My father is not a narcissist, but he certainly could be an asshole.
As a kid, I was often afraid of him. He was depressed and angry. He disciplined with a belt. He didn't fly off the handle and hit us whenever he wanted to. He was too controlled for that. We could get punished with the belt for almost anything (often just typical childhood mistakes). Punishments weren't always the belt, but they were frequently enough to make me stay in line. We would have to go get the belt for him. It was pure torture.
He and my sister fought horribly. She was rebellious and aggressive. He actually defended me a lot from her. When she would attack me, he would try to punish her for it. He seemed like such a horrible brute to me, but I've come to understand he played the foil to my mother's "soft" side. She recently told me, with a look of pride, that my sister had said she was a "softie" and would give in a lot. She did. She was a push over. But what we didn't know is that she would then complain to my father about our lack of discipline and he would become the "enforcer". So, in comparison, she looked like the kind one, and he looked like the asshole. And it was often worse for my sister, who was a difficult child.
My sister was my mother's baby and were stuck together like Velcro. NM often asked me to cater to my sister, to give into her. And my mother allowed a lot from my sister. She also allowed my sister to be her little side kick because she was the baby. NSis sat next to NM all of the time, NSis was with NM all of the time. I was left with my dad.
It wasn't all bad. As I grew older, my father didn't find the need to discipline me as much. He could be largely ignoring of me. He rarely expressed any real interest in what I did. He was cold and distant. I remember once calling him "daddy", like my 8 year old friends at school called their fathers. He yelled back at me that I was NEVER to refer to him in such a babyish term. He was strict and allowed little slack because I was a child. I was never "daddy's princess". Ever. He was a task master. He always seemed so angry and depressed.
But he taught me a lot. He refused to allow me to fall back on being a girl and taught me to change my oil and my tires. He expected straight A's (straight A's was not being "perfect" to him, but being "normal"). He helped with homework on occasion, but mainly expected me to just get it. He told me repeatedly that I was smart. I sort of double edged sword, being smart, because it again allowed me no slack in life. I was always "too smart" to be acting like this or that.
I think any confidence that I had came from him though. He believed in me, in his own weird way. NM always believed she needed to step in for us. Unless she didn't want to, then we were on our way. My dad taught me not to be dependent on men, to take care of myself, to have a good work ethic. I know he thought I could accomplish things.
He was irritable, and easily provoked and I walked on eggshells with him. But when my parents divorced, I ended up choosing him. I chose NM first, but that quickly dissolved into shit. Dad required a lot out of me (I did the laundry and the cleaning and the cooking) but he was more stable than my mom at the time. It wasn't all that bad, living with him. He cared enough to do things with me, which is more than I can say for my mom.
As I got older and older, things began to change. I had always viewed him as my "bad" parent. As the reason for all of our troubles in our families. Well, not shockingly, as I learned he wasn't always horrible, I learned how much more sneaky and subversive my mother was. My father went to therapy. My father got on medication to control his depression (or at least ease it). I know he was trying.
In my teens, I learned my father had been horrible abused by an uncle. It was an on going abuse that, obviously, fucked him up for life. I don't know how my grandparents didn't know or stop it. They were good people, as far as I knew. I don't think they knew. My grandfather was quiet and studious and kind. My father loved him. My grandmother was what I thought "maternal" to be growing up. She cooked well, kept the house clean, seemed interested in her kids. She had had a rough childhood (being pretty much on her own at age 12, and being raised by a passel of extended family before that). But, compared to my mother's fucked up family, my father's family seemed "normal". But there had been this secret. Grandma says my dad was always sad, always difficult. Maybe he was. But I know that this didn't help.
As I grew up, things became more and more apparent to me. NM was not interested in how I felt about her or the divorce or really anything. She wanted me to go along with the delusions she had created: she was a good mom, my father was the problem, she did the best she could, she only put herself first because she'd never been first (which was probably true, but required that her children came behind her needs, I don't think you really get that luxury when you become a mom.) My relationship with my father relationship got better. He lives a distance away, but I always had relatively good conversations with him. They weren't the drama filled, soul-sucking kind I had with NM.
He never became kinder or gentler. He often is still grouchy and mean. He can deliver a low blow like no one else. He has a short temper and is irritable. He has a low threshold for outside "noise" and can easily loose emotional balance. But he doesn't lash out physically. He doesn't intentionally try to hurt people. He does hurt people because he can be blunt and mean. But I do think he is trying. I know he has tried a pharmacy of drugs to ease his depression. I know he really needs talk therapy, but I know that for a man of his generation, that might not be something he's willing to do.
He's told me repeatedly that he was a bad dad. Not because he wants me to feel sorry for him. Not because he wants me to reassure HIM. But because he is sorry. Because he would do it differently if he could. If he could erase things, he would. He has been kinder and gentler, in his own way. He tells me he is proud of me. I think he is proud of me. He does not compete with me. He is genuinely happy for me. He may not always be as invested in our relationship like I would like him to be. In fact, he can be quite selfish in not making more attempts to get together. He can still be a grouch and an asshole. But he's not a narcissist.
I recently went to visit him. He has been remarried for about 15 years and his wife is controlling and overbearing. She struggles with limits too. She definitely has some narcissistic qualities and is on the spectrum. She is bossy and pushes her opinions on people. When I had my children, her constant opinions and criticisms pushed a huge wedge between us. I really, really disliked her. When I coupled that with all of the chaos of my recent problems with my sister, and my dad's difficult temperament, I didn't even know if I wanted to go.
But I did. I had a plan (something I plan to write about soon). I was a grown up now, and if he pissed me off too badly, I'd just pack up my kids and leave. I had that right.
But the trip went well. Step mom was on better behavior. She was softer with me and even offered support to me about my sister (she is estranged with her narcissistic sister). My father told step mom to back off when she was trying to control me (she really can be controlling about the DUMBEST things, like that I had to give a paper napkin instead of a paper towel to my kid).
My dad seemed to respect my feelings on things and we had good conversations. When he was getting grouchy one night and I pissed him off, he went for a walk instead of blowing up at me. That is progress. He came back in a better mood. He is trying. I know he is. I had some good talks with him about my childhood. He listens. He tells me he is sorry.
He and my step mom were good with my kids. It was strange to see them interact with the kids. There was a different frequency in the air than with my NM or MIL and the kids. The room didn't seem so charged. There wasn't tension. No one was competing for the kids' attention. Dad and SM helped out when I need them too, but let me be the mom. They didn't hoover or silently "observe" my mothering skills. I didn't feel I was constantly being watched and ranked as a mother. They didn't compete with me or each other for the kids attention. In fact, when they needed a break from the kids, they took it. That's something MIL and NM really struggle with. There were no forced interactions, no forced hugs, no bribes of toys. There was activities together, and a souvenir from the zoo, and SM brought out coloring books one morning so I could sleep in. But none of it felt like it was a bribe, or an attempt to buy attention, or some sort of "investment" on the part of the grandparents that they expected the grandkid to pay back with love and attention. The grandparents did what they wanted to do with the kids, and expected nothing in return. It was refreshing and sweet and did my heart well.
It wasn't all perfect, but it was so much better. I wonder if the changes in me showed. That the changes in me made things different too and that they recognized it. That I wasn't so "charged" with anxiety. My father lives a distance away and so I don't get to see him as much as I like. I do wish he lived closer. My step mother, well, I do think seeing her less frequently makes for good visits. She was good when we went (even finally giving into this stupid little pissing match she and I have been having, and allowing me my way....which was HUGE) but I think she'd be too much if we lived closer. And I do wish they'd visit more. My father is really involved when we are together, but he can be a kind of "out of sight, out of mind" person. He struggles with developing relationships. He struggles with moving out of his comfort zone in order to make things work. He hates travelling and can be selfish about not being willing to compromise to make visits work. There is still a lot to work on, but there is progress.
Recently, he and I had a talk about NSis. We haven't spoken about her in almost a year. But I needed some information (NSis has been "hovering" and playing really nice trying to "win" me back. I don't buy her bullshit-like gifts and cards and texts- but I was feeling guilty that I wasn't giving her more of a chance to "make amends") and I had intended to bring her up to my father. Not to triangulate or gossip, but to try and sort out truth from fiction. But I didn't have to bring her up. Dad mentioned her and a visit she wanted to do with him. A visit she is completely manipulating for her own interests. I knew it. I knew she hadn't changed. Dad and I talked some more about my sister's "mystery illness" and how she was lying about a lot of it. How she was manipulating people's feelings and taking money. How she lies. How she has a personality disorder (his words, not mine. I try not to use any words that can be Googled and linked to narcissism with any one in my family. It's a way for me to try and protect my anonymity). I felt validated. I felt understood. I felt that I had some support. He told me to not contact her again until she "heard" and understood the boundaries that I'd set up (all of which he found to be reasonable.) I didn't need his validation and support, but man it felt good to hear.
So, progress. Not perfection, but progress (as other bloggers remind me). I don't feel so alone, a woman without a family. I feel good and this has renewed my strength and resolve.
My dad can still be an asshole, a giant asshole. But he's not a narcissist.
Showing posts with label father. Show all posts
Showing posts with label father. Show all posts
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Scary Ass Bitch
Apparently, I intimidate my BIL. Or he's afraid of me. Or he's just a weeny. I can't decide which.
Recently, I posted on my relationship with my in-laws. The BIL I am referencing in this post is the one who lives 5 minutes from me. He's part of the "Dynamic Duo" with his wife, who think they are god's gift to not only the world in general, but our family. They imagine themselves to be "godly", kind, thoughtful, giving, and generous. And they can be....as long as there is something in it for them. BIL fancies himself Mr. All-American. He's the "good guy" in the room, friends with everyone, always there to help. What he doesn't realize is that he is only the good guy on his terms. If you no longer buy his shtick or if he feels he's already converted you, he moves on to his next target.
I wrote about how this BIL and his wife made a huge scene at my son's birthday party, completely ignored us, and didn't say good-bye. They showed up late because they had shopping to do and sent their kids with the grandparents as babysitters. DH and I were convinced that they were angry with us. They barely acknowledged my son and were stand offish, when they even bothered to hang around. The next day was a family funeral. DH was leery but BIL and SIL acted like nothing had happened. We imagine that the two of them had been fighting and were too childish to put it aside to celebrate our son. When I arrived, BIL ignored me. He ignored me or avoided me during the whole funeral. He got up and spoke about "family" and "memories" at the service, but didn't seem to act very much like family after that. Two weekends later, we all attended a family wedding. He was jumpy and distant. He again avoided me like the plague. When I asked him to grab me a drink from the bar, he quickly handed it to me and turned around. When I tried to speak to him and SIL later, he was jumpy and antsy. He wouldn't look me in the eye. He seemed nervous and anxious and hurried to get out of the conversation. Two weeks after that, we ran into him at a football game. He positioned himself behind me, so to just be out of "eye range". He acknowledged all the others around me but "busied" himself when it came to me. Last weekend, we again ran into he and his wife. We were talking to friends and they hoovered in the periphery pretending to be so busy with their kids they didn't notice us. Finally, DH called them over. SIL gave me a snotty hello (which doesn't bother me. I don't take her shit personally). BIL again "busied" himself talking to my friend about babysitters.
