Day 19: Toxic Relationships, Family Dysfunction, & Censorship

 

Since posting recently, a Donnybrook brewed between two families. One family hates the other, especially the words “toxic family.”

What is that, anyway? And what is the difference between a toxic relationship and a dysfunctional family?

I grew up in both.

My parents were both deaf, and I was the older of two children. In those days (60s-70s) there were no interpreters provided for the Deaf and so the oldest child usually had to fill that role. It’s a lot of responsibility for a child. It’s one thing to fill your parents in on what’s happening on a TV program and quite another to try to interpret about using escrow to pay a mortgage payment because the person renting your house is delinquent with the rent. That a child would have to interpret doctor and ER visits, meetings with lawyers, and other complicated matters isn’t functional.

It's difficult but not toxic.

This part is toxic: being told repeatedly that hearing people are no good and out to oppress, suppress and otherwise take advantage of Deaf people. I could hear. Did that mean me? Many times, my parents accused my brother and me of taking advantage of them. It was hurtful to be accused of that horrible crime all Deaf people disapproved of. It was especially hurtful because it wasn’t true.

This part is dysfunctional and toxic: using a child as a therapist. That happened to me. My parents would drink and then have the most awful physical fights. Then they might go weeks without speaking to each other. Instead, Mom would talk to me. She would tell me things about my Dad that made me so uncomfortable. I would tell her, “But I’m not a counselor. I don’t know what to tell you, and I don’t like to hear these things.” And she would say, “But I have no one else to talk to.” What was I supposed to do? I listened and squirmed.

It was dysfunctional and toxic for my brother and me to become victims of our mother’s rages. We were terrified of her when she went into a frenzy because she had hurt us before in those rages.

It was dysfunctional and toxic for my brother and me to have to deal with their heavy drinking and domestic violence. We either locked ourselves in our rooms until everything became quiet or we would run out of the house to escape it all.

What they wanted and needed was more important than my brother and me. That’s not how a functional family is run.

This is how a situation would go:

My brother and I could see and feel Mom becoming more tense and irritated about something. We had to walk on eggshells and be very careful not to say or do anything to upset her.

Something small would set her off. Maybe the potatoes tasted too salty. Maybe a few dishes were left in the sink. Maybe Dad took more than his share of roast beef.

Suddenly, they would become angry and argue. Hands flying, cracking, and snapping, they would begin to hurtle insults at each other. Fists would pound on the table. My brother and I would jump up. Time to go hide.

Then would come domestic violence. One or the other would be a punching bag.

Later, we would ignore the bruises and pretend nothing happened.

It changed my brother and me. We were no longer the children we were meant to be. In those days, there was no diagnosis of post-traumatic disorder. It’s a true diagnosis. My brother and I still struggle with it.

In one way my parents were not toxic: they didn’t try to control us. They didn’t interfere with our school activities or who or where we hung out.

As for manipulation and guilt-tripping: yes, they used those tactics when they needed us to interpret (my brother filled in after I left home at 19) and to instill in us that while we understood the Deaf, we were also of the enemy. We were Hearing.

I have had years of therapy and twelve-step meetings. I recognize now that my family was dysfunctional, and the relationships were toxic. I recognize it when it happens to others, and it upsets me greatly. I always remember how it felt for me to break free of it.

Just for informational purposes, here is a picture of toxicity:

And here is the definition of a dysfunctional family, found on a Bing search:

A dysfunctional family is a family in which conflict, misbehavior, and often child neglect or abuse occur continuously and regularly, leading other members to accommodate such actions¹. Members of a dysfunctional family are unable to attain closeness and self-expression². The term ‘dysfunctional family’ is defined as a family with multiple ‘internal’ conflicts, e.g. sibling rivalries, parent-child conflicts, domestic violence, mental illness, single parenthood, or ‘external’ conflicts, e.g. alcohol or drug abuse, extramarital affairs, gambling, unemployment-influences that affect the basic needs of the family unit³

I am participating in the American Cancer Society’s challenge to write for thirty minutes each day in May. I do a lot of writing and I can meet this challenge. I plan to make a blog entry each day with what I’ve written.

I wanted to participate in memory of loved ones who fought cancer bravely but succumbed:

My brother-in-law Jeff

My sister-in-law Ann

My dear friend Kay

My Uncle Bob

My Uncle John

 

I also wanted to help raise money to support research and a cure for those currently fighting this vicious disease.

My Facebook link to the fundraiser is here.

 

Day 16: Inner Child

What does your inner child like to do and how can you do more of it? What does your inner child need from you?

 

Believe it or not, this short piece took over a half hour to write.

 

I asked my inner child Catsie “What would you like to do?”, and she started singing “I Want To Break Free” by Queen. 

 

I asked, “Does this mean you want to break free of ME?”

 

And Catsie answered, “No, not really. You protected me all those years, and I love you for that. I hope you did it because you love me.”

 

“Well, yes,” I answered after a moment of hesitation. “But I didn’t really know about you until after I was all grown up and got therapy.”

 

“I know,” said Catsie. “That’s why I need to break free sometimes. Someday I would like us both to be one person.”

 

That surprised me. “I thought we were one person. You’re little Me.”

