PARENTING ARTICLES
Parenting
in Recovery: Recognizing Legacies from the Past
by Dr. Pam Monday
Parenting your children once you are in your own recovery
is one of the most difficult challenges you will face.
Few of us bring home a parenting manual along with the
diapers when the baby and we leave the hospital, and
unfortunately, parenting, like conflict resolution,
isn't usually taught in school. If you are in recovery,
taking a parenting class or reading a parenting book
is the minimum you should do to prepare yourself to
be an adequate parent. Otherwise, you will just be making
it up as you go along, a terrible way to prepare for
what will be the most important job you will ever have.
But even if you take a parenting class, and learn how
to set limits, apply consequences instead of punishment,
model respectful and appropriate behavior, etc., your
children will still be at serious risk of learning unhealthy
patterns from your parenting unless you are aware of
and directly address the legacies you have inherited
from your family-of-origin.
The family is the social system we are exposed to for
the longest period of time, and is a primary source
of information about human interaction. As children,
we are consciously absorbing information about how to
relate to others. We learn in families how to treat
each other; what it means to be a man or a woman; how
males and females are supposed to act; what marriage
means; how parents treat children. We learn what is
okay or not okay to feel, say and do. We learn coping
mechanisms to deal with problems, and we learn to ignore
or pay attention to information, depending on what is
reinforced in our families. We learn these things even
if no one is overtly talking to us about them. If you
are a parent and in recovery, you will pass on many
of the values, beliefs, attitudes and interactional
patterns that you learned in your family of origin unless
you take the time and energy necessary to recognize
and understand those patterns. A 12-step program alone
is not sufficient to change patterns of relating between
parent and child that have been perpetuated in your
family for generations.
If you find yourself questioning how powerful unconscious
learning is, ask yourself if you have ever heard yourself
saying something to your children that sounds just like
something your own mother or father would have said,
even when you swore never to be like them! It is as
though the exact words and mannerisms that were modeled
for us over and over by our parents are imprinted on
our psyches, just waiting to be acted out!
When we have children, all our unresolved issues with
our own parents surface. Life gets complicated quickly,
because suddenly we are in the position to being both
children and parents. At some level, whether consciously
or unconsciously, we sense there is more to life than
we previously knew, and we are in a position of being
able to understand what it means to be responsible for
the life of another human being. This can be very frightening,
particularly if our parenting role models were not very
good ones.
Many people in recovery who have experienced abusive
parenting have the attitude that they will parent their
children exactly the opposite from the way they were
parented. The problem with this approach, of course,
is that extremes of parenting are passed down the family
tree, with every other generation doing the opposite
of what was done to them, and consequently, the individuals
in every other generation look alike! For example, one
generation will be abusive and controlling; their children
will then raise the next generation in a very permissive
environment; these children in turn will grow up without
limits, will become willful tyrants and will control
and abuse their own children. This is parenting in reaction
to unresolved issues with one's own parents, rather
than proactive parenting based on making informed, thoughtful
choices about appropriate parenting behaviors.
There are several common unconscious patterns of interactions
between parent and child that often show up in how we
parent our own children, and these patterns are reinforced
by the rules and myths around parenting that all families
have. For example, on of the most severely damaging
myths of parenting that has been perpetuated in our
culture is "children owe their parents." This
myth, originating as a loyalty bond that ensured the
survival of clans, has been so distorted by culture
and religion that today, even the most abusive parenting
actions are often justified or ignored by our culture,
and thus continue to be perpetuated in a virtual epidemic
of child abuse.
For example, we may expect our children to "make
us happy," as though they owe us for bringing them
into being. We take their normal childish egocentricity
personally, blaming them for making our lives so difficult.
Feeling resentful, we then are caught up in blame-and
criticize posture, justifying our own behavior by saying,
"that kid makes my life hell; he deserves to be
treated harshly."
The problem with believing "children owe their
parents" is that it is OUR job as parent to provide
for our children's survival, growth and nurturing and
to help them learn to relate to others. In turn, our
children, when they become parents, pass this on to
their own children. Unfortunately, if our own parents
exploited us, and did not provide for the "stuff"
of responsible parenting, we may look to our children
to make up for what we did not get. Thus, we collect
the "debt" from our children, when in reality
the debt belongs to a previous generation.
