My family background makes me think about all the things I am versus all the things I am not. One way to illustrate this is with my name: Sally Baker. I was born Sally Baker to a father named Harry Baker or Henry Jackson. He was born either in 1912 or 1914. He was the same man who just happened to have two names and two dates of birth on two different birth certificates. Over one hundred years ago, during the Edwardian period, confusion over family lineage was not unusual in the working class. So, although, in theory, there was a 50:50 chance of my being called Sally Jackson, I grew up oblivious to that possibility for a long time as Sally Baker.
In the Baker family, ambition was not encouraged. My mum took books away from me as I was growing up. She said I spent too much time reading and that nothing good ever happened to a girl who knew too much. Hey, who knew? I recall my father often telling the teenage me that what would make him proud was if I trained and qualified as a nurse. Note not a doctor, as that would have been unthinkable. He had me pegged to be a nurse, and that was that. (That is not to say that being a nurse is not a worthy ambition; it is an exceedingly tough training and of course much more professional and based on scientific knowledge now than it was when I was growing up. It was the lack of ‘either/or’ that was so limiting.) But what hurt me the most was his lack of stretch and the lack of aspiration for me. The fact he didn’t aspire for me to be a doctor made me believe there was something unworthy about me.
So, parental ambition to succeed at all costs wasn’t my pressure. I felt the inverse pressure from a lack of expectation that my parents had vested in me.
As it happens, this has been one of the most challenging subjects I’ve attempted to write about. Childhood trauma may require a lifetime’s vigilance to know how those experiences can undermine resilience building. The whole process of researching the latest thinking about resilience effectively highlighted where my old negative self-judgements lurked and where my lingering self-sabotaging habits hid.
Like many others, I’ve been challenged with ‘the getting of resilience’ for myself. I have had to find my way through the tangled web of negative feelings I developed growing up, including limiting beliefs I took into adulthood. I had also developed entrenched beliefs that I was never good enough or worthy of happiness. I’m a prime example of how growing up, even in a functioning and loving family, doesn’t always protect one from the outside world.
My seven-year-old self’s world fell apart when I was sexually assaulted by two teenage brothers who were the sons of friends of my family. There’s an old-school photograph of me in a summer dress, looking directly at the camera. When I look at that image of me, I try hard to determine whether this is a before or after picture. I still acknowledge that sexual assault changed my perception of myself and how I understood my place in the world.
In retelling this story, like many survivors of abuse, ingrained minute details of what happened are still viv