Hello r/traumatizeThemBack, it’s good to be here. The story I have for you today is relatively short and less “oh my god” (derogatory), more “oh my god” (funny) for all parties.
The background: my mom came from a very shitty family and had me young, when she was only 17. Determined to be better than her own parents, she established some principals early on. She would always be as honest with me as possible, particularly when I had questions about difficult topics. While she did want to protect me, she also knew how important it was to have trust in a parent-child relationship, and that hiding things from children can often put them in more danger/worse positions. For example, she explained sex and babies to me when I was around 7 because I asked. Lo and behold, this information did not traumatize me.
Now, as for what did induce some trauma…
I was, unfortunately, a smart and well-behaved child. I believe part of this is due to my mom’s framework of mutual respect and the fact that she was honest with me from a young age about her own trauma. Knowing what she had gone through gave me perspective in my early life and made me appreciate the effort I saw her put in.
Which begs the question: why was being smart and well-behaved unfortunate? Well, because I was smart and wanted to avoid hurting or disappointing my mom, I was pretty good at keeping quiet about things which might be problematic. So, when I, around the age of 7-8, woke up one winter morning, went downstairs to make myself a bowl of cereal, and found a receipt in the utensil drawer, I knew immediately what it meant and what I had to do. (Side note: fuck my stupid ex-stepdad for being an idiot and leaving that receipt in the utensils drawer.)
First, while I saw that it was a bunch of toys, I didn’t look at what they were. That ruins surprises. I carefully placed the receipt back in the drawer (the WRONG drawer), went about my morning, and kept my mouth shut. To this day Christmas is both my and my mom’s favorite holiday.
Coming from her shitty childhood, my mom loved going all out with decorations and spoiling me with toys. So many Transformers. I, of course, loved all the presents, but also the general atmosphere of Christmas. Already knowing that some kids didn’t believe in Santa and that the holiday had changed for some of them, I worried the day would become less special for us were I to admit what I’d found.
In fact, over two decades later, my mom is remains unaware of my finding that receipt and learning the truth. That’s actually where the trauma comes in.
See, I was so good at keeping quiet and playing along that it took until I was 11 before my mom finally sat me down for the Santa talk. It hadn’t come up earlier because, in my commitment to the bit, I was sure not to press for answers. So, around Thanksgiving she sits me down and says she has to tell me the truth — Santa isn’t real.
It’s important to note here that I’m neurodivergent and have a tendency to use humor when faced with emotional discomfort, often in the form of little skits. This is something I’ve learned to manage better with time. At the age of 11, however…
Thinking it was time to be honest myself, I start off with what was intended to be a melodramatic joke, “YOU LIED TO ME?!”
I see my mom starting to tear up. Immediate backfire. She doesn’t realize I’m joking, so I just need to play it up some more!
“What’s next? The easter bunny and tooth bunny aren’t real either?!”
Yeah, now she really starts crying. This whole thing has fallen apart. Before I can explain and apologize, she apologizes for not telling me for so long. She is comforting me and hugging me. At this point I’m overwhelmed and can’t really say anything, something that can happen in highly emotional situations, which I think other neurodivergent folks can to relate to.
By the time I’m back in a state where I could explain things, the situation is resolved. My mom feels better and what I had managed to say was that it was okay and that I wasn’t actually upset with her.
So, where is the traumatizing back? This is now a funny story my mom tells about how I believed in these things until I was 11, which was when she realized I finally needed to know the truth. She remains unaware of what actually happened. My penance is letting her have this embarrassing story that makes my childhood self look far more gullible than I actually was. She finds it hilarious to tell people at Christmas time and I just don’t have the heart to put an end to that all these years on. I suppose the roles have truly reversed.
EDIT: the tooth bunny stays