A surefire way to ensure the passing down of dysfunctional
parenting patterns is to deny that we have wounds from
childhood. In our denial, we will probably parent just
like our parents. We will pattern our behavior like
theirs, because we really feel they know what they were
doing. (Of course, they never had the benefit of parenting
classes, or current research about what produces healthy
well-adjusted, emotionally stable people with high self-esteem,
but we will not think of that.) We won't know that much
of what was seen as "normal" when we were
raised (such as "spare the rod, spoil the child,"
or "kids are responsible for their parents' happiness,"
or "they deserve punishment when they act up,"
or "crying means your a sissy," etc.) is destructive;
after all, we tell ourselves, we turned out okay, right?
Right.
Besides the obvious destructive interactions of physical
or emotional abuse, there are many parent/child interactions
that guarantee negative outcomes for the child. Ask
yourself whether any of those patterns were present
in your family of origin:
Was there a favorite child? Was a child scapegoated/labeled
the "bad kid"? Did mom have her favorite kid,
and did Dad have his favorite? Did any of the kids repeatedly
defend the actions of one parent to the other siblings?
Was anyone adopted? Did a child have the job of taking
care of one or both parents? Was there incest anywhere
in your family? Were there any premature deaths?
Looking now to your nuclear family (the one in which
your are raising your own children), ask these questions:
Have you frequently looked to your children to nurture
you, to "make you feel better," to provide
emotional support or to give you what would more appropriately
be expected from a mate? Have you expected your children
to be more responsible than you are, by modeling irresponsible
behavior while at the same time expecting them to do
it "right"? Have you expected your children
to excel or to be perfect to make you look good? Have
you not taken responsibility for your own behavior,
instead of justifying your actions by blaming your child
or spouse? Have you, when your marriage was in trouble,
confided in a child your problems, so that the child
felt the need to take sides with one parent or the other?
Have you and your spouse focused on your children in
an effort to avoid looking at problems in your marriage?
Are you children having behavioral or emotional problems?
If you answered "yes" to any of the above
questions, chances are good that you are reenacting
some patterns of relating to your children that have
been present in your family for generations. As human
beings, it is scary to admit we don't know everything;
it is scary to be responsible for raising another human
being; it is scary to do the best we can, knowing we
will still make mistakes, and will still wound our children
in ways we might not even be able to predict. But
we, the recovering community, can be role models for
the massive numbers in our culture who are still in
denial. Our children will have a better chance than
any other generation before us to be emotionally healthy
with high self-esteem if we will do the following:
1) Learn and practice parenting skills.
2) Apologize to your children as soon as you realize
you have made a parenting mistake, and demonstrate
by your behavior that you are learning and growing.
3) Have the courage to look at your family patterns
by being in therapy, reading books, attending classes
- anything that requires you to grow and learn.
4) Learn communication and conflict resolution skills
so that all of your relationships are more mutually
satisfying.
5) Heal your relationship with an ex-spouse so that
your children do not suffer from your unresolved issues
with each other.
6) Actively work out your relationship with your partner
to resolve old hurts and to model for your children
mutually respectful, loving parental partnerships.
The most important thing you can do to break the transgenerational
transmission of dysfunctional parenting patterns is
to actively work on resolving issues with your parents,
dead or alive. Resolution means that you are at peace
with your relationship with your parents. This may
mean that you have learned how to set limits with
them, rather than trying to avoid them, and you are
no longer giving them the power to intimidate you
to try to control you life. To "divorce"
your family by cutting off contact virtually ensures
that unresolved issues will be acted out in the next
generation.
If you feel you have no other alternative but to cut
off from them, it is vital that you do the work of
forgiveness. That does not mean that you condone any
abusive acts. Forgiveness is the spiritual work of
letting go of past hurts, anger, resentment and other
negative emotions that are preventing you from living
a joyous, full life in the present. To forgive is
to find inner peace; parenting from a place of inner
peace is the greatest gift you can give your child.
