My Voice

I have this need to be heard.  I'm not sure where it stems from, but I want to be heard.

I think I'm funny.  I think people would enjoy my thoughts.  I feel like my thoughts are wasted if not shared.  I would love to have people around me all the time to just listen to everything.  I have a constant dialogue in my head where I anticipate what someone would have said if they heard my thoughts, and then I respond again.

I reply back to every text, email, and message.  I just like to dialogue with people.  I also know that I can be better when I have input from others.  So I like to get feedback on my thoughts.

I suppose all this immediate replying can be a bit much for some people. 

Where the Story Starts

Because the road to recovery is paved with hard truths and not denial and lies.

(The red text is my response to the questions I’ve fielded a million times. Hurtful questions that only caused me to further deny my pain.)

I spent a long time wanting my story to be heard. I had a lot of pain in my heart. My heart wasn’t hardened yet, just broken. I had the heartbreaking pain of being molested by my brother, repeatedly, from a young age until I was a teenager. I had the feelings of worthlessness and shame that came with having parents know and not stop it. (Yes, they knew. Blatantly, completely knew. No, they did nothing to stop it. This isn’t me exaggerating; this is truth.) I made guesses at my self-worth when molestation escalated to rape, and through no fault of my own, I became damaged goods. I didn’t feel like I mattered to anyone. I felt unloved. I didn’t think my hurt was justified. I decided that since my feelings of being violated, taken advantage of, hurt, and shamed were not matched by the people around me, they weren’t accurate. I was made to feel like I had no reason to be dying inside. (Yes, “made to feel”. I know that there is a therapeutic statement out there that “nobody has the power to make you feel”, but I was a child, my feelings were a reflection of how I saw myself in the mirror of my parents.) Through my recent therapy, I have learned that I did not have a compassionate witness to the pain and anguish I had. I made several attempts to talk with people around me at the time. Youth pastors, adult youth leaders, babysitters, friends, friends’ parents, teachers, anybody who would listen to me for five seconds. The only problem was, I wasn’t saying the right things. I never mentioned what happened with my brother. I knew that if that were the reason for my pain, then my parents would have done something. I knew that since they didn’t do anything about it, then it was clearly not a big deal. It shouldn’t have any residual effect on me. I assumed that it was normal, that everyone’s big brother did that to them. While I harbored this assumption, I also knew deep deep down that it was incredibly wrong, and I was afraid that if I did tell someone who took my pain seriously, it would tear my family apart. I thought that my brother would be sent to jail and my parents would be furious with me. (I played the whole scenario out in my mind and it ended with me being the source of pain for my parents, and needing to either run away or commit suicide.) And since the divorce hadn’t actually started yet, I couldn’t blame my pain on that; although before the word “divorce” was ever uttered, I was deeply affected by it and desperately wanted someone to know. So I had this pain, this longing to feel accepted, this need to tell people that I was suffering, this deep need to feel like I was still okay despite all I’d endured. And I didn’t have the words to communicate it. I still felt like people viewed me as the troubled, attention seeking middle child from a perfectly happy family.

Then the divorce started. I used that angle to try to get my hurts heard. The problem was, it was the 90s and more than half the kids in my class were living through divorcing parents also. And they were no worse for the wear. Their parents divorced in a manner that was advantageous to the children. Mom signed them up for soccer and dad signed them up for baseball and mom signed them up for horseback riding lessons and dad bought them a pony and mom married the owner of the candy store and they could get all the candy they wanted for free. (Okay, this part is an exaggeration.) Through my lens of unwarranted pain and being told (Yes, expressly told, in no uncertain terms) that there wasn’t anything wrong with me, with my life, or with our family, I continued this mental battle of wanting to tell someone, and to be hugged and told that they were all wrong and I was loveable and worthy of being rescued, but yet feeling like I must be lying about the whole thing. I felt like I was a pathological liar because I kept telling the stories in my head and hearing my parents’ voices say they weren’t true.

