Learned desperation

Now I know where I learned to use desperation and contradiction in my personal relationships. Of course. My father. He modeled these behaviors quite vividly, and I picked them up, him being my father and role model when I was a child. I realized just now that I enter the same panic mode when being ignored that he does. Only his acting out field is with his eldest daughter, while mine is with lovers. Definitely food for thought.

I say this because his correspondence is becoming more frequent now--I am sensing the panic--he jumps from angry to fearful and back again. The last correspondence that I talked about was the box of old memories he was "getting rid of." Well, yesterday, came a Hallmark card. Presumably for Mother's Day (I don't even open letters these days). That was less than two weeks between correspondences. He tried the disowning tactic, then the anger and guilt, then the "go around me to get to my daughter" tactic, and now, something different, I am assuming. It reminds me of my childhood a lot. Anger, silence, ignoring, then love and affection through different venues. This echos of the same thing but through other media.

I couldn't ignore him before, obviously, as I was living under his roof, but now, I am free to do so. And the more I ignore, the more correspondence he's sending, the more panicked he's getting, the more "clingy" he's becoming. His major mistake here was assuming that I care now. I did care, desperately, before, and was constantly being crushed by his demands--holding his affection hostage until I did what he wanted. Now, though, he can hold back, threaten, guilt, etc as much as he wants and I'm not listening. I don't need to. But I am observing his actions, and they remind me of what I have been doing in my sex life. This would be the arena in which I play out this drama, not surprisingly, given the covert incest. There's the connection I've been trying to make all this time.

My behavior toward my lover has been reward-based, angry at times, and trying to arouse guilt to get what I want. He completely ignores all of it : )  Which I love, deep down, because it forces me to look at my actions and grow up. With my "soul twin," my actions were so much worse--the same things, but amplified. I would throw "tantrums," threaten to abandon him if he didn't act the way I wanted him to, claim that I was the best friend he'd ever have, be there for him so much I humiliated myself, then become resentful...and then repeat the cycle over and OVER and OVER. He also was like this. Get two people with the same dysfunctional behaviors together and you have the perfect storm.

Dad and I were the perfect storm until I got the courage to let go. I miss having a dad in my life, but every time he acts out, I remember what my ragged body and mind went through all those years, and I don't miss this particular dad THAT much.

The same goes for my soul twin. I'll always be grateful for the experience, and ironically, I'm attending the same therapy retreat this weekend as I did when I was struggling with him a few years back. It will be so different this time--my focus is now on being the mother I need to be and all that goes along with it. It will be intense, but different intense, and I am looking forward to it.

More thinking and connecting with the covert incest...

NO ABANDONMENT:
I have not been abandoned. I don't know where this fear comes from. Actually, one circumstance comes to mind: this person asked me to let him know I got home safely that night, but he didn't respond for a week-- and then only to stupidly lie that his power was out for a week. Since then, I don't trust men in these situations at all. They want what they want and then, who could care less; it's all lip service.

And that is just the surface issue. The deeper issue, once again, goes straight back to the covert incest. I know it must sound like a leap to connect these sexual encounters with covert incest in my past, but it makes sense to me when I look at it from a distance. The extreme fear of abandonment, the desire to please men (in whatever way),  the willingness to break boundaries...I'm not saying I regret this weekend, or any other time with my lover. I'm just aware in the back of my mind that, perhaps why he is so interested in me right now is because I allow more than other women do, that my boundaries are more porous, and I am willing to do most anything for his pleasure--all the "symptoms" are right there.

MORAL ISSUES:
Yes, I'm struggling with deciding if what I'm doing is right or wrong.  Having a lover, sanctioned though it is. Yes, becoming a mother has made me think twice. And yes, I know judgments abound about this issue.

I hate to think about what I would feel if I found out my daughter was doing exactly what I am doing. I would be critical and judgmental. Or maybe not; I don't really know. If I could understand what was in her head, I would probably be able to accept it.

From inside my head, it goes like this: I need to be validated, I need to feel desirable, and my husband honestly doesn't mind, for whatever reason. If he minded, I would not do it. If I were self-assured and content, I would not do it. If my sexual tastes were not so inflamed and specific, I would not do it. When I lose this lover, I don't want to go through the degrading, exhausting process of finding another.

I felt a deep sense of shame as I kissed my daughter goodbye for the night. My husband winked at me, told me to have fun. There's a dichotomy there that I can't quite reconcile.

On the positive side, last night my husband told me I look so young--that I look good. I guess that's what this lover does for me, too. Refreshed, relaxed, as good as a day at the spa. I wish I could find someone to talk to who also shares this lifestyle. That would definitely help.


PROCESSING:
I've been thinking a lot about (we call this "processing") the events of Saturday night. This was the first time he--anyone, really (except my dh)--wanted to please me as much as I wanted to please him. He made it very special, in the way he knows how. Many women complain because men just aren't sensually based and atmosphere-sensitive like we are; and men are proud that they have made a huge leap when they do one simple thing that women take for granted. Women tend to dismiss the effort because it doesn't live up to their expectations or what comes naturally to them. Does that make sense?

I don't think these things come naturally to him, but he actually wore his uniform and tried to add a little romance...he was definitely thinking about what would please me. That makes me so happy.  I realize what a huge statement these efforts were and I appreciate them simply because they were thoughtful and meant he had been listening and thinking and considering all this time.

More on different types of abuse...and hanging on by a thread

I'm amazed at the traffic to this blog since November 18! I had no idea people would be interested this particular topic.

I was feeling a bit uncomfortable about having classified covert incest as "domestic violence" because the common image of domestic violence is wife beating or other abusive actions one spouse perpetrates against the other. But after I read a variety of the posts linked to Wanderlust's blog, I am now glad I did.

