The Impact of Life

Written by Alecs Kakon

Photos by Jen Fellegi

*Trigger warning

There are those defining moments in our lives, those moments when we come up against challenges that test our strength. Experiences that, on first encounter, are a chance to be confronted with our feelings so that we can cultivate the emotional skills and social tools needed to negotiate them. As we continue to experience iterations of those events, we grow stronger and more aware of our aptitude, relying on our emotional barometer to guide us through it all. It is as much the situation itself as it is our reaction to these moments that develop our characters, challenge us, and create wave-like impacts that carry us through life. Whether it’s being bullied at school, hurt by friend, going through a break up, or any other social situation that commonly arises for young adolescents, these are the moments that teach us who we are—do we communicate, ask for help, fight back, defend, submit, internalize, and so on—eventually, all of these events, these impactful moments, helps us recognize that in the end, we will prevail, we are resilient. Then, there are the “challenges” that some of us have to deal with, violent situations that no one at any age is necessarily prepared for, that stop us dead in our tracks. I say violence in its blanket term to cover a large playing field of experiences: verbal, physical, sexual, emotional, racial, gendered… the list goes on. Sitting down with Catherine, we touched on so many of these violent moments that have occurred throughout her lifetime and the emotional strength she has built in response to it all. We explored the sundry reactions that violence necessitates from fight or flight to their newest companion, freeze, as well as the meaning of identity, racial belonging and the symptomatic realities of overcoming sexual violence.

Catherine was born in 1976 to a Haitian woman who would eventually put her up for adoption. In 1977, a French Canadian couple who had been trying for years to have a child, adopted her. “They weren’t necessarily looking for a girl like me, but as they walked through the room to find their baby, they passed my crib,” Catherine remembers. “I stood up, put my hands out and that was it. They said, ‘yeah, she’s the one.’” As law would have it in Quebec, birth parents have up to 2 years to claim their child back, and that stress weighed heavily on Catherine’s parents. In an effort to ward off potential loss, they decided to adopt a second baby. “My dad spent one month in Haiti, and it was right after he called my mother to let her know that he would return with my new older sister, that the social worker called,” she says. “They had found my two biological sisters and wanted to know if my parents would adopt them. There was no way my mother could go from one kid to four kids within a few weeks, and so, with a heavy heart, she declined.” Catherine’s father returned with her new older sister, and their family was formed.

Growing up in an all-white, French Canadian community, it was impossible to hide that Catherine was adopted, but as a kid, that difference in colour was something she was blind to. “I didn’t know about this thing called ‘race’ until I had my first foray with discrimination. I was 13 years old and I had a crush on a boy,” Catherine says. “We were at a party and I turned to a friend to tell her I liked him, and she responded ‘I don’t think he’s into Black girls.’ That’s when I realized people saw that I was Black, and it was also the first time I realized that it mattered to them.” It was around that time that Catherine became aware of her skin, and the insecurities about race began. “I remember what I did when she said that to me. I wanted to change my hair immediately. I couldn’t make myself white, but I could change my hair. I turned my afro in for hair that flowed like the wind,” Catherine remembers. Dealing with divisive attitudes and racist behaviour continued to seep into Catherine’s daily life. Partly relieved from this tension throughout the years that she lived across international borders—spending a few years in Egypt and Israel—the concept of segregation by race had become less of an explicit issue from the discrimination she confronted on the daily in Montreal. Her experiences abroad were coloured by a mosaic of cultures and races, however, upon her return from Israel, she once again had to grapple with her sense of identity. “It was so clearly divided. The Greeks, Italians, Whites and Blacks, everyone sat apart in their own little groups,” Catherine explains. “And I didn’t know where to sit. I didn’t know where I belonged. The Black community gravitated toward me, so I went with it. I identify with being a Black woman, but I am also a French Canadian woman.” Hard to find where she fit in, the layers of identity Catherine was robed in created an intersection within her that continues to present as a struggle to this day.

