My earliest memory precedes language. I was about 18 months old when I heard my mother crying for the first time. My therapist says we don’t usually remember things from that young unless we have post-traumatic stress disorder.
So that’s a bummer.
I am going to share something very personal with you today, in spite of the voice in my head telling me not to. As I considered deleting this post, October was designated Domestic Abuse Awareness month. What a coinkydink. The cosmic message has been delivered. I have to share my story, because it will help others. Maybe even you.
In this, my sixtieth year, I have embarked on a quest to find out the answer to a very scary question: why am I afraid to be alone? I don’t mean temporarily. I’m an introvert and love solitude. I’m referring to something other than loneliness. If you ever read Lonely by Emily White, you know what I mean. I am afraid to live by myself. The sight of a rural home out in the middle of rolling miles makes me shudder. I even started a blog, some years ago, devoted entirely to this fear of ongoing aloneness. You might say why worry, since I’m not alone now and may never be. Because it’s a dark place in my understanding of myself. Pretending it isn’t real doesn’t work for me. I would rather understand and attack it.
I tried, from time to time over the years, to explain it to friends, but never got much farther than sounding like I’m not complete without a man. Eventually, I stopped talking about it, tried to put it out of my mind, and hoped I would mature out of it somehow. Meanwhile, I made sure Bill got plenty of exercise, vitamins and sleep so he would live a long time!
But one day, I found myself back on the case. I was reading Dean Ornish’s book Love and Survival, and was surprised to learn he had been almost suicidal as a teenager. He says, “Like many people, I grew up in a loving family without many personal or emotional boundaries – what I affectionately call ‘The Ornish Blob.’ In every family there is a process of how each person individuates and separates from the rest of the family…I did not have a very well-formed sense of having a separate self…(this) can be terrifying, for it can feel like nonexistence or death.”
That was me. Finally, someone had described it correctly. I read more, and discovered the concept of enmeshment. As in, what happens when you’re raised in a dysfunctional family.
Remember the Borg on Star Trek? Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated.
I was. As a youngster growing up with a violent father, I lost myself. I became part of the dysfunction, giving up my self to preserve the whole. Kids who live with violence can become enmeshed with the rest of the family, such that none of you have a sense of yourself except as a part of the whole. You don’t learn who you are or what you need because survival depends on other things, like how quickly you sense the abuser getting cranky. And you know when he gets cranky the belt will whip through the air. Things will break, glass will fly, blood will flow. Survival may require knowing that this is coming.
“Try to be good,” my mother would implore us kids. Even at a very young age, I understood that our job was to make sure HE wasn’t stressed out.
But we grow up and become independent, right? We leave those behaviors behind, right? Wrong. 110% wrong. If, like me, you grew up in such a household – and you probably did, because 1 in 4 women are victims of domestic abuse – you will develop certain behaviors that can rob you of a fully-realized life. Behaviors like people-pleasing, hypervigilance, an excessive sense of responsibility, and addictions like workaholism. Unless you understand this, you will behave like a tool until your death, and your kids, having learned tool-behavior, will continue the legacy of abuse for generations to come.
Not me. Not anymore. I feel stronger, freer and more empowered than ever before in my life. More next Friday.
Lynne, thank you for sharing such an empowering post. It took so much courage to write about this and even more to live through it. You don’t know how many women you will help by voicing this. Even though I grew up in a strong, loving family, I once had an abusive boyfriend and was trapped in a cycle of despair that goes with it.
Pat, “cycle of despair” really nails it. How many of us never break free? But one thing I’ve been hearing since publishing this post is that men experience the madness as often. Unfortunately, though, they sometimes become perpetrators of violence. But they can be victims quite often, as well. Just so freakin’ sad.
Thanks for sharing your story, Lynne. I think it’s important to talk about long-term implications for children of living in this kind of family.
I grew up with 2 alcoholic parents, both emotionally abusive, one occasionally physically abusive. Unlike you, I wasn’t assimilated–possibly because the alcoholism developed after I’d already begun to develop a sense of self. On the contrary, I always felt alienated from my family, as though I’d been stuck there by accident. I never felt really connected to my parents, and it was only my deep connection to my sister (and now my co-blogger!) that kept me anchored there.
It’s different for each child, of course, but I think it’s so important that we let our voices be heard. Thank you for raising yours.
And thanks for sharing your story, Karen. Nice to know some got out alive 😉
Lynne, I understand. It wasn’t my father, but my mother I monitored closely for changes in her temperament. I knew how to be good to avoid punishments but sometimes I was obviously not good enough. I struggled to learn what good enough was but never quite got it. Look forward to your next post.