The comparison between emotional and physical abuse is always in the back of my mind, and I've read this on other blogs, too: which is worse--physical scars or emotional ones? Being physically assaulted or emotionally manipulated, terrified, and frozen? I can't make a choice on this. I'm not sure there's even a reason to choose.  But some people say that the pain of a physical beating leaves more hurt and humiliation than the internal scars of emotional abuse. Others say at least one can get help getting away from physical violence; you have the proof of abuse, whereas emotional abuse is usually more subtle and harder to prove.

I haven't been the victim of physical abuse, so I cannot speak with any true authority--the only time I came close was when one of my actions caused an ex-boyfriend to slam his fist through a wall...that was close enough for me. I saw how this boy's father physically beat his son and I was out of there; perhaps recognizing a definite boundary between the physical and the emotional because at least I had witnessed physical boundaries in my family of origin.

And when it comes to sexual trauma, I am caught in the middle on that one, too. To me, sexual abuse incorporates the most insidious aspects of both physical and emotional abuse. The physical act of being penetrated, violated, against one's will; the pain, the outward scar, it's all there. But the emotional damage--the long-lasting fear and guilt, the inability to talk about the event out of culturally imposed shame; that's devastating as well.

As I've probably mentioned before, I've experienced two episodes in this realm, but not like the typical rapes and traumas one hears about. One with a relative as a child. The second, really, (and I might have mentioned this before, too), was what my therapist called an anal rape. (sorry, I know this is a delicate subject). It's very convoluted because I was in a situation I had agreed to, had wanted, but I had expressly told the person that anal sex was a NO. And the bottom line was that he did it anyway, without permission at all. When I realized what was going on, I was in terrible pain and told him to stop, which, to his credit, he did. However, he denied knowing, admitting what he had done, which is not to his credit. And only said he was surprised he got in as far as he did, as he held my tear-stained face between his hands. A cold kind of intimacy.  Now, this is the one memory that haunts me because it was the element that I have in common with other victims of domestic violence...allowing a man to do to me something that I don't want or deserve, and let that be okay. To even forgive simply because he acted intimate for a short time after the act. That intimacy left me craving more of that type of intimacy, further allowing myself to accept things that hurt me emotionally or made me uncomfortable. It was a vicious cycle that is continuing to this day.

And this is why I identify with victims of domestic violence. I believe that my childhood covert incest experience left me open to accepting violations, no matter how mundane or serious, and to become addicted to the short-term intimacy after the pain; addicted to the drama, the wild roller coaster ride of intimacy initiated by negativity.

Honestly, I am having a rough time right now, struggling with this. My desire to stir up drama and the craving for sexual intimacy has led me to an almost devastating action; luckily, I was saved by some one's cool head and logical thinking. This is so hard; it hurts all the time. I am up nights even when I have the opportunity for sleep, trying to help myself down from the edge of the cliff, but the edge is beckoning and is so tempting. I know the feeling of sitting at a table contemplating a bottle of whiskey, knowing the consequences, but the smell and the yearning for just a sip is too much to bear... I'm hanging on by a thread these days.

Speaking out on covert incest

Since today is SPEAK OUT day, I will add my voice to those of countless other victims of domestic violence. In essence, this entire blog is devoted to speaking out about one particular, insidious form of domestic violence: covert incest (also called emotional incest)--a term many people have never heard. 

COVERT INCEST

"...occurs when a child plays the role of a surrogate husband or wife to a lonely, needy parent. The parent's need for companionship is met through the child. The child is bound to the parent by excessive feelings of responsibility for the welfare of the parent. As adults, these children struggle with commitment, intimacy and expressions of healthy sexuality.

There is no physical, sexual contact in this form of incest. Yet, inherent in the relationship is an archetype of feelings and dynamics more comparable to young love than a nurturing parent-child alliance. They become psychological or emotional lovers." 

-From Sanctuary for the Abused (see link to page on the blogroll)

It is a quiet, devastating form of abuse that is accompanied by guilt, fear, and confusion. In my case, my father used me as his surrogate wife (my parents' relationship was an unhappy one, obviously), and our relationship was intense, emotional, physically expressive, and even at times felt as though there were a sexual energy attached.  Let me make it clear that there was no OVERT sexual abuse. However, the result of this relationship has been sexual frigidity, which, in my mid-thirties then turned on itself to become a raging sex addiction, lifelong severe and chronic depression, suicidal tendencies, physical illness, and much more. 

I have spent years in recovery for codependency, and more recently, love and sex addiction. Twelve step programs have been my sanity, and I highly recommend them (resources located to the left and right of this blog.) Therapy using EMDR, hypnosis, breathwork, and other forms of energy therapy have been most effective for me. This struggle will never end, but it can be coped with and lived with comfortably if one is able to do the inner work and walk through the pain to get to the other side.  

Three posts I have written explain in more detail what covert incest is, how to recognize it, and give a bit of background to my story: 

http://theworldthroughneweyes-liliacspring.blogspot.com/2011/04/beginning.html

http://theworldthroughneweyes-liliacspring.blogspot.com/2011/05/covert-incest-101.html

http://theworldthroughneweyes-liliacspring.blogspot.com/2011/06/how-to-recognize-covert-incest.html

 I truly hope this has helped. If you think you might have suffered covert incest, do not feel shame. This was NOT your fault; abuse, no matter what form, is NEVER the child's fault. Use the resources on the side bar if you need to. Feel free to contact me at liliacspring@gmail.com if you would like to know more. 

NOTE: Yes, I know "liliac" is spelled incorrectly...this was intentional in order to preserve my anonymity from angry, vengeful, prying family members.

Boundaries in Relation to Covert Incest

I don't know if I've written about boundaries in relation to covert incest yet. If I have, please forgive my "mommy brain." (seven months of sleep deprivation have consequences!)

