The nightmares returned. I should have known they would have returned, it was only a matter of time, a matter of a trigger, to set them off; to jolt me awake in silent screams and sickly sweet sweat. I feel plagued at times, with the depression, anxiety, PTSD, and eating disorder. Why am I this way, I continuously point my finger back at myself. MY FAULT. MY FAULT. What did I do, deserve these disorders and ones that riddled me ill, at such a young age? I must have done something terrible, is all I could come up with, as a child or in a past life perhaps. It’s so much easier to blame myself, for the atrocities of my childhood, my adolescence, and my young adult life. Was I not taught, by the Catholic ways, that I am solely responsible for all my wrongdoings, for everything that was and will be bestowed upon me. Only the wicked are sent to hell, but my hell was a living one and I couldn’t fathom what it would look like when I actually died. It is morbidly funny how these childhood thoughts, still seep into my adult mind. How I can easily convince myself that these falsehoods are in truths and my truths are lies and it all gets intertwined and confusing as fuck to unravel and see which end of the twine is in matter of fact truth and which is the false.

 

I was mentally afflicted at a very young age. I most likely would have been diagnosed with depression when I was a child, if I was under the right care. Pearles, (n.d.), was curious about childhood mental health disorders and conducted research into why some children are more prone to these disorders than others. What his findings show is that children who (for honesty sake) come from ‘broken’ homes; ones from single parent, stepfamilies, and blended ones are more likely to experience issues than those from classic two-parent, original ones, Family structure does matter when it comes to the physical and mental well-being of a child. If Pearles findings was strictly discussing the family structure and not even getting into physical or emotional abuse that may be present, it is not surprising that someone such as myself, would have experienced depression and anxiety at such a young age. I wish I could have told my little girl self that many years ago, that none of this was simply my fault.  

A child does not get to decide how to conduct their lives or who they get to live with, or interact with on a daily basis. I was a child who was subjected to many adults with many mental disorders and addictions, who took their afflictions out on innocent small beings. I lost my innocence when I was 5, perhaps before that…Memory fades in and out for me. I never got the opportunity to grow and discover life in an appropriate developmental lifespan. I was an adult before I even knew how to be a child. I was a child, when I should have been an adult and now I left with a very wounded little girl, trapped inside, begging for the attention and the care she never received. It is my time to tend to myself, to all parts of being and make peace with the damaged goods, I once believed in and with tenderness, care for and finally heal all the family trauma and deep sorrowing wounds of my childhood.

 

References
Perales, F. (n.d.). Family structure and childhood mental disorders: New findings from Australia. Social Psychiatry and Psychiatric Epidemiology.,52(4), 1-11.

I let one of them back in. If not, just for a moment. They seem to do that, shoving a foot into my face saying HEY HEY look at me. You want to say hello.

Do I?

I’m coming to see you.

Do I have a choice? Since when do you care? Where have you been the past half-year? How about a simple ‘how are you?’ first? Oh let’s just pretend like nothing ever happened….Let’s just get straight to the bullshit. That’s all are relationship is, is bullshit. I’ll try not to mention that we still have the same parents or the same siblings. I know it makes you uncomfortable. I know you don’t believe me, you did once…What happened? What changed? When did you go to the ‘dark side?’ I thought out of everyone, you would be the one fighting for me, on my side, at least acknowledging the atrocities of our childhood. But, no. You aren’t capable of that. You couldn’t even accept what Steve did to you. LA LA LA LA LA….You shoved your palm into my face, trying to silence the truths escaping from my drunken lips. I’m sorry I tried, to help you. I should have known better…And now here you are, again, in my life. Like a surprise party that no one ever really wants. Short lived and chaos, bantering with people you don’t really care about, and who barely know your name. Do you really care about me? Do you understand what this does to me? The emotional roller coaster, that you trigger every-time you come strolling around. It’s not just you. It’s all of THEM too. Like the 24 hour flu, you knock me down and it takes me days, sometimes weeks to come back, to find my homeostasis, without you ALL.

 

I’m estranged physically, yet not emotionally. I am utterly so strangely estranged, from this mess of a family of what is left of it, of what it ever really was….

 

Please just go away. Please just let me live in silence. Please just let me heal.

AND yet, I still struggle to say NO.

 

The push-pull…..

 

My Mother hates me. I knew it from the moment of I was born. There was something amiss…She needed me, she said she ‘loved’ me, but why did I feel so alone? Why did I scream and beg to be heard, to be seen, to feel that unconditional love…Only a Mother could give. I never had that. I wanted her so badly, I yearned for years to be held with tender care, to know what it was like to be hugged without coldness, to wrap myself in the warmth of my Mother’s tenderness.

