The words I need to say
I’m getting to the heart of the matter.
Midlife has brought with it an intense need for understanding where I’ve been and where I’m headed.
I’m sitting in an uncomfortable truth; I’ve been abused and I’ve been abusing the people I love because I was unable to see my behavior for what it was.
Unacknowledged child abuse is poison. I can feel it in my bones. It’s in my DNA. It’s been passed down through generations and I’m going to spend the rest of my life breaking the cycle.
My family has told me many times throughout my life that I’m “difficult.” The older I get, the more difficult I get. They have to “walk on eggshells” around me. My expectations are too high. I don’t cut people enough slack. I’m “hard to be around.”
Last December, my family of origin decided to celebrate Christmas and New Years without me, my husband and our kids.
Although it felt absolutely devastating at the time, I’m realizing it was the best gift I’ve ever been given. Clarity. Honesty. Space. Room to think and breathe. An opportunity to see things as they really are. The fantasy version of my family I’d created could no longer deny just how dysfunctional, controlling and manipulative we’ve been. Codependency and Enmeshment are torturous, mind-fucking, generational conditions.
Many of us have been duped into thinking this behavior is normal, and that things “really aren’t that bad.” Unconditional love in my family has meant accepting people and their abusive behavior no matter what. The abusers are protected and enabled, while the abused are shamed for not getting over things more easily. Shamed for being too sensitive. Shamed for speaking up and attempting to change course for future generations. Shamed for steering clear and protecting ourselves from “oblivious” abusers. Shamed for not being more understanding and accepting. Shamed for not keeping the abuse a secret.
“It makes them feel bad, so we’re not going to talk about it.”
“They’ve had a hard life and they are doing their best.”
“You know how she is.”
Thankfully, now I know exactly how she is. She is incapable. She wasn’t nurtured to be her own person. She wasn’t shown how to protect and nurture her best self. She wasn’t allowed to put herself and her own children first. She’s been tricked into believing that abusive behavior is acceptable. The abuse that was planted in her as a child has ripened, and it’s toxin is oozing. The abuse she still accepts as an adult is strangling her will to survive and thrive. Until she acknowledges it and weeds it out, it will fester and poison everything and everyone she loves.
She is me. She is my mom. She is my grandma, my aunt and my cousins. She is every wounded mother and child in my family line who hasn’t broken free from the fuckery. Every one of us who has been emotionally abused or neglected by the ones who were supposed to love us and protect us. Every one of us who has been abused while others stood by and enabled the dysfunction. Every one of us who has watched our children receive the same treatment. Every one of us who has been led to believe that we deserve the way we’ve been treated, and that it’s just the way it is.
Mom hasn’t spoken to me since I told her about the sexual abuse she and her family exposed me to as a child. As I write this, it’s been over two months. Her silent treatments are loud. They’ve always been loud. They are invisible and silent to everyone else, but they burn like a raging inferno inside my body. As she always said, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” She’s often had nothing to say to me.
After a lifetime of trying with all my might to feel heard, seen and loved by her, I’m done pleading. She chooses them. I think she’s too distracted by her need to feel seen and loved by them, and I can relate.
I hope and pray that someday we can meet again as interdependent, emotionally healthy humans.
In the meantime, the space and silence has provided an eerie sense of calm. I’ve been standing in the eye of my own hurricane, watching the dysfunction swirling around me. I can see clearly that I’ve been conditioned to betray myself and others, and yes, it really is that bad.
The behavior is unacceptable. The lack of accountability is unacceptable. The lack of acknowledgment is soul-crushing. I refuse to continue to accept codependency as our “normal.” I don’t want my kids to think they have to accept toxicity from anyone. They don’t have to deny themselves and their safety for anyone. Not even their mother.
My PTSD diagnosis has helped me understand the brain damage caused by the emotional and sexual trauma I received from people who were supposed to love and protect me. As I work to heal this damage, I understand that it’s mandatory to protect myself and my family from more of the same abuse.
I must do whatever it takes to protect the next generation from the fuckery we’ve been given. My children are not doomed to receive it and pass it on to their people.
I refuse to stay so distracted by myself and my past that I cannot move forward and truly see, hear and love my own family with every fiber of my being. I’m hoping my new medication, continued Neurofeedback, and all of my other tools and strategies will help make this happen consistently.
I must unlearn codependency and relearn unconditional, empowering love. We’ve got big and amazing lives to get on with.
My therapist is helping me understand that I am not responsible for helping my abusers understand. I’m not responsible for helping them get any better. It’s been an exhausting search to find the words that might make sense to them. I keep trying to convince them that we can all expect more out of ourselves and each other, and that this isn’t “just how it is.”
I’ve learned that I can only convince myself.
No matter what’s happened to me in the past, it’s my responsibility to grow beyond my victimhood and take full responsibility for my actions as an adult, wife, mother, sister, daughter and friend.
There are no family discounts. No more free passes. No more excuses, and definitely no more room under the rug where the fuckery has forever been swept.
After thousands of words written for my parents, I now write words for myself. I condense this huge, overwhelming, swirling shit-storm into small bites that I may digest and integrate.
I’ve decided to un-abuse myself and others with all my heart, mind, body and soul.
I acknowledge my ooze. I see how inappropriate and dysregulated I’ve been. My passive-aggression, insensitivity, emotional incest and judgement are glaring at me in the same way my mom does. My deeply ingrained unintentional racism, white supremacy and bigotry are intertwined with these twisted roots. These behaviors are not who I am. For the rest of my days, I’ll be digging them up and weeding them out.
For the rest of my days, I’ll be saying words like these to myself and the people I love.
I’ve been carrying this paper around with me for a few weeks as the truth has been downloading and integrating into my knowing. These are the words I need to hear for myself. This is the heart of the matter.
I folded the note into a paper airplane, and sent it flying toward Big Mama.
Clear. Succinct. To the point. I asked her to deliver these words to my parents, to my inner child, and to the people I love. I asked her to help me forgive myself for not knowing what I didn’t know. I asked her to help me acknowledge those I’ve obliviously abused before I saw my behavior as the dysfunction and fuckery I’ve been expected to accept. I asked her to help me walk this talk with confidence as I aimed for her army of helpers.
My paper rocket landed among Big Mama’s lavender, hyssop and dahlia. All purple. My mom’s color.
I asked for guidance and these are what she pointed out for me. Their “super powers” come through as a confirmation and affirmation of what I’ve already been doing for myself to enable my growth and evolution.
Heal and cleanse. Protect and purify. Give grace and dignity to myself and others who’ve betrayed me - whether the abuse has been intentional or oblivious.
And guess what?
I created this smoke wand for myself last week. It’s been drying in my workshop. It’s a collection of magic lavender, hyssop and dahlia. I’d created a wand with what my intuition already knew I needed.
I’ve been reminded, yet again, that the answers are already inside of me. All I need to do is trust myself to handle what needs handled.