Sherrey, it creeps me out to consider that 1/4 of us have suffered domestic abuse. One of the reasons I wrote this – maybe the main reason – was to gather us together to consider the impact. And by reconsidering, we might be freed.
Abuse (of any kind) in childhood is very hard to overcome. You may never be free of these fears, but now you acknowledge them, and that is so very positive.
More positive is that you cut the ties and did not follow in your fathers footsteps, and that is what is powerful in your post.
Hugs
~~Kathleen
Kathleen, it is so empowering to know where they come from. There’s a great satisfaction in knowing I’m reacting in textbook fashion, that my little self developed standard defenses for my sanity. Not everyone likes to see themselves as predictable, but I find it comforting.
Lynne,
I know your pain. My father was the same as yours and for years I feared being alone. Good for you for letting this secret out. Now the pain and sadness will begin to ease. It is difficult to release memories like yours, but you’l have a much happier life.
You too, Joan? Gosh, it is everywhere. And the horror is, it goes on and on through generations unless one knows enough to stop it. Unfortunately, that usually comes after the kids are raised, if at all.
I’m so glad you decided to share this story, Lynne. It’s a secret that I hear more and more about as I talk to people. My parents were the nicest people in the world, but because they had trouble within their relationship, they weren’t ‘mentally there’ if you know what I mean. So I did everything I could to get them to like me and almost every relationship I’ve had since was as enabler which is not healthy for anybody.
I’m finally figuring this out at age 61 and going therapy. So you’re not alone in feeling of shame because you were trained to not to speak up for years. It’s a tough habit it to break.
People of our age grew up in a time where parents took on the personalties of their own parents. There were no books and seminars just learned behavior.
I feel shame talking about my parents, too, but realized that I’m not blaming them, I’m just acknowledging what happened and realizing that I have stuffed my anger and hurt down so deep that it’s going to take a stick of dynamite to blow it out.
You go on with your story, Lynne. And we’ll all be here for you next week.
xoxo
Vonnie
Vonnie, I was blinking back tears at your story until I got to the dynamite part and then I laughed. This is one thing we can celebrate about getting older: self-knowledge, the courage to seek it, live it, and make jokes about it. Thanks so much!
I try to add a little humor to my grief. Ha!
I accidentally posted another comment on your post about Living your Dream. I didn’t see my comment so I thought it had disappeared. I’m a little flakey sometimes. Feel free to remove that one on your end.
Thanks.
Vonnie, I treasure and value your thoughts. I don’t think I’d ever remove anything you ever wrote. So here for our viewing public is your comment:
Lynne – It seems like it takes at least until we’re 60 years old to figure out and admit things that have happened to us when we were children. I’m going through some things now, different from yours, but similar as most of our delayed reactions come from childhood. I’m happy you’re getting this out, not only to lighten the load you’ve been carrying for years, but to help others to know it’s okay to talk about it.
I look forward to reading more next week and don’t worry, we’ll all be here to support you.
xoxo
Vonnie
Wow , Lynne. I’m nearly speechless. Empowering , brave and so hopeful for others still enmeshed. Thank you for your courage in sharing this deeply personal story. It will touch many. And thank you also for supporting domestic abuse awareness. Time for women and men to take back their power within. When one of us can show how we did, we can empower others to believe they can ,too. Amen!
Thanks, Kathy. Now you know why your memoir affected me so deeply. I’m on my third marriage too. Thankfully, this is the good one.
Wow, this is pretty eye-opening. Growing up in an extremely strict family life, with an ex-Marine, I often wondered if that borderlined abusive. I, too, have a sense of being afraid to be alone. And I work where there are predominantly older folk who do live alone, without nearby family. And I can’t help but picture myself huddled in a corner in my room, afraid to leave or invite others inside. I don’t want to ‘glom’ on to my growing children and infect them with my insecurities. They deserve their own lives, but can’t stand the thought of what I will do on my own, should that come about. Ineresting read, thank you! Look forward to more.
Tina, I was THRILLED to read that little tidbit by Dean Ornish. I had been stumbling around blind but I am beginning to see. Maybe you and I have the same deal going on. I wanted to pour out all I am learning in one blog post but it would be too long. But I’m excited to share this (and nice to know I’m not alone!)
Tina, I became more acutely aware of my own need to face my fear of being alone when I watched my mother suffer through her last years. Her image haunts me. No matter how much we loved her, were there for her, cared for her, it wasn’t enough to fill the gaping hole within her that she did not know how to fill. It drives me every day because I could easily fall into the same pit.