[Back to top]
Seven Tips for Parents of Teens:
Healthy Communication
by Dr. Pam Monday
1. Build Trust by Treating Your Teen With
Respect.
Ask, rather than demand. Value their ideas, even if
you don't agree. Praise effort. Tell them you love
them. Talk to them with a respectful tone of voice.
Ask if they want your advice before you start giving
it. Respect and establish boundaries -- physical and
emotional. Lecture less; listen more. Aim for a 5:1
ratio of positives to negatives.
2. Learn Healthy Parenting Skills.
Take a parenting class, read a parenting book, like
"Help Me! I Have a Teenager!" by Annie Drake.
Be clear about what your rules are; write them down.
Establish clear, consistent consequences for breaking
the rules, and enforce them! Teens need limits; they
learn how to be responsible adults by learning how
to follow rules and doing age-appropriate chores.
Too much freedom, lack of structure and rules, or
inconsistent enforcement of consequences enables irresponsible
behavior.
3. Control Your Reactivity.
Children learn by example and by making mistakes.
When they make mistakes, set a good example for them
by not losing your temper, judging, criticizing, shaming,
moralizing, blaming, humiliating, making fun of, lecturing,
putting down or guilting! Stay calm! In you are unable
to be calm, excuse yourself until you are back in
control of yourself and can talk calmly. Children
respect a parent who is respectfully in charge, and
is centered and calm.
4. Listen to Your Child's Point of View.
Listen to understand the feelings behind
the words. Validate their perspective even if you
don't agree. Empathize with the feelings. Don't use
the "shoot/reload" method of communication
that only escalated defensiveness. Respect your child's
right to have an opinion; remember, they do not have
an adult's resources, knowledge or life experience
with which to address problems -- that's why they
need your guidance. Don't alienate them.
5. Allow Your Teen to Have All of Their Feelings.
Help them express appropriately anger, sadness,
fear, hurt, inadequacy. Stuffing feelings creates
enormous problems in life
6. Model the Kinds of Behaviors You Want to
See Your Child Do.
Do you take responsibility for the mistakes
you make (can you say "I'm sorry" or "I
made a mistake"?) Do you keep the standards and
value you want them to have? Do you talk to them and
your spouse with respect? Do you find ways to grow
and change? Be the kind of person you want your teen
to become. Create happiness in your life to show them
adulthood can be fun!.
7. Have a Healthy, Loving Relationship With
Your Spouse.
Adolescents often act up to take the focus
off the real problem -- the troubled marriage. Don't
deny marital problems; the children will be the casualties.
Get help if needed!
[Back to top]
Parenting College-Age Youth
by Dr. Pam Monday
Congratulations! You have a college-age child -- that
means you have successfully gotten through the tough
developmental periods of infancy, early childhood,
and the teenage years. Pat yourselves on the back!
Now, you job isn't over yet -- but there are some
things you might want to know about parenting the
college-age person. Here are some helpful "Do's"
and "Don'ts".
DO:
Realize you have little control over the
choices your child makes. You have already taught
them values; now it's up to them to incorporate them
into their lives. Expect them to make mistakes --
that's how everyone learns! Compliment them and praise
them every chance you get. Research shows that kids
need a 5:1 ratio of positive to negative statements
from parents to have a trusting relationship, and
to have high self-esteem. Too often parents forget
to "catch" kids in the act of doing well
and instead focus on the negatives. Set clear rules
with clear consequences regarding your performance
expectations for school, work, chores, etc. if they
are living with you or if they are dependent upon
you for financial support. Without clear rules, parents
frequently feel used or resentful, and kids often
continue irresponsible behavior. All people need structure
and clarity to learn responsible behavior. Set consequences
and limits that you can, and will, enforce. Kids need
to trust that you will follow through on what you
say you are going to do. Remember that maturity means
disciplining oneself; prior to reaching maturity,
young adults need the security of limits and consequences
to help them learn self-discipline. Consistently follow-through
on consequences. Inconsistency reinforces negative
behavior and teaches young people that they can get
away with irresponsible behavior, or that they can
manipulate others to avoid taking responsibility for
their actions. Have an open, healthy relationship
with your spouse. Healthy families have parents who
model healthy relating. If you have problems in your
marriage, get help for yourselves. Stay clam and listen
to your student, even when you don't agree with what
they are saying. Listen to understand the feelings
behind the words; and empathize with what your child
is feeling. This models respectful listening, an
DON'T:
Nag, yell, lecture, moralize, punish, shame,
put-down, humiliate, scold, or embarrass your child.
