Whatever is said or believed about me does not change what was said and done.
I keep coming back to the possibility that the golden child can become a protected abuser.
So much of my childhood was lost in the shadow of what happened with my female sibling, older than me by 7 years. Decades later, she came for my children.
I am only beginning to recognize the correlation between the two. Not identical acts. A familiar code.
She acts. I object. My objection becomes the offense.
My experience gets displaced. Her version becomes authoritative. Others are drawn in. Her position remains protected. Mine becomes increasingly difficult to hold without defending myself.
She was afforded the identity and cover of “good” while I was designated the bully for objecting and emotionally reacting to behavior that was, in fact, objectionable by almost any standard.
She was able to bully me in plain sight from behind the protective shield of who everyone believed her to be.
From the outside, I must have looked like I was boxing with ghosts. People could see my reactions. They could not necessarily see the quiet dog whistles, exclusions, implications, and positioning I was reacting to.
The reaction became visible. What preceded it often did not.
And maybe that is part of what I am seeing now.
For decades, people must have looked at me and thought, Yikes. What is wrong with her?
I have spent decades interrogating that question too.
Only recently have I become more interested in another one:
What happened to her, to lil Magda.
It is easier to ask what is wrong with someone than to ask what happened to them.
The first question leaves the existing story intact.
The second invites examination.
It is a fascinating pattern: harm can be hidden inside a role, a reputation, even an act that looks virtuous from across the room.
Have you ever seen a similar dynamic play out?