Before my ACOA group, I didn't know such a thing existed! I thought I needed to hide and shut down whenever I was mentally assaulted; those were my only forms of protection.  It never occurred to me that I had even a little power to say "no" or "I will not tolerate being spoken to in that way" or even to hang up the phone. Without knowing about boundaries, I was helpless. And the helplessness became a core part of who I was. I lived in dread of something, anything, going wrong because I knew what would come next: the assault and the guilt and my acceptance of it. I struggled to make myself proud of me for one moment and the assault would happen and I would lose that precious second. I would reaffirm my own carelessness, stupidity, ugliness, and so forth. It never occurred to me, either, that I may have been wronged.

That was my education in boundaries: being a spineless mass of humanity because no one told me there was another way. I never saw a boundary modeled by a parent or a sibling. I believed it was their right to examine my head and my emotions and thoughts...and if they didn't do this of their own perogative, I was thoroughly trained to neatly hand them over with a bow for their scrutiny. I was trained well.

When I began to assert some independence and refused to hand over my thoughts kindly--this was during my college phase and my father's new woman--oh, did they all get mad! It was the same old story: denial of affection, material gifts, and approval. And the shame piled upon me! I could barely live with myself (and I mean that literally!) Boundaries were not just discouraged, but punished, in my family, that is what I am trying to say. The shame was the worst. Being made to feel that my thoughts and feelings were WRONG...that since they made up who I was, I as a human being was WRONG. WEAK. INFERIOR. I was shamed for crying by my mother and sister; however, I was encouraged to cry by my father because then I was soft as playdough and he could mold and shape and manipulate my form. Either way, I was fucked, wouldn't you say?

I attempted to explain boundaries to my father eventually, when I was in my late 20s. He tried to understand, I think, but it was such a foreign concept that he couldn't digest it and continued the same invasive behavior over the phone and in person, no matter how many requests I made or how lovingly or harshly I phrased them.

Once I understood what boundaries were, even then, I believed they were hurtful to others. I used to get so angry, being stuck with the same icky feeling that if I put up a boundary, I might be protecting myself, but at the same time, I would be hurting someone else. I never felt I could protect myself and not harm the person on the other side. I would get so frustrated that I would throw objects at the wall to express how I felt about this trap I was in. And indeed, others were hurt by putting up boundaries for my protection. My dad was hurt, my sister was hurt, my mother was hurt. So, by saving myself, I felt I was killing others. It was them or me in the end. And that is the truth, in my family of origin. I can never have sacred self and be a part of this family.

A book I found helpful about boundaries (and especially for "highly sensitive people" or "HSPs" [a topic all its own for another day]) is called Boundaries and Relationships by Charles Whitfield.

...then there's me.

The effects of covert incest, continued. I have a hard time making and keeping female friends. Many times, I begin to feel they're "winning out" over me--that I'm losing in the competition for male attention. My self-esteem, especially in the physical realm, couldn't be lower. As Brad Paisley sings: 

There's two feet of topsoil
A little bit of bedrock, limestone in between
A fossilized dinosaur
A little patch of crude oil
A thousand feet of granite underneath
Then there's me

Sounds funny, eh? Well, I can't go to the mall without running home in tears because I am not as thin, young, blond (well, I'm dark haired, so that's always an issue), sexy...as these other girls. Never mind that I'm 41 and I'm not supposed to be!...I feel that other women exist to make me feel bad about myself. Especially strangers. If I get to know a woman very well, and we have a connection, then I thrive, but that doesn't happen often. Twice in my life--in ACOA and during the psychodrama workshops. And maybe that's because I could see the hurting human inside of the woman in these cases. 

I almost feel as if every female of male-attracting age is my dad's wife. That's exactly how it feels. There to steal something sick away from me. It's so hugely messed up, isn't it? I'm constantly fighting to get it back.

And this is why I got such a boost from all the male attention on the sex site. Think about it: if you got 100+ replies from men wanting to "meet" you, what hole do you think that would fill??? Even if you never intended to do anything about it, it would still be potent (and most women on that site didn't do anything; I was probably one of the few who followed through--at least that's what I was frequently told). Having one man who adores you and has committed to you for life just isn't good enough for victims of covert incest (by their fathers at least)! You are just not convinced that you are good enough for the rest of the world, if "only" one person loves you! What insane thinking!! To me, having this attention was like having air to breathe and water to drink. I felt nothing without it; it didn't matter WHAT my husband thought about me; I couldn't hear his compliments. I needed strange men who (and I'll be bluntly honest here) got stiff cocks when they thought of me in order to feel "worthy." Like I said before, I am dysfunctional, but at least I know it.

My obsession got to the point where I contemplated leaving my husband so I could indulge in this addiction full time. Really scary. I remember the urge; it was nearly impossible to contain. Somehow, I allowed common sense to ground me, and I don't remember how. It's like amnesia now.

But we did get off the site after about a year. There were a couple of men I was still in contact with, but I hadn't met in person for a long time. It all seemed to simmer down. Until I got pregnant. The entire self-hatred, self-rage, worthless crap came back with a vengance then. I felt terrible; I was gaining weight like crazy, my body was changing and I was terrified that I was lost. I was flailing in quicksand.

So, I went on craigslist. You can probably guess what happened next.

This was the scariest encounter. A complete stranger, who knew I was pregnant, who knew who I was, where I worked, but who wouldn't reveal his identity.  We just happened to work in the same institution, and he found my work phone number, and started calling me anonymously, teasing me about how he was going to walk into my office and I wouldn't know who he was...this was a married man, about my age. I was in a constant state of excitement and anxiety, waiting, wondering. He once told me he was outside my building, but decided not to come in. This was too much. I think this is called "rock bottom." I hated going to work then--my hormones were a wreck in the first place and I started getting anxiety attacks. I would run out of the building during these attacks, crying, feeling haunted, ashamed, tormented. He texted me one evening, asking me to meet him right now. I did. I met him behind a swimming pool, in back of an isolated apartment complex. I realized as I parked there, that this could be it. I could be murdered or raped. The thought that I wouldn't mind dying flitted through my mind as I stepped out of my car. I was afraid that I was bringing a baby into a terrible world, that I couldn't cope, and I was open to it being the end of us. (I know, it really is horrible. It really is. I know this.)