This behavior never teaches people how to take responsibility
for their behavior, and always damages the relationship.
Without a good relationship with your child, your
positive influence on that child will not be felt.
When people feel threatened, they get defensive and
are not open to input. Don't shut down communication
with your child by doing the above behaviors. Students
learn to withhold information from parents who do
any of the above. Do for your child what they can
and should do for themselves. Teach them how to balance
a checkbook, use the computer, write a paper, budget;
don't do it for them. And don't rescue them from the
consequences of their behavior. If they don't pay,
the electric bill because they went skiing instead,
let them have a few days without electricity or let
them propose a repayment plan before you pay the bill
for them. Triangle your child into your relationship
with your spouse. If you and your spouse can't talk
with each other, go to therapy; don't talk about your
relationship with your spouse with your child. Many
college-age students fail in school because they are
preoccupied with worrying about their parents. Don't
think your advice and approval is no longer needed
or wanted. College-age youth still need guidance and
direction from trusted adults. Remember what life
was like when you were their age? They NEED you!
[Back to top]
His Ex-wife
Is Driving Us Crazy
By Rosen, Margery D., "Can This Marriage
Be Saved?" Ladies' Home Journal, November, 1997.
The most popular, most enduring women's magazine in
the world. This month's case, about a couple struggling
to deal with stepfamily problems, is based on interviews
with clients and information from the files of Pamela
Monday, Ph.D., a marriage and family therapist in
private practice in Austin, Texas. The story told
here is true, although names and other details have
been changed to conceal identities.
Terry's Turn
"I warned Aaron again and again that
Susan, his ex-wife was going to be trouble,"
said Terry, a petite, pretty thirty-three-year-old
product manager for a national manufacturing company.
"As usual, Aaron pooh-poohed everything I said.
"Well, guess
what? Susan is slowly but surely driving a wedge through
our barely two-year-old marriage. I'm convinced she's
brainwashed Molly, Aaron's ten-year-old daughter,
against us. Molly is not doing well in school - and
Aaron and I are fighting nearly everyday.
"I come for a broken home myself. My parents
divorced when I was only three. I adored my father
and missed him terribly. I lived with my mother, who
was miserable, depressed and totally incapable of
raising a child. So until I was twelve, when I moved
in with my dad and his wife, I bounced around from
one day-care center or after-school program to another.
I basically took care of my mom.
"My own experience
made me want to be the best possible stepparent to
Molly. Unfortunately, Susan sets absolutely no limits
-Molly can stay up as late as she wants, even on school
nights. And she's been really bad about keeping on
top of Molly's schoolwork. Molly's only with us Monday
nights and alternate weekends, so Aaron and I often
don't find out about a problem at school until the
day before-and then we have to scramble to rearrange
our schedules. We've spoken to the teachers about
it, but they don't seem to recognize divorce.
"When Molly
is with us, I'm the heavy. I have to explain to an
unresponsive child that in the house, we not only
eat dinner that's served, we clean our plates and
help put the dishes in the dishwasher. And homework
comes before television.
"I know Molly’s
behavior is appropriate for her age -but when she
starts in the ‘You’re not my mother’
or ‘I don’t have to do that in my house,’
there’s not much I can say. And if Aaron steps
in, he comes down much too hard. He’ll take
away TV for the entire weekend if she doesn’t
make her bed.
“The tension
in our house is unbearable, and I’ve started
to really resent my stepdaughter. Here I am, doing
all these things for her, and she’s acting like
a brat. And sometimes when Aaron, Molly and I go out
for a walk, Aaron will grab Molly’s hand or
put an arm around her shoulder, leaving me to walk
around by myself. I feel like a fifth wheel.