So I made the outside match the inside. I became a cutter. I put real blood and scars to my pain. I became reckless with my life, in a slow, methodical way. I would push the limits a little bit, and wait and see if that worked at getting their attention. My parents were aware of the big picture, so I wasn’t doing big things like drugs or sleeping around. That would have disappointed them and I wasn’t trying to disappoint them. I just wanted their attention and love. I desperately wanted to be rescued and loved.

And my parents noticed and they became concerned. They drew me close and said they loved me too much to watch me hurt myself. They took me to counseling to try to figure out why I was acting like that. They prayed with me and for me, they doted on me and told me how beautiful I was, how I had so much worth and potential. They acknowledged that they should have rescued me sooner, and they were sorry they didn’t. They were there now and would do anything to help me understand that I was incredibly special to them, I was their beloved middle child, first born daughter; loved and cherished. Only, that’s not how the story goes. Unfortunately for me, my parents’ divorce turned them into narcissist adults who had lost time to make up for, at the expense of raising their kids. My hurts took on a new level of pain as I became abandoned and felt even more invisible and worthless.

My parents’ divorce caused them to both become spiteful against each other. Each was eager to “out live” the other, placing their own needs, wants and beliefs ahead of their children’s. At this time my very religious mother began to date freely, and I watched her become the helpless female being rescued by every date that promised he’d love her forever. Keep in mind, this was around the time that I was starting to think about boyfriends and dating.  I took my cues from her ridiculous behavior.   My story goes on to include a lot of dumb things I did while seeking attention.  I told a lot of lies, telling people I was involved in a lot of bad situations that I actually wasn't.  I knew better than to actually do certain things, but I wanted people to think I was, and feel sorry for me, and rescue me.  Until very recently, I thought that the pain and shame and unworthiness I felt was related to the bad choices I made as my story played out.  After writing my story, I became acutely aware of where my story started.  When I acknowledge the beginning of the story, I can allow grace and forgiveness to cover my sins throughout the rest of the story.  I was doing the best I could to have my needs met.  The problem was them, not me.    It took digging on my own. It took me owning up to my mistakes, and discovering that the deep pain was still there.  I identified my responsibility, and it didn't touch the source of the pain.  It took me taking myself back to the very beginning of my story and acknowledging that it wasn’t my fault. I was abused and mistreated, through no fault of my own. I did not deserve to be violated. I was made to be loved and my parents are the ones who royally screwed up. Yeah, I have had a long fall out of sins of my own, and they all stem from the same place. They were the ones in the wrong. I had every right to be sad and hurt. They should have taken me to therapy when they realized I had been abused. They should have had my abuser in therapy. They should have protected me from it ever happening again, rather than turn a blind eye and allow it to continue. I have continued to suffer in every area of my life because of their grand failure.

I’m working on the healing. I am still numb and a long ways from it, I’m afraid. I can hear someone else sharing this story and I can feel the anger rising in myself at the lies that person believed because of the gross mistreatment they endured. But when it's my own voice, it’s not anger towards my parents or my brother yet. And that’s how I know I’m not healed. I’m still believing the lies. I’m still numb and unable to access my anger and pain. Well no, I feel the pain, but it’s accompanied with shame. My pain and shame comes from the fall out of the things I’ve done, and including the ways that I’ve failed at loving the people who love me most. When really the source of the pain comes right from where my story began.

Head Knowledge

I am working on gaining the head knowledge I need to be able to objectively look at my past and know it was not my fault.  Here's some notes from what I read today:::

I got a new book about healing your emotional self. It talks about the different ways that parents affect their children’s self-esteem / self-worth. It’s pretty validating to read because, honestly, for SO LONG I was convinced my issues were in my head and not real. Oh they are definitely real. And they were definitely brought on by crappy parenting and not a reflection of my self-worth.


(Since I am directly quoting the book with the quotation marks, the book is “Healing Your Emotional Self” by Beverly Engel.)