Juggling the act of harmonizing one’s identity is a difficult challenge for any teenager, however, once trauma is introduced, an inalienable element trickles in and shifts things off course. If there is one universal moral truth it is that sexual violence takes you hostage— metaphorically, physically, literally, figuratively—untangling the mess it makes takes, amongst many other proficiencies, the percolation of time. When Catherine was young, between the ages of 5 and 9, her uncle molested her. “At the time, I didn’t understand what was happening. I felt special, because I got special treatment,” Catherine starts. “He would lure me into his garage with his woodwork and would touch me. He would put his hand in my pants and kiss my neck. I can still smell that old grandpa cologne, it still makes me nauseous. I didn’t understand what was going on. I didn’t have a problem with it, because it didn’t hurt. I knew it must’ve been wrong, but it didn’t feel wrong. He did, however, tell me not to tell my mom, so something felt off.” The absence of physical pain or violence during an experience of sexual abuse is still, to this day, what contributes to the hierarchy of victimhood. If we are at all taught what sexual abuse is, we are scared straight into thinking that it looks like a gun in an alley where your life is at stake. But, petting, touching—unwanted, involuntary—these are all part and parcel of rape culture. And it’s not ok.

Catherine was 15 and living in Israel with her family when she was sent to see a therapist. “He would start every session by making me lie down on his table to examine me and then he would molest me. I knew this was wrong. It started to make sense then that what my uncle had been doing when I was younger was not ok.” Catherine opened up to her parents about all of it. “I was scared they would see me in a different light, like maybe pity me and I was embarrassed, but I told them regardless. My mother was so angry, she called everyone in my family and found out that my uncle had been molesting all of my cousins, too. My dad wanted to kill him.” Catherine manifested her pain and confusion into rebellion. She acted out and became too much for her parents to handle. Catherine’s parents thought it best that she return to Montreal to live with her sister. “I felt punished. Like I had done something wrong. I rebelled because I was angry and obviously couldn’t cope, but instead of tending to the source of my pain, my parents treated the rebellion with punishment. It was no secret that my anger was a symptom of having been sexually abused, but they didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t understand what was happening, I was a kid. They believed me and supported me the best way they knew how, but I guess they just didn’t know how to deal with this sort of thing.”

It was 1996. Catherine was about 20, and she moved back to Montreal to live with her older sister. One morning, she woke up, went about her day, business as usual. “I woke up and my sister was still asleep, so I took advantage and grabbed a shower before she got up,” Catherine starts. “But, when I got out, her door was still closed. I knew immediately that something was off. I knew she was gone.” Catherine’s sister had long-been dealing with epilepsy, and that night, her sister had had an epileptic seizure. “I found her in her room and I ran to a neighbour who turned out to be a nurse and administered CPR, but when the ambulance got there, they told me she had passed.” Catherine had to then call her parents in Israel to inform them that they had lost their daughter. “I was completely traumatized. I couldn’t sleep around people, because I thought they might die in their sleep. I would go into my parents’ room at night to check if they were still breathing. It was a lot.”

Wouldn’t it be magical if we could have knowledge in our younger years that would help us know how to stave off the footprints of impending pain. Too young to comprehend the events some of us are forced to deal with, that sort of information or emotional skill could really come in handy if we could find a way to bottle it up and telepathically endow those in need. I think trauma can stunt those who choose not to take a magnifying glass to the effects it’s had on their bodies. But for those of us who have taken the path of unlearning what society tells us to feel, and truly reflecting on how we feel, no matter how unconventional, then we can add to the pool of knowledge and extend our wisdom to those in need. I think Maya Angelou said it best, “When you know better, you do better,” and that’s the hefty truth. Perhaps a few generations ago, conversations about race, gender, sexual violence were too uncomfortable to have, which inadvertently created stigmas where stigma need not be. Having been confronted with a multitude of violence cloaked in different disguises, Catherine has built a resilience and gained a perspective that sheds light on the events in her life and the impact she has allowed them to have on her. And so, when we know better, we do better… Teaching her children boundaries, having the hard discussions about race, and being a well of information about the body, sex, and any other question that may come up, Catherine has created a space for open communication, helping her children understand and their experiences. Catherine’s outspoken personality extends to her ability to spread knowledge and empathy in profession, her relationships with others and herself, and her role as a mother.