My mother clearly doesn't understand Internet support. She still gets angry when she asks me WHY I wrote personal thoughts on the Internet, referring to the blog that the rest of the family "discovered." My answer to her is support. And being heard. To be open and honest about what happened to me and the consequences and struggles I now deal with as a result, and to connect with like-minded people. She said she doesn't want to read what I wrote and she doesn't want to know what was in my writings. And that's perfectly fine, and that place is no longer available. THIS is where I seek support now.
My response to her insinuated opinion that this was my fault to begin with is that people have choices--the family members chose to read my postings. And they felt their own reactions in response to their decision. My blog was to help me in recovery. Just as this blog is. I write honestly, with no holds bared, and whoever decides to read it is making a CHOICE. If they are offended or upset by what I say, then they must accept that as a consequence of their decision.
This is the concept of free speech that Americans hold dear. But the concept isn't supposed to apply to me for some reason.
I gave away the family secrets that no one wants to believe or accept. And that is unacceptable to them. So be it.
My therapist encourages me to blog. And continue, I will.
As for my biological father, the reason I give away his gifts to my daughter is that he stated, IN HIS OWN WORDS, that he wanted nothing to do with her and that she will miss out on having him in her life. I won't have my daughter used as a pawn and be played around with. Since he's disowned her, he must live up to his action and not play ANY role in her life.
My lover has arrived safely and is fine. I am hugging his correspondence- like a precious secret- to myself, a sunny place to bask in when it is dark. I love how he began: "Hey, gorgeous"...how often does any one say THAT to me? He thinks about me, he's planning for our reunion in a few months..."just you and me, together all night..." He makes me crave him, just from words alone. Just thinking about him. Such a beacon of light. Still so humble, still doesn't discuss much, but lets our experiences lie between us, unspoken but magnificently potent.
I had a dream last night that healed me in yet another way. Let me backtrack first. The last time I saw him, we accomplished a "forbidden" act. One that another man I had seen before constantly fantasized about, and what I referred to as the "anal rape." My lover was determined to "cure" me of that trauma, for some reason. I don't understand the appeal, honestly. To any man. I just don't understand the appeal. Anyway, he went slowly with me, cautiously, lovingly, consciously. I went along with it because I knew he wanted to try to heal my fear, although I didn't think I could be "cured"; I was so offended by the whole past episode and have a sharp memory of the pain. But last time, he accomplished the impossible. I felt no pain, and after that, had no fear, and experienced pure pleasure. I feel as if I've been set free, the negative memory subsumed by the pleasurable one.
So, last night I dreamt that I had been set free. That I was able to let go of a man I once lusted over, for years. In the dream, this man and I were intimate, and we knew we were only interested in each other for sex. We finally admitted it out loud. I touched him and kissed his cheek and gave him over to another woman, who took him away, out of sight. I knew that they were copulating and I was quite sad, but also relieved and and felt free as a bird. I didn't need him any longer, I was no longer tethered to him like an iron anchor. I set him free, and thus, I set myself free. And while doing this, giving me the strength and courage in the background, as a mirage, as memory, was my lover. The man in the dream (who is a real person) has the same first name as my lover. I can say the name again with a smile on my face, with no sadness or melancholy.
As my therapist and certain friends have agreed, my healing and recovery seems to occur mostly on the sexual level. For whatever reason. I am sure I am not the only person who experiences recovery this way, but for now I feel I am, as I know of no one else.