 

“Yes,” Catsie answered patiently. “But most of the time I’m in the upstairs attic room. You forget about me sometimes and I don’t like that. I get lonely.”

 

“Geeze, I’m sorry.” I felt awful. “I didn’t ever mean for you to feel lonely. What can I do so you aren’t lonely?”

 

“Invite me out to play with you.”

 

“I don’t play much now. I’m 68 now and my body doesn’t bend, twist, or run so easily. You are still 10. Give me your energy and I will take you outside and go for more walks. We can plant a garden together with Ted, Bill, and Tomas helping us.”

 

Catsie clapped her hands. “I would like that! All you have to do is think of me and I will be there.”

 

“I will think of you more often. I don’t want you to feel lonely. You’ve been up in the attic alone too many years.”

 

“I want us to tell my story. I want you to write it.”

 

“You want me to write about you?”

 

“Yes, you can see me and look into my mind to see what it’s been like for me, and how sad I felt when we sort of separated. I know it happened so that you could be brave and handle all that bad stuff. It was too scary for me.”

 

“You were too little. You are the child I was supposed to be, but you didn’t get a chance to grow up.”

 

“I can start growing up if you see me and hear me more. Then you and I will be one again.”

 

“I want to hug you.”

 

Catsie practically leapt into my arms. I held her close. I want to give her what she needs most of all: unconditional love.

Once again, this is my pledge to write for at least a half hour every day:

I am participating in the American Cancer Society’s challenge to write for thirty minutes each day in May. I do a lot of writing and I can meet this challenge. I plan to make a blog entry each day with what I’ve written.

I wanted to participate in memory of loved ones who fought cancer bravely but succumbed:

My brother-in-law Jeff

My sister-in-law Ann

My dear friend Kay

My Uncle Bob

My Uncle John

 

I also wanted to help raise money to support research and a cure for those currently fighting this vicious disease.

My Facebook to the fundraiser is here. 

Day 15: Hard Lessons

DAY 15: HARD LESSONS - Write about a lesson you had to learn the hard way

Here is a lesson that I’ve learned the hard way and still struggle with: I have no control over people or their behavior. I can only control myself. It took a lot of therapy and twelve-step meetings to convince me that I was wasting time and energy butting my head against a stone wall.

When I was twelve, my parents were already heavily invested in going to their Deaf social club and drinking heavily. I was left in charge of my 10-year-old brother. My parents would tell us to go to bed at ten. My brother usually conked out around then, but I stayed up. I had it in my head that if I stayed awake until they came home, they wouldn’t get into a car crash and die.  This kind of magical thinking went on right through my high school years.

It seems silly now, thinking that staying awake would control the safe return of my parents.

I mentioned in another post that Mom suffered from an undiagnosed mental illness. The drinking worsened for the mail her symptoms. I used to think that if my brother and I stayed on our best behavior and tried to please her, we could control her outbursts.  That was another failed attempt to control someone’s behavior.

Even though it was an ineffective method of coping, a need to control things so everything would be all right had become ingrained in me through adulthood. 

In truth, being a Coda sort of reinforced that strategy. From a young age, I was my parents' interpreter. The older I got, the more they would depend on me to make the best choices on how to react to issues that would arise. They would tell me, "You're hearing. You know the right thing to do."

I wrote earlier that my first husband, Rich, was diagnosed with Marfan Syndrome. Marfan Syndrome affects the whole body because it stretches connective tissue. It was the reason why Rich suffered congestive heart failure at age 28. A surgeon at Johns Hopkins saved him by replacing his aortic valve but he needed to make behavior changes: he needed to stay away from cigarettes, and he needed to lose weight.

Rich struggled with both. We quit smoking cold turkey when I became pregnant with our firstborn. I set down a rule: No more smoking. Not at home, not at work, not ever. I was able to stick to it, but Rich wasn’t. We didn’t work for the same company anymore, so he would smoke there.

One day, I smelled smoke on him. He tried to say it was another co-worker smoking near him, but it was on his breath, and I wasn’t buying it. I made a great big stink about it and pulled a guilt trip on him. If he continued to smoke and hurt his heart further, he might die and then what would our child and I do?

I thought guilt-tripping as a way to control Rich’s smoking worked.  I didn't detect any relapses for the next ten-plus years.

I was wrong.

After he passed away, co-workers brought all his personal effects. They included books of matches and an ashtray. I was surprised. “Did Rich smoke?” I asked.

They looked uncomfortable and then one of the guys admitted that yes, Rich would sometimes smoke with them outdoors during break time.

So, trying to control Rich’s smoking was a total failure too.

The thing is, by that point, I knew it was an ineffective strategy.  I’d been to therapy and twelve-step meetings, but I guess I hadn’t really and truly admitted that I had no control over anyone. I could only control my own thoughts, feelings, and behavior.

I am participating in the American Cancer Society’s challenge to write for thirty minutes each day in May. I do a lot of writing and I can meet this challenge. I plan to make a blog entry each day with what I’ve written.

I wanted to participate in memory of loved ones who fought cancer bravely but succumbed:

My brother-in-law Jeff

My sister-in-law Ann

My dear friend Kay

My Uncle Bob

My Uncle John

 

I also wanted to help raise money to support research and a cure for those currently fighting this vicious disease.

My Facebook to the fundraiser is here.