Processing Trauma Through Personal Narrative: An Interview with Bridey Thelen-Heidel
In most parent-child relationships, caregiving responsibilities are fairly straightforward. The adults take care of the kids, not the other way around. Safety, shelter, survival: parents worry about these things so their children don’t have to.
But what happens when the opposite is true?
Bridey Thelen-Heidel’s memoir, Bright Eyes (She Writes Press, September 24, 2024), examines the impact of being parentified at an early age. Throughout her childhood, Thelen-Heidel’s life was marked by instability, including financial insecurity, witnessing and experiencing abuse, and being dependent on a mother who treated her like a caretaker instead of a daughter. And when her mother became pregnant again, Thelen-Heidel was thrust into the role of co-parent and protector for her little sister despite being a child herself.
When Thelen-Heidel moved away for college, she hoped for a fresh start. However, the stress of shouldering adult responsibilities all her life had manifested in ways that included disordered eating and CPTSD, and she was always just one phone call away from being drawn back into her mother’s chaotic world. As Thelen-Heidel grew older, she began to realize that in order to survive, she would have to cut ties with her mother for good.
Fierce, tender, and vulnerable, Bright Eyes is an astonishing story of perseverance and the power of hope. In clear, sharp prose, Thelen-Heidel reclaims the narrative of her life from the monsters who shaped her early years. Bright Eyes is engaging, important, and impossible to put down.
Thelen-Heidel and I connected in the weeks leading up to her book’s release. We spoke about processing childhood trauma through writing, going no-contact with harmful family members, and what it takes to break the cycle of abuse. – Jen Bryant
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
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Jen Bryant: Bright Eyes spans several decades of your life, from early childhood through the present. In the book, you recount your experiences growing up with an unstable mother, stepping in to care for your younger sister when you were still a child yourself, and being exposed over and over again to abusive and dangerous men. What was it like to revisit that time through writing, and how did it feel to bring to light the experiences you were forced to hide for so long?
Bridey Thelen-Heidel: I’m not going to say it was easy or something I was excited to do every day, but I could feel — as I’m sure a lot of people feel at some point — that those stories were just bubbling up, and they were going to come out somehow. In my experience with CPTSD, they were coming out as illness, or as resentment and anger toward other people and myself.
When I started writing down and revisiting those stories that I hadn’t even really told myself, it was hard, it was embarrassing, it was shameful, and it was super sad. As a parent, at every age my daughter would get to, I found it triggering memories of me at that age. So as I was writing stories about being molested at seven years old, I was thinking about my own daughter at seven, and how the biggest concern in her world was what time Hannah Montana was on. In the back of my mind, I was also hoping I hadn’t missed something and that these things hadn’t also happened to her, because I didn’t tell my mom about any of the times I was molested.
And so I think writing about it was very hard, but once I started writing, I couldn’t type fast enough. I would get up at 4 AM before school and write for two and a half hours. I wrote at night. I wrote during the pandemic. But it meant reliving all of it again.
I had to give myself my own TED Talk a lot — this was before I had given a TED Talk, but I was using those strategies. I just had to remind myself it was in the past, because memories are present tense. I tell my students that all the time — when you start remembering something, you are viscerally, emotionally there, if you allow yourself to be. So I think it’s cathartic. It’s the best healing I’ve ever done for myself, hands down. There is no better way to heal than to write down your stories.
JB: The narrative voice changes throughout the book, beginning with a child’s perspective and maturing into an adult’s. In a way, it’s as though the reader grows and makes discoveries along with you, which I loved. What made you decide to approach the writing in this way?
BTH: Most memoir is written with this really beautiful, reflective voice, where you can go back and say “If I had only known…” or “Little did I know, ten years later…” And I wanted so badly to do that, but when writing a scene — as an English teacher, I teach my kids this — you’re writing the scene as present tense. Things can happen in the past in the scene, but you’re still in the present tense, and all your verbs are in the present tense. And so when I was writing all these early drafts, just to get them out of my system, I realized that was how I wanted to write the book. It was very humbling, because I wanted to be smarter, I wanted to be wiser, I wanted the reader to know that I knew that drug was cocaine, that I knew these were bad guys, but I just set an intention to write it in the present tense, which you don’t see often.