So, today, DH and BIL are going somewhere together. Due to logistics, BIL had to come over here. I went outside with my kids to help DH get something. BIL was a distance away, but made a huge deal out of the kids. Again, avoiding me and looking away. I helped DH and went to go inside. By this time BIL was closer. So, I said, "hey, how's it going." as I walked by. The jackass didn't even bother to respond this time.
I'm not really surprised. What was good though is that DH got to see it. I've been telling him about it for weeks, and he believes me, but it was SO validating for him to see it in person. DH and I went inside to say goodbye and I asked him if he had seen the situation. Yes, he had. He'd seen it all. He told me that he would discuss it with him (they will be together for the next few days, so it provides an opportunity to talk about it.) I asked him to confirm that he had experienced what I had. Or had I taken it out of context? Had I behaved in a way that was wrong? I knew the answer, but I needed to know that we were on the same page.
"No" he said. "He ignored you. He's acting anxious and nervous around you." DH told me that I give off a vibe when I'm upset and BIL had clearly picked up on it. DH stated that I completely was valid in my feelings and didn't need to temperate because of BIL's reaction. But that, clearly, BIL was reacting out of fear of me.
But, here's the thing. What the hell is he so afraid of? I'm not a screamer or a yeller. I generally am pretty thoughtful and willing to discuss things. I've heard this bullshit for years too about NMIL. She's nervous around me. She's afraid of me. I make her uncomfortable. And, really, for the life of me, I can't see why. I don't make lots of other people afraid of me. There's been a few who don't like me being blunt or straightforward. But, for the most part, I've never known people to be intimidated by me. What the hell is going on here? I think they are afraid that I'm not going to put up with their shit. They are afraid of conflict. They are little pussies who can't deal with anything unless they have the upper hand. They don't like that I may not agree with them or that they can't bully me into their thinking. I think they are afraid I'll call them out on stuff. I don't know. Do I have any responsibility for their feelings? Am I some scary intimidating bitch?
On the flip side of this, I was thinking how I've allowed my NSis and dad to intimidate me for so many years with fear. I've lived in fear of their anger, their rage, their low blows. They are brilliant at character assassinations They can gut you to make a point. There are not discussions if conflict arises. It's winner takes all. They are stubborn and unyielding. My dad, in particular, always terrified me. When I was little he was a rageful, hard-ass who didn't deal well with alternative opinions. He has since been on antidepressants and has calmed considerable. But I can't shake the fear. I literally quake when I think of doing something to piss him off. I've gotten a lot better about it through this process, but it's still a little nagging thing in the back of my mind. I hate when he adopts his harsh, condescending tone that makes me feel like a small, ignorant child.
So, how can I be both of these people? How can I be so scary yet so fearful at the same time?
Recently, I posted on my relationship with my in-laws. The BIL I am referencing in this post is the one who lives 5 minutes from me. He's part of the "Dynamic Duo" with his wife, who think they are god's gift to not only the world in general, but our family. They imagine themselves to be "godly", kind, thoughtful, giving, and generous. And they can be....as long as there is something in it for them. BIL fancies himself Mr. All-American. He's the "good guy" in the room, friends with everyone, always there to help. What he doesn't realize is that he is only the good guy on his terms. If you no longer buy his shtick or if he feels he's already converted you, he moves on to his next target.
I wrote about how this BIL and his wife made a huge scene at my son's birthday party, completely ignored us, and didn't say good-bye. They showed up late because they had shopping to do and sent their kids with the grandparents as babysitters. DH and I were convinced that they were angry with us. They barely acknowledged my son and were stand offish, when they even bothered to hang around. The next day was a family funeral. DH was leery but BIL and SIL acted like nothing had happened. We imagine that the two of them had been fighting and were too childish to put it aside to celebrate our son. When I arrived, BIL ignored me. He ignored me or avoided me during the whole funeral. He got up and spoke about "family" and "memories" at the service, but didn't seem to act very much like family after that. Two weekends later, we all attended a family wedding. He was jumpy and distant. He again avoided me like the plague. When I asked him to grab me a drink from the bar, he quickly handed it to me and turned around. When I tried to speak to him and SIL later, he was jumpy and antsy. He wouldn't look me in the eye. He seemed nervous and anxious and hurried to get out of the conversation. Two weeks after that, we ran into him at a football game. He positioned himself behind me, so to just be out of "eye range". He acknowledged all the others around me but "busied" himself when it came to me. Last weekend, we again ran into he and his wife. We were talking to friends and they hoovered in the periphery pretending to be so busy with their kids they didn't notice us. Finally, DH called them over. SIL gave me a snotty hello (which doesn't bother me. I don't take her shit personally). BIL again "busied" himself talking to my friend about babysitters.
So, today, DH and BIL are going somewhere together. Due to logistics, BIL had to come over here. I went outside with my kids to help DH get something. BIL was a distance away, but made a huge deal out of the kids. Again, avoiding me and looking away. I helped DH and went to go inside. By this time BIL was closer. So, I said, "hey, how's it going." as I walked by. The jackass didn't even bother to respond this time.
I'm not really surprised. What was good though is that DH got to see it. I've been telling him about it for weeks, and he believes me, but it was SO validating for him to see it in person. DH and I went inside to say goodbye and I asked him if he had seen the situation. Yes, he had. He'd seen it all. He told me that he would discuss it with him (they will be together for the next few days, so it provides an opportunity to talk about it.) I asked him to confirm that he had experienced what I had. Or had I taken it out of context? Had I behaved in a way that was wrong? I knew the answer, but I needed to know that we were on the same page.
"No" he said. "He ignored you. He's acting anxious and nervous around you." DH told me that I give off a vibe when I'm upset and BIL had clearly picked up on it. DH stated that I completely was valid in my feelings and didn't need to temperate because of BIL's reaction. But that, clearly, BIL was reacting out of fear of me.
But, here's the thing. What the hell is he so afraid of? I'm not a screamer or a yeller. I generally am pretty thoughtful and willing to discuss things. I've heard this bullshit for years too about NMIL. She's nervous around me. She's afraid of me. I make her uncomfortable. And, really, for the life of me, I can't see why. I don't make lots of other people afraid of me. There's been a few who don't like me being blunt or straightforward. But, for the most part, I've never known people to be intimidated by me. What the hell is going on here? I think they are afraid that I'm not going to put up with their shit. They are afraid of conflict. They are little pussies who can't deal with anything unless they have the upper hand. They don't like that I may not agree with them or that they can't bully me into their thinking. I think they are afraid I'll call them out on stuff. I don't know. Do I have any responsibility for their feelings? Am I some scary intimidating bitch?
On the flip side of this, I was thinking how I've allowed my NSis and dad to intimidate me for so many years with fear. I've lived in fear of their anger, their rage, their low blows. They are brilliant at character assassinations They can gut you to make a point. There are not discussions if conflict arises. It's winner takes all. They are stubborn and unyielding. My dad, in particular, always terrified me. When I was little he was a rageful, hard-ass who didn't deal well with alternative opinions. He has since been on antidepressants and has calmed considerable. But I can't shake the fear. I literally quake when I think of doing something to piss him off. I've gotten a lot better about it through this process, but it's still a little nagging thing in the back of my mind. I hate when he adopts his harsh, condescending tone that makes me feel like a small, ignorant child.
So, how can I be both of these people? How can I be so scary yet so fearful at the same time?
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
My Dad
My dad has a lot of narcissistic qualities. But he's not a narcissist. He can be quite the asshole. But he can also be really, really tender hearted. He's the poster child for the damaged human being, who has wrapped himself in barbed wire. He's depressed, chronically. He's grouchy, anal retentive, and can be mean. However, he encouraged me as a child. Demanded (sometimes harshly, but not always) that I stand on my own two feet. He expected me to succeed. He forced me to be a better person.
When I was little, my family was always divided: me and my dad, and my mom and my sister. It wasn't a natural division. It was like when you pair up for the science project and the two BFF grasp hands and laugh, and the rejects are left over and have to pair up. My mother and sister were joined at the hip from the beginning. It filtered down to the most ridiculous things. My sister, always, always had to sit by my mother. That included at any restaurant we were at, behind my mother's seat in the car, and next to her on the couch when we watched TV. It was always this way. It never ever changed. I occasionally asked to sit by my mom. It never ended well. My sister would through the HUGEST FIT and she would end up with my mother. I didn't always mind. But I did a lot. I always felt cast off. I always felt like the left overs. I never understood why it wasn't more equal.
Not that I didn't spend time with my mom, but it was always with my sister. My mother and I never spent time alone. Ever. In fact, it often was my sister, my mom, and me. We were always her companions, like those little dogs you see crazy women carrying around everywhere these days. I can only recall one or two "mother-daugher" moments. She didn't discuss my friends with me, or have heart-to-hearts about boys. She didn't ask about school or my theater or what I was reading or watching on TV. The only moment I remember with her was when I told her my body was "changing". She laughed and said she didn't believe me and demanded to "see". Apparantly, I didn't impress her much by her reaction. The other moment revolved around my period. When it came to puberty and periods, my mother solved the problem by buying me a book. She tossed it to me and told me to read it. She didn't answer any questions, she didn't talk to me about it. Nothing. When I got my period, she immediately informed my dad. I was mortified. Anyway, the moment came when I was struggling to understand how exactly a tampon was to be used before a friend's big pool party. She again handed me a diagram and left me to my devices. Hmmm. (I apologize for the personal nature of this paragraph). When I couldn't figure it out, she offered to do it for me. I sat on the side of the pool at the party.
Anyway, much of my time I was with my dad. Actually, much of my time I spent alone or with my sister. But my "assigned" parent was my dad. So, I wandered out to the garage at times. I learned to fish. I tried to be interested in him. I was never daddy's little girl. Ever. Once I made the mistake of calling him "daddy" (I'd heard my friends call their dads that). He raged against me for calling him such a childish nick name and demanded that I never call him that again.
We were not close, but I was closer to him than anyone else. He did teach me things. He wanted me to be self sufficient. He didn't want me to depend on anyone and made sure I could handle my own. I thought he was hard on me. He sometimes helped me with homework (my mother never did). He sometimes asked how I was doing. In fact, through the horribleness of my parents' divorce, he was the only one who asked how I as doing.
