What is the date you began writing this memoir and the date when you completed the memoir? Well, I never in my life though I would write my memoir. I was at a weekend retreat (BELOW LEFT) where everyone was sharing their life stories, and when I didn’t share anything personal, the teacher asked me a little about myself during one of the breaks. I shared a little of my story with him, then on another break I shared a little more, and during a second weekend retreat (BELOW RIGHT), I shared more. The teacher told me that I really should write a book. And I said, ‘yeah, right? Nobody wants to hear about child abuse.’ But when he said that my book could really help people who were in my situation, I decided to give it a try.
It took me five years to write, and it finally got published on December 17, 2020.
Copyright by Dr. Teresa Van Woy
Where did you do most of your writing for this memoir? And please describe in detail. I love to camp and I love backpacking. So, I loved writing in nature. On backpacking trips, I had to make sure the weight in my pack was light enough so I could include paper and a couple of pens to write. I’d comb on a large granite boulder next to a crystal clear alpine lake and start writing.
My favorite place was Ralston Lake. There’s something very magical about that Lake. When the sun hits the ripples, it forms little stars on the surface of the water that remind me of little water fairies.
When I’m not out camping or backpacking, then I’m writing at home. I’ll sit one of our couches with my little dogs snuggled on either side of me and my cat sitting on the back of the couch behind me. Seriously I’m always surrounded by animals when I write!
What were your writing habits while writing this memoir- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I’m an early riser and that’s when I get most of my best work done. The rest of the house is sleeping, so I’ll grab a cup of coffee and a cozy blanket and snuggle up on the couch next to my little pups with my notepad and pen in my hand. I’ll continue writing throughout the morning after I take my girls to school, but nothing is as good and productive as those first hours when everyone else is sleeping.
Out of all the specific memories you write about in this memoir, which ONE MEMORY was the most emotional for you to write about? And can you share that specific excerpt with us here. The excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer, and please provide page numbers as reference. One memory, huh? Well, that’s a tough one because most of my book was very emotional for me to write. But there are two chapters that stand out the most. I’ll tell you about the chapter titled, “Liar Liar” pages 217 – 226.
Mrs. Blanchard, my sixth-grade teacher, loved giving pop quizzes to keep us on our toes. This time, an essay on the Declaration of Independence. “Write everything you know,” she said.
Thanks to Mama, I knew a lot. I learned all about our nation’s history the previous summer when she took us on the bicentennial tour of the United States. We saw the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall in Philadelphia. She even bought me a funny hat in the souvenir shop of Betsy Ross’s house. It looked like one of Mama’s shower caps that way it cinched at the sides, and all, but I loved it just the same.
I tapped. My pencil on the desk as I reminisced about that summer. Fudgsicles in New York – the taste of the cool chocolate on my tongue, and the sticky feeling it left on my fingers. It’s strange what memories pop up first when asked to write about the Declaration of Independence.
We had the best time in Washington, D.C. since the National Mall had all sorts of fun activities to celebrate our country’s 200th birthday. Chills tingled my scalped as I remembered racing down the hill of the Washington Monument on a go-kart Brother and Petesy had built.
“Get on, Treedy,” Brother said.
I clung to the sides as we raced down, laughing and squealing until I almost popped out when we hit a bump.
“I’m gonna start calling you Eety Beety Treedy from now on,” he teased when we got to the bottom. “Because you’re so tiny!”
A knock on the door brought my attention back to the essay. Crap!
Everyone else was busy scribbling their pencils across the paper, while I didn’t have a single sentence written. Mrs. Blanchard stood at the door speaking with the school secretary, something about Mr. Bergez, but that’s all I heard. She glanced at me, then headed toward my desk.
“Teresa,” Ms. Blanchard whispered. She put her hand on my shoulder. “Mr. Bergez wants to see you in his office. You can put your quiz on my desk and finish when you get back.”
“Huh?” What? What did I do? I didn’t’ do anything.
I bit on my lower lip as everyone’s eyes watched me. “Ooo, Teresa’s going to the principal’s office,” someone said.
“That’s enough!” Ms. Blanchard snapped.
Shut up! I searched for Trez. I hated that she wasn’t in my class anymore.
The secretary waited for me in the hallway. It’s not like I didn’t know my own way, I’m there almost every morning getting a late slip. That’s probably why she called me out of class. She didn’t say a word, though. Not a single hint. And she walked so fast, I had to skip with every other step just to keep up with her.
When we got to his office, she knocked on the door and opened it just enough to peek her head in. “She’s, here,” she announced then stepped aside for me. “Go on in, Teresa.”
