03/22/2026
When my father hit me, he told me it was because he loved me so much and that it was his role as my father to guide me to become a better person. Spanking began with a wooden spoon that would often break in half against me, then it graduated over the years to belts and wire fly swatters and hands. Any flinching or movement or cry would signify my defiance and mean he’d have to hit me longer and harder to make me submissive.
When the legal system got involved, he switched to “discipline” that wouldn’t leave evidence. Strange exercises that “were good for me.” Balance on the edge of a bathtub for 11 minutes without moving to strengthen me. Ingest expired foods or chemicals to toughen me up. Duct tape over my eyes to make me appreciate the privilege of vision. Anything to make my body do things it wasn’t meant to do because I needed to learn submission.
I never became more submissive but I did learn to dissociate. I learned my body wasn’t mine and is the property of men. I learned touch was dangerous. I learned giving my body to anyone in any way was a loss of control and would lead to pain.
It wasn’t until I had children and I couldn’t not touch them, I couldn’t not kiss their faces all over, I couldn’t not hold them every day and night, and fall in love with the feeling of their little hands on me…that I realized touch could be safe again. I’m still learning how to allow touch with adults, with my wife, with people I know are safe in my head but my body only remembers fear.
I’m so proud of myself and the work I’ve done and will continue to do that I get to raise daughters who will only know the version of me that loves their touch, and who will only know my touch to be loving.