Today guilt seems to be prominent.
I feel guilty that I cannot solve all of my family's problems. I feel guilty that I don't seem to be able to solve my own problems. I feel guilty that I've 'let everybody down' because I feel miserable and am not thriving.
Why was I not able to recognise that my stepfather was a paedophile when I was a child and stop him from hurting anyone else? All the signs were there - why could I not see them? It was my fault he wasn't caught out sooner. Yes, my parents and grandparents, aunts, uncles, teachers and parents' friends were all around and none of them realised either. But that's not the point. The point is, that I didn't and I was responsible.
I know this sounds mad. Especially when I write it down like this. I want to be able to laugh at it and say 'Don't be so daft, Lyra'. But that is so much harder to do than it seems. Because I have felt so guilty for so long. Because I have felt so onerously responsible for so long. I felt responsible for keeping my parents happy - or for making them sad and angry. I felt responsible for looking after everyone and making sure they all felt alright - whether or not I did. And why? Because the adults in my family were incapable of being emotionally responsible for themselves. Joy, happiness, expressions of love... these were all fine and permissible. But anger, desperation, depression, grief, rage, overwhelm, fear and all the other deeply disquieting things that humans are able to feel? My family did not 'do' those. Some of my family still don't. They are so desperate not to feel their pain that they dump it on other people. And I am like a sponge for all of that. If someone is feeling bad, I automatically jump to thinking that I must do something to make them feel better. Even if I don't want to. Even if I feel so awful myself I can only just get out of bed. I still think it's my job to rescue them from what it is they're feeling.
And of course, when you love people, you want to help make them feel better. To provide them with reassurance, comfort, kindness, support: with LOVE. That's natural.
Yet, when it comes to the point where you feel deeply guilty if you don't do something for them. When you resent them for feeling bad because that makes you feel responsible for them and you're already so overloaded you can barely cope. Then that desire to 'help out' is not a good one. It's a part of love that's gone so wrong it drains all the life from you. That's not how love is supposed to be. Surely not?
I have read the work of Melody Beattie and Pia Mellody on codependence and it's been really helpful. It's helped me get to grips with my guilt a bit and it's helped me feel a bit less responsible for everyone else - which of course leaves more room for me to feel responsible for myself. (Hurrah!). I do this exercise (usually when I feel desperate - I should probably do it every day to practice) where I imagine a skin and armour around myself and that everyone else's feelings are harmlessly bumping off them and not getting to me. I feel so much calmer and more capable! So much less overwhelmed...
But it really is a daily battle. And today, I'm not sure if I'm winning.
For those of you who would like some help on codependence:
www.melodybeattie.com/
www.piamellody.com/
Love to you,
Lyra ♥
Monday, 18 April 2011
Monday, 11 April 2011
Loss and Determination
There has been a great deal of loss in my life.
Family members who have passed away, friends who have come and gone, lovers with whom it could not work.... And rather less tangible but nonetheless deeply meaningful things like trust, confidence, self-esteem and innocence.
The devastation that my stepfather's actions have caused go way beyond the abuse he inflicted on my siblings. What he did has caused so much pain, rage and depression that people who were once as close as family can be now are barely in touch or when they are there is an undercurrent of strain and a very large elephant in the room. Or they do not speak at all.
The departure of my stepfather was very sudden. One week he was there and the next he was gone, never to be seen again. I felt guilty for a long time that I missed him - that I had to go through a grieving process for him. Because no-one is totally evil (no-one I've ever met anyway). He had his good qualities - there were times of shared laughter and of affection, compassion and kindness between us. And I had to say goodbye to these as well as to the bad. It was as if he'd died but, because he hadn't and because what he had done was so heinous, it was as if there was no room, no permission, to grieve for him. I have, over the years, made space for that and given myself permission. I held a 'funeral' of sorts in which I said goodbye to the man who was the dominant father-figure for nearly 20 years of my life. His good side and his bad. In order to move on, I had to find a way to say goodbye to both. He has been much less present for me since.
