My Mother Screamed into Her Pillow for Weeks
My parents divorce taught me stifled emotions can suffocate
The muffled shrieks were loud enough to pierce through the hollow walls of the council estate. The first time I heard her, I was sitting in front of the television in the living room, like any other day. It had been two days since my father moved out and for two weeks after that, as a 13-year-old, I heard my mother’s harrowing scream before she walked out into the living room with a smile on her face, as if everything was okay.
Looking back at it now, perhaps I should have acknowledged it and hugged her. But I suppose even at that age, a part of me understood why she hid herself away to scream. Those moments belonged to her. It was the cleaning of the wound before stitching herself back up.
And it felt like if I told her I heard her, it would maybe hurt her. Like finally finding out the hidden identity of a superhero.
I’d guessed that things would end. They fought a lot. And I could hear the progression in the seriousness of their fights. At first, when they fought, I could hear one person tell the other person to be careful that I would hear them. But after a while, there was no mention of me anymore as the fights got more serious.