I was definitely being protected by a higher power because this man was a good man, I found out, despite his cheating nature. He wouldn't have harmed me. He was military and was very polite and gentle. Even a little romantic.

The fact that I could do this, knowing about his wife, illustrates how I felt about other women being my competition for attention. I felt bad, yes, but my obsession was driving me. To be able to attract a married man, that should prove my worth! So went my dysfunctional thinking. Luckily for me (I now believe), I never saw him after that. He began to draw away and I finally cut contact. And that was that. I still wonder if I see him during the week, and I suspect he probably has a bit of professional interest in what I'm doing. But there hasn't been any contact.

This is the story I can't tell in person. But on the web, it seems okay to share it, if only what I've done helps someone else.

For more information about the sexual addiction process, see  Sex Addiction Cycle (credit for the diagram above to this site).

Fear of parenting

I think children from dysfunctional families probably experience more fear at the thought of parenting than do people who were not raised in this type of environment- mostly because of the terror of repeating their parents' mistakes and the lack of a role model to have learned appropriate parenting skills from. That was certainly the case for me, and why I let the sex problem build to such an unmanageable state. Pregnancy was always a possibility if I had sex (despite birth control) and I wouldn't allow that to happen. I couldn't promise to protect my child if I ended up being like dad. I knew enough to know I didn't have the self-wisdom and determination to be different, then. Looking back, I had so much growing to do- not necessarily growing up, but expanding. So many unconscious forces to become aware of, self-loathing to be tamed, forgiveness to be felt, rage to be expressed...thank God for my convoluted and unconventional road. At 40, I finally felt like I had done enough work to not ruin any potential child's life.

Waiting was the best thing I ever did.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

This was my utopia

I was involved in an ACoA group for about four years, this breakdown occuring at about the tail end of my time in that group. ACoA is a wonderful support for adult children of alcoholics and non-alcoholics, but those who experienced some kind of indefinable dysfunction, like mine. What I treasured about my group was the openness and honesty of its members. They weren't afraid to talk about the hard things-their hatreds, anger, rage, jealousy, depression...this wasn't a put-on-a-happy-face-and-pretend-everything's-fine group. No, we were honest and REAL. And cried a lot. It was the one place I felt truly listened to. The silence while I talked was healing (I think that might be the most profound aspect of 12-step programs). No advice-offering, no backtalking, just 12 listening pairs of ears. Sometime members teared up as each us spoke our truths. No criticism, no judgements. Pure acceptance. This group accentuated my faith, as this felt like what God's love should be.

Not every group connected like we did. But that's why trying out different groups is crucial; you need to find the group where you fit. These groups have different "personalities."  After four years, the makeup of the group changed- older members dropped out, new members came in and the atmosphere lost its healing power for me. It was time for me to go. I have kept in touch with a couple of my fellow members; they are the people closest to my heart now.

I will write more about ACoA, but I wanted to give a short introduction, in case anyone was wondering what ACoA was all about.

Beginning of the sex/love addiction phase

Since I made the decision to "divorce" my father, so to speak, I expanded my life in unimaginable ways. But I wouldn't have been able to do this without my husband. Our relationship was and is a deeply emotional, mental, intellectual, and spiritual one. He became the father-figure I needed to move on with my life. He stood back and allowed me to develop without interference; he indulged the child in me, then permitted the rebellious teenager in me to take over for a while; he then observed as I moved on toward maturity.  He was calm and patient with this process for years; I've never seen or heard of anything like it. He has been supportive to the extreme. He did not pressure me for anything all these twenty years, except my respect and love, which he deserved in full abundance!

Under his comforting protection, I developed interests and hobbies and self-pride and learned what boundaries were. We learned together how to maneuver through difficult situations in our marriage; we went to counseling together when it was desperately needed-as I was transitioning to womanhood, really, in my "re-"development, and we had to change the nature of our relationship, from that of romantic love, best friend, and father-figure to sexual partners.

My husband allowed me to undergo the processes I needed for recovery from the covert incest, including the sex and love addiction that inevitably followed my sexual awakening.

I think that the intensity-charged atmosphere that I grew up in, the emotional intimacy of my relationship with my father, and  the fact of being my father's "chosen one" set up the preconditions for my particular brand of sex and love addiction. (idea credited to Dr. Love's Emotional Incest Syndrome)

I also struggled, and still do, with codependency and a tendency toward seeking out drama, just to feel the buzz of adrenalin, the hit of cocaine. But the love and sex addiction controlled my body and my mind obsessively for a period of about three years. I still struggle with it in some form today and I have devised boundaries for myself to keep the worst of the temptation at bay. I attended an SLAA  (sex and love addicts anon) meeting at one point about a year ago, where I immediately was drawn to a particular male and only "woke up" when he mentioned something about an ex-girlfriend from one of his SLAA groups...oh shit, I'm fucking doing it again! I left the group immediately after that and decided that I am unable to attend in-person SLAA meetings. Too much temptation. Online meetings work out well for me, as well as having been upfront and admitting my tendency to members of the group, who suggested only talking with female members.

 My sexual self had been dead for years, and I was content to let it be that way. I didn't need it; I didn't crave it. I was so frightened of having to grow up too fast in this process that I shied away from it. I hit a point, though, when overnight, almost, it seemed to be necessary for my survival and I hit a wall. Dh and I hadn't been here before and neither of us knew what to do. I needed sex to wake up after all these years, desperately. So did dh, but waking a long-hibernating animal is harder than it seems. We took a very controversial route, one that many people, I am afraid, cannot understand. We will always be judged harshly. But we listened to our instincts and took grave risks, and the end of the story is we repaired that aspect of our relationship and have a healthy, beautiful daughter today. So sometimes there really is light at the end of the tunnel.

