Attachment Issues & Dysfunctional Families

One of the things that gave me a stronger sense of attachment as a child was the unconditional love and support of my grandmother.  Until I was 10, we lived within a few miles of my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.  They balanced out my parents. 

My parents were Deaf.  That, without the alcoholism, can bring about co-dependent issues.  Regarding enmeshment: my parents “needed” me to be their interpreter even into adulthood.  I felt very guilty about moving out of state to free myself.  My therapist asked me: “What did they do before you were born?”  Oh. 

When I was 10, we moved away from my loving support network.  In Baltimore, I felt alone and totally responsible for my parents’ well-being.  Meanwhile, my parents discovered their own lively support system in the large Deaf community.  There was a social club in Baltimore and my parents became frequent visitors.  That’s when alcohol entered the picture.

Over and over, I ignored my own feelings to be there for my parents, “the good girl.”  I was very reclusive either because I’m an introvert or because I just felt the need to hide.  There was no one to confide in: my brother was younger, a boy, and hung out with his group of new friends.  I missed my Grandma.  I missed my cousins.  I didn’t feel valued anymore except as the “good girl interpreter”.

I had a push or pull relationship with men.  I went to an all girls’ high school and didn’t encounter many teenage boys.  Those I did, I felt immediately attracted to but when they showed me attention, I withdrew and went cold.  Once I moved away from my parents, I seemed to be attracted to older men who were unavailable for one reason or another.  Why was I making myself unavailable when closeness was what I wanted?  Guys especially went in the reject pile if they drank, even if it was just socially.

I’d moved into my grandmother’s house after she died.  I shared the house for a year with my cousin Anne, with whom I’d grown up.  My aunts and uncles began to shower me with loving attention.  I grew especially close to my godparents.  I felt myself beginning to soften; to make friends; to socialize more.

I met my husband-to-be, Rich.  We began as co-worker friends, sharing breaks together.  We had much in common.  He was so shy that when he built up the courage to ask me on a date, he waited in the parking lot until I was done with my shift.  I was surprised.  My next reaction was to make excuses that I was “busy”.  Why?  I liked the guy!  He gave me his phone number and after a few days I told myself to call him.

It wasn’t all happy-ever-after.  I had a lot of ACA and Coda issues.  Coda, not only co-dependent but also child of deaf adults.  Rich and I married, and the issues came barging out of the closet I tried to keep them in.  He wanted to have a beer now and then.  I would become angry and cold when he did. 

He couldn’t understand why I would get so angry until we moved back to the Baltimore area and went to my parents’ to celebrate their 35^th wedding anniversary.  They’d both been drinking quite a lot.  Dad was angry: he felt he’d been betrayed by some of his fellow members at the club.  Mom was worried.  Violence was a possibility and I tried to soothe my father.  Who should pull up in her car but one of the club members Dad was angry about.

He jumped out and was out the door to confront the woman, his signs huge and filled with rage.  Rich ran after him.  The woman looked terrified and began to get into her car but Dad was already upon her.  Rich got between them.  He managed to back my father away.  Meanwhile, Mom was telling me she was frightened that Dad was so frustrated now he would hit her.

I was sick to my stomach.  I wanted out of there.  But how could I go?  Dad stormed back into the house and went for another beer.  Rich followed and his face was white as a sheet.  He was saying to me, “Let’s get out of here.” 

I said, “We can’t.  I have to protect my mother.”

His mouth dropped open.  “Do you see how abnormal this is?”

And suddenly I did.  I was seeing it through his eyes and it hit me how insane it all was.  How was I to protect my mother?  For how long?  If Dad hit her, she would hit him back.  I’d seen it all before.  I signed to my parents, “We’re leaving now.”

That’s when I learned about Al-Anon and then ACOA.  I went to meetings and just vented and vented pure rage.  One member of the group suggested some books about having alcoholic parents.  From there, I found a therapist who was also an ACA.  What a blessing it was to have the meetings and the therapy. 

I knew now why a beer or two enraged me.  I was afraid Rich or the other guys I’d dated would all become alcoholics and I’d be “stuck” again.

Time has mellowed and seasoned me.  I have a strong marriage again (Rich died in 2001) with Ted and three awesome adult children.  I am truly blessed and truly grateful.

 

Estrangement From Parents

FAMILY ESTRANGEMENT

The last little bit about Mother’s Day this year has to do with an article I saw in a newsletter from The Mighty: “What Not To Say To Someone Who Is ‘No-Contact’ With An Abusive Parent.”