My hands clenched my uniform tie as a horrible thumping began in my chest. Mr. Bergez stood from his desk as I walked in. Next to him were two men, both wearing white long-sleeved, button-up shirts and dress slacks.
Who in the heck are these guys?
A tall, lanky one with skin as pink as an eraser and blond hair cut short into a crew-cut, nodded his head to me. The other reminded me of Starsky from Starsky and Hutch and was definitely the better looking of the two. He was a little shorter and had curly black hair that hung midway down his ear. That style would never fly at NDV.
What in the world do they want from me?
“Hi, Teresa,” Mr. Bergez began. He cleared his throat, causing his Adam’s apple to move up and down his skinny neck. “These gentlemen are form Social Services. They’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Huh? What for?” I looked down and shifted my weight to the outer edges of my feet as I always did when I got nervous or scared.
“Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble,” Mr. Bergez said.
Shifting my gaze form my shoes, I started blankly at the two men, then back to Mr. Bergez.
“Teresa, I’m Mr. Whitaker, and this here is Mr. DeSilva,” the taller, lanky man said. “You’re not in trouble. We’d just like to ask you some questions about your life at home.”
“Huh?”
Mr. Bergez cleared his throat again, then gave a nod to tell me it’s okay to talk. The guys went back and forth with all sorts of questions. Starting simple, they asked me my name and birthday, then stuff about my apartment where I slept, if I had enough food to eat, and stupid things like do we have lights on at night? And is there hot water when I take a bath? The lanky guys asked all about school. Do I like it? How are my grades? Do I have friends? Then they moved on to questions about Mama.
“Teresa, are you happy at home?” Lanky asked.
“Uh, yeah. I guess?”
They were making me so nervous with all their questions, I just wanted to leave. And I hated how Mr. Bergez just kept staring at me. I don’t know who called the men to come talk to me either. I never told anyone about Mama. No one.
“You guess” Starsky asked.
I didn’t’ say anything.
“Let me ask in a different way. Do you ever feel unsafe or threatened at home?” Lanky asked.
“Uh, no.” I squeezed my sweaty hands together in front of me.
“You’re saying that you always feel safe at your home?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“How does your mother discipline you?” Starsky asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Well, I guess I’ve had spankings before.”
Stop asking so many questions!
“Has she ever hit you with anything other than an open hand?” he asked.
“What? No!” I lied.
“Teresa, we’re here to help you. We have reasons to believe that your mother hurts you.”
Never taking my eyes from my feet, I squeezed my hands tighter, causing the edges of my nails to dig into my palms.
These men are trying to get Mama in trouble. That’s what they’re doing. Who told them, anyway? Oh, my gosh, it must have been the Mormons.
I thought back to when the missionaries were at our house. They’d come once a week during the past few months for something called Family Home Evening, the thing we learned about on our trip to Utah. It took a while, but Mama finally set it up for us. We’d sit on the floor with the missionaries and play games, then they’d tell a story and say a prayer with us before leaving. It was a lot of fun since we never really did stuff like that as a family before. Even Mama enjoyed it. Of course, after they left, she’d always remind us to never listen to anything they said about Joseph Smith since that was a bunch of hogwash.
After their last visit, I asked Mama if we could have them over for supper one night. She agreed, so I prepared my favorite meal, Salisbury steak and gravy over mashed potatoes with a side of string beans and a salad. I wanted the night to be perfect and it would have been if Mama hadn’t been in such a mood.
“Why are you feeding them all of our expensive Salisbury steaks?” she asked. “And why in the hell did you peel so many potatoes? There’re two boys comin’, not an army. You act like you worship then or somethin’. You know, they’re only here to try to convert us to that crazy religion of theirs.”
Oh, my gosh. Please don’t start.
She was interpreted by the doorbell, and her mood never let up after the missionaries came into the apartment. She watched them with such hatred in her eyes, it was as if each bite they took of her expensive Salisbury steak caused a hot poker to jab into her gut.
“This is delicious,” one of them said.
“Of course, it is,” Mama snapped. “She made the most exorbitant meal she could think of.”
“Mama, please?” I whispered.
“Mama, please, nothing; You’re wasting our good food on them. They come here with that trashy religion, feedin’ ya’ll all kinds of bullshit, and you want to treat ‘em like they’re kings or somethin’?”
I cringed. Great! Rache and the twins didn’t dare look up. They kept their eyes on their plate, fiddling with the food.
“Stop being so rude,” I mumbled.
