From the Broken to the Sublime

Image courtesy NASA

Since my revelation earlier this week, I have been inundated with people who have not only offered words of support and encouragement, but also their own heartbreaking stories of abuse, neglect, and abandonment. Stories about parents who should have protected their children, but instead couldn't fix their own issues and resorted to abuse. The stories are all strikingly similar; parents are dealing with their own issues and took it out on their kids. Kids who were the ones who shouldn't have had to shoulder the burden of their parents' emotional scars, but were taught otherwise. We learned that parents aren't to be trusted for emotional well being or support. Some of us came to the realization at a young age, and thus had to grow up way before their years. Others had family who appeared to support them, only to reveal in their early adulthood that their love was conditional on them fitting a prescribed mold the parents decided they needed to fit.

My heart breaks for each and every one of these (now) adults. Each and every one of us struggle with the emotional scars of our experiences. Yet, somehow, we have all found a way to move forward; to be more than the sum of our upbringing. To figure out how to make ourselves whole, despite the numerous holes that have been left in our souls. We have looked at our emotional scars and have decided that, although they make up the fabric of our being, they don't have to define us. Some of us are parents; some are not. We are all in various stages of acceptance at our situations. Some are in the throes of trying to salvage what remains of the the parent-child relationship. Some of us have realized that there is nothing left to salvage; that it's better to write it off than try to fix that which is unfix-able.

What I have learned through all of this is that humans are far more resilient than I could have ever imagined. Many of us have overcome our parents' betrayal. We have realized that we are worth more than our experiences have led us to believe. It has been a humbling and encouraging experience to realize that not only am I not alone, but that so many have had to overcome their experiences to become some really amazing human beings. For those of us who are parents, that struggle becomes multiplied, if only because we have to overcome our lived experiences to realize that they weren't what was needed to create healthy, thriving adult human beings. We have to struggle with our built-in, gut-check experiences to realize that what has been so ingrained in our minds is not the way to protect our own loved ones from repeating the cycle. So, for every survivor who has overcome, I humbly bow down to you. You give me hope that it is possible to objectively observe, evaluate, and discard the default setting that was prescribed to us by the very people who were supposed to protect us.

Decisions, decisions, decisions

Sunday night, while driving from one social occasion to another, a notification lit up on my phone. I barely saw the message "Is everyone in your family alright?" before it dimmed out of sight. "That's weird. I'll take a look when I get to my destination," I thought.

I arrive, turn off the car, and pick up the phone. "Is everyone in your family ok? Here in town?" It was a message from a high school friend who still lived in the area. "Uh, what?" "Oh shit. I thought you knew." "What now?" Knowing my family, it wouldn't have surprised me if something had gone terribly wrong. "The house is on fire? It's pretty bad." A linked Facebook video and a phone call to my stepmom later, I was calling area hospitals to find out where my dad was airlifted. AIRLIFTED.

People close to me know what a tortured relationship I have with my family. I haven't seen or spoken to my father in almost 10 years, and here I was on the phone with his doctor, being made primary point of contact in case of any problems. Being asked about medical history. I wasn't mentally prepared.

I feel like some context is needed. I moved out of my parent's house at the ripe age of 17, a mere 2 days after I graduated high school. I wasn't even old enough to vote, but I knew that for my own sanity I had to get out of there. My dad was an absent alcoholic who consistently beat up my stepmother. My stepmother was a physically abusive, emotionally neglectful parent. My house was a living hell. I was emotionally abandoned, to raise myself, when my oldest younger half brother was born. I was 11.5. I was desperate to have some sort of normalcy in my life, although I didn't have any idea what that meant. I have had minimal contact with anyone in that house since I left, nearly 22 years go. Since then, I have gone to college, gotten an advanced degree, found a career, and started a family.

So, that brings me to 48 hours ago. I get the message. I'm thrust into the drama, to no fault of my friend, who was only trying to be a good messenger. I text, and then get a call from my stepmother. Knowing my stepmom and dad have been separated for a few years, I get to hear all about how her belongings may have been ruined by the fire. Followed by how she wants a relationship with me. In the five minutes I've talked to her, she's managed to try to emotionally manipulate me, and not even figure out to which hospital my dad has been flown. The next day, she and my dad's twin sister go to visit him. He's stable, which is amazing, considering he was physically pulled out of the house by a neighbor. I get a call from an insurance collector, despite the fact that I had told my stepmom that I was done, and she needed to make sure she was the point of contact. Today, I get a text that stepmom has blocked my aunt from finding out about my dad's medical condition. My aunt. My dad's twin sister. The only person who has actually been a constant in my dad's life (see above about me not talking to him due to his alcoholism). And my stepmother, who has been legally separated from my dad for a number of years, has denied my aunt any information about my dad. I've had enough.

I set boundaries with my dad a long time ago. He was told, repeatedly, that as long as he succumbed to his disease, and was drunk, I wouldn't deal with him. And I've held to that. But there has always been a small part of me that had hoped he would get his shit together, and that one day we could try to have a relationship again. With my stepmom, it wasn't so straightforward. It took me a long time to realize that attempting to have a relationship with her wasn't a good idea for my psyche. There's too much damage there. Any attempt to have a 'normal' relationship with her would have been a farce, and for what? To say that I have an inauthentic relationship? No thank you. I was abused for way too long, and the damage to our relationship is irreparable.

I'm not convinced this episode will be my father's 'rock bottom.' The man is 65 years old, and has damage to his own psyche that he has never chosen to deal with or otherwise recognize. I can't say that he will actually sober up and deal with his emotions as a result of this incident. In fact, I fully suspect that I will one day get a call that his alcoholism has ended him. Whether that call is a week, a month, or years from now is anyone's guess. 

So there it is. In the words of a friend, I've chosen to orphan myself (my relationship with my biological mother is a completely different story, and a subject for a different post). It has been an extremely difficult decision to make, but I know it's the right one. I am becoming more comfortable with the idea that my dad will never get his shit together. The hope has faded.