For a Girl: A True Story of Secrets, Motherhood and Hope (Allen & Unwin Books 2017) is a memoir by Brisbane author and journalist Mary-Rose MacColl. This is a deeply moving and personal account of a woman struggling to reclaim her past, to make sense of what happened to her and to find a way to move forward towards understanding, acceptance and peace.
Mary-Rose now has a partner, and a son, Otis. But many years ago, somewhere between the feisty 10-year-old girl on the cover of the book, and the Mary-Rose of today, she had another child, a daughter, Ruth, who was given up for adoption. The circumstances are almost overwhelming: as a 15-year-old, Mary-Rose was befriended (groomed?) by her teacher and her teacher’s husband. For many years they had a hold on her that was intimate, manipulative, emotional and isolating. The relationship developed into a complex tangle of sexual abuse and exploitation threaded through with financial, emotional and professional ties, a blurring of boundaries so intense and complicated that it has taken her four decades to separate herself. She gave her baby away to strangers. Her parents didn’t know the truth. It took years of counselling and the love and support of her partner and good friends to realise the entrenched nature of her pain, the enormity of her grief, the consequences of her loss, the repercussions of the betrayal, and the reasons for her guilt, and to understand the source of her aching heart and the physical manifestations of her hurt. It is only now that she is beginning to understand the wrong that was done to her; that she was a child, and powerless in a situation where others used their power and influence to guide her life and her actions onto paths that were not of her own choosing. It is easier to point the finger of blame towards adults when the victims are the very young; harder when they are adolescents. But despite the age of consent being 16, a 16-year-old can still be vulnerable, particularly to the predatory actions of those in positions of power and authority, such as teachers, doctors and counsellors. Adults in these ‘caring’ professions have an extra duty of care, an even greater responsibility to respect boundaries. And when they don’t, the consequences are tragic. Mary-Rose speaks of her experience as akin to being brainwashed in a cult – she cannot now connect herself and her values with the young woman she was then, there is a disconnect there that she simply cannot comprehend. She thinks back on what happened and finds it extremely difficult to accept how and why it played out the way that it did.
This is Mary-Rose’s story, of her childhood, her teenage years, her career, her family of origin, and her new family. It is also the story of that inappropriate and doomed relationship that shadowed her early years and tinted all that came afterwards. It is the story of being young, naïve and pregnant; of being sent away to Melbourne to give birth; of feeling nothing at the time but absence towards the daughter she gave up for adoption; of the pain and self-recriminations she suffered in later years, brought on by the birth of her much-wanted son. It is about the release of severe emotional trauma that had laid dormant in her body; how her second child opened the floodgates of grief. And it is a love letter, too, to the daughter she birthed, wishing for her the best life can offer, all the things she wished she could have given her at the time.
I cannot imagine how difficult it was to write this book. The pain, the (misplaced) guilt, the self-loathing, the misunderstandings, the yearning to go back and do it again, but differently – all of this is laid bare; it is raw, frank, searching and grim. And yet, somehow, it is also a hopeful story, one hopes a cathartic story, that seeks through its telling to exonerate the innocent from that misplaced guilt, and to offer to all of those affected some notion of peace. It is not a bitter book, nor vengeful, and is extraordinarily balanced. It is well-written and heartrending and sad. At the end of the book, she speaks of making peace with her own mother before she died, and how important that was to her.
For my own reasons, I found this book difficult to read. It is an uncomfortable subject; it may open wounds for some readers. Yet through her writing, Mary-Rose has navigated this difficult issue with poignancy, empathy, compassion and self-deprecating humour. If even one person reads this book and recognises themselves, and then feels less alone, that is worthwhile. Many of the people in her story – parents and children – have experienced the worst kind of pain, exacerbated by secrets festering in silence.
The grief of a mother for her lost child, a father for his absent son, a child’s feeling of abandonment … these emotions are almost unbearable, and yet bear them we do, because what choice do we have?
Through her courage in telling her story, Mary-Rose makes the case that the shame and secrets of betrayal should not kept silent and dark, but let out into the light and set free.