. Not Mom. She put up with all his behaviors, no matter how he mistreated her. Mom was desperate for his love and approval. He also promised her money upon his death. She did receive his money, but what a price to pay! Mom would do just about anything to gain approval, love, and attention. Anything!

Tina continued to take on the role of dominant parent to my parents, while my Father remained controlling and angry. Mom was extremely dependent. My grandmothers wanted more attention than I could give them. I just wanted to be a kid. Their neediness turned me off and I kept my distance by limiting visits. Popsie was a rage-a-holic. Zayda was stubborn and emotionally absent. There was a generational pattern of dependency and control in the family. You could say they all acted like children in adult bodies.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was 1968. After four years, Tina dumped Chuck (I don’t know why) and found someone else. Alex was fourteen years her senior and married, but no matter because-he was Jewish! Tina thrived on power, control, and attention. With the change in boyfriend, came the change in tribal loyalty. She converted to Jewish mode. She took on the same fanatical beliefs as the family; Jews are separate from gentiles, Jews are better than gentiles, we Jews belong to our own private club.

At a bar mitzvah while I was dancing with Dad, Tina shoved me out of the way and took over dancing with him. Other people noticed and couldn’t believe what they saw. How rude and disrespectful! Dad continued dancing with her as though nothing had happened.

By chance, I met someone who used to work with Tina at her first job. Tina told the family that she was an executive assistant, but her previous co-worker told me that she was just one of the women in the typing pool! Tina needed others to think that she was superior.

Tina’s favorite pastime was finding ways to make me look bad to others with smear campaigns, slander, and triangulation. She told lies about me to family members, her friends, and co-workers. Since she was so persuasive, most of them believed her and thought less of me. I think she resented that she couldn’t control me like she did with the rest of the family. Honestly, I was just being myself. It never occurred to me to act any differently in order to gain her approval.

Tina and I were complete opposites. She was extroverted, insensitive, domineering, showed anger outwardly and couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. I was introverted, sensitive, submissive, I suppressed my anger, and I wouldn’t tell a secret to save my life. Still, you knew we were sisters because whenever we’d buy a present for a family member, without knowing it, we’d buy the same item. Several times we even bought the same card!

Everyone in the family exhibited the same behavior; They enjoyed criticizing others. It wasn’t just my immediate family. My aunts, uncles, and cousins were just as judgmental. They all found fault with people outside the tribe. They even formed little cliques within the family against other members if they found something to gossip about. By putting others down, it made them feel superior and better than everyone else.

When I met a new girlfriend, their parents wanted to come over to meet my family. This was normal for parents who cared about their children. It would never have occurred to my parents to do the same. I became nervous whenever this happened because of the after effect. Right after they left, Tina would pick each person apart, make fun of them and belittle them. Usually she’d find something wrong with the way they looked or talked. Mom would go along with it and laugh.

In Dad’s eyes, Tina could do no wrong and I could do no right. He needed Tina because she did his thinking for him. I was a typical teenager and had no desire to do his thinking for him, so I was of no use to him. He’d say that Tina was the smart one and I was the pretty one. That made me feel dumb. I wonder if it made Tina feel ugly.

Food took the place of love in this family. Of course, everyone wants to be loved twenty-four hours a day, right? Not exactly a good plan for weight control! Eating pleased my family and helped me to fit in, but I received criticism for gaining weight so there was no way to please them. I wasn’t allowed to gain five pounds, or I never heard the end of it from Dad. Dad’s wife had no backbone and would go along with whatever Dad said, so she would criticize my weight as well. I never really had a food problem; it was an emotional coping problem.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I met Billy in my ninth-grade art class. He became my buddy. He was a real clown and played funny antics in the classroom. When the teacher went into the closet to get something, he’d lock him in there, while the teacher screamed and banged on the door, Let me out! He’d steal the pink slip for his detention out of the teacher’s back pocket without him noticing it. He provided crazy entertainment for the entire class.

One day I saw Billy talking to this incredibly cool looking boy on the steps outside the school. He was tall, thin, with light brown hair that he brushed away from his face as he was talking. He had light hazel eyes and a sculptured nose that tipped up at the end. He wore cowboy boots and big, multicolored cufflinks that sparkled in the light. I was enthralled! I thought he was the coolest looking guy I’d ever seen. His name was Vinnie.