I think what sparked this intense period was my realization that my biological clock was ticking ever faster, I only had a few years left if I wanted to reproduce. All of the sudden it MATTERED. I freaked out as the reality shot its way into my consciousness. A few years back, this thought had occurred to me, and I attempted to get the ball rolling, but it sort of fizzled out and I let it be. But now, what if on my deathbed I regretted never having my own child? Nightmares about this devoured me.

We got interested in a type of fetish behavior called "hotwifing" at this point. (definition from Urban Dictionary.com: A married woman who has sexual relations with other men, with the husband's approval. Usually while the husband watches or joins.) It seemed to suit our individual sensibilities; although in our case, I went out on assignations alone, for the most part.  I think we both knew the risks, although the realities didn't hit us until afterward, when we considered what could have happened.

The high I got from this was incredibly potent. I signed up at a sex website, put out an "ad" and dove right in. The attention was addictive and enormous--over one hundred responses in a few days. I played around with these and found myself drawn to the most emotional of prospects, which  I then pursued. The next was an aggressive, cold, completely opposite type. The third was somewhere in the middle, and with the fourth, I put not only my career but also my life on the line for the high. My needs got stronger, and I desired more risk, more insanity, each time to get the same high.

At the same time, these were human beings, and I developed relationships with all of them, different kind of relationships, which I learned from as well, as part of my own growth process. But the THINGS I did, the RISKS I took with my health and safety were the worst part of this addiction.

How to Recognize Covert Incest

I wish I had seen this list a LONG time ago. 

Excerpt from
Dr. Patricia Love's The Emotional Incest Syndrome: What to Do When a Parent's Love Rule's Your Life
Bantam Books, 1990

(From http://botkinsyndrome.blogspot.com/2008/07/covertemotional-incest-checklist-long.html )

  

Indication of an Overly Close Parent-Child Bond

1. I felt closer to one parent than the other.
2. I was a source of emotional support for one of my parents
3. I was “best friends” with a parent.
4. A parent shared confidences with me.
5. A parent was deeply involved in my activities or developing my talents.
6. A parent took a lot of pride in my abilities or my achievements.
7. I was given special privileges or gifts by one of my parents.
8. One of my parents told me in confidence that I was the favorite, most talented or most lovable child.
9. A parent thought I was better company than his or her spouse.
10. I sometimes felt guilty when I spent time away from one of my parents.
11. I got the impression that a parent did not want me to marry or move far away from home.
12. When I was young I idolized one of my parents.
13. Any potential boyfriend or girlfriend was never “good enough” for one of my parents.
14. A parent seemed overly aware of my sexuality.
15. A parent made sexual remarks or violated my privacy.
    
    
    
    
    I recently came across a photo my dad took of me--he sent me a disk with my some childhood pictures he took of me as a gift--that shocked the *^#$ out of me. High school. I am posing for him. Seductively posing. I wanted to throw up. I don't remember this at all. 
    
    
    
    
    
    
    Part B. Indication of Unmet Adult Needs
16. My parents were separated, divorced, widowed, or didn't get along very well.
17. One of my parents was often lonely, angry, or depressed.
18. One of my parents did not have a lot of friends.
19. One or both parents had a drinking or drug problem.
20. One of my parents thought the other parent was too indulgent or permissive.
21. I felt I had to hold back my own needs to protect a parent.
22. A parent turned to me for comfort or advice.
23. A parent seemed to rely on me more than on my siblings.
24. I felt responsible for a parent's happiness.
25. My parents disagreed about parenting issues.
    
    
    
    
    Part C. Indication of Parental Neglect or Abuse
26.  My needs were often ignored or neglected.
27. There was a great deal of conflict between me and a parent.
28. I was called hurtful names by a parent.
29. One of my parents had unrealistic expectations of me.
30. One of my parents was very critical of me.
31. I sometimes wanted to hide from a parent or had fantasies of running away.
32. When I was a child, other families seemed less emotionally intense than mine.
33. It was often a relief to get away from home.
34. I sometimes felt invaded by a parent.
35. I sometimes felt I added to a parent's unhappiness
    
    
    
    
    CHECK, CHECK, CHECK TO ALL. If you find yourself checking off all of these indicators, please, be kind and gentle to yourself and realize you were the VICTIM. Nothing that happened was your fault. Children do NOT cause their own abuse. 
    "If your checks tend to be clustered in the first and second sections, you may have been enmeshed with a Romanticizing or a Sexualizing Parent. If your checks are clustered in the second and third sections, you may have been enmeshed with a Critical/Abusive Parent. If you have checkmarks sprinkled throughout these three sections, you may have been alternately loved and abused by the same parent, or one parent may have abused you while the other adored you. Reflecting on your life history will help you sort this out."

Mindfucked

Reading from Sanctuary for the Abused, I came across this passage, which helps clear my confusion about 1) how this covert incest with my father, where sexual acts did NOT occur, led to my struggle with sex and love addiction and 2) why I had to completely exorcise him from my life in order to get better (I'll go into this more in a later post).

...since the atmosphere in which they were raised was sexually charged, it is common for survivors of covert incest to use sex as a means to intimacy. This can result in sexual addiction or other types of dysfunctional behaviors as an adult.

Covert incest can persist all the way into adulthood. As long as one remains in such a relationship, it is impossible to form healthy relationships with others. Unless the close bond with the invasive parent is altered, the parent will continue to interfere in the life of the child, causing problems to arise in relationships.

If the invasive parent refuses to change the nature of the relationship, there may be no other recourse than separation. This separation can be temporary or permanent. What is important is for the child to set firm boundaries which the parent cannot cross. Depending on the severity of the situation, it may even be necessary to permanently separate from the invasive parent.

