Never Enough

TW: verbal abuse,violence, emotional distress

“ Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me…” Lurking in the darkness of her room, Maria kept mumbling those words she knew by heart. She had been sitting in that room for more than an hour now, gazing into the void, inviting hollowness to envelop and consume her weary being. The voices outside grew fainter, or perhaps her senses, finally numbed by years and years of suppressed anger, have finally yielded into a state of abyssal silence. Her room had always been her refuge, the only haven she would normally run to when her parents’ chaotic arguments grew intolerably loud, or whenever she wanted to escape shame and criticism. Tonight, though, something else was brooding in her mind.

Maria’s mom, Marguerite, had always been Maria’s anchor, the soft heart she could lean on. Maria admired her mom’s ability to make sacrifices for the whole family, but she had always considered that those sacrifices were too exaggerated for anyone to endure. Victor, Maria’s father, was a conservative man whose ideas were deeply rooted in superstitious and somehow folkloric traditions, and the conflicting personalities her parents had caused domestic clashes, Maria’s well-being being at the heart of those. In fact, Victor worried a great deal about Maria’s physique. He wanted her to be “thin”, “just like a woman is supposed to be. A man's looks do not matter,” He snorted; “but a woman has to be feminine and take care of her appearance,” he would insist. He always made sure to remind Maria of that ‘wisdom’, oblivious to the wounds he was inflicting as each word cut deep into her soul. Victor never actually took notice of the consequences his words had on his daughter,and he never saw the tears that welled- up in her eyes when he uttered his words. And just like drought that naturally shrivels and incrementally parches the soil, Victor distorted and damaged Maria’s self-perception throughout the years. How she wished he would accept her the way she is! Now, at twenty years old, she had even gained more weight, and that was ‘weighing’ heavily upon her heart, as she was becoming even less ‘loveable.’ Maria felt that deep inside, her father was not ill-intentioned, and she would always attempt to rationalize his behavior, even when she was unable to‘ stomach’ it. She was aware that Victor had been raised by orthodox parents who required strict adherence to their rules, and she could imagine how that strenuous upbringing must have impacted his character. “ He loves me; I know,” she convinced herself, and every time, she would offer justifications such as, “He does not know better; he must be suffering on the inside as well. He toils hard to provide for us. It is not easy being the breadwinner. That is so much pressure for anyone to handle. I have to be more understanding-”those pacifying thoughts being her only consolation. She often prayed for patience, for tolerance to calm the raging fury that had been slowly building up inside her. Unbeknownst to her, her peace had already been shattered, giving way to escalating inner conflict. In fact, the profound shame she felt about her image was further accompanied by bouts of self-blame and self-loathing. “ I am over-sensitive. Why do I allow myself to be affected by his words? Why am I so fragile?” And with such thoughts and interrogations, she subtly destroyed what was left of her self- confidence.

Her only way out of that storm was in the peaceful retreat she found in her room. Only in her room did Maria feel free to process all those raving thoughts. It was her comfort zone, the corner that she could call her home, and that was why she had customized it and morphed it into a sanctuary. She brushed the walls with light blue, as that color had a remarkably soothing effect on her mind and racing heart during her panic attacks. Being the avid reader she was, she furnished the room with a library where she stacked her most cherished books. She also fitted the place with a sound system that allowed her to evade the inconceivable noise the people of the house always made; she could also dance and sing as she pleased in order to forget. A few years back, being a Tom Cruise fan, she pinned a poster of him to her wall. She could not remember the number of times she would glance at that poster and say to herself: “No man will ever love me the way I am. I should do something to become ‘thinner.’ Then she would spend days, even weeks, surfing the Internet in search for some random slimming pills that she would secretly consume, or she would opt for the latest diet trends that eventually never worked. Starving herself was once a viable option, but she then regained all those pounds she had shed, plus a few extra. Since nothing seemed to make her ‘thin’, she decided she should start dancing. Her father would be surprised to see how agile and ‘light’ she was, she thought to herself. She, however, always made sure the door was locked as she was dancing. She did not want him walking in on her like that, as she was wearing clothes that he would deem ‘too revealing’ of her imperfections. She knew by heart the comments he would bombard her with. He would use speech like: “ Why is your stomach bulging? Do something! Do you want to remain sickly and fat?” And he would walk away without the slightest regret. At that mortifying image, Maria would run to the door and ensure it was locked. She would then continue dancing, with much less rigor. Most importantly, she would make sure she never caught the reflection of her profile in the mirror. She had thought of removing the latter, but then she decided to keep it to perform her make-up routine, for magnifying the beauty of her face might finally take away the focus on her body. Maria had a pretty face, as it seemed to be unanimously agreed upon by her family. Her body was another story, ‘disformed,’ of uneven proportions, or so she had been made to believe all her life. Occasionally, even her grandma participated in the vicious game and would reproach her: “If only your body were like your face,” thus adding more ‘insult’ to her father’s lingering ‘injury.’

In that same room, Maria would watch those ‘attractive’ TikTok and Instagram influencers promote the latest make-up brands and skin-care products, and she would place one order after another until that habit turned into an uncontrollable urge. That surge of dopamine was much needed for her, for if she had no control over her body, at least she was able to handle how her face looked, and that might finally make her attractive in His eyes.

She loved Victor, indeed, and lately, she had started playing some recurring scenarios in her mind that might put an end to her ordeal. She would imagine herself facing him and telling him to cease his verbal abuse at once. Then she would dismiss the idea altogether and think of a softer version, a greater manifestation of her ‘femininity’ as he would love to see her do.

That evening, she gathered all her strength to finally have that long overdue discussion with her father. She even squeezed some fresh oranges, especially for him. He was seated in the living room, scrolling through some short videos on Facebook, volume turned up as was his habit. When he saw Maria approaching, he blurted out: “ Come, come! I have been meaning to call you. Take a look at those young models here. They are about your age. Maybe you can learn from them.”

Maria pulled up short. Her hands quivered, and holding the tears in her eyes, she immediately turned around, muttering shakingly: “I forgot to put some ice in your juice. I will be back in a second.”

Maria retreated to her room without uttering a single word while Victor slowly sipped his juice. She locked herself in, sat at the bedside, and started humming her ritual in a muffled voice: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” She repeated those words over and over again. She could still hear those Facebook reels playing loudly outside. The main door opened and closed. Her mom had come home. Maria covered her ears as she repeated her lines louder this time amidst her mother’s screams: “ Wake up, Victor! What is wrong? Oh, my God! Help! Maria! Call the Red Cross now!”

Maria did not stir. She stayed utterly still. She gazed at those walls, her books, at that Tom Cruise poster, and for the first time in years, she smiled.