A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory. ~Steven Wright
A faulty memory happens for different reasons: aging, head injuries, and physical or mental illness, to name a few. This happens to many people, often temporarily unless it involves dementia or some other cause of permanent amnesia.
However, the quote above implies selective memory, which eliminates the things we choose to forget and (conveniently) remembers only the good stuff.
Hence, the idea that our conscience remains clear if we ignore our failures and transgressions. It's kind of like the ‘ignorance is bliss’ mentality, except that we can never totally forget. Or can we?
I spent two decades in a relationship + marriage that went south within the first five years. It was the early 80s, and we loved to party. By day, we punched the clock, and by night, we frequented bars and clubs, indulging in recreational drugs until the wee hours of the morning.
This went on for several years until I discovered that I was pregnant. My party lifestyle came to a screeching halt, and I’m forever grateful to my eldest child for saving me. I gave up all the bad stuff and turned my energy and attention to becoming a responsible parent.
Unfortunately, my boyfriend (who became my husband) did not. Little did I know at the time, but he was in the beginning stages of a lifelong addiction to alcohol, something that only gets progressively worse over time. Things started off okay but got worse as time went on. I also saw several other friends become addicted to various substances, watching as their lives, jobs, and families slowly unraveled.
When I look back, many things shock me. The risky behaviors regarding illegal drugs and driving under the influence. Using birth control willy-nilly and not having a solid plan or goals in life. We all subscribed to the ‘eat, drink, and be merry’ philosophy, living for the moment without considering what tomorrow might bring.
What came a short time later was a dark period of codependency and emotional turmoil that lasted just over twenty years. During that time, I struggled to maintain some level of normalcy for my kids. There were happy moments, but far more ugly ones that intensified as the years passed.
Fast forward to the present day, and all of that is ancient history. I’m not the same person I was then. My values and beliefs have changed dramatically due to the tough lessons and my hard-won maturity.
I walked on eggshells for 30 years of my life, trying desperately not to say or do the wrong thing. And with an addict, that’s often impossible. I was blamed for everything: a lack of money, his latest ache or pain, and even the weather. Luckily for me, the abuse was always verbal; my bloody bruises existed on the inside, and my children couldn’t see them. But as they grew older, their awareness grew, too.
Those last couple of years were the worst. I’d lie in bed feeling empty and exhausted. I understood what it felt like to be a ‘shell of my former self.’ All the joy of living was gone, along with the hope that I’d ever make it out.
But what surprises me are the memories or, more specifically, the lack of them. Twenty years is a long time, yet I rarely think of those days. Despite some pretty awful circumstances, they never sneak out of my subconscious to haunt my dreams. And I’m pretty sure they’re buried in there somewhere.
When I stop to think about it, I feel a little guilty. Shouldn’t I think of my husband on holidays or our anniversary? Isn’t it strange that I look at my oldest son and see his father’s high cheekbones, yet not think of him beyond that shared physical attribute?
I suppose all the hurt and pain made leaving a profound relief. I remember coming home from work to my new apartment and relishing in the silence, knowing that it would continue throughout the whole evening until I went to bed. Not counting the empty beer cans or listening to his slurred speech as he insulted and accused me of all sorts of nutty offenses that weren’t my fault.
The freedom from decades-long anguish was so exquisite that I found myself humming! My recovery began the first week that I left. Certainly, there were moments when I felt scared, such as when he’d drive by my new address or call incessantly. However, with the support of family and friends, I stood strong.
My message to anyone dealing with a similar situation is to reach out for help wherever you can find it. Don’t allow the shame to keep you isolated. But definitely start with yourself. My low self-esteem wouldn’t permit me to imagine a better life; I didn’t feel I deserved or could attain it. And that’s exactly what they want.
Only after years of working on my self-image was I able to summon the strength and courage to walk away.
I’m still amazed at how quickly I got my old self back. A self I hadn’t seen or heard from in many years. The whole experience reminds me of that saying, “If it doesn’t kill you, it’ll make you stronger.”
I AM much stronger and fulfilled today; thankfully, those memories are no longer needed.
WHAT DO YOU THINK?
LIFE MATTERS is a reader-supported publication (No Ads or Affiliate links). So please LIKE, SUBSCRIBE, and SHARE if you enjoy this weekly newsletter.
Your work gives us all something to think about... and a bit of hope in the process. Thank you.
You are a brave and insightful person.
Even in the time I have been subscribing, the tenor of your writing has changed. There's a song: 'I am woman, hear me roar...'
It might be you, I think.