“Susan just
complicates the picture. She still expects Aaron to
always be there for her. I know he can’t stand
talking to her. And when he gets off the phone, this
usually mild-mannered guy explodes; he has actually
broken plates.
“I don’t
know what to do when he gets like that. When I try
to tell him how frustrated and angry I feel, he listens
for two minutes and gives me a quick here’s
-what -ya -gotta -do. End of conversation. Or else
he says I’m overreacting. I’ve just stop
trying.
“The
money issue is particularly painful, and typically
Aaron refused to discuss it. In the settlement, Aaron
agreed to pay Susan an enormous amount of money every
month so she could stay home and take care of Molly.
Lately, it’s become a hardship for us. A year
ago, Aaron’s position was eliminated in a company-wide
cut back, and he was demoted to a lower-paying job.
He’s going to night school to finish his B.A.
degree, but money is tight. When he writes his check
to Susan -which she clearly doesn’t spend on
Molly -I get upset all over again.
“The amazing
thing is, Aaron still expects me to hop into bed with
him as if that’s going to solve the problems.
Well, no thank you. I want to make love, not just
to have sex. We need help sorting this out.”
Aaron's Turn
“I know my anger is out of control, but I can’t
figure out how to deal with it,” said Aaron,
forty-two, a handsome man with thick black hair and
Paul Newman-blue eyes. “My dad was a loose cannon,
too. He was an engineer on the road most of the time,
leaving Mother with six boys. In my memories, she’s
whiny and complaining -just like my ex-wife, come
to think of it.
“As the oldest,
I was expected to keep the others in line. When I
was thirteen, my parents split up. My teenage years
are a blur to me. I lost my bearings and decided not
to go to college. I supported myself doing odd jobs,
and when I was twenty-three, I joined the Air Force
and spent eight years overseas, where I meet Susan.
When she got pregnant, I felt obligated to marry her,
but I was miserable. We were legally married for eight
years before we finally divorced.
“When I left
the military, I found a job with a great company -we
design and manufacture equipment for dentists’
offices -and worked my way up from the mail room to
division manager.
“Then last
year, I had to take a demotion to salesman. With a
wife, an ex-wife and a child to support, there wasn’t
much choice. I’m going back to school finally
to get my degree and hope that will give me the boost
I need to get a better position.
“In the meantime,
my ex is driving us crazy. She’s lazy, disorganized
and undisciplined, and I’m deeply concerned
because I can see those tendencies in Molly. I wish
I knew how to get Susan to change.
“Susan doesn’t
rant and rave, but she manages to undermine our marriage
and Molly’s faith in us in subtle ways. At the
same time, I think Terry takes many issues too personally.
I don’t want to carry on about every little
problem. When Terry gets going with her whining, my
brain shuts down.
“Terry’s
right about the discipline situation. I miss Molly
desperately and I don’t want her to remember
Daddy as the guy who yells and has a mile-long list
of rules. I know I made a mistake on Susan’s
settlement. But what’s done is done, and I’m
not about to go to court about it. “The bottom
line is, Terry and I love each other, and we believe
in this marriage, but we’re stuck. I hope you
can help us.”
The Counselor's Turn
“When Terry and Aaron
came to see me,” said the counselor, “they
were focusing strictly on the stepfamily problems.
But in the truth, they first need to work on the marital
issues that were preventing them from facing their
problems together.
“Power and control issues played a large part
in this couple’s fights. Though close to his
younger brothers, Aaron felt a burden of being the
parent to them. He still desperately needed to feel
in charge. As an adult, that translated into being
successful in his career and his marriage -being on
the top of things. When he wasn’t, Aaron became
anxious and withdrawn, then exploded in a rage.
“Terry, too,
had grown up as a caretaker, trying to support her
divorced and depressed mother. When her father remarried,
she was torn: While she loved new stepmother and was
delighted to go live with them, she was also jealous.
She had been number one in Daddy’s life and
now there was another woman.