What struck me is some people said all of these to me during the years I was estranged from my parents.  I had good reason not to be in contact with them: they were toxic for me.

Childhood was trauma enough growing up with laissez-faire, dysfunctional alcoholic parents.  It didn’t help that they were also Deaf in those years before interpreters were mandated in certain settings.  I had responsibilities beyond my childhood years.  That wasn’t so traumatic; it just meant I “grew up” to life’s realities fast. 

My mother was the primary emotional and physical abuser when I was growing up.  She herself had been physically abused as a child and set apart because of her deafness.  She may or may not have been born with a mental illness as well – or it was entirely caused by having my grandfather bang her head against the wall.  Still, that didn’t help me when I was too small to understand.

Although my father was loving and supporting, when he and my mother got drinking our home turned into a battle scene.  She usually ended up getting the worst of it although she’d give as good as she got.  One night I called the police when they were both beaten and bloody.   The cops stopped the fight but one said to me in a condemning voice, “You don’t want me to arrest them, do you?”  He then suggested I go somewhere else if I was that upset.  Gee, thanks, officer.

After I married, I saw the family through my new husband’s eyes and, for the first time, I saw how “not normal” our home life was.  My husband ended up needing emergency cardiac surgery after our first baby was born.  I asked my parents to stay with our son while I went to the hospital.  They wondered why I needed to be there.  My husband would have nurses, wouldn’t he?  Mom went on to add that I was taking advantage of them.

That was the first time I went on no contact with them. 

Most people who knew the story were supportive. Some weren’t, including family members.

“You only have one set of parents.”  Yes, that’s right and I was an emotional wreck.  From my teen years, I had panic attack disorder and depression, not to mention suppressed rage.  I needed years of counseling and twelve step meetings to start recovering from all that.

“Families stick together.” I’d seen a lot of dysfunctional “sticking together” in my family.  It turns out that alcoholism ran rampant on one side of the family.  Cousins I’d believed had the ideal family life found out what was going on with mine and professed shock.  They suffered as children too, believing MY family was perfect. 

“Forgive and forget.”  In other words, keep submitting to the toxic behaviors because, after all, “blood is blood” and it doesn’t matter what it does to me.  The important thing is to maintain a happy face and go along for the ride.  Well, forgive and forget isn’t supposed to mean that.  Forgiveness means releasing the anger and hurt so it doesn’t eat up your soul.  Forget just means it’s not in the forefront of thoughts; it does not mean trust again.

After our third child was born, I was ready to see my parents again.  They were excited to be reunited with their grandchildren, which brings up another thing not to say.  “You’re being cruel by withholding their grandchildren.”  I felt I was protecting them as well as myself and brought them in when the children were 4, 3 and newborn.

I had to go on no-contact with them two years later because they terrified the kids.

The next no-contact ended when our son graduated high school in 2005.  They were elderly then but still the same people they’d been all my life.  The big difference was we all knew how to protect ourselves from it so gatherings were cordial but distant.

They are both gone now.  I used to mourn the parenting I never got and how I managed it was I allowed my inner child to guide me as a mother to my own children.  The cycle is broken in our family.

 

First Mother's Day

Yesterday I wrote about the conflicting feelings I had about Mother’s Day.  Until I married my late first husband, Rich, I believed I would never marry and never have children.  Those feelings were rooted in my childhood, witnessing my parents’ troubled marriage and emotional/physical abuse from my mother.  Until I met Rich, I avoided any steady relationships with a guy.

To my complete surprise, I found myself falling in love with and marrying Rich.  After a few months, I started to feel my “biological clock ticking.”  I was almost 31 when we married in 1985.  Although I worried about what kind of mother I’d be, I wanted a child that would be a part of Rich and me.

I was so regular with my periods that I knew immediately that I was pregnant.  We were overjoyed when that was confirmed by the obstetrician.  I liked the practice we went to because they had a midwife as well as doctors.  My projected due date was May 1, 1987. 

The most difficult part was giving up caffeinated coffee and smoking.  To support me, Rich also gave up smoking and we went through withdrawal together.  Quitting cold turkey was tough and I’m sure we were pretty miserable until the physical effects wore off.

My parents were thrilled: two grandchildren on the way!  My sister-in-law, Barbara, was also expecting and her due date was for late April.  My brother Pete and I were very excited about the whole thing.  He hadn’t anticipated being a father either.