The behaviour patterns which my upbringing gave to me have still been there however. I can not blame the man who is no longer a part of my life for my current behaviour. I can understand that he caused it in the first place but to say it is his fault now, I feel, gives him a power over me which I do not wish him to have. It is my choice what I do and how I think right now in this moment. Though at times it might not feel like a choice, I realise that it is. I am the one who still chooses to listen to their fears and to act on them instead of pursuing my dreams. I am the one who keeps barriers up between me and other people. I am the one who is so sensitive to criticism I cannot hear what I need to in order to grow. And I am the one who is still raging at the world and saying a big 'F**k you' to it by not being all that I can be.
That's me. Not anyone else.
And that behaviour has caused me a great deal of pain, loss and upset in my life over and above what my stepfather caused.
Accepting responsibility for that fact is hard and painful. But it is so necessary and now, in the writing of it, I feel a deep sense of peace and relief at seeing it so clearly. Because it means it is within my power to do something about it.
Love to you,
Lyra ♥
Family members who have passed away, friends who have come and gone, lovers with whom it could not work.... And rather less tangible but nonetheless deeply meaningful things like trust, confidence, self-esteem and innocence.
The devastation that my stepfather's actions have caused go way beyond the abuse he inflicted on my siblings. What he did has caused so much pain, rage and depression that people who were once as close as family can be now are barely in touch or when they are there is an undercurrent of strain and a very large elephant in the room. Or they do not speak at all.
The departure of my stepfather was very sudden. One week he was there and the next he was gone, never to be seen again. I felt guilty for a long time that I missed him - that I had to go through a grieving process for him. Because no-one is totally evil (no-one I've ever met anyway). He had his good qualities - there were times of shared laughter and of affection, compassion and kindness between us. And I had to say goodbye to these as well as to the bad. It was as if he'd died but, because he hadn't and because what he had done was so heinous, it was as if there was no room, no permission, to grieve for him. I have, over the years, made space for that and given myself permission. I held a 'funeral' of sorts in which I said goodbye to the man who was the dominant father-figure for nearly 20 years of my life. His good side and his bad. In order to move on, I had to find a way to say goodbye to both. He has been much less present for me since.
The behaviour patterns which my upbringing gave to me have still been there however. I can not blame the man who is no longer a part of my life for my current behaviour. I can understand that he caused it in the first place but to say it is his fault now, I feel, gives him a power over me which I do not wish him to have. It is my choice what I do and how I think right now in this moment. Though at times it might not feel like a choice, I realise that it is. I am the one who still chooses to listen to their fears and to act on them instead of pursuing my dreams. I am the one who keeps barriers up between me and other people. I am the one who is so sensitive to criticism I cannot hear what I need to in order to grow. And I am the one who is still raging at the world and saying a big 'F**k you' to it by not being all that I can be.
That's me. Not anyone else.
And that behaviour has caused me a great deal of pain, loss and upset in my life over and above what my stepfather caused.
Accepting responsibility for that fact is hard and painful. But it is so necessary and now, in the writing of it, I feel a deep sense of peace and relief at seeing it so clearly. Because it means it is within my power to do something about it.
Love to you,
Lyra ♥
Thursday, 7 April 2011
Fear: Being a Victim
Fear sticks to me like the remnants of an old plaster. Once it had a use - it kept me safer from him. But now, it is just there: the dusty cobwebs of coping mechanisms that need sweeping away to let the light in.
What am I so afraid of? I am constantly terrified of being seen. Being seen when I was young meant being exposed and that was DANGEROUS. The alcoholic stare would turn on you and you'd be the one to have your ideas, feelings, passions - anything that was a strong part of your identity or something you cared about - crushed with strong, repeating blows. 'Words cut like an axe' I think Plath said. And it's true. They chop you off from the very roots of who you are and your feelings of security until there are only pathways of adrenaline which course through the whole of you, making you hyper-alert, hyper-vigilant to everything and everyone. Over time, your trust in anyone is disintegrated and there is only survival - 'I must do what I can to make it through today'.
And yet, inside there is a yearning. And the knowledge that there is more to life than this. That it is not just about surviving, it is about THRIVING. I recognised some time ago that there seem to be three stages of recovery from all this. The first is the Victim stage. This is horrible and many people remain caught in it for years - I know I was. I had been a victim so many times (and at the hands of more than one person) that that was how I unconsciously identified myself and everything in my life was coloured with that. I generally felt helpless, powerless and depressed, peppered with moments of such RAGE that I could hardly bear it. And the rage was directed towards one person in particular who hurt me and hurt the people I love most so terribly that most of the time I could not even think about it because if I did I might go mad. I didn't know how I could ever move on from this because how could I possibly forgive someone for doing this and I'd heard so many times from so many people that forgiveness is the only way to truly be able to move on with your life. All I could think in response to that is F**K OFF. Anyone who says that cannot have gone through what I've gone through, what my family have gone through and what we are all still going through.