And that was it. I don’t know why I couldn’t keep my mouth shut when she’s in a mood. I just couldn’t. Especially when she’s being mean to someone else. She stood up and snatched her plate from the table. Thank, God she’ leaving. My body relaxed as if someone stuck a pin in me to deflate all the tension. She didn’t leave, though. She just stood there, staring, and seething with her plate clenched between her fingers. Her eyes narrowed as her plate lifted higher. Oh, my gosh. No! She hurled it across the table, but it sailed right past me, hitting the wall, then clattered to the floor. A clump of mashed potatoes slowly slid its way down the slick white pains, and specks of gravy were splattered all over the place.
“Helen!” one of the missionaries called out to Mom. I couldn’t look at them.
Mom was steaming. The monster emerged from her. I raised my head and glared in her direction with as much hatred as I could muster. Haha, bitch! You missed. She wasn’t done though. She grabbed Rachael’s plate and flung it – this time hitting me square in the chest.
“Helen!”
“I can’t stand you!” I screamed. “You’re such a witch!”
“Look what mess you made me do, you little tramp! Clean up this fuckin’ mess!”
“You clean it!” I don’t know what came over me. Maybe because the Mormons were there, or maybe because I just couldn’t take her cruelty anymore.
She pushed away from the table and charged toward me.
“Okay, I’ll clean it!” she said.
She grabbed my ponytails with both her hands and yanked me from the chair. I scrambled for solid ground, but my feet slipped in the slop as I tried to stand. She dragged me to the mess on the wall, then used my hair as a rag to wipe the spattered gravy, jerking my head back and forth, side to side. With my hair in her hands, she had complete control of me, as if I were nothing but a limp ragdoll.
“Ouch! Stop!” My arms flailed about, grasping and reaching until I was finally able to grab her hand. Squeezing with all my might, I tried to dig my fingernails into her just as she did to me.
Anything to get her to stop.
“You little whore! How dare you!”
She let go of my hair and slapped me across the face. My eyes filled with tears as I fell to the floor, so I quickly looked away. I wasn’t able to let her witness me crying. Not anymore. No way I’d give her that satisfaction. I covered my head with my arms for protection as she reached for me, but instead of my hair, her hand squeezed onto my arm. Digging her nails deep into my flesh, she clawed from one end to the other.
The room was silent. I peeked through my arms. Mama’s face looked horrified when she realized what she had just done.
“Shit!” she said.
No one else was in the room. Where did they go? Four trails of dotted red blood ran from my elbow to my wriest. She had broken the skin. Not knowing what to do, she stormed out of the room.
She had fits of rage all the time. That wasn’t anything new, but never in front of others, and even though it seemed like it, she never really got completely out of control. She always had a plan.
NEVER-LEAVE-A-MARK
By the time I stumbled out of the kitchen the missionaries were gone. I don’t know when they took off or even how much they saw.
I only knew they weren’t there anymore. Rache and the twins must have escaped to the backyard because I couldn’t hear them anywhere, either. Mom was on her bed, holding her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. I knew the routine well. It was all my fault, and she was feeling sorry for herself for what I made her do. “How could I have such a hateful daughter,” she’d say.
I snuck into my room, buried my head deep under my stuffed animals, and cried.
Mr. Bergez cleared his throat to bring me back to the present.
“Don’t be afraid. Tell the truth, and we can help make things better for you,” Lanky explained. “We’re on your side.”
“Teresa, please answer him,” Mr. Bergez said.
I don’t know why Mr. Bergez’s even here. Any why is his stupid Adam’s apple so big? I hate looking at it.
“Teresa?”
“Uh, what?” I asked. Get me out of here!
“I was just asking if you feel happy at home?” Starsky asked.
“Happy?” I paused. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I?”
“Can you show me your arm?”
My heart stopped. At least it felt like it did. I gulped, but my spit was so dry it felt like sand going down my throat. A cold swear formed on my forehead as I realized my arms were exposed.
Dear God, please help me. What do I do? I had taken my sweater off during the quiz, but I had planned to put it right back on afterward. How could I have forgotten to grab it? I’m so stupid!
“Teresa?”
I tried drawing in a breath, then held out my right arm. My hand shook like leaves on the tip of a branch. I wished I could stop it. The shaking made it look like something was wrong.
“Your other arm, Teresa,” Lank said.
No! I clenched my fists tighter.
“Teresa. Your other arm, please.”
I extended it, palm up for them to see.
“Turn it over,” Starsky said.
I felt my heart in my throat. Don’t cry. It’s okay. Be strong. I clenched my jaw, causing my loose molar to press hard into my raw gum. Don’t’ cry. I rolled my hand around to expose for long, crusted, brown scabs. The warm sensation of tears built in my eyes. Stop! Don’t cry! I pushed my tongue hard against the painful loose tooth to distract me from sobbing.
“What happened here, Teresa?” Starsky asked.
It’s none of your business, that’s what.
“Teresa?”
“Those are from my cat. My cat scratched me the other day.”
