Broken Mothers of Broken Daughters Made By Broken Fathers: The Afterwards, #2

By Alex Jones

In this segment of my journey, I address mothers of broken daughters and hope that you might understand the thoughts, the pain, the guilt, the shame and the regrets I went through, even though it was lost then, and will always be lost to my own mother.
Being here means that you are nothing like my mother was. For that, I salute you. Perhaps, a little insight into what I desperately needed from my own mother might be the guide you need, in an Afterwards of your own, and one that is untaught to you, and you're your broken daughter.
There is a mountain ahead of both of you, but it is one I have no doubt you would climb a hundred times over to release you of your unfounded guilt, your child's intense desire to be exonerated from any wrongdoing and allow you the insight into putting your family back together.

The last chapter deals with the death of my monster and the truth about my broken mother. xx

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I thought I'd never forgive him or mourn his death. I thought I would then be free. I thought that ignoring his calls, his messages, and his desperate attempts to apologize to me would preserve my glued-back-together-brokenness. I thought I wouldn't shed a single tear and that finally, my life would be unbroken.
I thought that I would never look back on what could have been with my mother. I thought that she could never be to me what I am to my daughter. I thought she'd never change and that she'd hate me forever. I thought I'd never miss her. Or him.
I thought I would never reflect on the moments that were good in my childhood. There weren't many and the bad was just too bad, overshadowing any good that there was.
All I thought I knew about my own brokenness was a lie.
I did not fully understand or realize how terribly broken she was, and how my father shattered her life. With no family, mother or father to ask for help, she was trapped in a life she was desperate to escape. My father broke her, and then he went on with his life.
We were all products of a darkness in this world. We were all caught up in an evil we couldn't escape. Not my father. Not my mother. Not us.
I understand that today, and most things make sense. I still have moments of anger towards my father, but it's different now. They are moments of anger infused with an overwhelming sadness that causes me to shout out to him about all our what-if's and what-should-have-been's. Some days, I berate him loudly for his stupid mistakes, and other days, I wonder what broke him?
The thing is, I don't know much about my father's younger years or childhood. I don't know about a traumatic event he might have suffered, or if perhaps history was repeating itself. I don't know? I never asked. I never wanted to know because, at the time, it would never have justified what he did to us.

So today, I want to ask mothers and daughters to talk about this. Talk about your brokenness and don't wait three decades to get it right. Understand one another and pick up your broken pieces together.

Broken Mother, tell her about your own shattered heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Jones
• Release date: Sep 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201512187

Book preview

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THE AFTERWARDS

BROKEN MOTHERS OF BROKEN DAUGHTERS

MADE BY BROKEN FATHERS

BY

ALEX JONES

TABLE OF CONTENTS

DEAR BROKEN MOTHER

BROKEN MOTHERS

BROKEN

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

THE BOOGEYMAN, THE MONSTER

A BROKEN THE AFTERWARDS

BROKEN GUILT, BROKEN SHAME

A BROKEN POINT

MADE BY BROKEN FATHERS

WOLVES UNBROKEN

BROKEN DAUGHTERS’, DAUGHTERS

BROKEN MOTHERS BROKEN

A BROKEN WORLD

BROKEN PRAYERS

BROKEN RAGE

BROKEN PROMISES

BROKEN BOND

BROKEN TIME

BROKEN FIGHT

BROKEN TRUST

BROKEN LIFE

BROKEN ANGER

BREAKING UP

ALL I THOUGHT I KNEW ... WAS A LIE

THE DEATH OF MY MONSTER, MOURNING HIM AND MEETING MY BROKEN MOTHER AGAIN

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If you have read The Afterwards, you will know that Alex’s story is based on true events. Author Alex Jones testified at her father’s trial against her mother’s wishes and against the biddings of her family.

Even though he was found guilty of his crimes against Alex and her sisters, he was never sentenced to prison followings Alex’s, who was fifteen at the time, desperate pleas to the court to secure his freedom.

The judge in the case issued a lifetime restraining order against him to refrain from any contact with his daughters but were ignored by both her parents.

To allow the author’s family protection, character names are fictitious.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEAR BROKEN MOTHER

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In this segment of my journey, I address mothers of broken daughters and hope that you might understand the thoughts, the pain, the guilt, the shame and the regrets I went through, even though it was lost then, and will always be lost to my own mother.  

Being here means that you are nothing like my mother was. For that, I salute you. Perhaps, a little insight into what I desperately needed from my own mother might be the guide you need, in an Afterwards of your own, and one that is untaught to you, and you’re your broken daughter.

There is a mountain ahead of both of you, but it is one I have no doubt you would climb a hundred times over to release you of your unfounded guilt, your child’s intense desire to be exonerated from any wrongdoing and allow you the insight into putting your family back together.

The last chapter deals with the death of my monster and the truth about my broken mother. xx

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In The Afterwards: Broken Mothers of Broken Daughters by Broken Fathers, Alex will guide you, the mother of a sexually abused daughter, as she is about to navigate her way through her own Afterwards.

As a sexually abused daughter, Alex will show you the mistakes her mother made, and give you a glimpse into the mind of your broken daughter as you embark on a journey to un-break all her shattered pieces, and yours.

BROKEN MOTHERS

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Like you, my mother didn’t know much about The Afterwards. Like you are, she was left with three broken daughters, a broken home, and a life that would never be the same again. Like you, my mother was left broken and shattered. But unlike you, my mother’s brokenness came from a place where she convinced herself of the fact that I had maliciously broken our family.

