My Parents Exchange Daggers, but I Get Stabbed

I was watching Barbie in my room when I heard soft thuds. I waited, and after I heard it again, I rushed out to the parlour, my heart thumping, my mind already painting an ugly picture of what was probably going on. 

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My parents' attention was firmly fixed on the TV show, which had bad sound quality. In my mom's hand was a stick of sugarcane, which she took a bite from before passing it over to my dad. Neither of them noticed me. I walked back to my room, relieved but still breathing fast, like I had just run a marathon. I couldn't concentrate on the show anymore as, subconsciously, I was listening for a change that indicated conflict. 

That's how alert my senses had become after I stood between my parents many nights before, crying at the top of my lungs. My mom was screaming insults while a metal jug swung from my dad's hand, looking for an opening to hurl it at her. 

If not for my sister, who held him back, puny me wouldn’t have stopped him from getting to her. It was the most violent altercation they'd had, and ever since, whenever I'm at home, my mind is always attuned to sounds or signs that indicate a physical fight is happening or is going to happen. Living like this is like waiting for a bomb to go off. 

He did throw that jug at my mom, or more accurately, at me. It bounced off my head, leaving a small but bloody cut. I still have the scar. 

Where I come from, marital discord is not unheard of. I'd watch foreign films and TV shows and marvel at the characters playing husband and wife, how they never raised their voices at each other or fought. I know it's just Hollywood, but I figured it's a reenactment of how most Western families lived. 

The opposite is quite common in my culture. When I was about 7, my class teacher asked us to stand up and say how many times our parents had fought. I wish I could remember what led to such an inappropriate and unprofessional thing, but we all stood up, airing our families' dirty laundry. "2 times," "once," "five times." I said, "3 times," happy I wasn't the only one who didn't have a normal family. "Never," some chorused. 

How lucky you all are.

I come from an immensely toxic household. My parents fight nearly every day, verbally and physically, and living in such an emotionally distressing environment takes a great mental toll. Once, after a heated argument, I unintentionally left the gas cooker on after I finished cooking. Hours later, my dad, a light sleeper, woke up and raced to the kitchen. 

What followed was a barrage of reprimands from them both, outside in the compound, for our safety. Throughout it all, I wanted to scream at them that they had caused it. Of course, they knew. But would they ever try to change?

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My parents have always had an imbalanced dynamic due to their differing personalities, upbringing and values. These differences have always been evident in their interactions and have persisted throughout their marriage. While my dad is laid back, peaceful, and boisterous, my mom is agile, feisty, and cautious. 

They fight over everything, from how to peel an orange to money. It doesn't help that my mom is the breadwinner, which makes my dad feel emasculated. I've noticed that their verbal exchanges are never about what happened in that moment but about hurts that have been lingering for years. 

Their voices would echo past the walls and filter out to the street, right into the ears of our neighbours, and I'd be filled with shame to leave the house. Occasionally, they would even do it outside, on the veranda, and passersby would gape unashamedly at them. Not even my friends' visits belied their arguments. They'd try to maintain an impassive expression, but the discomfort on their faces was always painfully apparent to me. 

Recently, it's gotten so much worse. Before, all they did was exchange bitter words, and I'd remain in my room unbothered because I knew that would be all it was. But now, I'm afraid of leaving them alone. I don't know what's changed between them, but each time I detect any change in their conversation, I hang around. I wish I could say that my presence makes them put their knives away, but it doesn't. I stay around to stand between them. 

I don't like coming back home, and when I can't avoid it, my mind is never at peace. It's the same when I'm not around, as I worry about what they both could be up to. My mom is really sassy but can't defend herself. What if she sustains a serious injury or dies at his hands?

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It's a living hell. I've always wished they would get divorced or separated, but my culture is, again, very different from the ones I watch on the screens. Recent data shows that Nigeria's divorce rate is only 2 per 1000 people. It appears like an actionable statistic, but I do not know any couple that split up in court, just people who no longer consider their marriages as valid. 

Hitting sounds and loud voices increase my heart rate and breathing. I avoid confrontations with people. One thing that puzzles me is why it's causing me tremendous distress now that I'm a full adult. I'm 25 years old. I wasn't bothered this way when I was 15. Why do I feel directly affected now? Am I an adult who's never really grown up? I wonder if the disharmony stunted my mental development. 

I've never tried talking to them about it because I feel so ashamed on their behalf. Our neighbours, a young couple, fight, and my parents play marriage counsellors, which fills me with great disgust. I wish they would take their own advice.

I know marriages are never easy, but I'll never expose my children to such chaos. That's if I'll ever get married. I've turned down several proposals for varying reasons. I'm beginning to think that it's the trauma and fear of a quarrelsome household that makes me averse to the institution. 

However, one thing I admire about them is that they've never spoken against each other to my siblings and me or forced us to take sides. It's also spilled over into my interpersonal relationships; my friends don't discuss people when I'm in their company. I get teased for being "boring", but I know I'm positively regarded for that.

Despite all that happens, I love them so much. They may not be a role model couple, but they are certainly good people. I may have cold feet about getting married, but not about love, and I'm trusting it to lead my soul to peace and serenity, one day at a time. I have my own life to live and enjoy, and it shouldn't be diminished or stunted by trauma. Or daggers.

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This article has been sponsored by the Psychiatry Research Trust, who are dedicated to supporting young scientists in their groundbreaking research efforts within the field of mental health. If you wish to support their work, please consider donating. 

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