There was one scare when I was in my first trimester.  I began bleeding and we were afraid I was having a miscarriage.  We were reassured by midwife Ellen.  Ellen performed the ultrasound on me and said the baby looked fine.  I looked at the screen to where she was pointing and saw a tiny blob.  The blob seemed to swell and then become small again.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Ellen replied, “That’s your baby’s heart beating.”

We were amazed and awed.  I am prochoice but at that moment I knew abortion would never be an option for me.

The next moment we anticipated was feeling the baby move.  As a first-time mom-to-be, I wasn’t sure the fluttering I felt from time to time was movement.  I wasn’t sure until the first time I could feel a definite kick with my hand.  Toward the last trimester, Rich enjoyed putting his hand on my belly to feel the kicks.  Once there was a definite foot pushing up.  It was awesome.

Our practice offered child birth classes.  They were so much fun!  We learned breathing and relaxation techniques as well as the birthing process.  Some women needed medication to help them through the contractions.  Medication did have an effect on the newborn, and we didn’t want that for our baby.  I was determined I could get by without them.  We practiced breathing/relaxing daily at home

There were two falls that scared us a bit.  The first one was in the winter of ’86-’87.  We were working the night shift for a market research company and went out late one night to an icy parking lot.  I skidded, slipped and fell hard before Rich could catch me.  The baby had been actively moving but abruptly stopped.  After hours of non-movement, we went back to Ellen and had another ultrasound.  During the procedure, the baby began to kick.  Ellen asked, “Do you want to know if you’re having a boy or a girl?”

We didn’t.  We wanted to be surprised.

The second fall occurred a day or so before our baby was born.  I was already late, very uncomfortable and eager to have the baby.  I went on daily walks to encourage the process.  As I started my usual morning walk, I lost my balance and fell to my knees.  Our mailman was just delivering letters and bills.  Horrified, he rushed over to me and helped me get up.  He escorted me back to our apartment and kept asking if he should call for help.

I assured him I was OK and limped into our apartment, heading for the bathroom.  There were holes in my pants at the knee and I could feel blood running from my knees.  The knees were scraped and bleeding but the wounds weren’t too deep.  After washing and bandaging my knees, I went out again for my walk.

A few blocks over, the mailman saw me and called out, “Why aren’t you resting?”

“Because I want my baby to be born!”

There was a baby pool at work, formed in March.  Employees contributed with their guesses about my due date.  Rich selected Mother’s Day, May 10.  I was horrified.  That was long past my due date and Ellen even figured I might be early.  No such luck.

May 1 came and went.  Our instructor at childbirth class explained that if a pregnancy advanced too long past the due date, the mother would have to be “induced” which would produce longer, more intense contractions.  Most moms-to-be would need a spinal to help them through the very painful contractions.  That was the last thing I wanted.

On May 9, I knew I was going to be induced soon and was worried.  After my walk, though, my water broke.  Thank goodness, I thought.  I called Rich, who was at work, and told him what happened.  He didn’t need to leave yet, though, because contractions hadn’t started yet. 

Ellen said doctors would say I should go to the ER right away.  She added her own advice: walk around to encourage the start of contractions.  However, if they hadn’t started by late afternoon, I should go to the ER to be induced.  Oh no!  I walked around the apartment until I tired.  Nothing.

Nothing was still going on when Rich came home after his shift.  Ellen insisted I needed to go to the hospital so off we went.  I didn’t want to be induced.  Ellen understood and we all continued to walk up and down the labor & delivery corridors for another hour.  At that point, though, one of the doctors from the practice said to stop; I’d need to go on the Pitocin.

Well, that was an experience.  The child birth instructor was absolutely correct in her mini lecture about Pitocin.  It hits all at once with intense contractions and little time between to recover.  I surely understand why women would opt for a spinal to ease the pain.  Were it not for Rich’s calm, constant presence I would’ve been asking for it and at one point, I did.  By then, I was too advanced for it to have any effect.

Our baby boy was born after 4 a.m. on Mother’s Day, May 10, 1987.  There was the complete bliss of holding our son for the first time.  We’d immediately agreed on a boy’s name:  William Richard, for Rich’s beloved grandfather and for himself.

Another reason to celebrate Billy being born on Mother’s Day: a lovely rose with every hospital meal that day.  Yet another reason: Rich won the baby pool.

Some years, Bill and I celebrate Mother’s Day and his birthday on the same Sunday again.  I tell everyone he is the best Mother’s Day gift ever!