Shrinking Heart
So my therapist recommended a website to me this morning. Which is interesting, because he’s never done that before. He recommended a book once, which I purchased, read and found helpful. I wrote down the address and checked it out this afternoon.
I’m a little confused.
I like my therapist. He’s good at what he does.
The website was about abused children. It was about a therapeutic method under which adults who were abused and neglected by their parents or primary care givers stop sympathizing and empathizing with their parents and turn that unconditional love and acceptance on themselves. Her premise is that I cannot truly love myself if I forgive my parents, because I’m inherently repressing my rage and sorrow to accommodate a favorable view of them.
Okay, what?
That just blows my mind. It took me a long, long time to view love as coming from a bottomless source, to let go of the concrete idea that love is a limited resource and realize that loving creates more love. It’s magical that way. It also took me a long time to forgive my parents.
The undeniable truth is that I was abused and neglected as a child. Certainly, there are children that have much worse circumstances than I ever did. That doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been hit, kicked, throttled and otherwise physically injured and intimidated. That I didn’t receive critical medical care. That I was often left home alone all day when I was sick, or taken out of school to care for my sister when she was sick. That I endured verbal attacks and public humiliation at the hands of both of my parents. Those things happened, every bit of them, and they hurt. They changed me as a person, and I will never know who I might have been without the influence of abuse and neglect.
I could tell you the tragic stories of my parents’ own childhoods, I could show you the hands they were dealt while I came of age. I could tell you that they are, at heart, good people with good intentions. I could remind you, and myself that they love me to the ends of this Earth and would do just about anything for me. I could make a list of all of the wonderful things they’ve given me, taught me, shared with me, created for me. That would all be true.
Perhaps my issue with this woman’s premise is that it is so very black and white.
I didn’t deserve what I endured as child. No child does. That my parents did the best that they were capable of, given their own states of mental health and their own experiences growing up does not excuse or minimize my suffering. What they were capable of, what they were willing to justify and settle for is pathetic and disgusting. There simply is no excuse for it.
For my future children, for my adult life, I’ve chosen another path. I’ve decided that the crazy stops here, that I want to understand and overcome the influence of abuse and neglect on my own mental and emotional processes, so that I don’t unwittingly pass them to my children, or unthinkably, cause them to suffer as I have suffered. A critical part of that journey has been making peace with my parents.
They are who they are, and their ability to admit the truth without justifying or minimizing it is very limited. If they were capable of seeing things through my eyes, they never would have been capable of treating me the way they did. I have decided, consciously, to love them in spite of their flaws, in spite of their mistakes. Because they gave me life, because my blood is their blood, because they do love me so very, very much, and because I love them immensely.
As a grown woman, I’m still vulnerable to their special brand of hurt. The very minute my father begins to stumble around my home and slur intelligibly during our conversations, I cease being a thirty year old woman, through some kind of Alice in Wonderland type transformation, I fall down the rabbit hole until I am eight again. Anxious and unsettled by my father’s antics, hyper-vigilant, as well as resigned to falling asleep to the lullaby of my childhood: my father retching violently in the bathroom nearby. Trying to will myself to sleep and hoping that I sleep deeply enough to avoid a repeat performance as a morning revelry. That old, tired dance inspires a rage and sorrow that still leaves me exhausted and anxious.
The difference is, my Dad knows how I feel about it now, and we don’t talk much about it, and I don’t make it an issue (as that would only serve to drive a wedge between us and not foster any change in behavior on his part), and he is sheepish and offers the same olive branches he offered that poor little eight year old girl: breakfast out, spending money, compliments, and casual apologies or denials. Another important difference- he leaves town, he goes home, and as his plane soars above the ridgelines, I pop up out of the rabbit hole and start to resume life as a functional, independent adult.
Maybe this woman would say that I’m still punishing myself by allowing my father to drink in my house, by allowing him such a large space in my heart, by choosing to love and adore the lovable and adorable parts of him. I don’t buy that. The decision for me was to learn to take my parents as they come or be a voluntary orphan. To have the best and closest relationships with them that I could, or to excommunicate myself from them. I will grant her, this forgiveness comes from a place of superiority to an extent- I have to look upon those parts of them that caused my suffering from a place beyond my natural perspective.
I had to come to understand those horrible parts of them as symptoms of their own suffering, and I had to accept and understand that they are not willing to break the trance of their delusions and demons in order to overcome them. So I did. Because I love them. Because they love me. Because I hope that my children will do the same thing, as much as I hope that I give them less to forgive me for.
“A mature person is one who does not think only in absolutes, who is able to be objective even when deeply stirred emotionally, who has learned that there is both good and bad in all people and all things, and who walks humbly and deals charitably with the circumstances of life, knowing that in this world no one is all-knowing and therefore all of us need both love and charity.” Eleanor Roosevelt
21 comments
I want to save this. I have someone to give it to in about 5 years. And hope maybe there is some understanding and forgiveness to be found.