All of this reminiscing about the past is starting to affect me; I feel as if I have a thousand ton weight on my head. I wish I could erase my mind. When you consciously try to forget something, it suddenly looms larger, doesn’t it? I find myself up at night (when my baby is sleeping moreover!), staring at the ceiling. And, no, I do not have an interesting ceiling. Sometimes I watch my daughter shuffle around in her sleep, flinging her arms, slamming her legs down; she’s a restless sleeper. I wonder what she’ll be saying about me in twenty years. Will I look as bad in her eyes as my dad does in mine? Am I correcting his mistakes with my daughter? I have been pushing myself to the edge of my physical and mental capabilities, trying to be everything I ever wanted in a parent…that is, not like him. Smiley, happy, stable, constantly making eye contact, reassuring her to prevent fear. Always holding her, even when my back and knees are worn out for the day and I stumble down the stairs. I never let her go. I deny myself food and drink so that I won’t have to leave her for a minute; so I won’t disturb her sleep after she nurses; so she doesn’t cry. I wear myself out keeping her from crying; I can’t bear it, it breaks my heart. I make funny faces at her when I want to cry; take her out for a walk when I want to hide under the bedcovers. I want her life to be all about her. And inside of me, I want life to be all about me. Sometimes I feel resentment—I want to be the baby, to be taken care of in this way. I wish I were the taker instead of the giver. But I had my turn, years ago, even if I feel ripped off of a childhood.
But I want my daughter to be happy in a way I wasn’t. Despite my inner jealousy and resentment over giving her everything I never had (and how odd that sounds!), I want for her to desire to be here and to be free. And if I do that, I’ll have done my job here on this earth. I keep thinking about my deathbed, when my life is done, and I am relieved because I will have no regrets. For the first five months of her life, at the very least, I have been the parent I wanted to have. I have set down a strong foundation for her to stand upon, thanks be to God.
Healthy children are not the result of a "perfect childhood," but are the result of a family system that has reasonable and consistent rules, that has a foundation of trust and appropriate responses to the breaking of those rules. Punishment in a healthy family does not involve physical or emotional scars, are not out of proportion of the offense.
Adult Children most often come from homes where rules are subject to the whim of the person in the room at the time. We may have been ordered to do one thing by father, forbidden to do the same thing by mother, told to do it differently by a grandparent and ridiculed for doing it (or not doing it) by an uncle or "friend of the family." As a result an Adult Child grows up "knowing" he or she can never do anything right -- that they are somehow defective.
In a healthy home the parents are loving authority figures who make their likes and dislikes understood, freely express their needs and feelings, are allowed to openly disagree, and to not be perfect -- all without threatening the underlying trust and love that are the consistent resource for the family. A healthy parent can make a mistake and it is not traumatic for the children, but a demonstration of the freedom and honesty of a healthy family. Healthy children learn their parents are human and are not perfect, and the child learns he/she is not expected to be perfect, but to do the best they can do. Children learn they can make mistakes, are expected to make amends for any damage caused and then to learn from the experience.
In a dysfunctional home, the parents are authorities whose word and actions cannot be questions. In the face of blatant wrong information or wrong actions, the Adult Child learns that his/her own wants, needs and safety are less important than supporting the family system. Independence, which is allowed in healthy families within reasonable boundaries, is a threat to the authority of the dysfunctional parents.
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dult Children learn to become used to comments like "Who do you think you are?" "You'll never amount to anything," and "What makes you think you're so great." Adult Children learn not to exceed their parent's level of competence. They learn that it is dangerous to be a better student, to make more money, to have a saner family or to win recognition. The dysfunctional parent takes such successes as threats -- that they are "less than." The Adult Child may not be aware of the self sabotage they apply to their own lives and wonder at their inability to achieve success.
As a child the Adult Child learns to behave in whatever way allowed them to survive. Behavior can range from defiance of authority (the romantic image of the "rebel") or by suppressing their own needs and attending to the needs of the people who continue to represent their parents in their lives.
Children carry their early perceptions of family rules with them as they grow into their teens and adulthood. While living in a dysfunctional family, the warped foundation may continue to function well enough to permit the illusion of a functional family. Virtually all dysfunctional family systems, however, are in a slow downward spiral, requiring more and more energy to defend the "official" realities of the family in the face of mounting evidence.
When the child of a dysfunctional family begins to enter the "real world" -- schools and the workplace -- they discover their family system is not the reality shared by their classmates and co-workers. Many Adult Children become loners or form tight, unhealthy relationships with other children of Dysfunctional homes. These relationships actually re-enforce their dysfunctional view of the world by "finding another person who really understands." The tightness of the bonds created in these relationships is accented by the Adult Child's lack of an individual sense of of identity -- they do not yet know where they stop and someone else begins. As a result they are unable to define their limits and begin to take on other people's opinions, defects and needs.