The only way that I found to move on from this stage is by admitting and accepting that you've been a victim. Sounds like it would be easy to admit that - to stand up and say 'I've been a victim'. It's harder than it sounds. To want to stay in denial about what happened to me and my family - especially my siblings - was definitely the only way I could cope for a very long time. The moments when I allowed in the reality of the abuse, I was filled with such terror, horror, rage, grief, vengeance, guilt and shame, that I did not know what to do with myself. Anger was a constant presence in my life which tinged everything. My moods would swing wildly from day to day - even hour to hour. I would bury myself in work so I did not have to think. I would distract myself with films and tv shows so I did not have to feel. And yet, nothing really worked because Everything was a constant reminder of the pain in my heart. The unspoiled innocence of the children I worked with was unbearable because it was how mine and my siblings lives SHOULD have been. The manager who was attracted to me was met with an unfair projection of hatred mixed together with desire. The characters in films were always in some situation which I somehow related to my own and I used to weep so desperately for them - and for myself.
And being a victim is an incredibly insidious thing. You think you've got to grips with it and you suddenly realise that another little piece of your behaviour is about that. The powerlessness, helplessness and despair, the shame and anger - none of these are easy. But the little things like always asking for others' opinions; regarding others more highly than yourself (or switching from inferior to superior feelings and back again); always finding yourself waiting for other people in life (and feeling stuck because they are); and constantly blaming others for things you have done or have not felt able to do... these things are part of the same pattern. At least, they have been for me. And each time I see a new part of the pattern, it's the same process: denial, defensiveness, anger, pain, grief, acceptance, relief, feeling lighter. And often with an apology - to myself and someone else - in there too. I think this is where the forgiveness comes in. I have not reached a stage where I feel I can forgive my stepfather. I am open to the idea but at the same time feel very closed to it. The most important thing is to forgive yourself for being a victim - to understand that it was not your fault. And that is something I have spent the last few years grappling with and believe I am finally there. I understand that it was not my fault that my stepfather drank himself stupid and emotionally abused us all. I understand that it was not my fault that he sexually abused my siblings. And I understand that it was not my fault that I did not speak up when one of my siblings told me what had happened. I accept responsibility for the fact that I kept quiet but I do not blame myself for that (there is a big difference between the two). Instead, I understand the reasons why. My family was a family of many secrets - a family who were so close and yet somehow did not openly discuss the biggest, most devastating events of our lives together but tried (and failed) to cope with them on our own. My siblings and I knew many secrets - about our parents and one another - but these were never discussed with another living soul. My stepfather had repeated many mantras over the years to ensure that we kept our mouths shut when it came to the truth about him - the one he used most often was that, as my mother had already been through one divorce, she couldn't possibly cope with another and so they could never ever split up and she must always be protected and looked after. The kind of thing you listen to and which profoundly affects and conditions you as a child and well into adulthood. And the morning after I found out, I was so rage-full I nearly beat my stepfather over the head with a spade but my friend stopped me - he said it would not help. He was probably right but he had his own fears about speaking out - he had himself been raped as a child and never told anyone until he told me.
So, the devastations of keeping secrets in families aside, being a victim and forgiving yourself for having been a victim is, I think, the first stage of recovery. The second and third stages are for another time, though they all overlap and intermingle.
Take care.
Love to you,
Lyra ♥
What am I so afraid of? I am constantly terrified of being seen. Being seen when I was young meant being exposed and that was DANGEROUS. The alcoholic stare would turn on you and you'd be the one to have your ideas, feelings, passions - anything that was a strong part of your identity or something you cared about - crushed with strong, repeating blows. 'Words cut like an axe' I think Plath said. And it's true. They chop you off from the very roots of who you are and your feelings of security until there are only pathways of adrenaline which course through the whole of you, making you hyper-alert, hyper-vigilant to everything and everyone. Over time, your trust in anyone is disintegrated and there is only survival - 'I must do what I can to make it through today'.