MsDarkstar´s last blog ..Non-Coffeehouse Sunday Post (17)
It’s all so complicated. But I can say this: it wasn’t until my mother died that I was able to stop justifying her by constantly reminding myself of her limited abilities, of her benign intentions, of the fact that she gave me life. Now that she is gone, and my duty to her is complete, I am free to try to heal myself in ways I didn’t know I was still injured without taking her feelings or her illness into consideration. You are not wrong, but your therapist probably has a good point. It’s just that, in the complex world of parent/child, that point may not yet be an option for you (as it was not for me).
gail´s last blog ..Little bits of paradise
I agree so much with what Gail said. While my father was alive, I found myself excusing his behavior, covering it up, and feeling guilty for being angry at the fact that he was a drunk. When he died, omg was I ever a wreck. But then, a few months later, it’s like the light shone down on me and I opened up my eyes and started seeing in color instead of in black and white. And I was ANGRY. Then, after dealing with the anger, I felt free. Beautifully free. I still miss him every day of my life, but I wouldn’t bring him back because he made me a prisoner. He didn’t mean to, and he never would have wanted to, but he did.
I loved this line:
“I will never know who I might have been without the influence of abuse and neglect.”
Because seriously, so true. I feel that in my bones. My circumstances may have been a little different, but I was a sufferer in my own way, too.
We all deal with things the way that feels right for us. It’s for you to determine how you want to handle it. After all, it’s your life. I only wish you peace to carry on.
StaceyParadise´s last blog ..On perfectionism, turning 27 and learning to say screw it
“Because I hope that my children will do the same thing, as much as I hope that I give them less to forgive me for.”
Wonderfully beautiful and true.
Kim´s last blog ..Open Letters Friday, Volume XIV
I don’t have words to describe how I feel – a very powerful and thought provoking post.. It stirred a lot of emotions in me that I had buried deep inside.. you are a brave, brave person.
Miss Over Thinker´s last blog ..It is what it is
This is an amazing post. Seriously. I think that most people have some screwed up shit in their childhoods—it’s natural. I personally think that you’ve got the right idea…to make the best, to love what is, and to try. Much love, friend. Nothing is black and white—there is only your heart and your life and your choice.
Sucker punch to the soul. Further evidence that you are so much more than you let on and that you can and do set an amazing example.
For examples of strong women, you’re definitely in my running list.
nicopolitan´s last blog ..To Be A Robot: A Tattoo Story
I agree with Gail – it is all so complicated. I have tears in my eyes brought on by the beauty of your love for both yourself and others. As much as I wish to find a “right” way to handle the intricacies of parent-child relationships, I’ve come to accept (mostly) that there is no right way. EVERYONE is just doing the best they can. You’ve clearly found peace for yourself at this point in time. If your needs change, you’ll change. Until then (if there every is a then), and always, listen to your gut. It seems to lead you well.
emma´s last blog ..My Daemon
I think it’s wonderful that you have come to a place where you can forgive them. And I think it’s utter bullshit to assume that anyone is that quick to forgive and “supress the anger”. This is one of the things about therapists I don’t like. Just because they have the degree doesn’t mean they know what is best for us 100% of the time. Sometimes we have to rely on our own intuitions. Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting and I know you haven’t forgotten.
Well, I don’t think anything is black and white. Everyone’s relationship with their parents is unique, special and their own.
I will say that, at times, acceptance LOOKS like approval. My mother never understood that I quit trying to change my ex-husband, not because I agreed with his behavior or didn’t care that he drank, but because he had to change himself. My job was to get out of his way.
Often, my “acceptance” seems like allowing another person to walk all over me. In truth, I don’t stand in the way of a person experiencing their consequences. Sometimes, that looks like approval.
Communication with your therapist will clear this up. You’re further along in this than she knows and have a grown up view of your parents.
*big hugs*
Jennifer McKenzie´s last blog ..Welcome
I hope there is. I think there should be.
I’m sure that dealing with losing my parents is going to bring things to a whole other level. For me, though, realizing that I was going to be here long after they depart made me feel like I should enjoy them while I can and deal with what comes. At the very least, they get to head on to the next stage, and I’m left with the decisions I made while they were still here, so.
I have a lot of peace, much more than i used to. Your words here carry a lot of weight with me, and always, I appreciate you.
thanks, Kim.
thanks, but as the old saying goes, courage is just being afraid and doing it anyway.
If someone says they had a perfect childhood, I immediately distrust them. Entirely.
an honor indeed, my friend.
thank you, lady.
He seems to think I have a lot of anger. Sometimes I do, but I’m not repressing some kind of wicked rage. As B once so beautifully put it. watching me some days is like watching someone roll a 2 liter of soda down a staircase. You know it’s going to explode, just a matter of when. But I do explode, and then it’s over. There are benefits to having low self restraint.
I think that’s exactly it. I don’t excuse it. I don’t pretend to like it. I just don’t react to it much at all, outwardly. The inward reaction is difficult sometimes, but those relationships are still absolutely net positives, and who can argue with that?
I’m no pro but for what it’s worth I think your way sounds much more healthy.
Tricia´s last blog ..If you want God to laugh at you make some plans…
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