The Reality of Abuse: Regarding Cody and YouTube

My dad’s crying used to keep me up at night.

He would sob and he would lament in horrible, gut-wrenching words about how poor of a father he was; how out of control things got; and how he’s only human albeit a flawed one. This would go on for a good half an hour around my bedtime before I would hear the familiar click of the TV remote as he turned it on in his bedroom to watch the late news. Mysteriously he never cried over anything important, he only cried when I was trying to fall asleep or just waking up in the morning.

It took me years to realize that his crocodile tears were a show, much like our perfect outward facing life. A show not that dissimilar to the one Cody’s family is putting on right now to an audience that is completely naive to the reality of abuse.

My childhood abuse ranged widely and it covered every category: physical, emotional, verbal, and more. When I see the Cody videos, it’s hard not to see myself in them. There was no audience, of course — most abuse is done in private and it escalates much quicker there — but I was the same as the little girl Emma in them who addresses her dad meekly as sir. I apologized frequently and I was afraid to say something that might make him mad. I was constantly watching for any signs of annoyance from him because I was terrified of another incident. Walking too slow along the beach could trigger an episode. Asking to go to the bathroom when we were driving might result in a screaming match complete with road rage, veering into other lanes as he sped around lecturing me on holding it. Asking if I could go to a LAN party would result in me being called a slut complete with lectures about how modern society and gaming were corrupting me at age twelve. Doors would be slammed all night and sometimes I would be shoved against a wall if the chicken were even a little undercooked. Things were thrown at me regularly and toys were destroyed if I misbehaved.

Eventually it got more physical and eventually I told someone and eventually detectives came to my school, made me outline the attack on paper, and eventually I got a restraining order. My mother got sole custody and I haven’t seen my father since.

But the damage was done. Fourteen years is a long time to live in utter fear, it takes its emotional toll. As an abuse victim, I generally try to stay pretty quiet about what went on. I don’t want it to define me because it’s just a footnote on my day-to-day life. Its impact is huge, however, even though I don’t want it to be. There’s moments where I’ve been candid about my C-PTSD, or times I’ve dated men who were like my father in every way, and there’s always the bi-weekly nightmares — the old house creaking, his feet on the stair landing clunking as he moves up to my bedroom, the smell of his aftershave — but I try very hard to not have it influence my daily life when I can help it.

As such many followers who read this will be quite surprised about my background. To that, all I have to say is that it was my past, it is not my future.

The problem is these videos and their fans. I have to say something because it’s disgusting on so many levels and it’s become a social media sensation. The idea that this family had over 700k subscribers on YouTube makes my blood run cold. But never mind the people that thought it was funny to see a child cry in confusion and in anguish, it’s the fans who stayed with them defending the abuse after it was put in the spotlight that are causing me to write this. They’re the hard part. People will show snippets of the family crying about being destroyed, or they’ll say the kids are smiling so how bad could it be anyway?

Well, when I was abused, I smiled a lot. After my dad abused me, he would often take us to awesome events or buy me things or be the best dad ever. I also smiled because I was relieved: relieved it was over, relieved I knew my dad had a cooling off period of at least 24 hours, and relieved the abuse was temporarily paused.

And hey, I was a kid: I was genuinely happy that I was going to get a PlayStation 2. Even if it meant my arm was twisted and nearly broken behind my back, at least I got something out of it — right?

So I guess I just wanted to say this: there’s no proper way for a victim of abuse to behave. There isn’t a standard for how abusers act, either. They might cry and sob about how awful they are or they might say nothing’s wrong. The kids might smile toothy grins and say everything’s fine. One kid might act out in school with poor behavior, another might try to go for the 4.0 honor roll student position to achieve perfection.

Don’t call something fake just because the kids hug their abuser when the camera’s recording. That’s one small snapshot of a staged scene. And kids genuinely want things to be OK, to comfort people who are upset — even if those people who are upset deserve it.

After all, I hugged my dad the first thousand or so times he hurt me. But when it evolved into him choking me and threatening to snap my neck, I finally involved child’s protective services.

All I have to say is don’t let it get to that point with Cody.

He deserves better.

All children do.