As I wrote in my last post, he was an abusive disciplinarian. He would strike me with a belt and leave welts. This punishment was handed out for many minor offenses. I feared him. He was explosive. More so towards my sister than me, but that almost was worse. He was angry. He never smiled. He was grouchy. He was sad. He was bitter. He was mean. He liked to tease. He told me to toughen up. He told me to quit crying. He told me to be stronger.
My dad had a good childhood, from what I'm told and can see. I loved my grandparents. My grandmother, while opinionated and stubborn, always seemed loving. And in fact, I often found her to be one of the most loving people in my life. She and I had a lot in common and she taught me a lot. My grandfather was one of the sweetest people I knew, from what I remember. But there was an incident in my dad's childhood that scarred him forever. This is not an incident that I wish to share on this blog, as it is not mine to share, but it damaged him beyond belief. Grandma says dad was always a very sad, unhappy boy. That he was always a stubborn and sad person. But I know that this incident changed him forever (and for the record, I don't believe that my grandmother knew about this incident. Of course, we've never talked about the specifics. My dad just told me that it happened, as way of explaining why he was such an ass. This was during my parents' divorce and I really didn't need to handle this bomb shell too). I believe, he felt my grandmother should have protected him and he harbors resentment to this day, but I could be wrong. I believe it was this incident that pushed him into a life-long depression that he has never, and most likely will never, come out of. A self-hating, angry, irritable depression that has made him difficult to love and be around.
But I do love my dad. I also live in fear of upsetting him. I never, ever feel comfortable speaking my mind to him. I'm guarded around him. I've only recently stood up to him, and my stomach almost loses it's contents every time I do. It's almost exhilarating in the risk when I say something to him, but more often, paralyzing. He is the only person in my family who understands me in the least bit, not that he really gets me at all. I know that he was not present through a lot of my childhood and just let my mother run the show. I know that he needed to step up, help me, and reach out. But he was too busy swimming in his own shit to save me.
When I was little, my family was always divided: me and my dad, and my mom and my sister. It wasn't a natural division. It was like when you pair up for the science project and the two BFF grasp hands and laugh, and the rejects are left over and have to pair up. My mother and sister were joined at the hip from the beginning. It filtered down to the most ridiculous things. My sister, always, always had to sit by my mother. That included at any restaurant we were at, behind my mother's seat in the car, and next to her on the couch when we watched TV. It was always this way. It never ever changed. I occasionally asked to sit by my mom. It never ended well. My sister would through the HUGEST FIT and she would end up with my mother. I didn't always mind. But I did a lot. I always felt cast off. I always felt like the left overs. I never understood why it wasn't more equal.
Not that I didn't spend time with my mom, but it was always with my sister. My mother and I never spent time alone. Ever. In fact, it often was my sister, my mom, and me. We were always her companions, like those little dogs you see crazy women carrying around everywhere these days. I can only recall one or two "mother-daugher" moments. She didn't discuss my friends with me, or have heart-to-hearts about boys. She didn't ask about school or my theater or what I was reading or watching on TV. The only moment I remember with her was when I told her my body was "changing". She laughed and said she didn't believe me and demanded to "see". Apparantly, I didn't impress her much by her reaction. The other moment revolved around my period. When it came to puberty and periods, my mother solved the problem by buying me a book. She tossed it to me and told me to read it. She didn't answer any questions, she didn't talk to me about it. Nothing. When I got my period, she immediately informed my dad. I was mortified. Anyway, the moment came when I was struggling to understand how exactly a tampon was to be used before a friend's big pool party. She again handed me a diagram and left me to my devices. Hmmm. (I apologize for the personal nature of this paragraph). When I couldn't figure it out, she offered to do it for me. I sat on the side of the pool at the party.
Anyway, much of my time I was with my dad. Actually, much of my time I spent alone or with my sister. But my "assigned" parent was my dad. So, I wandered out to the garage at times. I learned to fish. I tried to be interested in him. I was never daddy's little girl. Ever. Once I made the mistake of calling him "daddy" (I'd heard my friends call their dads that). He raged against me for calling him such a childish nick name and demanded that I never call him that again.
We were not close, but I was closer to him than anyone else. He did teach me things. He wanted me to be self sufficient. He didn't want me to depend on anyone and made sure I could handle my own. I thought he was hard on me. He sometimes helped me with homework (my mother never did). He sometimes asked how I was doing. In fact, through the horribleness of my parents' divorce, he was the only one who asked how I as doing.
As I wrote in my last post, he was an abusive disciplinarian. He would strike me with a belt and leave welts. This punishment was handed out for many minor offenses. I feared him. He was explosive. More so towards my sister than me, but that almost was worse. He was angry. He never smiled. He was grouchy. He was sad. He was bitter. He was mean. He liked to tease. He told me to toughen up. He told me to quit crying. He told me to be stronger.
My dad had a good childhood, from what I'm told and can see. I loved my grandparents. My grandmother, while opinionated and stubborn, always seemed loving. And in fact, I often found her to be one of the most loving people in my life. She and I had a lot in common and she taught me a lot. My grandfather was one of the sweetest people I knew, from what I remember. But there was an incident in my dad's childhood that scarred him forever. This is not an incident that I wish to share on this blog, as it is not mine to share, but it damaged him beyond belief. Grandma says dad was always a very sad, unhappy boy. That he was always a stubborn and sad person. But I know that this incident changed him forever (and for the record, I don't believe that my grandmother knew about this incident. Of course, we've never talked about the specifics. My dad just told me that it happened, as way of explaining why he was such an ass. This was during my parents' divorce and I really didn't need to handle this bomb shell too). I believe, he felt my grandmother should have protected him and he harbors resentment to this day, but I could be wrong. I believe it was this incident that pushed him into a life-long depression that he has never, and most likely will never, come out of. A self-hating, angry, irritable depression that has made him difficult to love and be around.
But I do love my dad. I also live in fear of upsetting him. I never, ever feel comfortable speaking my mind to him. I'm guarded around him. I've only recently stood up to him, and my stomach almost loses it's contents every time I do. It's almost exhilarating in the risk when I say something to him, but more often, paralyzing. He is the only person in my family who understands me in the least bit, not that he really gets me at all. I know that he was not present through a lot of my childhood and just let my mother run the show. I know that he needed to step up, help me, and reach out. But he was too busy swimming in his own shit to save me.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Your Life is Better Than Her's
I apologize ahead of time for the scatter-brained nature of this post.
NM is playing games again. I've mentioned before that she promised me a favor. I knew ahead of time that she'd make me pay. And pay she has. It started almost a month ago. She has to travel to my home for this favor. Normally, I'd get 500 phone calls/emails/texts wanting to discuss the trip. She said nothing. And she continued to say nothing about the trip. I thought, OK, well, let's play this out. See how far it goes. Well, two weeks ago, she started laying the groundwork. I knew it was coming. Tomorrow is NSIS's "follow-up" appointment with the doctor. I knew she was keeping her options open, in case she had to rush to NSis's side. So, she started mentioning little things. Slipping in how she wasn't feeling well. Not returning my emails when I flat asked her if she was still coming. She left my emails dangling for three whole days (this is a woman who texts/emails/calls several times a day. I don't answer or respond, just for the record). Finally, she decides to reply that she's "planning on coming." Two days later, I get an email that she's got some physical ailment that will prevent her from coming...maybe...sort of. Now, I'm annoyed. I called out her bullshit. Because, even though I can replace her, I actually kind of needed this favor. And she knew that. And she knew that it was actually a bit of an honor for me to have asked her for this favor. But instead of having any sort of acknowledgement of the honor (I know that sounds weird, since she's doing the favor for me) that I would select her to do this important thing for me, she's rubbing my nose in it. I got pissed. I called her bluff. I told her not to worry about it. Of course, then she became "cured"...sort of...but most likely. Ugh. The game playing. I know, I know, quit playing her game. I am glad that I didn't rise to her bait. I didn't react. I measured my responses. I didn't let her get to me. So, I guess we'll see how it all plays out.
You'd think that's be she'd be the one most on my mind, with all her game playing, but really it's my dad. He's been trying to get a hold of me for awhile now. We've been playing phone tag. As I've told you all, I've been very busy (funeral, out of town on vacation, out of town wedding, "single parent" for several nights while DH was out of town, etc.). Plus, I've got two little kids. Trying to fit in phone calls (and these are not five minute calls, but usually an hour or so) in between naps, lunch, baths, dinner, doctor's appointments, and school is difficult. I usually have two free hours a day. And by free, I mean that I get two hours to clean, cook, shower, and maybe, just maybe have some time for myself. I'm not complaining, it's just life right now. I can't talk on the phone when my kids are around because they start to fight for my attention. And dad would not be happy about screaming kids in the background. So, I tried to call him back several times, over several weeks. Then, I knew he was going out of town on vacation. So, I popped an email out saying that he should let me know when he gets back. Well, as soon as he gets back, he calls and starts out with a comment about how I'm difficult to get a hold of. Then, he makes some crack about my husband being in a profession of crooks (and just for the record, he doesn't have a high opinion of 99% of the population or their profession). I'm starting to get annoyed. He asks if I've heard from my sister. I say no. I tell him that she won't return my calls and I'm done trying to get a hold of her. He says she won't call him back either and says he's about to write us BOTH off and quite calling us. WTF. How did I get lumped in with her? He's always lumping me in with her. He transfers his feelings about us back and forth like we are two ends of the same sea. It takes me a minute to regroup. My dad can be vicious. He can also be very nice and kind. He was much more vicious when I was a kid but he's been better for a long time now. I'm always on alert, though. I always expect the verbal beat down.
But I'm determined to be strong and stand up for myself. I catch my breath and tell him that what he said was fucked up. That lumping me in with his entitled, take everything, spoiled daughter is not cool. That I, unlike her, have tried to call him back, several times.
He doesn't say anything. We move on. We talk circles around my spoiled sister again. He says he's tired of going circles around the same conversation (he always thinks he gets determine when a conversation is over). We talk about my childhood. He seems surprised when I tell him how life was with my mom and sister. Genuinely surprised. I wonder where the hell he was when I was a kid. How he missed so much. He apologizes for being such an ass when I was a kid. He says he was a bad parent. I believe he is sincere in his regret. I know he's gained a lot of perspective and he knows he was abusive. He hit us. Not a lot, but enough. Always for "discipline". Problem was, the punishment never fit with the crime. He hit us with a belt (that we had to go get) for not doing the dishes, fighting, not cleaning our rooms. He left welts. I have struggled for so long with this. I always excused it. He was only disciplining us, my child-mind rationalized. It was the only way he knew how. That's what his parents did. Everyone's parents spanked them. I'm beginning to think they didn't. And I don't know why, but his admitting it, made me feel free. Like I could also speak out and say it was not OK what he did.
The conversation was heavy, but we moved on to my mother's and my sister's relationship. I fished out a couple of things about narcissism to see how he'd react. He agrees that my mother is deceitful. He agrees she enables my sister. But when I suggested that she likes to keep my sister dependent on her so that she can feel important he was stunned. Why would a mom sabotage her own daughter? he asked, in disbelief. I knew that he wouldn't be able to hear any more on the subject.