It was the atmosphere that I was living in--and more so when dad's girlfriend came into the picture. My therapist uses the term "mindfucking" to describe my experience. And that's apt--you FUCKED with my HEAD, not my body, dad. And after that, I got the two confused.  I began searching for someone like him, at the same time as struggling to hold on to a healthy marriage. Thank God my husband was so intuitive, so smart, and had his head screwed on straight. Thank God.

My wedding was planned for October of that year, and in September, my father announced that HE was marrying the girlfriend. Talk about stealing my thunder! There was something very obscene about that, and I still can't put my finger on exactly what it was. I didn't attend his wedding (he didn't really expect me to, thank goodness), and I was trying to focus on my own impending marriage. He was passively aggressive during that time; he made promises about the responsibilities he would take care of for my wedding, and when the time came, he acted as if he had never promised anything. He volunteered to be the MC for my wedding, announcing when events would happen, etc. And he didn't do it. My wedding was chaotic. He didn't give a toast. He walked me down the aisle with an angry frown on his face; the wedding photos of us break my heart. He never wished me well. Before he left, he hugged me close and said "We'll talk." That was it. That was how my father sent his daughter off to be married.

And since then, I hadn't been able to have sex. It was mostly me; I was depressed, I was confused, frustrated, angry, and not allowed to vent my feelings toward the person responsible. He never took responsibility for the fiasco that my wedding became. He said only that he never agreed to that role at my wedding and then claimed he "forgot" because of a minor stroke he had a while ago. (He used the stroke as an excuse for all of his action from then on) I, for some reason, came to the conclusion that sex wasn't important. That my marriage was a sham because my husband wasn't physically affectionate like my father. I couldn't accept him for who he truly was--quiet, reserved, with a pool of love for me that was deeper than the ocean floor. He may not have been as extroverted about his feelings--he didn't express them in words as much--or as openly affectionate--he believed in private displays of attention rather than garish displays in public places--but, my God, did he love me. Twenty years later, I realize how foolish I was. How messed up and ungrateful for the person my husband is. My husband showed me through his actions what love is. My father flaunted lip service and infatuation.

(Image from botkinsyndrome.blogspot.com)

Dear husband

My husband is a rare kind of man. A real caretaker with a huge heart. Who else would have put up with the mess that was me. We met at the high point of my college experience, when I was immersed in literature and writing and beginning to feel just a little bit free. We had a honeymoon period before the shit hit the fan, that is the divorce and my dad's insane obsession over this "love triangle." But once that began, what I thought would do no harm, actually did tremendous damage. My father tried to emotionally enmesh with him at the same time as I was trying to "love" his girlfriend. But my husband has excellent radar and felt something wasn't right, so he held back. He simply observed the dynamics.

I was so wrapped up in this jealousy that my father stoked at every opportunity. I used to be the center of his world, for better or for worse. Now, he had no use for me except to admire his new "possession." It was as if I was no one; I'd lost the only identity I ever had and I was an empty shell. I felt completely dispossessed and abandoned. I feel into a horrid depression my during my last semester and stopped eating, going to class, and did only the minimum amount of work to get by. I moved my mattress onto the floor so I could be close to the TV and wouldn't have to move very far for anything. I became isolated and lonely and dh was the only person I saw for days at a time. Many days I refused to get up in the morning, and this is where dh became a saint. I wouldn't have expected anyone to stay with me while I was in this state, but not only did he stay, he became my nurse. He lifted me out of bed, got me dressed, fixed food for me, held me when I cried (which was most of the time), made sure I did what was necessary for survival. This is how we lived as gf/bf for many months.

Terrified by this rage and jealousy I was feeling toward dad's girlfriend, not understanding what it meant and not being able to control it, I was happy to let dh play the role of the responsible caretaker as I let myself sink further into hopelessness. And that began our pattern of relating to each other for many years.

The religious aspect

My father struggled a lot himself, I know. And I knew what his parents were like, and he was just repeating what he was subjected to, really. His mother, I am positive about this because of what I witnessed between the two of them--and then his need to move far away from his parents--was deeply emotionally incestuous with him. She was most likely a very different person--loving, caring--to other members of the family, just like my father is, I'm sure. It was just me he had difficulty with. His father was desperately passive aggressive. Even near his deathbed, he was guilting me for not visiting enough. This was all my visits at the nursing home consisted of: "Hi Grandpa. How are you?" "Why don't you visit me more often?" "I do visit." "Well, don't wait so long next time."

My father and his parents had horrible, upsetting phone conversations every Sunday morning, ending with dad on the couch staring glassy eyed at the TV for the rest of the day and well into the night.

Dad also struggled a lot with religion. He held onto Jewish rituals with a grim severity, as though it was meant to torture him. I dreaded the "holidays"--they usually ended up in anger or silences, and definitely fear. My father taught me to believe that if I didn't repent for my "sins" and ask his forgiveness each Yom Kippur (Jewish day of atonement), God wouldn't forgive or love me. Each holiday, a blackness overcame the house as we all solemnly got ready to go to temple and my father's mood got more and more sour.

When I discovered Jesus, years and years later, I found a loving God. Not the God of my father.

The missing piece

Since I've been writing a lot about covert incest, and this type of abuse revolves around parents' dysfunctional marriages, I feel I must describe my parents' marriage. Honestly, I don't think they really had one. They must have, in the beginning, fallen in love and wanted to be together for the rest of their lives--and that much information I'm not privy to. I only know what I witnessed, which was two people living separate lives in under the same roof.

When I was in elementary school, they separated for a few months. I remember feeling relieved, that life was a lot less stressful this way, and I actually enjoyed visiting my dad at his little beach apartment, my sister and I sleeping on the mattress on the floor with the sound of the waves crashing outside. It was fun. And then we would go home and there was no tension or other negative feeling. However, they decided to get back together in the end, and the really dark times began. I think I understand, being a new mother myself, that raising children is a two-person job, and doing it alone is scary and terribly difficult. I just wish they had been happy together.