Dorothy, I am sorry for your mother’s pain. Good for you for turning it into something empowering for yourself.
How I feel that “hole” most commonly is after being with my kids and grandkids for a few days, like if we’ve gone on a vacation together. As wild as it can be, it feels good. We get into each other’s moods and rhythms. We become a unit. When we part I am grateful for the peace – for about 20 minutes. Then I begin to feel as if my life outside the unit is somewhat pointless. It’s shocking! It’s absolutely illogical. I have a good life, everything to be grateful for. But there’s this feeling of emptiness, way worse than simply missing the kids. More like I don’t exist. Meaninglessness.
Now that I know where it comes from, I feel somewhat safe. Finally.
You speak to my story as well. I ran from the fear of being alone most of my life – believing it was a result of depression, wrong living, something…I prayed that I would die before my husband. After he had a heart attack at 53, I knew I needed to quit trying to outrun whatever it was that was chasing me. You describe the feeling so well, though there was no overt violence in my family, just emotional abuse of another sort…silent, but deadly. The last ten years have been the most amazing, liberating, years of my life. I will always be a work in progress, but I stand beside you in saying that those of us who suffered as children have a message to carry into the world. We have a wrong to make right and one step at a time will take us there. Thank you for sharing your journey. I understand the guts it took to do so, but victims of abuse develop incredible strength and when focused in a positive direction can move mountains.
Dorothy. I can’t tell you how much your comment means to me. I had to consider that I might be criticized for revealing this personal issue; Mom is still alive and I love her! I don’t want her to feel ashamed. But that’s part of the sickness – the enmeshment excludes outsiders, who might break the magical hold the abuser has on the family. Dad used to tell us “family is everything,” and “friends are a dime a dozen.” I accepted his dictates, never realizing the corruption they implied. Yet, I love him still, this man who as a child suffered horrifically. It can be confusing. Thanks again for your empowering comment.
Yes, very confusing. My husband is working his way out of his nightmare of abuse and breaking the bonds of family loyalty was enormously difficult for him. His mother held the family together and when she died the siblings went to war with each other. Sadly the fight needs to be taken to Dad. I highly recommend the book Controlling People, if you have not read it. It shed a huge amount of light on the cultic nature of families of abuse. http://amzn.to/1pMeOvI (I have this book on speed dial!) Talking about it and owning it is part of the challenge. I’m working up to writing about how its affected our marriage.
“in every family there is a process of how each person individuates and separates from the rest of the family…”
I just wonder even in those families where the parents just stay so involved in the children’s lives,even that is healthy. No abuse, just totally together all the time, even after they grow up and are in the work place.
Hi Robert. What an interesting thought. You mean the helicopter parents, right? Now I wonder, too. It’s not abuse, but it might remove the possibility of the kids having a chance to figure out who they are and what they need as individuals. Thanks for the idea.
Differentiation has been a good thing for me, with parents and spouse.
Fascinating, Lynne.
The dysfunction in my family was a very unhappy, unrealized mother who was forced to abandon her dreams when she became a mother to 4 children, none by design – married to a man who didn’t support her personal ambitions. She became unpredictable, irrational, cruel & manipulative & we kids were always on the lookout for her next crazy outburst.
But, unlike you, I separated myself totally from the household, emotionally, & sought out friends & their families as a refuge. As a result I became too independent, too self reliant, too comfortable with loner-hood. My work as an “awakened” adult is to learn to be more comfortable with vilnerabity & its role in developing intimacy with people.
Thanks for opening up & offering the forum for others to do the same.
Joyce
Joyce, that is SO interesting. I was talking with a young woman (30) yesterday who, like you, had a mother who created extreme dysfunction in the family (disclaimer: I use the term as a layperson. I am not a therapist.) Like you, YW ran away while very young, finding shelter in independence. It sounded as if she escaped the impacts, but you suggest there is the possibility of overreaction. Wow. Seems “nobody gets out of here alive.”
Best wishes for your journey.
Yesterday I spoke at an assisted living facility about believing in the dark side of God and journeying into the darkness as part of seeing the light. I love dark early mornings, but only now am I learning how to be and become on the dark side of the glass.
I find darkness explored a terrific and scary boost to creativity.
Bob, darkness is intriguing, but I didn’t want to live with a black hole in my heart/mind. And as I woke up this morning, I felt both fearful (for having exposed myself) and excited (to see if my post resonated). Darkness is communal.
So is getting out of it.
Touche’. Beautiful.