I didn’t know it at the time, but Billy had a crush on me. When I saw him in class, I instantly asked him who his friend was. You mean Vinnie? He asked. Yeah! Vinnie! I said. So, my pal Billy spoke to Vinnie. Hey Vinnie, some girl I’m diggin’ is diggin’ you! Billy was an easy-going goofy guy. He wasn’t jealous or angry. He planned for me to meet Vinnie at his house that weekend.

My heart skipped a beat at the thought of meeting Vinnie! Every inch of me was mesmerized by him; his looks, his demeanor, his coolness! If love at first sight is possible, that is what I was feeling. I was experiencing joy like I’d never felt before. Pure joy!

I rode the bus to Billy’s house, and as I stepped off the bus, I heard Vinnie’s footsteps, loud and clear. Click, click, click, the sound of boots! My heart was pounding. I felt pure bliss and nervous excitement! Vinnie walked across the street to meet me as the bus drove off. Together we walked around the corner to Billy’s house. I don’t remember what we talked about as we walked, but I never felt so safe, elated and joyful. We didn’t have to worry about conversation once we got there. Billy put on one of his usual performances, just acting silly. We laughed and laughed. That was the beginning of our relationship.

The teachers used to call us Romeo and Juliet. Sometimes we would stand together in the hallway at school, just staring into each other’s eyes and smiling. Sometimes we’d sit on a park bench, saying nothing, just holding hands and smiling at each other. We were two peas in a pod, very much in love.

I told Tina about the cool guy I met at school. She laughed and thought my crush on him was cute, but that didn’t last long when she found out that he wasn’t Jewish! I’d broken the 11th Commandment; Thou Shalt not get romantically involved with a non-Jew. So, Vinnie and I had to sneak around to see each other. Of course, forbidden fruit is very delectable, and because there was so much passion whenever we got together unseen, we started getting physically involved. Though, you couldn’t really call it sex because neither one of us knew what we were doing. Suffice it to say, we were getting close.

Before Tina showed her disapproval of Vinnie, I had confided in her that our relationship was getting intimate. She was doing the same thing at my age with Chuck, so I thought it was safe to confide in her. Boy was I ever wrong! Instead of acting like a big sister, keeping my confidence and educating me, she told Mom. I had no idea that Mom knew of our intimacy until we had one of our many arguments about Vinnie. She exploded and said, Would it be better if you had a belly?! I was shocked. Mom never brought it up again, but I felt such shame and embarrassment. Tina ratted on me. Now I knew I couldn’t trust her with anything.

While we were sneaking around, Vinnie told me about his older sister getting caught in a situation that was a bit less serious than ours. She was supposed to be at school, but when his mother put the TV on, she discovered that her daughter was not at school at all, but dancing on American Bandstand!

I was on the bus on my way home from school, when a group of kids started bullying me for the very mature reason of not liking my shoes! One of the boys in the group threatened to beat me up the next day. When I told Vinnie about the incident he said, I’m going to take the bus home with you tomorrow and we’ll just see about that. The next day I felt perfectly safe and secure with Vinnie sitting next to me on the bus. I overheard the kid that had threatened me say to someone, She goes with Vinnie? That was the end of their threats. They never bothered me again. Vinnie was my hero. He was much more than just a boyfriend to me. He was my security, protector, lover, supporter, and ally. He was everything I needed and never received from my family. He was my family.

Dark days ensued. After only a few months I was forced to break up with him. Mom threatened to send me away to a private girl’s school. Tina said she would kill me if she ever found me with him. Over and over they bullied and pressured me and scared me to death. They forced me to break up with the only source of love and joy I had in my life. Mom lectured me constantly about the sin of loving Vinnie. She’d yell and scream metaphors such as, You are jumping from the frying pan into the fire! On and on she would shout. I kept knocking my head against the wall, over and over, but she wouldn’t stop. Vinnie was so distraught over the breakup that he punched holes in his bedroom wall. Years later a therapist told me that I knocked my own head against the wall so I wouldn’t knock my Mothers’.

All the previous traumas of my past put together couldn’t match the shock, broken heart, and damage that losing Vinnie caused me.