• “Children learn they are loved by the way their parents look at them, by how much their parents want to hug and hold them, and by how they discipline them. When a child is not looked at with loving eyes, he comes to believe he is not loved. When his parents don’t seem to want to hug him, he comes to believe he must not be loveable. When a parent’s affection is taken away when the child does something they disapprove of, he comes to believe that his loveability is contingent upon his actions or deeds. As children tend to blame themselves for their parents’ neglect and mistreatment, the only logical conclusion is that the child must be unloveable.”

o My reasonable explanation for this is that my mother was too overwhelmed with her own unmet needs and problems. She was not happy in her marriage. She could not focus on her children. When the divorce started, she looked to me for her emotional support. I felt like she needed me to encourage her, protect her, and boost her ego. She often made comments about not being a good mother, which was her fishing for compliments and reassurance from me.

o I’ve been told daily for my entire life that I was a colicky baby. I cried and cried. Swaddling me tightly and putting me in the swing supposedly comforted me. I believe that not being held and comforted as a child led to an inability to form an emotional bond with my parents. Babies need physical touch. Emotional deprivation in babies has been proven to result in children who are anxious, insecure, and have low self-esteem. This is probably why I developed into a child who was emotionally needy. And being emotionally needy and still not getting my needs met, only furthered the situation.

o When Candy moved in at my dad’s house, she made it clear that she was not interested in doing motherly things, like laundry, caring for her 3 year old, and grocery shopping. As a teenager, I took those things on because I wanted her to stay. I thought if I could be in charge of those things so she didn’t have to, then she’d stay. As soon as I could drive I was the only person buying the groceries weekly for the whole house.

• My dad was never home. He came home from work, walked into his room to change his clothes, and then left. He either went out to take care of things outside at our house or over to the barn we had. He would come inside and eat dinner with us, and then leave again. I literally rarely saw him when I was growing up. He would come to church with us on Sundays, but that was honestly about it. He felt like a stranger to me. And when he was around, he was the disciplinarian. My only interactions with him when I was young were for him to spank me.

“Children who are physically abandoned are particularly wounded because they often feel as if they have no value. Emotional abandonment is also real. It can be extremely painful to be around an emotionally unavailable parent because the child feels empty and alone in their presence. They don’t take an interest in anything the child does or listen to anything the child says. Children who are routinely abandoned or rejected tend to suffer from extreme insecurity and feelings of worthlessness. This insecurity often continues into adulthood with insecure adults being clingy with their partners and afraid to be alone. Abandonment creates insecurity, self-obsession, and the tendency to turn anger against oneself and to idealize others. These feelings fester beneath the surface, where they interfere with self-image and the forming of healthy relationships. Adults who were abandoned as children often lack the confidence to reach their potential. They also have difficulty delaying gratification, and their low self-worth causes them to go for the quick fix. “

o Applicable rationale: “Some parents find parenting too demanding or difficult. They resolve their dilemma by abandoning the burden of parenting. A great deal of parental abandonment is unintentional or a result of inadequacies or selfishness on their part.” I never felt like my parents enjoyed being with me. They just seemed to tolerate me. I didn’t feel listened to or valued.

• I didn’t feel like either of my parents liked me very much. My home was a cold place. Especially after my mom’s problems with my dad became public knowledge. She often reminded me how I looked like and acted like him, I knew she didn’t like that. No matter how hard I tried, I was not able to be good enough around my dad to avoid being punished. I was always in trouble for something. I felt like who I was wasn’t acceptable. I still often don’t know why anyone would want to be around me, because I feel like I’m not good. I’ve tried very hard to push my husband away because I don’t feel worthy of him and I figured I’d lose him sooner or later. I felt constantly subjected to shame as a child. “Overly critical parents can destroy their child’s confidence and self-esteem and devastate their self-image. A child who is shamed by rejection, mockery, or expressions of disgust or contempt will often shrink from contact with others. He may seek invisibility to feel safe. He grows up feeling unloveable because he was taught that it was his fault that his parents did not love him or that his acceptance was conditional-depending on whether he performed to his parents’ satisfaction. Instead of believing something bad “just happened” these children tend to believe that they somehow caused or contributed to the events and they are therefore responsible.”