As the years went by, as I progressed into middle and high school, they stopped hiding their problems from us kids so much and simply began to co-exist. My mother spent most of her home time alone in the bedroom, the bed covered with papers, surrounded by her work. My father spent his in his leather chair or sofa in front of the TV. No interaction, just silence, between them. And during the worst years, when the living room was on the path to my bedroom, I could expect some kind of drama as I tried to make my way quietly through the house--my dad was always waiting, always ready with an accusation of something I had done wrong. Or wanted to talk.  He never left the room on weekends and evenings, and that meant no peace for me.

This went on until I left for college, and still continued when I returned from Europe. They didn't spend any time together, and my dad constantly complained to me that they didn't have any friends because my mom didn't like to go out.  He talked to me a lot about how desperately he wanted to be social and how lonely he was. I didn't know what to do for him except to listen and give him a hug, ask what I could do...He seemed to be happy when he could talk to me, when I did something nice for him. I felt like I was the only person in the family who had any control over being able to make him feel better. Hence, it was my responsibility for making him happy when my mother couldn't. Or wouldn't.

As for my mother, she seemed to prefer my sister over me. She never said it; she stated that she loved both of us equally, but my sister got away with a lot. She was my mother's confidant, so it seemed to me. They seemed to be especially close, even to this day. Not "best friends" kind of close--there was often some sort of friction, but they were in RELATIONSHIP with each other, which was more than I felt I had with my mother. I think the same was the case with my sister and dad--she once told me she felt she never had a father because he was so consumed by me. It was true and it was sad.

My parents eventually divorced when I was in college (the second time); I was in my early twenties. He remarried soon after, and my mother is still single. My father's new marriage is when all of the covert incest symptoms began to rear their ugly heads, and I'll write about that next.

Ah! Validation!

As I searched the web for informative blogs on the topics of the narcissistic parent, covert incest, and toxic families, I stumbled on this gem: One Angry Daughter

"One Angry Daughter's" situation similar to mine; and as I am accused of being "sick" for having a personal yet anonymous blog, well, I think this blogger and others like us are on the sane side of the aisle. Just look at what happened to her:

Unfortunately, I underestimated their internet search skills and left a path (albeit a convoluted one) right to this blog. As such - I know they have read everything. To anyone who thinks if you can just tell your family members that you think NPD, alcoholism, BPD, etc... are in play and maybe they will get the help they need - let my experience be an example that it may not.

Same here. And our intentions are the same as well:

I hope by sharing my experience I can help others going through a similar situation. I want other DoNMs, ACoNs, ACoAs and other victims of emotional abuse to know it is not their fault and they have the power to walk away from the source of the abuse. Even more importantly - you have the power not to fall down that slippery slope and pass on the abuse to your children.  Having the strength to face your past to become a healthier person can stop the cycle.  

Survivors of emotional abuse thrive in community with each other, especially as we walk away from the source of the abuse, as One Angry Daughter states. It is too easy for us--being already vulnerable to pain inflicted on us-- to feel guilted and shamed into believing that we are the crazy, manipulative, dysfunctional person in the family, that we are making these issues up in our heads. That alone is enough to push us under deep water--the lack of empathy ans validation that comes with this type of treatment by our families of origin.

I welcome connections with other bloggers in this type of situation--please don't hesitate to leave a comment if anything you read here helps or hurts, or you'd like to join together as a  blogging community.

Family secrets

 Identifying that one has been covertly (or emotionally) incested is difficult because direct sexual contact does not occur in these situations--and I believe, in our (American) culture, that anything other than the "real deed" is considered to be a figment of an overly sensitive person's over-active imagination. This is why I doubted myself for so long. I still do.    Sometimes I think that I am making a big deal out of nothing....but I realize that is the voice of the guilt I still feel and what members of my family of origin want me to believe. When I recall my experiences of psychosomatic illness; chronic, severe depression; constant anxiety and vigilance; suicidal thoughts, and past sexual dysfunction in my relationships, I now understand that these are not "normal" behaviors.  Nor is secretly running off in the dead of night to a foreign country and staying for two years until guilt overwhelmed me. Nor is having difficulty making friends and having no hobbies or career interests until I cut off all contact with my father, over ten years ago. Once I did that, I magically became interested in the world outside of "him and me" and started discovering what made me content and invigorated. Ten years, and I was able to repair my sexual relationship and finally bear a child.

The sexual "side effects" of covert incest, that is a whole other story I will get into later. Let me just say that at least my father had enough boundary sense not to violate explicit sexual limits, thank God.  I have recently learned, however, that overt incest is present on his side of the family, it happened to my dearest relative, and my personal theory is that covert incest occurs in families in which overt incest has previously occurred in some form; the atmosphere is charged with a sexual, enmeshed, boundariless energy that seems "normal." 

In fact, I did have an unfortunate sexual experience with a cousin on that side--molestation, I might call it. What do you call performing a sexual act that your heart says is wrong because you want to please the person? A first cousin, who I trusted and thought cared about me. This memory did not surface until recently, as well, but I have always experienced a highly charged erotic feeling around this cousin and could not understand it. This feeling caused me such shame over the years--what a sick person I was for having sexually charged thoughts about this first cousin. And why was I so shy around him, why did I feel so "violated" and "ashamed" when I was alone with him in later years, even for a few minutes. I was so uncomfortable in his presence, well, it was hard to tolerate. And the sadder and sicker part is that this cousin was my father's FAVORITE nephew. His FAVORITE person, like a son to him. Why was I surprised that this person would have been the one who violated me sexually? They were both, as I have come to learn, narcissists in the extreme and ended up estranged because, in my opinion, they couldn't cope with how alike they were! It makes me sick to my stomach, the whole thing.