If the Adult Child is able to form lasting friendships (some never do), it is usually with other Adult Children who provide familiar characteristics similar to the family's dysfunction. Adult Children can be very slow to recognize the patterns of family problems -- they spent their lives being trained by the family to not see the problem -- even when they are re-created in friendships, marriages and work relationships. While the outward symptom of the dysfunction may be missing (the bottle, the gambling debts, the violence, etc.), the behavior is present early in the relationship. When the behavior blossoms into full dysfunction, the Adult Child is often one of the last to notice and feels very betrayed ("I never knew he drank...", "My God, she's just like my Mother!")
At the point of awareness the Adult Child can easily retreat into depression and feel defective -- "What's wrong with me? Why didn't I see it before..." The lack of skills necessary for nurturing themselves can leave the Adult Child with intense self-hate and low (or non-existent) self-esteem.
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.
This is the intensive treatment program I went through when I was on the verge of suicide at the end of a destructive love addiction; this was my journey through Breakthrough...my wonderful therapist registered me here; I was alone and terrified when I hit rock bottom, and she helped me safely get to this sanctuary in rural Pennsylvania.
This program saved my life.
The only way I can express what this was like and how it felt watching this documentary is by free association:
dysfunctional modus operandi: isolate; be with people all the time-no privacy, not allowed to be on your own for a minute-exhausting. no naps, live with a roomate; trade addiction for food comfort; same therapist-Randy) (male); rceived financial aid to attend, for which i will be forever grateful; so hard to watch, painful.
stay connected-can have the feelings and stay connected to the group. its the connection to the group that heals....I am worthless. I should be dead. oh my god this hurts
this is psychodrama, the "walking through the valley of the shadow of death"--and it will heal you if you allow yourself to enter the depths and be broken.
I think John was incredibly brave to allow himself be filmed while going through this most personal of experiences. "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now i'm found; was blind but now i'm free.:
felt safe. group was tougher, didn't like them all, felt their judgement 24/7 for what i had done, but in the end, I loved them as a group. I loved them for what we all did for each other, together. lost touch but they are still with me, in here .
being present, all the time, no distraction. really, reallly scary
A sad fact of this world is that oftentimes people see you how they WANT to see you, not as you really are. I suspect my family of origin was unconsciously looking for one member to place all their guilt, anger, and shame on--the scapegoat as it were. They wanted to see this member as a sick individual, the one who gives away the family secrets, the one who shuts the rest out, who doesn't listen, is unreasonable and one-sided in her thinking, and shuns the others for no apparent reason. So, here is the sensitive daughter, the frightened, timid member, and they projected all of this onto her and ensured it played out exactly as they had imagined. She has lived up to their "expectations." A fulfilled prophesy. Funny how that works, huh?
I became the ogre who shunned the others. The bad girl who hurt them all. The guilty one.
I have become this nightmare of a horrible person to them; I am a mix of all the negative traits these family members individually possessed, rolled into one unpalatable package.
A lifetime of being pushed and shoved and having others' thoughts, feelings, opinions stuffed down my throat, well, yes, I did FINALLY stand up for myself--after forty fucking years! How dare I stand up for myself in this family? Feel my own emotions, speak my own views, have my own opinions? How dare I defy the status quo? Change and not be the pushover I always have been? BETRAYAL! BITCH! SICK!
Only no one, except five people, view me this way. Everyone else knows a loving, sweet, sensitive, funny, yet hurting, aching human being. A thoroughly vulnerable, mistake-making, imperfect human. If I were such an ogre, wouldn't I have been abandoned by friends and husband long ago? Would my mate have stayed with me despite everything for twenty years and counting? Would wonderful recovery siblings have continually encouraged me during my struggles? Would many of my relationships still have shifted and evolved yet remained strong and comforting? Would my work colleagues still have donated amazingly generous amounts of time when I ran out of sick days during my maternity leave? Would a few cousins still determinedly keep an eye on me to make sure I am okay? If I were so nasty, so horrid, such a sick individual, wouldn't be I completely alone by now?