I tried to make it back to my original point. See, he's been enabling NSis a lot lately too. Sending her money, asking for no accountability from her. Allowing her to continue to behave like a spoiled child. I wanted him to know that I'm not trying to punish NSis. I'm not in some petty sibling feud. I told him that I expect her to treat me with the same dignity and respect and love that I've always treated her. That the relationship needs to be reciprocal. That she has obligations to me too. He agreed. He said that he didn't feel like it was my role to provide for her or take care of her. I believed him.
But then he said, "But in the end, you're life is better than her's." And there it was. The excuse. The dismissal. The proof that, no matter how upset he is about how she acts towards him, he doesn't understand me at all. That he does feel I owe her something. Because my life is "better". DH, when I told him this, said "well, that's awfully subjective. I know lots of people who'd rather have her life than yours." Which is true. She has no responsibility. She has no accountability. She parties and sleeps until noon and spends money on herself. Now, is she happy? No. Does she want more? Yes. But her life isn't some horrible mess. And if it is, it's ALL due to choices she's made. She's made the choice to lead her life the way she has. And while I love my life, my kids, and my husband, it's no walk in the park all of the time. My sister would fall apart with 2 years of three-hours-of-sleep a night, the endless routine of taking care of kids, kids puking in your hands, cleaning, cooking, and caring for others, all to do it all over the next day. To be responsible and think of someone besides herself would not be her cup of tea. I love my life. My sister, would not. My dad would prefer my life, but not everyone thinks like my dad. And even, let's assume, that my life is better? Does that excuse her behavior? Does that make me responsible for her? Does that make her not responsible? Does that make her unaccountable? No, I don't think it does.
NM is playing games again. I've mentioned before that she promised me a favor. I knew ahead of time that she'd make me pay. And pay she has. It started almost a month ago. She has to travel to my home for this favor. Normally, I'd get 500 phone calls/emails/texts wanting to discuss the trip. She said nothing. And she continued to say nothing about the trip. I thought, OK, well, let's play this out. See how far it goes. Well, two weeks ago, she started laying the groundwork. I knew it was coming. Tomorrow is NSIS's "follow-up" appointment with the doctor. I knew she was keeping her options open, in case she had to rush to NSis's side. So, she started mentioning little things. Slipping in how she wasn't feeling well. Not returning my emails when I flat asked her if she was still coming. She left my emails dangling for three whole days (this is a woman who texts/emails/calls several times a day. I don't answer or respond, just for the record). Finally, she decides to reply that she's "planning on coming." Two days later, I get an email that she's got some physical ailment that will prevent her from coming...maybe...sort of. Now, I'm annoyed. I called out her bullshit. Because, even though I can replace her, I actually kind of needed this favor. And she knew that. And she knew that it was actually a bit of an honor for me to have asked her for this favor. But instead of having any sort of acknowledgement of the honor (I know that sounds weird, since she's doing the favor for me) that I would select her to do this important thing for me, she's rubbing my nose in it. I got pissed. I called her bluff. I told her not to worry about it. Of course, then she became "cured"...sort of...but most likely. Ugh. The game playing. I know, I know, quit playing her game. I am glad that I didn't rise to her bait. I didn't react. I measured my responses. I didn't let her get to me. So, I guess we'll see how it all plays out.
You'd think that's be she'd be the one most on my mind, with all her game playing, but really it's my dad. He's been trying to get a hold of me for awhile now. We've been playing phone tag. As I've told you all, I've been very busy (funeral, out of town on vacation, out of town wedding, "single parent" for several nights while DH was out of town, etc.). Plus, I've got two little kids. Trying to fit in phone calls (and these are not five minute calls, but usually an hour or so) in between naps, lunch, baths, dinner, doctor's appointments, and school is difficult. I usually have two free hours a day. And by free, I mean that I get two hours to clean, cook, shower, and maybe, just maybe have some time for myself. I'm not complaining, it's just life right now. I can't talk on the phone when my kids are around because they start to fight for my attention. And dad would not be happy about screaming kids in the background. So, I tried to call him back several times, over several weeks. Then, I knew he was going out of town on vacation. So, I popped an email out saying that he should let me know when he gets back. Well, as soon as he gets back, he calls and starts out with a comment about how I'm difficult to get a hold of. Then, he makes some crack about my husband being in a profession of crooks (and just for the record, he doesn't have a high opinion of 99% of the population or their profession). I'm starting to get annoyed. He asks if I've heard from my sister. I say no. I tell him that she won't return my calls and I'm done trying to get a hold of her. He says she won't call him back either and says he's about to write us BOTH off and quite calling us. WTF. How did I get lumped in with her? He's always lumping me in with her. He transfers his feelings about us back and forth like we are two ends of the same sea. It takes me a minute to regroup. My dad can be vicious. He can also be very nice and kind. He was much more vicious when I was a kid but he's been better for a long time now. I'm always on alert, though. I always expect the verbal beat down.
But I'm determined to be strong and stand up for myself. I catch my breath and tell him that what he said was fucked up. That lumping me in with his entitled, take everything, spoiled daughter is not cool. That I, unlike her, have tried to call him back, several times.
He doesn't say anything. We move on. We talk circles around my spoiled sister again. He says he's tired of going circles around the same conversation (he always thinks he gets determine when a conversation is over). We talk about my childhood. He seems surprised when I tell him how life was with my mom and sister. Genuinely surprised. I wonder where the hell he was when I was a kid. How he missed so much. He apologizes for being such an ass when I was a kid. He says he was a bad parent. I believe he is sincere in his regret. I know he's gained a lot of perspective and he knows he was abusive. He hit us. Not a lot, but enough. Always for "discipline". Problem was, the punishment never fit with the crime. He hit us with a belt (that we had to go get) for not doing the dishes, fighting, not cleaning our rooms. He left welts. I have struggled for so long with this. I always excused it. He was only disciplining us, my child-mind rationalized. It was the only way he knew how. That's what his parents did. Everyone's parents spanked them. I'm beginning to think they didn't. And I don't know why, but his admitting it, made me feel free. Like I could also speak out and say it was not OK what he did.
The conversation was heavy, but we moved on to my mother's and my sister's relationship. I fished out a couple of things about narcissism to see how he'd react. He agrees that my mother is deceitful. He agrees she enables my sister. But when I suggested that she likes to keep my sister dependent on her so that she can feel important he was stunned. Why would a mom sabotage her own daughter? he asked, in disbelief. I knew that he wouldn't be able to hear any more on the subject.
I tried to make it back to my original point. See, he's been enabling NSis a lot lately too. Sending her money, asking for no accountability from her. Allowing her to continue to behave like a spoiled child. I wanted him to know that I'm not trying to punish NSis. I'm not in some petty sibling feud. I told him that I expect her to treat me with the same dignity and respect and love that I've always treated her. That the relationship needs to be reciprocal. That she has obligations to me too. He agreed. He said that he didn't feel like it was my role to provide for her or take care of her. I believed him.
But then he said, "But in the end, you're life is better than her's." And there it was. The excuse. The dismissal. The proof that, no matter how upset he is about how she acts towards him, he doesn't understand me at all. That he does feel I owe her something. Because my life is "better". DH, when I told him this, said "well, that's awfully subjective. I know lots of people who'd rather have her life than yours." Which is true. She has no responsibility. She has no accountability. She parties and sleeps until noon and spends money on herself. Now, is she happy? No. Does she want more? Yes. But her life isn't some horrible mess. And if it is, it's ALL due to choices she's made. She's made the choice to lead her life the way she has. And while I love my life, my kids, and my husband, it's no walk in the park all of the time. My sister would fall apart with 2 years of three-hours-of-sleep a night, the endless routine of taking care of kids, kids puking in your hands, cleaning, cooking, and caring for others, all to do it all over the next day. To be responsible and think of someone besides herself would not be her cup of tea. I love my life. My sister, would not. My dad would prefer my life, but not everyone thinks like my dad. And even, let's assume, that my life is better? Does that excuse her behavior? Does that make me responsible for her? Does that make her not responsible? Does that make her unaccountable? No, I don't think it does.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
The Narcissistic Triple Crown
As we left the movie theater, I stated that I had really liked the movie. "You couldn't have liked that movie. It was very depressing. It didn't have a positive message." Well, I explained, I didn't need a "positive message" to enjoy a movie. Sometimes, seeing the underside of life brought interesting thoughts for me to ponder. I enjoyed thinking of things from all angles, I stated. And besides, the movie (a later Oscar winner), was well written, beautifully filmed, and entertaining. And so it went, as I tried to explain why I had a right to like the movie, as she argued that I couldn't have liked the movie. Because she hadn't liked the movie, it simply was a fact that it was a movie unworthy of liking. Finally, she took the stance that, when I was her age (60), I would see the error of my ways and not like trivial things like this movie and choose to only have positive influences in my life. I questioned my Dad. Did he like the movie (as he was also close to 60)? Well, yes he did. It changed her mind not at all. I simply was wrong for disagreeing with her opinion.
This would become a defining theme in my adult relationship with my stepmother (SM). Her way was the "right way", the only way, and any differentiation of that was wrong. She had met my Dad when I was in my last year of high school. I had met her when I was 18. They lived two states away, and so I saw her, on average, once a year. She really knew nothing of me, but she knew what was best for me. My sister got the worst of it, as she lived with them for quite awhile. It was a chaotic, stressful time for them all. And instead of helping my dad and sister get along, she inserted herself, tried to control it all, and generally drove them apart. She refused to allow them a relationship that didn't involve her, and it ultimately separated them as my sister felt betrayed that dad didn't defend her more.
SM has three boys of her own. She was a single mom for most of her life after an abusive relationship. She is extremely enmeshed with them, even as they are married. They call her constantly, seek her advice on everything, and she doesn't allow them to make decisions without her input. She would budget her grown, married son's money every month; going through their bills, determining how much they could spend. She "requested" that everyone spend all holidays together. All her kids and all their in-laws. It never went well (as you can imagine.) She disliked DIL's mother (another overly enmeshed mother) and they fought over turf. She rarely has a nice thing to say about people and she is very black and white in her judgements. She also has pushed for everyone to stay around her city.
Regardless, I rarely had too many problems with her. She would offer her advice when we visited. Offer up her opinion, but I could easily ignore her, as we saw her so rarely. She would come to my home and make efforts to "teach" me how to be a grown up (despite me already being one, and functioning just fine the other 51 weeks of the year.) One Christmas, she bugged me to help. I finally asked her to complete the gravy, so I could finish up all the other last minute prep. She proceeding to demand my attention as she "taught" me how to make gravy, as I ran around the kitchen trying to do everything else. Dad asked me if I had known how to make gravy. I explained I did. He said nothing more about it. She announced that she was going to "make herself at home". Well, I like people to be comfortable in my home. But what she meant was, she was going to treat my home as if it really was her home. Helping herself to anything she wanted, commandeering the washing machine, going into any cupboard she felt necessary, taking apart old family albums to "make copies at home", and ripping apart my carefully organized scrap book of recipes to copy them onto my fancy, expensive stationary (if she'd just asked, I have a ton of normal notebooks to use.)
