Before you read, please take note that this post gets difficult in parts and those sensitive to such content might not want to read further because I don't want to burden you unnecessarily.
I intended to continue the topic of coloring books but something came up in that I want to mention because it's a part of my personal journey on the path of healing.
I want to start with a disclaimer to keep in mind – I don't hate my family nor do I wish any harm upon anyone in my life. That said, I can't claim to particularly like certain members of the family. My family situation has been very toxic in the past and the remnants of that toxicity are still worming their way into the present. Despite all the growth I worked hard for, kept as much distance between problematic people and me as I could, set healthy boundaries and despite how difficult it was keeping them in place (those of you who went through any sort of trauma probably know how exhausting keeping boundaries can be, especially when they intersect with your conditioning), I still end up feeling like I'm 8 years old, getting yelled at and being told to »stay quiet while the adults are talking« by said adults.
So my grandmother on my father's side passed away. Later that same day I met with my best friend for coffee and I told her: »I feel strange. She was one of the most malevolent, two-faced people I know so I'm not particularly sad. I just feel wierd.«
I thought about that statement the next day because I find it disturbing that sometimes I'm still unable to put a name to my emotions and because I need to understand the end of the story. So, I did what I usually do - I took out my journal and wrote everything down on paper. I figured out that I do indeed feel grief, but not for my grandmother, not really. I feel grief for my dad (who has passed away years ago as well), my mom and my sibling because even though she might have passed away, we still have to continue living with the consequences of her actions. And that weird feeling I have? It's hot, smoldering anger.
There's a long story behind having such feelings on my part that started way before I was born. Both my mother and my father suffered severe abuse as children. Once they started dating, they were already in a codepentend dysfunctional relationship due to trauma they haven't healed from which I completely sympathize with. However, instead of paying attention to their own mental well-being when problems started, they instead went ahead and had kids. The pressure of having kids, building a house (during a very frightening political state) and dealing with a bunch of alarming psychological instabilites, dad turned to alcohol while mom completely shut down and went on autopilot to conserve at least a bit of her sense of self. And nobody did anything. Dad wasn't present and mom was trying to hold the family together. Both of them became the prime target of ridicule by both sides of the family and during that time ill-intended gossip (instead of serious discussions and a crisis plan of course, why on earth would anyone bother right?) exploded on both sides, pitting them against eachother (as much as they didn't already hate eachother beforehand).
My grandmother along with her daughter-in-law was at the heart of this whole catastrophe. Not to calm the waters but muddy (and poison) them further. And where in this chaos were the kids? It didn't really matter. As long as we obeyed and stayed quiet all was well. It didn't matter that dad was lashing out at me at 3 years old or that mom was getting dangerously thin while enabling dad to drink. None of it mattered. When dad almost died due to alcoholism everybody was quiet. Again. When it mattered most, nobody cared. Because god forbid the shift of attention onto anybody else but themselves.
I'm putting an emphasis on this because a big part of the family loved to rub it in how much better they are, how righteous they are and then gossiping the hell out of others.
*
So the week after grandmother's passing ended quickly and it was seemingly cheerful; a lot of people were taking days off work to celebrate a national holiday so the overall atmosphere was positive and relaxed. Most were just super happy to get extra sleep or go on vacation. The remainder of my nuclear family was also together (after almost a year of not seeing eachother), which - in stark contrast to mentioned cheerfulness - felt very heavy with difficult, unsaid emotions. My (dysfunctional) coping mechanism of removing myself from the situation as fast as possible kicked in and I had a desperate need for some alone time. I felt a bit like I'm floating, my emotions dampened and my head fuzzy, as if I'd had too much to drink but without the dizziness. Journaling helped me snap out of this dissociative state, even if I did struggle to find the proper words at first. Once I had everything written down, I realized that this particular coping mechanism, or rather the feeling of it which is dissociation, is very familiar to me even though it's been a while since it happened last. It didn't take long to connect the dots. Dissociation would happen every time the family was together. Since it's been a year (and even then I spent most of the day at work), it got painfully obvious what's going on. I had a small »eureka« moment. My family is triggering me and because I didn't heal from that my SO's family is triggering as well, therefore any thoughts of having a family of my own are triggering. It's not individual people I have a problem with, but put those in a room with me in it then call it a family and my subconscious robs me of rationality and shuts down. Finally, after years of trying to figure myself out, I now have a fundation to start working on.