I think this is enough for today. Trying to dredge up and clear out the past while struggling day-to-day to be a normal, healthy parent for my young daughter is turning out to be the challenge of a lifetime. I am determined to give her the life I wished I had, though, at whatever cost.

Covert Incest 101

  "Covert incest happens when a parent, usually an opposite-sex parent, makes the child a surrogate partner or spouse, most often when bonds of sexuality and intimacy have been or are breaking down between the child's parents themselves. The child, feeling loved and put into a privileged position by the opposite- sex parent, becomes a confidant and advisor, an object of intense affection, passion--and preoccupation by that parent. Appropriate boundaries between parent and child are blurred or obliterated and the child does not realize that he or she is living to meet the needs of the parent rather than his or her own. The parent develops a dependency on the child and the opposite-sex parent's relationship with the child increasingly becomes more possessive, jealous, demanding -- all the time chipping away at the child's personal boundaries. Not unlike the victim of overt incest, the child increasingly feels manipulated, used and preoccupied with the parent's needs, whereas the parent's "love" begins to feel more intrusive than nourishing and more demanding than giving. The parent-child relationship becomes structured to meet the needs of the parent, so the child feels embarrassed to have needs of his or her own. Should the child try to have those needs met, he or she feels at risk of losing the parent." (From Silently Seduced by Kenneth Adams)

I hadn't heard this term until my therapist explained that this is what happened to me as a child. I could never put it all together—there was no outward sexual abuse, no outward verbal abuse, nor physical. So why did I feel so messed up? Why did I hate myself so much, believe I had to put myself last always, be swayed by one person’s opinions, so affected by one person’s moods that I didn’t know what I was feeling? Why was I obsessed with performing to please this one person? I didn’t know what I was good at, was interested in, what made me happy or sad—in fact, I couldn’t recognize any of my emotions. I was completely enmeshed with this one person. If his day was bad, so was mine (even if it wasn’t); if he was happy, I was in heaven! Since he was a psychologist, I decided to be one too…until I started recovery.

I was a nonperson, a ghost, a replicate. His approval meant the world to me, his anger made me feel like dying. I walked on eggshells if he was angry, afraid to emerge from my basement room even for food—going entire afternoons through the next morning with nothing to eat or drink. 

I didn’t have a sense of me at all. I lived for him.

I was a little girl who just wanted to be happy and loved. I discovered that I could earn his love by doing what he wanted me to do, by pleasing him. And I also learned that if I didn’t please him, I would be punished: silences that lasted for days to weeks, being ignored as though I weren’t alive, and invasions of privacy in which he would barge into my room (the door being shut and sometimes locked) and yell for extended periods of time, the accusations moving from the present—what I didn’t do or say—and flowing backward to things I had done to “hurt” him in the past. And I was only a child.

Most of the details are a blur in my mind. I can’t remember specifically what I was punished for or accused of, although I did keep journals my entire life. I plan to go through them and blog about some of these details at a later date. What I do remember was crying, apologizing, begging for forgiveness for my “sins,” and if the accusations didn’t stop, giving up and dissociating, my mind floating near the ceiling, watching below as this poor child cowered and sobbed.  

However, two specific episodes do stand out in my mind. One, when I brought home a D in typing class. I was not good at that, obviously. Typing without looking at my hands was virtually impossible (nor was it that important in the long run!) and I failed for that reason. But dad was furious and I remember that he stopped talking to me and refused to acknowledge my presence for at least a week, probably more. I was a good student in general, As and Bs, very conscientious,  and I felt like an utter failure in life, ashamed to be alive from that experience.

The other, and I’ll have to go back to my journals and reconstruct this, was when I turned 16. All I remember of that is pretty pink packages sitting next to the fireplace, my mother silently creeping around the house, my father lurking somewhere in the house, an angry, dark presence, not wanting to see me or speak a word to me. At the end of the day, I sat down in front of the pretty gifts and opened them, as tears flooded down. It was the saddest memory I have.  Becoming a woman. I felt as though I were being punished for growing up and becoming a woman.

The other issues that sparked blowups that I can recall were leaving crumbs on the kitchen counter, not finishing a project—a dollhouse we were building and furnishing together became a source of terrible strife. My hands shook during daily piano practice because I knew he was listening and would be quite angry if I didn’t perform well. Every chore I did I constantly double and triple checked myself to make sure I made no mistakes, which would come back to haunt me in those invasive yelling sessions.

On the flip side, when my father was pleased with me, he loved me like he loved no one else. He was so proud when I accomplished something. He loved hugging me and treating me as though I were his princess and confidant. Only I never knew when the loving would change to anger. I was constantly seeking this love and blaming myself when I did “something wrong” that caused him to fly into a depression or an angry spell. His moods were my fault, and I was never disabused of this belief.

Life with him was like walking on eggshells with tiny soft patches in between.

The beginning.

 

Let me make a long story short. I had an anonymous blog where I discussed personal issues relating to emotional abuse and narcissism. This was extremely therapeutic for me and helpful for other readers.  Family members "found" it, silently tracked it for many months until unleashing their anger about my honesty. I am now estranged from most of them.

Moral of the story: I will not be silenced or shamed by anyone for my experiences or mode of expression. I am a writer and expressor; I will be heard, if only by GOD. If readers don't like what I have to say, then for goodness sake, stop reading! No one forces us to read anything. We are all entitled to our feelings and forms of expression.

My history in a nutshell: survivor of covert incest and emotional abuse by a narcissistic father. Depression and suicidal feelings since I was old enough to remember.  Struggles with an eating disorder, codependency, and sex and love addiction. Found comfort and support in an amazing Adult Children of Alcoholics and other dysfunctional families 12-step group over four years ago, and began both my recovery and journey to rock bottom and back again.

So, welcome to those who share these types of trials and those who want to listen and be heard. Welcome compassionate readers. My greatest hope is that by identifying with each others journeys, we can find support and comfort.