When I had my son, all hell broke loose. They arrived a week and a half after my c-section to "help". But she meant "to teach you how to be a mom". She preached, she pushed, she scolded. She and my father argued that because she had raised 3 sons, that I needed her advice. They didn't ask what I knew, they didn't care if my opinion was different. Any attempt to do what I thought was best was met with anger at my being stubborn and not doing what was best for the baby. She insisted that I use a pacifier. She snapped that the baby was nursing too much, using me as comfort. I argued that he was a week and a half old, we were attempting to get off to a good start, it gave me a chance to sit down, I didn't mind nursing, and that really, every two and a half hours was not that much. I finally hid the pacifiers from her as she kept stuffing them down his throat. When I came home from a half hour errand run, I found her rummaging through my bedroom looking for the pacifiers. He was "about" to cry, she wanted to soothe him. She knew best, after all.
She wanted to do the cooking, again "to teach me". But I have been cooking since I was 13. And although I would've loved someone to cook, I was tired of the huge messes she made and left after her cooking sessions. So, I had food prepared ahead of time and frozen. I had it all done. She insisted she could help. So, one day, I asked for help. I said we needed to pull the carrots up from the garden, clean them, and chop the vegetables. Well, she needed to have her iced tea first. She sat on her ass as I, fresh incision in my abdomen, bent over the garden, pulled up the vegetables, washed them off with a hose, cleaned them further inside and finally chopped them all up. Only as I finished up, did she also finish her tea and come inside. God forbid she had to do things my way on my terms.
She left my house complaining to everyone who would listen how much of a spoiled brat I was. I wouldn't listen to reason. How I was harming my kid. How I didn't respect that he wasn't "my baby" but the "family's baby". She didn't care that I had gotten different advice from my pediatrician. She didn't care that my mom and MIL had different advice. I was the bitch for not listening to her (and her decades old advice.)
Things continued to get worse. She declared herself a cutesy grandmother name that I hated. She had asked me about it and I had told her that we were calling all the grandmother's the same thing (to avoid jealousy and such). She didn't care. Her DIL had picked this name and she expected me to use this childish name that I hate. She nitpicks. She finds fault. She helps herself to my home in ways that push boundaries. When they visited two days after we moved into a new home, despite seeing the unpacked boxes in my garage, she constantly commented on the things I needed to provide a better guest experience. All of the things I had but were unpacked. I felt she was lucky to have a bed. She always has critical judgments, always has a damn opinion. ON EVERYTHING. From what we serve, to what I eat (she claims I'm unhealthy, despite my weight being normal and hers being very much overweight), to how meals are prepared, to how we raise my son, the sleep he gets, the way I do laundry. Everything is up for discussion, and my refusal to follow her opinions is MY personal flaw. She has convinced my dad, somehow, that my kids are not as developed as her grandkids and he eats up her advice like it's law (which totally confuses me since he's not that type of person to just go with one person's thoughts). She's slow and lumbering and makes people wait on her. She can never be ready on time. She requires 500 trips to the store to get things when she's here. She and Dad call me anal and over organized. They resent that I ask them to accommodate my kids. Two of the last three times they've come here, they've arrived at 11:00 at night, despite the fact that I had a VERY newborn baby and was very short on sleep (and my husband had to work the next day). And it's because they decide to go out to breakfast with relatives, or couldn't leave before 1 pm. They have had little consideration or empathy for the fact that the last three visits have been at the three of the most stressful, difficult times for my family. They make assumptions and judgments based on what they see during those visits, never taking into consideration that those were atypical times in our life, and often, things are different when you have house guests. I always feel like I'm under inspection.
So, Dad called the other night and announced they wanted to visit...soon. They couldn't arrange things before now, and want to come at one of the busiest times in our summer. I would love for just Dad to come, as he actually, is pretty easy going, but that won't happen. And he doesn't realize how stressed she makes me. I really want the boys to see the grandfather. And if it doesn't happen now, it won't happen for another year. I would like to see my Dad. I actually enjoy him. I just wish he'd leave her behind.
This would become a defining theme in my adult relationship with my stepmother (SM). Her way was the "right way", the only way, and any differentiation of that was wrong. She had met my Dad when I was in my last year of high school. I had met her when I was 18. They lived two states away, and so I saw her, on average, once a year. She really knew nothing of me, but she knew what was best for me. My sister got the worst of it, as she lived with them for quite awhile. It was a chaotic, stressful time for them all. And instead of helping my dad and sister get along, she inserted herself, tried to control it all, and generally drove them apart. She refused to allow them a relationship that didn't involve her, and it ultimately separated them as my sister felt betrayed that dad didn't defend her more.
SM has three boys of her own. She was a single mom for most of her life after an abusive relationship. She is extremely enmeshed with them, even as they are married. They call her constantly, seek her advice on everything, and she doesn't allow them to make decisions without her input. She would budget her grown, married son's money every month; going through their bills, determining how much they could spend. She "requested" that everyone spend all holidays together. All her kids and all their in-laws. It never went well (as you can imagine.) She disliked DIL's mother (another overly enmeshed mother) and they fought over turf. She rarely has a nice thing to say about people and she is very black and white in her judgements. She also has pushed for everyone to stay around her city.
Regardless, I rarely had too many problems with her. She would offer her advice when we visited. Offer up her opinion, but I could easily ignore her, as we saw her so rarely. She would come to my home and make efforts to "teach" me how to be a grown up (despite me already being one, and functioning just fine the other 51 weeks of the year.) One Christmas, she bugged me to help. I finally asked her to complete the gravy, so I could finish up all the other last minute prep. She proceeding to demand my attention as she "taught" me how to make gravy, as I ran around the kitchen trying to do everything else. Dad asked me if I had known how to make gravy. I explained I did. He said nothing more about it. She announced that she was going to "make herself at home". Well, I like people to be comfortable in my home. But what she meant was, she was going to treat my home as if it really was her home. Helping herself to anything she wanted, commandeering the washing machine, going into any cupboard she felt necessary, taking apart old family albums to "make copies at home", and ripping apart my carefully organized scrap book of recipes to copy them onto my fancy, expensive stationary (if she'd just asked, I have a ton of normal notebooks to use.)
When I had my son, all hell broke loose. They arrived a week and a half after my c-section to "help". But she meant "to teach you how to be a mom". She preached, she pushed, she scolded. She and my father argued that because she had raised 3 sons, that I needed her advice. They didn't ask what I knew, they didn't care if my opinion was different. Any attempt to do what I thought was best was met with anger at my being stubborn and not doing what was best for the baby. She insisted that I use a pacifier. She snapped that the baby was nursing too much, using me as comfort. I argued that he was a week and a half old, we were attempting to get off to a good start, it gave me a chance to sit down, I didn't mind nursing, and that really, every two and a half hours was not that much. I finally hid the pacifiers from her as she kept stuffing them down his throat. When I came home from a half hour errand run, I found her rummaging through my bedroom looking for the pacifiers. He was "about" to cry, she wanted to soothe him. She knew best, after all.
She wanted to do the cooking, again "to teach me". But I have been cooking since I was 13. And although I would've loved someone to cook, I was tired of the huge messes she made and left after her cooking sessions. So, I had food prepared ahead of time and frozen. I had it all done. She insisted she could help. So, one day, I asked for help. I said we needed to pull the carrots up from the garden, clean them, and chop the vegetables. Well, she needed to have her iced tea first. She sat on her ass as I, fresh incision in my abdomen, bent over the garden, pulled up the vegetables, washed them off with a hose, cleaned them further inside and finally chopped them all up. Only as I finished up, did she also finish her tea and come inside. God forbid she had to do things my way on my terms.
She left my house complaining to everyone who would listen how much of a spoiled brat I was. I wouldn't listen to reason. How I was harming my kid. How I didn't respect that he wasn't "my baby" but the "family's baby". She didn't care that I had gotten different advice from my pediatrician. She didn't care that my mom and MIL had different advice. I was the bitch for not listening to her (and her decades old advice.)
Things continued to get worse. She declared herself a cutesy grandmother name that I hated. She had asked me about it and I had told her that we were calling all the grandmother's the same thing (to avoid jealousy and such). She didn't care. Her DIL had picked this name and she expected me to use this childish name that I hate. She nitpicks. She finds fault. She helps herself to my home in ways that push boundaries. When they visited two days after we moved into a new home, despite seeing the unpacked boxes in my garage, she constantly commented on the things I needed to provide a better guest experience. All of the things I had but were unpacked. I felt she was lucky to have a bed. She always has critical judgments, always has a damn opinion. ON EVERYTHING. From what we serve, to what I eat (she claims I'm unhealthy, despite my weight being normal and hers being very much overweight), to how meals are prepared, to how we raise my son, the sleep he gets, the way I do laundry. Everything is up for discussion, and my refusal to follow her opinions is MY personal flaw. She has convinced my dad, somehow, that my kids are not as developed as her grandkids and he eats up her advice like it's law (which totally confuses me since he's not that type of person to just go with one person's thoughts). She's slow and lumbering and makes people wait on her. She can never be ready on time. She requires 500 trips to the store to get things when she's here. She and Dad call me anal and over organized. They resent that I ask them to accommodate my kids. Two of the last three times they've come here, they've arrived at 11:00 at night, despite the fact that I had a VERY newborn baby and was very short on sleep (and my husband had to work the next day). And it's because they decide to go out to breakfast with relatives, or couldn't leave before 1 pm. They have had little consideration or empathy for the fact that the last three visits have been at the three of the most stressful, difficult times for my family. They make assumptions and judgments based on what they see during those visits, never taking into consideration that those were atypical times in our life, and often, things are different when you have house guests. I always feel like I'm under inspection.
So, Dad called the other night and announced they wanted to visit...soon. They couldn't arrange things before now, and want to come at one of the busiest times in our summer. I would love for just Dad to come, as he actually, is pretty easy going, but that won't happen. And he doesn't realize how stressed she makes me. I really want the boys to see the grandfather. And if it doesn't happen now, it won't happen for another year. I would like to see my Dad. I actually enjoy him. I just wish he'd leave her behind.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Choosing An Identity
This topic had been on my "list of things to write about" for awhile now, but this morning I saw something on Jonsi's blog about why she choose her name and I felt compelled to do the Post now. Thanks Jonsi for the inspiration!