*
Eventually the day of the funeral came and it was the weirdest funeral I've ever been to. The whole thing came off as a superficial, »I guess it's polite we're here« type of a gathering. I think those of us who were the grandchildren were probably showing the most emotions. From everyone else I just felt coldness and indifference. I asked my SO, who was there to support me, if it's just me being weird about this or if he noticed it too. He just looked at me sideways and said: »I've never been to a funeral that felt less like a funeral than this. The musicians who were hired to perform were sadder than the whole group attending«. Which sums this particular family up quite well I think. Even paid strangers are more sorry you died than your own folk.
The thing that I think is so cruel is that should any outside observer with no knowledge of us or our history attend the funeral, they'd listen to their instincts and at least feel the cold energy of the people attending then remove themselves as quickly as they could. I mean death makes you sad, of course. That's natural and something that each of us deals with in our own way, but this fiasco wasn't about saying farewell to the person who died, it was a farewell to any humanity these people had left in their hearts (if they even had any to start with). And that stranger, an outsider, would have a right to make a choice and leave. Me and my sibling didn't have such a choice as kids. We had to stay, had to »deal« with it. As we are now dealing with anxiety (and CPTSD). Any stranger would have been treated with less malice than closest relatives.
I am sorry for such a heavy topic this week, I felt it was important to note because these people shaped who I am today even if the initial shaping was terrible and ill-advised. I felt the need to talk about this because through my childhood years nobody explained what was happening around me and to me.
Now, as an adult, I hurt fort the child that I was, who not only couldn't understand that she was around shitty people, but also took on the world as if she could hold it up with her own hands. She felt (and was) invisible to people around her and expected to just instinctively understand things that were way beyond her emotional and mental capacity. Once a teacher complimented my mother on how mature I was for my age (I was around 8 to 9 years old) and how great I am at consoling other kids when they throw a tantrum. I was happy because mom was so proud. Once I matured, that compliment felt like a betrayal because no, it's not a good sign a kid is showing more maturity and diplomacy skills way above their age. Kids are supposed to be kids, not some agents of peace. Those are red flags. It ment adults expected I understood their struggles and will somehow be their little minion of order while I couldn't connect with my peers (with exceptions, of course). Consequently any mistakes I made were somehow worse than mistakes others made due to the fact that I should know better. Because I'm smarter then »them« and I'm a huge disappointment for knowing better but still making that particular mistake (I used »I'm« because at that time I couldn't yet distinguish that a failure to do something doesn't mean you're a failure). It felt confining and restrictive. Weren't bruises, outbursts of crying, quietness, fear of standing out, aparent diplomacy and being afraid to say anything kind of odd? I'm told people knew about the whole situation, that the extended family new (well, obviously they knew if they were gossiping at every street corner). But where were they when real discussion should have happened? Where was anyone? As much as I now realize a hundred and one reason why nobody wanted to interfere exist (and some of them are valid reasons) I still think that I have a right and an obligation to uncover the reality behind my own experience of abuse because it's so intertwined with my personality (and issues that I have). I still struggle being truly open with someone and a strong sense of alienation from people and my surroundings is almost a daily occurence for me.
Unfortunately for some, we can't choose our families, but we can choose to make informed decisions later on in life. And how nice it is to see the light and have people you can finally trust. I'm really grateful for those individuals in my life. Much appreciated. (:
Now that I got this off my chest, I look forward to a more positive post next time.
Take care of yourselves and have a peaceful week.
Vanter, 9. 5. 2024
A disclaimer:
English is my second language and though I do mostly read English books, I understand that grammatical errors will inevitably be present in my texts so I apologize in advance.
Comments