• After the divorce, my parents became egocentric. Their needs, wants, and beliefs were more important than mine. I’m sure they had no sense that their disregard for me was teaching me that I wasn’t worth much. I didn’t feel like I could do anything to validate my existence. Sometimes if I got some positive attention, it would get their attention. If I was told that I was smart or if I earned good grades, they beamed and took pride in that. My parents were only interested in what reflected positively on them. I was good for getting them admiration from others for my brains. They, my mother especially, would use her power as a parent to build her own fragile ego. This example from the book struck a chord with me. “A typical narcissistic mother can be both cold and overprotective. She invades her child’s autonomy and manipulates him to conform to her wishes. She rejects all about him that she finds objectionable, putting him in the anxiety-ridden position of losing her affection if he expresses dissatisfaction. “ “Psychological health comes from the experience, starting in infancy, of parental acceptance. It comes from learning that although you are not perfect, you are still worthy of love. Children need to know that all that they are – both good and bad, naughty and nice, smart and stupid – is acceptable to their parents. But children of narcissistic parents do not experience this kind of acceptance. Instead, a narcissistic parent rejects everything about her child that she finds imperfect or objectionable. She has extremely high expectations of her child and continuously works on improving him. These parents believe their children should be as happy or as miserable as they are. When a child does not share their emotional moods, it is taken as a sign of disloyalty or insensitivity. Children of narcissistic parents are trained to distrust the reality of their own thoughts and to allow others to think for them. Parents tell the child what they are feeling or thinking, often creating great confusion in the child’s mind.

The child of a narcissist becomes the carrier of both his parents’ rejected imperfections and his parents’ grandiose fantasies. This creates a self-image that is extremely contradictory – he is a miserable failure who will never accomplish anything and at the same time he is capable of total perfection and admiration. The child cannot be objective about what he does and cannot utilize criticism effectively. It hurts too much to take in. “

“One terrible defensive outcome is to settle into an emotionally robotic existence in which they feel neither the pain of childhood nor the realization of life’s pleasures.” This definitely describes me.

o “Because a narcissistic parent unconsciously despises himself (due to his parent’s rejection of him) he cannot accept his children. The narcissistic parent is most demanding and deforming of the child he identifies with most strongly.” This somewhat explains my parents behavior. Although it does not excuse it. I’m not ready to let them excuse their behavior or offer forgiveness to them. I’m still mad about them screwing me up so bad.

Therapy

My therapist says I need to blog.  I recognize that I process through talking, and writing works well too.  I'm not sure how I feel about not writing for an audience though.  I'm going to have to pretend someone is reading this or I don't think it will be worthwhile. 

I started therapy a few months ago to work through some addictions.  My drugs of choice had become an eating disorder and cutting.  I've been to therapy for the cutting before but had never gotten to the root cause.  Perhaps the therapist didn't ask the right questions.  Or I didn't offer up the full truth.  Or maybe a little of both.  But we're getting there now.  I'm digging down deep into my painful past and it sure as hell is not fun.  I want to speed up to the recovery, healing, and grace, but right now, I'm in the thrones of it.  Everyday I remember a new story of something that happened to me or something I did, and all over again I'm a hurting teenager with nowhere to turn.  I do have a support system in place, but it's really not making that much difference yet.  Eventually I'm going to get to the point where I recognize that I'm not in the place I was in 20 years ago and I'll realize that the problem was them and not me, and I'll be able to heal and move on.  But I'm not there yet.

So this shall be my safe place to hash it out.  If I ever get any readers, I hope they leave comments.  Feedback is helpful to me at this stage in the game.