Amongst her accusations of my malice, were words like spoilt, freedom, brat, discipline, mean spirited, hateful, despicable, wicked, spite and viciousness. I heard them all. Her detachment to The Afterwards came from a wife, not ready to lose her husband, her home, and her social standing. And that’s okay, none of us are ever really ready to venture into the unknown without those that we love. I wasn’t either. But, my mother accepted her brokenness as so much greater than mine or that of my sisters, that I truly believed I alone, was responsible for all that would await our family in The Afterwards.

What I could never have anticipated was that when I set out to exchange our monsters for angels, it would turn into my life’s greatest sadness. It would leave me heartbroken and alone. It would leave me the perpetrator and judged harshly. My mother’s brokenness was cruel. It was self-serving and it destroyed what was intended to be our journey to recovery. All of ours. It didn’t affect only my sisters and I, but our entire family.

It left me with one of my life’s greatest regrets, and for years to come, I convinced myself that she was right, and I was wrong. Speaking up and exposing my boogeyman left me feeling like a liar, a troublemaker, a con artist, only to name but a few.

This, despite a world that promised me it wouldn’t betray me, and that my sisters, my mother and I would be safe again. What the world didn’t know and what I had kept veiled for years into The Afterwards, was that my mother knew of our encounters with our boogeymen and monsters. She didn’t encourage it, she didn’t condone it, she just, well, didn’t do a thing at all to stop it.

It was my one lie, one I could never tell the world of. I refused to acknowledge the fact that she had betrayed us, and in turn, my greatest lie was believed by the world, even by my mother herself. As is expected from any loving mother, she let herself off the hook by having the professionals deal with us when all I really wanted, was her support and guidance. I needed, more than anything, her love, direction, and encouragement. I yearned for an arm around me, and perhaps a whisper to let me know that I did okay, and that it was never my fault. With all my heart, I needed my mother to hold my hand, and walk us all through the dark, heavy, and intimidating doors of the The Afterwards. As much as I value and respect professionals who are trained to deal with people like me, I didn’t want to talk about ‘the thing’ to any stranger. I was ashamed. I was guilty of so many things, but more than anything else, I was guilty of causing my family pain.

I wanted to have the tough conversations with my mother. I wanted her to tell me that I did the right thing and that he was in fact, a monster. I wanted to hear her say that she loved me, and that she would stand by me as I stood against the world. Instead, it was up to the experts to try and teach me what my mother was un-teaching me. They tried to tell me that it was not my fault, my mother didn’t agree. They told me that it was not normal to survive this ‘thing,’ and retain my me’ness, but I did. They told me that the world wouldn’t expect us to be normal after ‘the thing,’ I thought we would be. I fought for it. I fought for my sisters. I fought for my mother. The world thought we weren’t strong enough. I thought they were wrong. I thought we could get through anything together, but I was wrong. My mother wouldn’t let us. My mother wouldn’t allow us to be normal, when it was all we ever wanted. The Afterwards she had walked into, was dragging us with her, and swallowed us whole. When there was nothing left of us, we were spat out, leaving us with little left to fight for. The Afterwards we ended up living in was harsh, brutal, vindictive, destructive, merciless and final. It is where my mother and sisters still live. It is where their storms rage, the rain never ends, and sunlight is something they have forgotten. It’s where they brood and lose themselves day after day. It is where the world owes them a great deal, and they are ready to receive. It is a place I ran from. I have no doubt that you will enter your own Afterwards as your broken daughter navigates her way through hers. Only, yours shouldn’t be separate from hers. Meet her there, in hers. It doesn’t look so bad there and can be less scary than you think. Wait there for her, and when she finds you in her Afterwards, you will find the peace you so sorely need, but more crucially, her Afterwards might not be as menacing as mine was. It doesn’t have to be terrifying. It doesn’t have to be guilt-ridden for any of you. It doesn’t have to knock you down and keep you there. It doesn’t have to become your greatest sadness.

Take her hand and let her take yours. That’s all she really wants.

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COPYRIGHT

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Copyright 2019

The Afterwards:

Broken Mothers of Broken Daughters made by Broken Fathers

Alex Jones

BROKEN

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When I entered the first days of The Afterwards, all I could see was the path of destruction left behind by the boogeyman and the monsters I once shared a home with. The devastation left behind of a man my mother fell in love with many years before, a man she valued more than life itself. He was the man she shared a twinkle or two in her eye with, as she began her journey of what was supposed to be bliss, with the man she thought would love and protect her and the family they would have from that moment forward. She wasn’t naïve or gullible. Their fairy tale began with the little things in life. She lived for the road trips with him, music in her ears and the wind in her hair. She lived in world where she had met her superhero who had straightened out her crooked paths. All the darkness that had once surrounded her made with for the light he brought with her. He was her promise of a beautiful life, in a jagged world. It was his promise to her. It was what she had dreamed of from the moment her eyes met his. He was her happy ever after. 

As much as the years have passed and as frighteningly as the world has modernized, we continue to live in a time when shame is found in stories such as mine. For my mother, and most of the world on the outside, it was more important to maintain a normal and socially acceptable image that wouldn’t be judged as dysfunctional or unraveling. The hardest conversations are those that are never spoken of, and stories of monsters amongst us are never willingly revealed. Until then, my mother’s life had been perfect, or more realistically, she