Choosing my "pen name" for this Blog was surprisingly emotional for me. It took me days. I struggled with the courage to even do it. It was like the first step in this process and it scared the crap out of me. I can remember shaking as I punched things into Google, looking for the right name. I somehow knew that once I made that choice I would be committed. Something in me would be reborn. I can only imagine how many other people would find this truely ridiculous. But for me, it was about finding my identity.
I wanted a name that describe what I was trying to accomplish. When I came across the name Sheridan, I found that it meant "seeker". I had been seeking the truth, seeking me, seeking a way out of this hell hole, so this seemed perfect. (Side note, as I google it today, I find it means "life long treasure". Hmm. Interesting). Jesse (I changed it to the -ie) meant gift, offering to God, and one who is. Perfect. This blog was my prayer to God, my offering for change, and my attempt to just be. I liked how the two names sounded together, as it implied a bit of the location that I'm in (my identity does have lots of influence from where I'm from). I also liked that it sounded a bit like an outlaw. Some gunslinger from the West. I felt like an outlaw. But one of those who steals from the rich and gives to the poor.
And just a random thought on the issue of names. I spent a lot of time finding the perfect names for my sons. I wanted them to have names with limitless possibilites. It was important to me that they have names which grounded them in a sense of family, provided them a foundation (we gave them each a family members name whom we loved), but also a name that would allow them to be whomever they chose to be. A name that sounded good on a toddler but wouldn't embarrass a grown man. A name that could be for a lawyer or an artist. A name unique enough to not be "one of the herd" but not so crazy that they stood out like a freak. Of course, NM suggested variants of her name if the babies had been girls. I thought, how weird. I NEVER would've suggested or implied that someone name a baby after me. Besides the obvious that I didn't like her name, nor did she deserve this honor, but that she would even have the arrogance to suggest it blew me away. NMIL had the middle name of my first born son all picked out already. It was a "tradition" and it never occured to her that we wouldn't use it. I remember her telling us that she had paperwork for us to give the baby on why we gave it this "tradtional" name. I remember being blown away that she would just make this assumption. This story is such a hallmark of my NMIL. Most of the time, it NEVER OCCURS to her that someone would have other ideas, thoughts, or opinions. I think having so many sons, she just herded them around and they followed her like mindless robots. She just the expectation that everyone will fall in line. Maybe that's why she's not more underhanded. She's never really had to use such tactics to keep the troops in line. They've been so brainwashed, they do it naturally. Until now.
Anyway, sorry for my rambling. I tend to get off track. But back to the thoughts on identity. I don't remember my parents allowing me hardly any opportunity to develop one as a kid. Maybe not that they didn't allow it, but they certainly didn't encourage it. Like NMIL, I don't think it occurred to them to cultivate my own personal sense of identity. I just was to be what they had been. This was how it was, how it'd always been, and how it would always be. Little clones producing more little clones. It's not that they stifled my "other" interests. They just didn't acknowledge them. They went through the motions, but never encouraged them. They didn't really pay any attention to them at all, beside the obligatory parental requirements.
My family did have labels for me. I was "smart". I was thinking the other day that this was one of the positive things I took from my childhood. At least I knew I was smart. I had the achievement tests to prove it. But as I really thought about how my parents viewed my intelligence, it was never as a credit to my character. First and foremost, my intelligence shackled me to expectations of perfection. I was not allowed to get anything but As. I was better than that. I didn't matter that I really did struggle in some subjects. I was too intelligent for that (and not that they helped me, or asked about school, or knew what in the hell I was doing beyond the end result). I could bring home straight As forever, but man, that one B...well, that would be the end of the world. Dad also used to say that I was book smart, but naive. "Some of the people who are the smartest with books, are the dumbest in the real world." While this may be true, he always used it to take me down a peg. My mother was jealous of my intelligence. She still is. My intelligence was a direct insult to her. As if I did it to her on purpose. She liked to throw it in my face that I somehow had something she didn't and I should feel sorry for her for it. Still to this day, she likes to "correct" me (although she's usually wrong) and when backed into a corner, she'll pull the whole "you're calling me stupid" card out. I don't remember ever being told I was pretty. I did get compliments for my outfits (usually one that NM picked out or if my hair looked nice. But I always got the distinct impression that I was not the pretty sister. Good behavior, good grades, basically anything beyond perfection were critized and judged. However, when I attained these goals, they were treated as if I'd just done what any kid would be expected to do. My opinion was rarely asked, by parents never knew what I thought, and I get the distinct impression that I annoyed them more than anything.
Today, I'm often labeled my family as controlling, anxious, oversensitive (I got this ALL the time as a kid too. I was not allowed to be upset about anything), inflexiable, anal, a worry wort, and compulsive. They see me as an organizational freak who must control everything and won't allow any dissension (projecting much?). I am the "bad" family member. They one who isn't there enough, doesn't call enough, doesn't do enough. The laughable part is that I AM that family member. I always call, check in, send cards, remember birthdays, acknowledge accomplishments, put thought into gifts, send thank you cards. I get the distinct feeling that with them, I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't. My dad likes to see my efforts at being a good hostess (providing dinner at a good time, showing were things are, providing entertainment) as controlling. I'm anal if I announce that we should head to dinner by a particular time. I'm anal because I planned the friggin meals (someone has to buy all the groceries for 10 people, so yeah, I had to plan it.) Here I think I'm being thoughtful and making things easy, but no, I'm anal and a control freak. Any advice that I won't take is because I'm a control freak. NM's husband loves to point out that he thinks I'm a compulsively anal control freak. If I state that my son likes something a certain way, he'll say "I wonder who he gets THAT from".
My in-laws also have labels for me. I'm rigid, inflexible, organized (this is one they actually admire, except when it puts them at a disadvantage or makes them feel jealous), stuck-up, snobby, and just plain odd. They have no idea who the real me is, other than what they've decided me to be. They very rarely ask my opinion, unless they already know it will be similar to theirs. They fully ignore any topics in which I'd have a differing thought. In the early days, anything I brought up about myself was turned back to them. I'd tell NMIL that I had danced as a kid. "OH, you did. Well (DH) won a dance contest once!" And then on and on about the dance contest...once...that she didn't even go to. And for the record, husband is a good dancer, but not a dance contest winner. I used to write and was in speech, well hubby was a speaker at a state contest. I used to think she was just trying to connect. Now, I think she had to one-up me. The things she does take an interest in, she covets. I like to wrap Christmas gifts. I like to take a glass of wine, watch a Christmas movie, and layer ribbons, wrapping, etc. I find it relaxing (I'm fully aware most people don't). Kind of like arts and crafts. NMIL's packages always looked like they'd been through the garbage disposal. But what do you know, now she spends all this time on her gifts. They still look like they've been through the garbage disposal, but it looks like she did it on purpose. Anything that I do well, she has to do to. If I have a nice pair of earrings, she exclaims that she wants them too. She's always asking where I bought stuff. I know, imitation is the greatest form of flattery. Except when you feel like someone's trying to steal any sense of identity away. And if she can't compete directly, she just figures out a way to minimize what I do. She can't ever just thank me for the damn Christmas card. She has to comment on how she simply just didn't have time (the woman who is retired, has no kids at home, no hobbies, didn't have time.) My favorite was when she heard through friends that I make a good lasagna. So, I made it for her once. I thought I was being NICE. Her comment: "Well, you make a good lasagna...BUT I MAKE REALLY GOOD SPAGHETTI". WTF is that? I'm still trying to explain to husband why this comment irritated me so bad, and continues to irritate me. Needless to say, I haven't cooked for her since.
But I think the worse for me with the in-laws (and my family in general) that they don't know me at all. With the in-laws I feel like a bunch of "tags" (I think Jonsi referred to it this way). Mom of their grandkids, wife of their son. I'm a label. I fill the slot (not that I fill it well, and in fact, I often feel like the round peg in the square hole). Anything that they don't like about me, they simply ignore. I'm a 2-dimensional character that they don't give a crap to really know. I am not appreciated, loved, or accepted for me. My family doesn't know who the hell I am. Again, labels, projections, images in their head, is all I am. I can't be me, I can't share me, because they'll use it against me. Use it to hurt me. Use it to further their own little agendas.
So, I'm searching. Who the fuck am I? What is my identity? What can I live with in myself? It's weird to be 30-something and finally trying to decide what I am. To quit being the labels and just be human.
Choosing my "pen name" for this Blog was surprisingly emotional for me. It took me days. I struggled with the courage to even do it. It was like the first step in this process and it scared the crap out of me. I can remember shaking as I punched things into Google, looking for the right name. I somehow knew that once I made that choice I would be committed. Something in me would be reborn. I can only imagine how many other people would find this truely ridiculous. But for me, it was about finding my identity.
I wanted a name that describe what I was trying to accomplish. When I came across the name Sheridan, I found that it meant "seeker". I had been seeking the truth, seeking me, seeking a way out of this hell hole, so this seemed perfect. (Side note, as I google it today, I find it means "life long treasure". Hmm. Interesting). Jesse (I changed it to the -ie) meant gift, offering to God, and one who is. Perfect. This blog was my prayer to God, my offering for change, and my attempt to just be. I liked how the two names sounded together, as it implied a bit of the location that I'm in (my identity does have lots of influence from where I'm from). I also liked that it sounded a bit like an outlaw. Some gunslinger from the West. I felt like an outlaw. But one of those who steals from the rich and gives to the poor.
And just a random thought on the issue of names. I spent a lot of time finding the perfect names for my sons. I wanted them to have names with limitless possibilites. It was important to me that they have names which grounded them in a sense of family, provided them a foundation (we gave them each a family members name whom we loved), but also a name that would allow them to be whomever they chose to be. A name that sounded good on a toddler but wouldn't embarrass a grown man. A name that could be for a lawyer or an artist. A name unique enough to not be "one of the herd" but not so crazy that they stood out like a freak. Of course, NM suggested variants of her name if the babies had been girls. I thought, how weird. I NEVER would've suggested or implied that someone name a baby after me. Besides the obvious that I didn't like her name, nor did she deserve this honor, but that she would even have the arrogance to suggest it blew me away. NMIL had the middle name of my first born son all picked out already. It was a "tradition" and it never occured to her that we wouldn't use it. I remember her telling us that she had paperwork for us to give the baby on why we gave it this "tradtional" name. I remember being blown away that she would just make this assumption. This story is such a hallmark of my NMIL. Most of the time, it NEVER OCCURS to her that someone would have other ideas, thoughts, or opinions. I think having so many sons, she just herded them around and they followed her like mindless robots. She just the expectation that everyone will fall in line. Maybe that's why she's not more underhanded. She's never really had to use such tactics to keep the troops in line. They've been so brainwashed, they do it naturally. Until now.