And yet, inside there is a yearning. And the knowledge that there is more to life than this. That it is not just about surviving, it is about THRIVING. I recognised some time ago that there seem to be three stages of recovery from all this. The first is the Victim stage. This is horrible and many people remain caught in it for years - I know I was. I had been a victim so many times (and at the hands of more than one person) that that was how I unconsciously identified myself and everything in my life was coloured with that. I generally felt helpless, powerless and depressed, peppered with moments of such RAGE that I could hardly bear it. And the rage was directed towards one person in particular who hurt me and hurt the people I love most so terribly that most of the time I could not even think about it because if I did I might go mad. I didn't know how I could ever move on from this because how could I possibly forgive someone for doing this and I'd heard so many times from so many people that forgiveness is the only way to truly be able to move on with your life. All I could think in response to that is F**K OFF. Anyone who says that cannot have gone through what I've gone through, what my family have gone through and what we are all still going through.
The only way that I found to move on from this stage is by admitting and accepting that you've been a victim. Sounds like it would be easy to admit that - to stand up and say 'I've been a victim'. It's harder than it sounds. To want to stay in denial about what happened to me and my family - especially my siblings - was definitely the only way I could cope for a very long time. The moments when I allowed in the reality of the abuse, I was filled with such terror, horror, rage, grief, vengeance, guilt and shame, that I did not know what to do with myself. Anger was a constant presence in my life which tinged everything. My moods would swing wildly from day to day - even hour to hour. I would bury myself in work so I did not have to think. I would distract myself with films and tv shows so I did not have to feel. And yet, nothing really worked because Everything was a constant reminder of the pain in my heart. The unspoiled innocence of the children I worked with was unbearable because it was how mine and my siblings lives SHOULD have been. The manager who was attracted to me was met with an unfair projection of hatred mixed together with desire. The characters in films were always in some situation which I somehow related to my own and I used to weep so desperately for them - and for myself.
And being a victim is an incredibly insidious thing. You think you've got to grips with it and you suddenly realise that another little piece of your behaviour is about that. The powerlessness, helplessness and despair, the shame and anger - none of these are easy. But the little things like always asking for others' opinions; regarding others more highly than yourself (or switching from inferior to superior feelings and back again); always finding yourself waiting for other people in life (and feeling stuck because they are); and constantly blaming others for things you have done or have not felt able to do... these things are part of the same pattern. At least, they have been for me. And each time I see a new part of the pattern, it's the same process: denial, defensiveness, anger, pain, grief, acceptance, relief, feeling lighter. And often with an apology - to myself and someone else - in there too. I think this is where the forgiveness comes in. I have not reached a stage where I feel I can forgive my stepfather. I am open to the idea but at the same time feel very closed to it. The most important thing is to forgive yourself for being a victim - to understand that it was not your fault. And that is something I have spent the last few years grappling with and believe I am finally there. I understand that it was not my fault that my stepfather drank himself stupid and emotionally abused us all. I understand that it was not my fault that he sexually abused my siblings. And I understand that it was not my fault that I did not speak up when one of my siblings told me what had happened. I accept responsibility for the fact that I kept quiet but I do not blame myself for that (there is a big difference between the two). Instead, I understand the reasons why. My family was a family of many secrets - a family who were so close and yet somehow did not openly discuss the biggest, most devastating events of our lives together but tried (and failed) to cope with them on our own. My siblings and I knew many secrets - about our parents and one another - but these were never discussed with another living soul. My stepfather had repeated many mantras over the years to ensure that we kept our mouths shut when it came to the truth about him - the one he used most often was that, as my mother had already been through one divorce, she couldn't possibly cope with another and so they could never ever split up and she must always be protected and looked after. The kind of thing you listen to and which profoundly affects and conditions you as a child and well into adulthood. And the morning after I found out, I was so rage-full I nearly beat my stepfather over the head with a spade but my friend stopped me - he said it would not help. He was probably right but he had his own fears about speaking out - he had himself been raped as a child and never told anyone until he told me.
So, the devastations of keeping secrets in families aside, being a victim and forgiving yourself for having been a victim is, I think, the first stage of recovery. The second and third stages are for another time, though they all overlap and intermingle.
Take care.
Love to you,
Lyra ♥
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