I also tried very hard to stay in the vocabulary and awareness that I had at that age. I rewrote scenes a hundred times to make sure that was exactly how it happened in my brain at that moment — when I’m watching my mom getting beat, or I’m waiting for her to get home — and I just tried not to be wiser than I was. My writing group really helped me with that. I belong to Tahoe Writers Works. They were great about helping me to catch it when I’d slip up.
I read a memoir recently where the author described sitting at the table when she was five and how her grandmother had this sardonic smile, and I remember being kind of pulled out of the book, like “You’re five, you don’t know the word ‘sardonic’“ — or most of us didn’t, right? And so in writing my memoir, I tried to stay true to how I would have described things then — which is humbling, because I’m an English teacher, I know lots of big words, and I’m pretty witty and funny, and I wanted to be different in so many scenes. But I thought, what an interesting experience, to go through it as a reader and wonder, “She said ‘white powder’ — what is that drug?” One thing I have heard from early readers that this approach keeps the book moving very fast.
JB: Oh, absolutely — I think I read the advance copy in about a day and a half. I thought it was super effective — a unique way of telling the story that was really compelling.
BTH: Oh, thank you. It was fun as I was getting to the end, because then I could be wiser, and snarkier. I think writing a blog at the same time was a chance to write in a totally different voice. My blog is very grown up — it’s my voice today — and so it was a nice balance as I was finishing up drafts of the book. On the blog, I could be sarcastic, I could be pissed — all of these emotions I really didn’t have as a kid.
JB: In the book, you point out that our culture has romanticized familial loyalty, which can make it even more difficult for children to cut ties with abusive or neglectful parents. In recent years, the idea of going low contact or no contact with harmful family members as a self-protective measure has been gaining attention in the media. Do you feel that this practice is becoming more accepted?
BTH: I absolutely do. I was giving a presentation to our local hospital foundation, and so I was looking up “no contact for adult children with their parents,” and there were 71 million views on TikTok of videos around going no contact. There’s even a hashtag with #nocontact now.
I don’t have an explanation for why there’s been a huge surge, but I feel like for people my age — I’m in my early 50s — our generation has made it through our 20s and our 30s. Our kids are grown up now — my kid’s in college — and so we have a little bit more time to reflect.
I was 30 when I went no contact forever. I realized that I had given my whole life to these people, and I didn’t want them to get the rest of my life, too. As I wrote about in the book, I had also lost one of my dads at that point, and I was so resentful that this really good man died and my mother was still alive. And that’s when I thought, All I have to do is kill her. I have to bury her alive. Like, I have to be done. Because otherwise, she’s going to own me forever.
I have another family member right now who has done some unspeakable things, and I’m in the process of going no contact with them. It’s kind of me walking my talk, because I haven’t done it for 20 years — and I’m re-walking those steps of, How do you grieve a person who’s alive? How do you truly let them go? It’s very hard, and there’s a backsliding that can happen. My heart goes out to anybody doing it.
The lucky thing now about phones is that you can block people. It’s even better than caller ID! You can also cut people out so they have no access to you digitally, which is a good thing. But I think it’s really brave and important.
As I wrote about at the end of the book, those stupid signs about family at TJ Maxx and stuff…I appreciate families that all get along and have great photo albums of memories, but I also think that family — as you guys publish so often in MUTHA — is different for everybody. And what defines your family is, too. So many of them are chosen now, you know?
And if you’re my age, we didn’t grow up going to therapy, and we didn’t grow up being told, “Oh, you can leave them,” so we have to figure this out for ourselves. We are about 20 years behind. These kids on TikTok going no contact are about 20 years old. That’s just remarkable, because they’re not going to waste a decade, or two decades.
JB: Absolutely. My son is around the same age as your daughter, and their generation has a much healthier approach to the holistic aspects of mental health and what you need to do to keep yourself safe. I think it’s amazing that that’s become an ethos.
BTH: Even the fact that they have an approach to mental health — we didn’t have any of that.
