Bazaar Columnist Ruwaida Abela Northen Bravely Shares Her Personal Journey Towards Mending Generational Trauma
“The consequences of that day have woven themselves into the fabric of my life, shaping the woman and mother I have become,” the Dubai-based entrepreneur writes in her new column
I was only six when my innocence was shattered by a close family member. After many years silenced by confusion and fear, I summoned the courage to tell my mother. Standing in the kitchen one hot summer day at the age of 12, clutching my dress for comfort, my voice shook as I told her what had happened. Then, I waited. Waited for a hug, a kiss… even secretly waited, and hoped, for rage. But none of those were to be. She didn’t believe me.
Even now, decades later, that moment still plays in my mind on a loop. The doubt in her dark eyes hit me so hard that I can still feel the punch today. From that moment, an invisible gap started to rise between us; silent, unpredictable and ready to erupt at any minute. The bond that should have been my strongest source of comfort and safety was forever shattered. Her reaction wasn’t just a denial of what happened – it felt like a denial of me.
Today as a mother of four, my past lingers in my everyday existence. The consequences of that day have woven themselves into the fabric of my life, shaping the woman and mother I have become. I desperately want to give my children the carefree childhood that was stolen from me, but I can’t escape the little girl constantly whispering in the back of my mind just how easily and quickly the world can hurt them. Knowing that makes it difficult for me to let them out of my sight even for five minutes at the supermarket. I am fiercely protective – perhaps too much at times. My mind constantly races with ‘what ifs’, haunted by my own childhood monster, perpetually struggling between wanting to let them explore the world and the overwhelming need to shield them from it. And yes, I’m acutely aware that my fears could strangle them if I’m not careful, yet the very idea of trusting anyone else with their safety is a risk I’m not willing to take.
I continue to work hard to heal, but that’s easier said than done when the wounds run so deep. The relationship with my mother remains strained, ruined by all the conversations we never had. She refuses to confront what happened, whether out of guilt, shame, or something else I may never fully understand. It’s one of those taboos; rarely acknowledged yet sadly common. There are fragile moments of connection, but they are easily broken by the unspoken truth that hangs between us and the anger I still carry. I’ve accepted – well, tried to accept – that she may never fully understand the impact of her disbelief, just as I know I will never fully forgive her for it. And you know what? That’s okay.
Since the very moment I held my first child, I made a promise to myself that no matter what, I will believe them, every time, no matter the consequences. I want them to know that they can always come to me; that their voices will always be heard. My past may have shaped me, but it doesn’t define me. I am so much more than the girl who wasn’t believed – I am a mother determined to vanquish the villain.
From Harper’s Bazaar Arabia’s October 2024 issue
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