Anyway, sorry for my rambling. I tend to get off track. But back to the thoughts on identity. I don't remember my parents allowing me hardly any opportunity to develop one as a kid. Maybe not that they didn't allow it, but they certainly didn't encourage it. Like NMIL, I don't think it occurred to them to cultivate my own personal sense of identity. I just was to be what they had been. This was how it was, how it'd always been, and how it would always be. Little clones producing more little clones. It's not that they stifled my "other" interests. They just didn't acknowledge them. They went through the motions, but never encouraged them. They didn't really pay any attention to them at all, beside the obligatory parental requirements.
My family did have labels for me. I was "smart". I was thinking the other day that this was one of the positive things I took from my childhood. At least I knew I was smart. I had the achievement tests to prove it. But as I really thought about how my parents viewed my intelligence, it was never as a credit to my character. First and foremost, my intelligence shackled me to expectations of perfection. I was not allowed to get anything but As. I was better than that. I didn't matter that I really did struggle in some subjects. I was too intelligent for that (and not that they helped me, or asked about school, or knew what in the hell I was doing beyond the end result). I could bring home straight As forever, but man, that one B...well, that would be the end of the world. Dad also used to say that I was book smart, but naive. "Some of the people who are the smartest with books, are the dumbest in the real world." While this may be true, he always used it to take me down a peg. My mother was jealous of my intelligence. She still is. My intelligence was a direct insult to her. As if I did it to her on purpose. She liked to throw it in my face that I somehow had something she didn't and I should feel sorry for her for it. Still to this day, she likes to "correct" me (although she's usually wrong) and when backed into a corner, she'll pull the whole "you're calling me stupid" card out. I don't remember ever being told I was pretty. I did get compliments for my outfits (usually one that NM picked out or if my hair looked nice. But I always got the distinct impression that I was not the pretty sister. Good behavior, good grades, basically anything beyond perfection were critized and judged. However, when I attained these goals, they were treated as if I'd just done what any kid would be expected to do. My opinion was rarely asked, by parents never knew what I thought, and I get the distinct impression that I annoyed them more than anything.
Today, I'm often labeled my family as controlling, anxious, oversensitive (I got this ALL the time as a kid too. I was not allowed to be upset about anything), inflexiable, anal, a worry wort, and compulsive. They see me as an organizational freak who must control everything and won't allow any dissension (projecting much?). I am the "bad" family member. They one who isn't there enough, doesn't call enough, doesn't do enough. The laughable part is that I AM that family member. I always call, check in, send cards, remember birthdays, acknowledge accomplishments, put thought into gifts, send thank you cards. I get the distinct feeling that with them, I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't. My dad likes to see my efforts at being a good hostess (providing dinner at a good time, showing were things are, providing entertainment) as controlling. I'm anal if I announce that we should head to dinner by a particular time. I'm anal because I planned the friggin meals (someone has to buy all the groceries for 10 people, so yeah, I had to plan it.) Here I think I'm being thoughtful and making things easy, but no, I'm anal and a control freak. Any advice that I won't take is because I'm a control freak. NM's husband loves to point out that he thinks I'm a compulsively anal control freak. If I state that my son likes something a certain way, he'll say "I wonder who he gets THAT from".
My in-laws also have labels for me. I'm rigid, inflexible, organized (this is one they actually admire, except when it puts them at a disadvantage or makes them feel jealous), stuck-up, snobby, and just plain odd. They have no idea who the real me is, other than what they've decided me to be. They very rarely ask my opinion, unless they already know it will be similar to theirs. They fully ignore any topics in which I'd have a differing thought. In the early days, anything I brought up about myself was turned back to them. I'd tell NMIL that I had danced as a kid. "OH, you did. Well (DH) won a dance contest once!" And then on and on about the dance contest...once...that she didn't even go to. And for the record, husband is a good dancer, but not a dance contest winner. I used to write and was in speech, well hubby was a speaker at a state contest. I used to think she was just trying to connect. Now, I think she had to one-up me. The things she does take an interest in, she covets. I like to wrap Christmas gifts. I like to take a glass of wine, watch a Christmas movie, and layer ribbons, wrapping, etc. I find it relaxing (I'm fully aware most people don't). Kind of like arts and crafts. NMIL's packages always looked like they'd been through the garbage disposal. But what do you know, now she spends all this time on her gifts. They still look like they've been through the garbage disposal, but it looks like she did it on purpose. Anything that I do well, she has to do to. If I have a nice pair of earrings, she exclaims that she wants them too. She's always asking where I bought stuff. I know, imitation is the greatest form of flattery. Except when you feel like someone's trying to steal any sense of identity away. And if she can't compete directly, she just figures out a way to minimize what I do. She can't ever just thank me for the damn Christmas card. She has to comment on how she simply just didn't have time (the woman who is retired, has no kids at home, no hobbies, didn't have time.) My favorite was when she heard through friends that I make a good lasagna. So, I made it for her once. I thought I was being NICE. Her comment: "Well, you make a good lasagna...BUT I MAKE REALLY GOOD SPAGHETTI". WTF is that? I'm still trying to explain to husband why this comment irritated me so bad, and continues to irritate me. Needless to say, I haven't cooked for her since.
But I think the worse for me with the in-laws (and my family in general) that they don't know me at all. With the in-laws I feel like a bunch of "tags" (I think Jonsi referred to it this way). Mom of their grandkids, wife of their son. I'm a label. I fill the slot (not that I fill it well, and in fact, I often feel like the round peg in the square hole). Anything that they don't like about me, they simply ignore. I'm a 2-dimensional character that they don't give a crap to really know. I am not appreciated, loved, or accepted for me. My family doesn't know who the hell I am. Again, labels, projections, images in their head, is all I am. I can't be me, I can't share me, because they'll use it against me. Use it to hurt me. Use it to further their own little agendas.
So, I'm searching. Who the fuck am I? What is my identity? What can I live with in myself? It's weird to be 30-something and finally trying to decide what I am. To quit being the labels and just be human.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
My Father
I've put off writing about my father for a long time. I really struggled with what I would say and how. Not because I was worried I would say the wrong thing, but because it is so difficult to really paint him with a clear stroke.
My dad suffered some unspeakable abuse as a small child. I know little about the actual abuse, other than it scarred him for life. He will forever be an angry, controlling, nitpicky, sweet, soft, vulnerable person.
When I was a child, he was a very scary man. He was distant and stoic and I rarely saw him smile. He was strict and rigid and, while I don't believe physically abusive, very harsh disciplinarian. There was a right way and a wrong way to do things and you lived in fear of doing the wrong thing. He was so angry. He was depressed. I know I enjoyed my dad at times. I have a lot of good memories. But I never felt he was my protector. I never felt close to him. We never connected, despite that I was continually "partnered" with him, as my sister and mother were always together. He expected perfection in everything always. In many ways he set me up for my abuse from my mom. He very clearly laid it out that love was conditional on meeting his expectations. He always expected my sister and I to abdicate our feelings/wants/needs if it meant pleasing someone else. He was so harsh that my mother seemed like a port in the storm, all the while she was poisoning us in another way. I was not his princess or his little girl. I remember calling him "daddy" once because I'd heard other girls refer to their dads that way. I got an earful of angry insults and criticism. He was not my "daddy".
When my parents divorced, he became a broken, shell of a man. It was frightening actually. To see someone who I viewed as so powerful, so stoic, turn into a blithering mess. It was a rough couple of years for him. At one point, I quit living with my mom and moved in with him. He got on antidepressants. He changed somewhat.
We've become closer over the years. While my dad can have some extremely narcissistic traits, he has become less so. I am no longer afraid to express my opinion. He is interested in my life (although he often is so consumed by his depression, that I don't come on his radar) if I call. He is (mostly) supportive. And I think the most important thing, he will recognize when he is wrong. I have received several genuine apologies from him. But he still can be stubborn, and one sided, and it can be difficult to approach him with alternate opinions (but it can be done). He still sometimes I insist that I abdicate my feelings for someone else just for the sake of doing it. But sometimes he stands up for me. I can call him and tell him about my bad day and he will be suppportive. He's got a soft spot and is sensitive, but you have to brake through a pretty hard shell to reach it.
I don't know, it all almost sounds silly when I write it. He is a very disturbing dichotomy of two opposites. Sometimes the old, harsh dad I feared. Sometimes I worry about displeasing him so much that I literally get sick. Sometimes he is the new, mellow Dad whom I can talk to and relate to and feel good after spending time with him. Sometimes he is not. And the best part is, he is the least of three evils in my FOO.
My dad suffered some unspeakable abuse as a small child. I know little about the actual abuse, other than it scarred him for life. He will forever be an angry, controlling, nitpicky, sweet, soft, vulnerable person.
When I was a child, he was a very scary man. He was distant and stoic and I rarely saw him smile. He was strict and rigid and, while I don't believe physically abusive, very harsh disciplinarian. There was a right way and a wrong way to do things and you lived in fear of doing the wrong thing. He was so angry. He was depressed. I know I enjoyed my dad at times. I have a lot of good memories. But I never felt he was my protector. I never felt close to him. We never connected, despite that I was continually "partnered" with him, as my sister and mother were always together. He expected perfection in everything always. In many ways he set me up for my abuse from my mom. He very clearly laid it out that love was conditional on meeting his expectations. He always expected my sister and I to abdicate our feelings/wants/needs if it meant pleasing someone else. He was so harsh that my mother seemed like a port in the storm, all the while she was poisoning us in another way. I was not his princess or his little girl. I remember calling him "daddy" once because I'd heard other girls refer to their dads that way. I got an earful of angry insults and criticism. He was not my "daddy".
When my parents divorced, he became a broken, shell of a man. It was frightening actually. To see someone who I viewed as so powerful, so stoic, turn into a blithering mess. It was a rough couple of years for him. At one point, I quit living with my mom and moved in with him. He got on antidepressants. He changed somewhat.
We've become closer over the years. While my dad can have some extremely narcissistic traits, he has become less so. I am no longer afraid to express my opinion. He is interested in my life (although he often is so consumed by his depression, that I don't come on his radar) if I call. He is (mostly) supportive. And I think the most important thing, he will recognize when he is wrong. I have received several genuine apologies from him. But he still can be stubborn, and one sided, and it can be difficult to approach him with alternate opinions (but it can be done). He still sometimes I insist that I abdicate my feelings for someone else just for the sake of doing it. But sometimes he stands up for me. I can call him and tell him about my bad day and he will be suppportive. He's got a soft spot and is sensitive, but you have to brake through a pretty hard shell to reach it.
I don't know, it all almost sounds silly when I write it. He is a very disturbing dichotomy of two opposites. Sometimes the old, harsh dad I feared. Sometimes I worry about displeasing him so much that I literally get sick. Sometimes he is the new, mellow Dad whom I can talk to and relate to and feel good after spending time with him. Sometimes he is not. And the best part is, he is the least of three evils in my FOO.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Divorce Part II : How NM blamed it all on me
My mother went on like nothing happened after the divorce. Blissfully happy in her new family and new life. I was hurt that she could cast my sister and me aside so easily, but I still loved her so much, wanted to support her, wanted to be a part of her life. I desperately did all I could to be the good daughter.
