Why the title “Do Not Tell Alice”? The reason resides in the purpose of this blog, an old song and a book. The song is “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane that contains the line “Go Ask Alice.” The book is none other than the controversial “Go Ask Alice.” This leaves us to the purpose of the blog which deals with the opposite of asking and has to do with telling. Actually with not telling. This blog is the writings of a mother who finds out from her 23 year old daughter, that she was molested (from age 7 to age 11 or 12) by her dad and was told “Not to tell, especially not to tell your Mom.” My heart aches and within this blog, and I hope to start a dialogue with other mothers who have gone through the same thing…
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Why do I use the name, “Liberated Canary?” Before modern electronic equipment was able to monitor for toxic fumes in coal mines, the job was relegated to hapless little canaries. If the miners saw that the canaries they had taken down into the mine had quit singing and died, they knew they needed to get out fast because the toxins in the environment could kill them next. I escaped the dark coal mine that our home was with my daughter when I feared we were about to succumb to the toxic environment. I realized I felt like a canary in a coal mine, and might not survive the rising levels of toxic fumes we were being exposed to. They had grown to an alarming and life-threatening level. It had become hard to breathe. I began using the name Liberated Canary when I felt that I was able to fly freely again, and had recovered my voice and my song and could sing again. But I started using the name several years ago before my daughter began to disclose the abuse she had suffered to me and now I am not so sure that I am a liberated canary and certainly don’t think she is. We suffer so many effects of the trauma which was inflicted on us. It adversely affects us physically, emotionally, and spiritually. My daughter is so fragile, so prone to depression and despair, unable to truly realize how precious and of great worth she is, unable to trust someone to love and protect her, prone to relationships that cause her further abuse, and I suffer for and with her, in addition to my own suffering that is sometimes much more intense than at other times, but is always there at some level. I don’t feel liberated, because we are nearly drowning in the adverse effects of our years of abuse. I struggle with guilt that I didn’t protect my children and prevent them from the abuse, or at least discover what was happening to them so I could stop it and rescue them earlier, although my therapist, who specializes in the treatment of abused women assures me that it is not uncommon for the mother of a victim to not know, because the perpetrators are masters of secrecy. My mind knows that is true, but my heart still aches when in retrospect, I can recall so many red flags that it seems either I, or at least one of the many, many medical professionals and individual and family counselors and therapists we saw should have known were indicators. None of them once asked the questions that should have been raised and could have rescued us from the abuse. I would like to write to all of them and educate them about how wrong they were about our family. Perhaps I should change my name to Very Fragile Canary, or Traumatized Canary because although I am not physically in the coal mine anymore, I still am suffering from the years in that toxic environment and literally can’t escape the haunting memories or ongoing effects of being in that dark and threatening place. My suffering children are constant reminders, and this seems to be one grief for which it is not easy to move through the traditional stages and end up at acceptance. I seem to vacillate between anger and depression. Yes, I guess a Very Fragile Canary is what I am.