 

I know she tried. I can’t really blame her, for being who she is/was, a broken woman from a broken background. I spent years, trying to fix myself, so that perhaps she could finally look at me, really see me, as a beautiful and cherished daughter. I never seemed able to make her proud of me, I was always ‘too much,’ the ‘wild child,’ the ‘black sheep’ and the unfixable. I looked like Steve…My birth father. Was that why she loathed me? I reminded her of the man who tried to kill us both as I was blooming in her womb, the man she also loved. Hated. Loved. Hated. Leaving. Going back. Leaving. We both seemed to like the thrill of abuse, me and my Mother. I learned it from her. You can never love me, so why don’t you just hurt me. Abuse turning into that tender care I had given up on, so long ago. I starved myself, I drank myself into oblivion, I snorted pills to feel alive, to feel dead, to feel all and nothing at once. I tiptoed on the blade’s’ edge, I danced with the demons, and slept with the dying. Dwindling down to nothing, Mother still didn’t notice me. Get over yourself she said, get your shit together, your going to hell, I pray for your soul, your not my daughter…AHA! There it was! The truth withheld for so many years! I AM NOT HER DAUGHTER! ….That wouldn’t be the last time she said that to me…That day I finally spoke, everything re-surfaced. I kept her texts, emails, and letters as proof. Proof that my Mother is capable of loving and hating her very own, me. The damage has been done. It is hard for me, to see clearly at times and accept that she can be both caring and so cruel.

 

The ‘push-pull’ of one’s emotions is not uncommon when it comes to dysfunctional relationships and is even more common when estrangement occurs one or more family members. Theorists of the Bowen family system, indicate that when a breaks occurs there is a sense of alleviation in the beginning; that is not long-lasting (Agllias, 2013). We could say that this suggestion is somewhat outdated from the late 1970’s, more currently, research indicates that clients feel anger, hurt, shock, and other negative emotions when the estrangement first happens (Agllias, 2013). I personally can attest to the grander feelings of immense relief and the sorrowing, at times furious emotions that drown me. The relief is short-lived, the deep guilt and pain is long-lasting.

 

I can imagine it is not easy for Mother, she wanted so badly to be the ‘good’ mother, to hide all her own traumas and use her children as a shield from her dysfunctions. She writes me to this day…Never letting go, never respecting my boundaries I endlessly tried to create; to protect myself, but also to protect her. I need those letters some days, to remind me of who she really is. When I can open one that says how much she misses me and couldn’t live without me, how much pain she is in…And then, the ones where she blames me for everything, and wonders what went ‘wrong’ with me, that I am a selfish, worthless, and will never amount to anything. That therapy ruined me and I ruined the family.

 

At the end of the day. I am just like her. I love her….and…I hate her.

 

References

 

Agllias, K. (2013). The Gendered Experience of Family Estrangement in Later Life. Affilia, 28(3), 309-321. doi:10.1177/0886109913495727

 

 

‘Shhhhh…..It’s the families secrets….’

What are the ethical implications that can arise when a families skeletons are unearthed? When the lines begin to blur, between the norms of family dysfunction and the more serious, such as physical and sexual abuse. From a therapists perspective, family trauma can be complex and downright frightening to navigate, especially when it’s their client that may be taking the brunt of the family dysfunction. It is the role of the therapist to be the confidante, the secret holder, and the safe space in which one can divulge all their inner turmoils and traumas. In a publication about ethics for practicing social workers, it was speculated that social workers and I am also going to include therapists, are more apt to shine a spotlight on ‘family secrets’ when they are presented by a client; it is their work to help the client to bring out their skeletons (Agllias & Gray, 2013). What Agllias & Gray, were further getting at is, although this can be beneficial at times for other forms of issues, when it comes to family systems coupled with abuse there is a greater opportunity for more harm to come to their client. Families are known for keeping their secrets. It can be a tool used, in hopes that it will protect certain members of the family, or to keep a families appearance intact and ‘safe.’ More often that not, the secretes stowed within the home, do little to protect but rather cause great harm and confusion to the members and even be used to create power over one another.

 

The ideologies of family is embedded in our society and our own family culture. It is passed down from one generation to the next. As a therapist, who has their own unique ideas of family it can be difficult for them to fully comprehend and work with a client who is suffering in their own family dysfunction. This is where the ethical implications can arise for the therapist and the client relationship. I personally have experienced the throes of this as a client and could see the dilemmas arising for both my therapist and myself with how to navigate the truths of my family and whether or not to share those truths with others within the family and more critically if it was unethical not to also bring this information to the police and Department of Human Services. I knew that if I brought legalities into the picture, it would cause me added harm at that point in my life. When a client is not ready to share their story to the rest of the world and things are set in place where they have no choice, but to do so, it can cause them to become re-traumatized.

 

Some days, I wish I would have come forward sooner than later and others I knew that the timing was not right. When the sexual abuse occurred in ones childhood and they are now an adult, it is difficult if not impossible to prosecute the abuser (unless that abuser is still exhibiting said behavior or has access to vulnerable populations). When no one else in the family believes the victim and upholds the innocent portrayal of the perpetrator; it is a grossly difficult situation to even attempt to bring justice to. Did I give up, or others who never had the opportunity to or maybe even wanted to, persecute their abuser? I still ask myself to this day as a victim of family sexual abuse and rape by other men in my teens and young adulthood. I never came forward, until I was in the safe confines of a therapist’s office and it seemed at that point, to be too late. As survivors of abuse, we need to be feel in control of how we wish to navigate our histories and especially if it involves our family of origin. I don’t believe there is a ‘right or wrong’ to this, it is a delicate affair that needs to be addressed with the utmost care and bring empowerment back to those who have lived their lives feeling oh so, powerless.  

Agllias, K., & Gray, M. (2013). Secrets and lies: The ethical implications of family estrangement. In M. Carey & Green, L. (eds). Practical Social Work Ethics: Complex Dilemmas within Applied Social Care (pp. 43–61). Farnham, Surrey: Ashgate.