Shit. They’d have to be stupid to believe that.
“Your cat?”
“Yeah.” I licked under my dry lips. Don’t breathe so hard. “My cat was laying down and I tried to pick her up, but she scratched me and ran. She hates being held, so sometimes she does that.”
I’m talking too fast. Slow down or they’ll know I’m lying!
“I hear that sometimes you come to school with puffy eyes like you’ve been crying. Why would someone your age cry before school?”
You hear? From who?
“Because I hate school!” the muscles on my lower jaw quivered.
I hated saying that in front of Mr. Bergez. I wished I could take it back, and tell him that I really did like it at NDV, but I didn’t know what else to say
“Teresa, you can trust us. We’re not here to interrogate you. We’re here to help you. Please, is there anything you’d like to share with us?” Lanky asked. “Anything at all?”
“No. I don’t think so. I’m okay. Really,” I lied again.
“Everything’s good at home.”
They glanced at each other, then over to my principal Mr. Bergez shrugged his shoulders and gave me a pleading look. A look that begged me to tell the truth. A look of compassion mixed with heartbreak. A look that made me want to start bawling, right there, in front of them all. Lanky scribbled something onto his notepad.
“Okay. Well, if there’s ever a time that you don’t feel safe, or would just like someone to talk to, let Mr. Bergez know, and he can contact us,” Lanky said.
“Okay. Is that it?” My voice broke. I had to get out of there before the tears came.
“Yes, you can head back to class now. Thank you for your time,” Starsky said.
I couldn’t’ get out of that office fast enough. I ran down the hall and went halfway up the first set of ramps, clinging to the railing so my body wouldn’t crumble under me.
They had to know I was lying. Cat claws. Really? That was so stupid. Those marks are way too wide to come from a cat. I ran my trembling fingers along the length of them. That was my chance. I should’ve said something. But not with Mr. Bergez in the room. There’s no way I’d want him to know anything. How embarrassing. What would they do anyway? Would I go to Juvie? Mama can’t go to jail.
I dawdled my way toward the second floor. Tell Mr. Bergez? Seriously? Those guys are so stupid. He’s the last one I’d ever wanna tell. I continued up the ramp. Shoot, why didn’t I say anything? I should go back. I passed with my hand on the railing, ready to turn around. But what if something happens to Mama? She’s not always bad. I thought back to Christmas when we loaded the camper with bags of stuffed animals from garage sales to bring to Mexico, and how fun it was standing in a plaza in Tijuana, passing them out to the children. “There’s always people worse off than we are,” Mama said. “Y’all should appreciate everything you have.”
I let go of the railing and continued to my classroom.
Can you describe the emotional process of writing about this ONE MEMORY? In order to write my memoir, I basically had to go back and relive it. Which was the most difficult thing I have ever done. It’s like I would go back to my little girlself and think and feel everything she’s thinking and feeling. It was a very evocative experience. Sometimes, I would go back as my adult self and just look in. During those times I would feel so much love and compassion for my little girlself. It was like I was going back in time as myself now to give my little girlself the love and support that she didn’t have back then.
So, both ways were extremely emotional. But for this chapter in particular, it touches on many things.
The joy that doing things as a family brought to me. . . and how much I loved contributing to others.
-interactions and embarrassment with my classmates.
-the unpredictability of my mother’s moods and how absolutely scary that was for me. And the emotions associated with her beating me . . .
So I wrote this chapter, more tears filled each page than words. And as I read them aloud after writing, I couldn’t read it without crying.
Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? In the book, I wrote about the conflicting feelings I had about the Child Protective Service guys. And how stupid I thought they were for believing my story.
But what I left out was how much I wanted them to come to me telling me that they already knew, instead of asking me to tell them. I wasn’t about to tell anyone the truth about what was happening at my house. No way! I didn’t want to be the cause for my family to be broken up or for my mother to be taken away. But, if they would have come to me telling me that they knew that my mother abused me, maybe my mother could have had the help she needed at that time.
Right: Dr. Teresa Van Woy (third from left) with her eight siblings at their mother Helen’s funeral. Copyright by Dr. Teresa Van Woy.
Dr. Teresa Von Woy is a board certified podiatrist with a passion for world travel, making YouTube videos, and anything outdoors.
Her ebook version of Wildflower has been on Amazon’s number one best sellers list for the past six months and won an honorable mention at the San Francisco Book Festival Awards.
Other Publications include a short story titled “The Key to Cherokee” in the Carquinez Review, and another short story titled, “Prana Gir” in The Meditation book from the Common Sentience book series.
Dr. Teresa Van Woy in her clinic in April of 2021. Copyright by Dr. Teresa Van Woy