JB: There’s a chapter in your book where you’re considering having children. You ask yourself: “Should kids of fucked-up parents have kids of our own? And if we do, are we bound to fuck them up because we don’t know how to parent?” In choosing to have a child and to raise her differently than you were raised, you broke the cycle your mother set in motion. Yet you mention that when considering this decision, there was “a book to answer every question, except mine.” Do you have any advice for prospective parents who might be in a similar position?
BTH: My sister Bephens, who is in the book, and I have both done it – we’ve broken the cycle. Two of our other sisters unfortunately have not. It is hard, but it is possible.
Breaking the cycle means very conscious parenting and partnering. I chose my partner because of his kindness and gentleness. I knew he would never hit me, or even really raise his voice. I also think it takes conscious effort to make sure that you are really, truly mindful of, Do you want to have a baby?
I’ve heard it said that abused people abuse people, and I get that, but I don’t think it’s automatic that you’re going to be abusive. I know lots of people who have broken that cycle. But I do think that you have to stop yourself in your first initial reaction. I have friends who say, “Well, I was spanked, so of course I spank.” And I just feel like that’s a cop-out. I remember being hit as a kid and how it changed me, and I didn’t want to do that to my kid.
I had my daughter 23 years ago, and there was barely internet — I mean, it was dial-up — so I am sure now there are lots of resources out there and examples of people who have done it. But there were things that I felt like I needed in order to have a baby. For my entire life, I had shouldered the entire burden on myself. I needed to know that I had somebody to look to and to have faith in something else besides just me. When I did get upset with my kid, I could look to my husband and say, “Okay, what do I do?” My first reaction was never to hit her, but I didn’t even want to raise my voice. That’s how we break these cycles: you’ve got to have somebody witnessing, watching, paying attention. And you have to be conscious of it.
You’ve also got to have honest conversations about your fears around parenting. I was very scared, because my mom always said we were best friends, and being best friends with her was not good. I was her caretaker and scapegoat, so I felt like, Who would want to be friends with their parent? But my mother in law and her daughter really are best friends, and so I was able to watch that relationship and sort of ease up on myself. Now my daughter and I are very good friends, and proud of it.
JB: In addition to being a writer, you’re also an educator. Do you feel that your experiences growing up have informed your approach to teaching and interacting with your students?
BTH: Oh, 100%. I liked teachers when I was a kid, but my mom didn’t, because they could bust us — they could call her out or turn us in to CPS. And so I didn’t really have a desire to be a teacher when I was growing up.
After I chose this career path, I’ve always been open enough about my life so that if a kid is struggling, I can make that connection. I’ve had students facing challenges, or in foster care, or essentially homeless, living in motels, and we talk about it — that I went to 22 schools, that I couch-surfed, that my mom made bad choices. And they’ll say, “Yeah, my mom too, but look at you — you turned out okay.” That’s been super powerful in my teaching, and it’s helped me too, because I see potential in them, and I remember what I wished teachers would have seen in me.
You do have to practice boundaries. I’ve probably said too much sometimes, but shared experience is so important, because now, in whatever way, my students see me as a role model. They know that I care about them, and I believe that they can rewrite the stories they’ve been written into. They can have a different path and a new direction, and they can break the cycle. We talk about that all the time. They also write personal narratives in my classroom as an exercise. With all the social and emotional learning that’s going on in classrooms, it’s important to be mindful of kids’ experiences.
Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, right? Kids have to feel safe, and part of being safe is knowing that you see them as they are. I love that my experiences have informed my teaching. I’m really proud of that.
JB: I love that. And I’m so excited to see your book out in the world!
BTH: I have to say, being published in MUTHA changed everything, and that’s not an exaggeration. Because of the essay, I was invited to podcasts, and I became a keynote speaker for a child abuse program. So, thank you.
Cover photo by Yukon Haughton on Unsplash
About the Author
Jen Bryant is an editor at MUTHA Magazine and a creative nonfiction reader for Mud Season Review. Her work has appeared in The Sun Magazine, Ms., BUST, Hipmama, and elsewhere. She has participated in readings and storytelling events at the Columbus Arts Fest, Wild Goose Creative, and Two Dollar Radio. Originally from the South, she currently resides in the Midwest.
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