The Trauma of Remembering: When a Movie Unlocks the Past

laurenkampan
May 13
4 min read

⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING: This post discusses child abuse, physical assault, and trauma-induced memory recovery.

The Sound of the Belt: Trauma, Memory, and the Human Shield

They say that memory lapses are a sign of a trauma response. I never really thought that applied to me—until last night.

I was watching a movie where a father punished a child with a belt. Suddenly, the "fog" I usually live in cleared, and a memory flooded back so vividly it took my breath away. It was a scene I had buried, triggered by a sound on a screen.

The Absent Parent, The Present Enforcer

My ex was never a "parent" in the ways that mattered. He wasn't there for the bike rides, the coloring, the parks, or the meals. He only showed up in two modes:

The Public Performer: When we were around others and he could play the "Good Dad" for an audience.
The Enforcer: When he decided my discipline wasn't enough and he needed to "make her listen."

I remember the day he decided a belt was necessary. I had tried to handle the situation myself, but he pushed me aside, threatening me so he could do what he wanted.

The Sound in the Hallway

He took her into the bedroom. I stood in the hallway, forced to listen. I can still recall the specific sound of that belt and her crying; it’s a sound that breaks my heart all over again twenty years later.

After the third strike, I couldn't stay in the hallway anymore. I stepped in and stopped him. I told him she was too little, and remarkably, he listened. I spent the rest of that day glued to her side, comforting her, talking to her, and trying to repair the world he had just shattered.

The Cost of "No"

That evening, during her bath, I saw the bruise on her bottom. I was devastated. I felt like I had failed the one person I was supposed to protect. I grew up knowing belts "stung," but I never imagined a father could hit a small child hard enough to leave a mark like that.

I confronted him. I told him it was unnecessary and that I would never allow him to use a belt on her again.

The price for my defiance was immediate. He slammed me against the wall, his grip like a vice on my arm. He screamed at me, calling me a "fat ass" and telling me that if she turned out to be an uncontrollable brat, it was entirely my fault. Before he went back to his video games, he landed one final punch square in my chest. I ended up with a bruise on my chest and his hand imprint bruised on my upper arm.

The Shield

I went to my room, showered, and cried myself to sleep.

Looking back, I realized that was the day I made a silent pact. I don’t remember him ever using a belt on her again. He tried a few times, but I always stepped in the way. I knew that every time I said "no" for her, there would be a punishment for me later.

I took the hits so she wouldn't have to.

The Performance of Protection

What I’m about to say won't sound "good," but at the time, it was the only way I knew how to survive.

I usually disciplined my daughter by taking away privileges, but occasionally, I had to spank her. When I did, I always used my hand, and I aimed for the sound rather than the pain. I had to make it a performance.

Why? Because he would be looming over us like a tiger ready to pounce. He was waiting for any excuse to "be the man of the house" and step in with the belt. I had to make my discipline look "good enough" for him to feel satisfied so he would turn around, go back to his games, and leave her alone.

The Aftermath

I see now that this wasn't a perfect approach. My daughter and I are both older now, and we’ve had the hard, honest conversations about those years. It was in those talks that I learned the most devastating truth of all: she heard and knew way more than I ever expected.

I thought I was hiding the cost of my protection. I thought if she didn't see the punch or the shove, she didn't know it happened. But she told me she always heard the aftermath. She knew that every time I defied him or stepped between them, there was a price I paid once she was out of the room.

I wasn't just her shield; I was a shield she could hear cracking.

To the Protectors

If you are currently in a position where you are acting as a human shield for your children, please know that your strength is incredible—but you shouldn't have to live in a war zone.

National Domestic Violence Hotline: 800-799-7233 or text "START" to 88788.

Closing Thought: Memory is a strange thing. It hides the worst parts from us until we are safe enough to handle them. Re-living that day is painful, but it reminds me of why I fought so hard to get her out. I wasn't just saving myself; I was saving her.

Have you ever had a "buried" memory resurface because of a movie or a sound? How do you practice self-care when the past decides to pay an unexpected visit?