When I went away to college, my relationship with my mom (Hilda) changed. I thought at the time that it was for the better. She called me all the time. Not to check on me really. Oh, she asked about me and "worried" and "stressed" about her poor, silly daughter, so far from home. So far from her. (And as a side note, I had somewhat intentionally chosen to go to college as far from her as possible. My releasing had began even if I didn't fully realize it.) But she never really seemed to listen or care about the things I was struggling with. Mainly because it didn't compare to the things she was going through with my sister. Those were REAL problems. This would be, and still is a theme, in my relationship with my sister and mom. Their self-induced drama and problems and chaos were always so much more important than what was going on in my life. How can you complain, Jessie? What do you have to be sad about, Jessie? If you want to know about a real problem, Jessie let me tell you about.... And, yes, the things going on with my sister were bad. She had always been a "spirited" child. But after the divorce, she went crazy. Drugs, running away, rapes, sex with boys, not coming home. On and on. And my mother would call, detailing every bit. She would complain to me and cry. I felt horrible. I felt helpless. There was nothing I could do, especially 400 miles away. My sister and I didn't even talk at this time. We would be estranged and loathe each other for a long time (mainly created by my mother, but that is another post). Hilda would tell me I was like "her personal psychologist". This made me feel important at the time. My mother needed me! After years of ignoring me, she needed me. I can see now, that it was killing me. I was so helpless and these problems were beyond my ability to fix. Not that my mother did anything either to help. She just enabled and enabled. Lamented about why she was so unfortunate to have a daughter like my sister. Years later I would suggest that maybe the divorce or her behavior had something to do with it. My mother cried and became upset, yelled that she was a horrible mother. But what did I want her to do about it. "I can't take back the past! I had to do what was best for me!" She said she was sorry, but I never believed her. I lived with knots in my stomach for years. What should've been a wonderful period of growth and discovery for me, became about her and her problems and her stress. Trips home were awful. And on occasion, she would drop my sister off with me. So she could get away and relax. These occasions terrified me. To be responsible for someone so out of control. To have someone around me who was so volatile and could wreck havoc in the little support system I had created at school. I was terrified my sister would reveal the craziness that was home to my friends.
I met my husband around my junior year. The relationship with my mom started to dissolve. When I wasn't there for her solely, she became upset. We became combative. As I found myself, and with support from my husband (then boyfriend) I began to move out of her control. I was not at her beck and call. I tried to create my own life. She became desperate. She would call and cry and overwhelm me with her constant need for attention. And when she would visit, things would get bad. They always ended in arguments. The fights always started with her being condescending, or rude, or putting me or Paul (hubby) down. She would accuse me of not being there for her in her problems with Erica. I would tell her that it was killing me and she needed to learn on her husband or call my father. My father sent her into rages because she no longer controlled him. She wanted him to parent as she was parenting. To obsess and enable my sister. And then when he didn't, her anger turned to me and she would say "It's not fair that I'm the only one dealing with Erica. I shouldn't have to do this alone. If I have to deal with it, you all should deal with it too. If I have to have this stress in my life, so should you." Why should I? I wanted to scream. I didn't create her messes. I was helpless to fix them. I had my own life. She never tried to shelter me, or protect me. She wanted to drag me down into her hole. Anyway, these arguments would happen and when I would confront her, she would play her trump card. "You're not over the divorce" she would smirk. As if this was my fatal flaw. And I never knew how to respond. Because, yeah, I really wasn't over it. I had never grieved, never mourned, never had any moment to express MY feelings. I was always so busy taking care of everyone else. But that was beside the point. This wasn't about that anger. This was about her being rude and spiteful and selfish. She would spit "you need therapy". Again, this was true. But she acted as if I got "fixed" then all the problems would disappear. We would no longer have conflict. She refused to see that she had ownership in anything. And as these fights layered on each other, my frustration grew. And she would amp things up with each fight. And then one time, she told me she had gotten the divorce for Erica and me. My dad was poor and angry and depressed. And she felt that Hank would be a better father. She blamed ME for it all. I couldn't even fathom how she concluded this. How she spun things to make herself seem the hero, making the selfless sacrifice for her daughters. Never mind that my Dad wasn't as horrible as she made out (he was hard and angry but definitely not some loser father) but I never could have "replaced" him. I loved my Dad. Never mind that SHE benefited the most from this event. Never mind that she repeatedly told me she had done this for her "freedom". When cornered, she turned around and blamed me. I began to harden towards her. And finally, after one argument, where she berated me that I needed to get over things, I needed to let go, I needed to fix myself, I lost it. Hell yeah, I was angry. Hell yeah, I was hurt. "You abandoned me and Erica when we needed you so that you could go and fuck Hank." Silence. I was small and sad and tired in the back of the car. I'd felt like a beaten, caged animal. She had pushed me too far. I instantly felt horrible, guilty. But I also felt a little better. And that made me feel guilty. She had been pushing me to say this for so long. I had resisted because I knew she'd only use it against me. Hold a grudge until the day she died. But there it was. She burst into tears. Demanded Paul take her to her hotel. Paul suggested we go sit down, talk this out. No, she screamed. We took her to her hotel. The next day she showed up at my door to drop off my blow dryer she had borrowed. She stood expectantly on my doorstep, waiting for an apology. I gave her none. And she gave me none. Just gave me a hug, stated that she loved me, and moved on. And we've never talked about the divorce since.
When I went away to college, my relationship with my mom (Hilda) changed. I thought at the time that it was for the better. She called me all the time. Not to check on me really. Oh, she asked about me and "worried" and "stressed" about her poor, silly daughter, so far from home. So far from her. (And as a side note, I had somewhat intentionally chosen to go to college as far from her as possible. My releasing had began even if I didn't fully realize it.) But she never really seemed to listen or care about the things I was struggling with. Mainly because it didn't compare to the things she was going through with my sister. Those were REAL problems. This would be, and still is a theme, in my relationship with my sister and mom. Their self-induced drama and problems and chaos were always so much more important than what was going on in my life. How can you complain, Jessie? What do you have to be sad about, Jessie? If you want to know about a real problem, Jessie let me tell you about.... And, yes, the things going on with my sister were bad. She had always been a "spirited" child. But after the divorce, she went crazy. Drugs, running away, rapes, sex with boys, not coming home. On and on. And my mother would call, detailing every bit. She would complain to me and cry. I felt horrible. I felt helpless. There was nothing I could do, especially 400 miles away. My sister and I didn't even talk at this time. We would be estranged and loathe each other for a long time (mainly created by my mother, but that is another post). Hilda would tell me I was like "her personal psychologist". This made me feel important at the time. My mother needed me! After years of ignoring me, she needed me. I can see now, that it was killing me. I was so helpless and these problems were beyond my ability to fix. Not that my mother did anything either to help. She just enabled and enabled. Lamented about why she was so unfortunate to have a daughter like my sister. Years later I would suggest that maybe the divorce or her behavior had something to do with it. My mother cried and became upset, yelled that she was a horrible mother. But what did I want her to do about it. "I can't take back the past! I had to do what was best for me!" She said she was sorry, but I never believed her. I lived with knots in my stomach for years. What should've been a wonderful period of growth and discovery for me, became about her and her problems and her stress. Trips home were awful. And on occasion, she would drop my sister off with me. So she could get away and relax. These occasions terrified me. To be responsible for someone so out of control. To have someone around me who was so volatile and could wreck havoc in the little support system I had created at school. I was terrified my sister would reveal the craziness that was home to my friends.
I met my husband around my junior year. The relationship with my mom started to dissolve. When I wasn't there for her solely, she became upset. We became combative. As I found myself, and with support from my husband (then boyfriend) I began to move out of her control. I was not at her beck and call. I tried to create my own life. She became desperate. She would call and cry and overwhelm me with her constant need for attention. And when she would visit, things would get bad. They always ended in arguments. The fights always started with her being condescending, or rude, or putting me or Paul (hubby) down. She would accuse me of not being there for her in her problems with Erica. I would tell her that it was killing me and she needed to learn on her husband or call my father. My father sent her into rages because she no longer controlled him. She wanted him to parent as she was parenting. To obsess and enable my sister. And then when he didn't, her anger turned to me and she would say "It's not fair that I'm the only one dealing with Erica. I shouldn't have to do this alone. If I have to deal with it, you all should deal with it too. If I have to have this stress in my life, so should you." Why should I? I wanted to scream. I didn't create her messes. I was helpless to fix them. I had my own life. She never tried to shelter me, or protect me. She wanted to drag me down into her hole. Anyway, these arguments would happen and when I would confront her, she would play her trump card. "You're not over the divorce" she would smirk. As if this was my fatal flaw. And I never knew how to respond. Because, yeah, I really wasn't over it. I had never grieved, never mourned, never had any moment to express MY feelings. I was always so busy taking care of everyone else. But that was beside the point. This wasn't about that anger. This was about her being rude and spiteful and selfish. She would spit "you need therapy". Again, this was true. But she acted as if I got "fixed" then all the problems would disappear. We would no longer have conflict. She refused to see that she had ownership in anything. And as these fights layered on each other, my frustration grew. And she would amp things up with each fight. And then one time, she told me she had gotten the divorce for Erica and me. My dad was poor and angry and depressed. And she felt that Hank would be a better father. She blamed ME for it all. I couldn't even fathom how she concluded this. How she spun things to make herself seem the hero, making the selfless sacrifice for her daughters. Never mind that my Dad wasn't as horrible as she made out (he was hard and angry but definitely not some loser father) but I never could have "replaced" him. I loved my Dad. Never mind that SHE benefited the most from this event. Never mind that she repeatedly told me she had done this for her "freedom". When cornered, she turned around and blamed me. I began to harden towards her. And finally, after one argument, where she berated me that I needed to get over things, I needed to let go, I needed to fix myself, I lost it. Hell yeah, I was angry. Hell yeah, I was hurt. "You abandoned me and Erica when we needed you so that you could go and fuck Hank." Silence. I was small and sad and tired in the back of the car. I'd felt like a beaten, caged animal. She had pushed me too far. I instantly felt horrible, guilty. But I also felt a little better. And that made me feel guilty. She had been pushing me to say this for so long. I had resisted because I knew she'd only use it against me. Hold a grudge until the day she died. But there it was. She burst into tears. Demanded Paul take her to her hotel. Paul suggested we go sit down, talk this out. No, she screamed. We took her to her hotel. The next day she showed up at my door to drop off my blow dryer she had borrowed. She stood expectantly on my doorstep, waiting for an apology. I gave her none. And she gave me none. Just gave me a hug, stated that she loved me, and moved on. And we've never talked about the divorce since.
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