“Dealing with
Aaron’s outbursts was a key hurdle. Anger was
his defense against feeling weak or vulnerable. We
spent several sessions getting him to recognize the
physical sensations of his anger -his throat and chest
muscles tightened, and his jaw clenched -then helping
him find ways to dissipate that anger.
“Like many
men who are out of touch with their feelings, Aaron
didn’t have a clue about expressing emotion.
When he felt inadequate and needed reassurance, instead
of talking to Terry about his insecurities, he’d
want to make love, which was a complete turnoff for
her.
“It’s
hard to get a man like Aaron, who is coiled as tight
as a spring, to calm down enough so he can talk safely
and constructively. But Terry learned how to signal
Aaron that he was beginning to lose control. Instead
of snapping at him, she learned to say, ‘It
looks to me like you are becoming very angry.’
Since Aaron really wanted to change, this really helped
him to get a grip on his rising emotions.
“Another technique
that really helped Terry and Aaron is what therapists
call a dialogue, which can be useful no matter what
the issue. Here’s how it works: Whenever one
partner is upset, frustrated, angry or simply feels
the need to talk, he asks his spouse for a dialogue.
The spouse must agree to talk to, either right then
or at a specific time later. Each partner gets to
speak, without fear of interruption or argument, after
which the listening partner must restate in his own
words what the other has said, in order to show that
he understands her perspective. Then, they switch
roles.
“At first,
Terry and Aaron found doing this so stilted that they
would burst out laughing -but that was fine, since
humor is a much -needed leaven for couples in crises.
When a couple practices dialogues regularly -I suggested
daily for these two -the give -and -take soon became
automatic. At that point, Terry and Aaron discovered
they could come up with some simple, creative solutions.
“Because she
so closely identified with her stepdaughter’s
confusion and sense of loss, Terry simply wanted to
be the perfect stepmother. But before she gad developed
a solid, trusting relationship with her stepchild,
Terry simply assumed responsibility for every aspect
of Molly’s life, giving her little room to breath
or make her own decisions.
“Aaron allowed
Terry to take over, not knowing that when a new stepfamily
is coming together, discipline must primarily be the
responsibility of the biological parent. Also, it
was Aaron’s job, not Terry’s, to negotiate
visiting times as well as school conferences. However,
Aaron was so bitter and resentful of his first wife
that he avoided dealing with her at all costs.
“I explained
that they’d have to accept the fact that they
will be connected to Susan for a long time. ‘You
can’t control Susan or make her a better mom,’
I told him. He came up with the trick of placing his
beeper next to the phone and setting it to go off
after five minutes. That gave him a ready excuse to
get off the phone.
“Aaron also came up with a compromise on the
money problems. He suggested to Susan that he put
a certain percentage away for Molly’s college
education, deducting that amount from the monthly
allotment. That way, he explained, they wouldn’t
be caught short when the time came. To his surprise,
Susan agreed -and Terry, too, found this arrangement
palatable. Meanwhile, money pressures on Aaron’s
company eases up, and he was given a higher commission
on his sales.
[Back to top]
My
Mother-in-law is Wrecking Our Marriage
by Margery D. Rosen , "Can This Marriage
Be Saved?" Ladies' Home Journal, July, 1997.
The most popular, most enduring women's magazine in
the world. This month's case, about a couple struggling
with family interference, is based on interviews with
clients and information from the files of Pamela Monday,
Ph.D., a marriage and family therapist in private practice
in Austin, Texas. The story told here is true, although
names and other details have been changed to conceal
identities.
Joy's Turn
"Everyone always says her mother-in-law is
crazy," said Joy, forty, a soft-spoken woman and mother
of nine-year-old Lauren, "but in my case it's literally
true. Elana has hated me from the moment she met me.
Russ and I had just gotten engaged, and we drove four
hours so he could introduce me to her. When we got to
her apartment, she was wildly drunk and wouldn't even
let me in the door. She's and alcoholic, but she's never
gotten treatment - Russ and his two younger sisters
refuse even to admit she has a problem.
"Believe
me, I know. My father was an alcoholic, too. He was
warm and loving when he wasn't drunk, sad and miserable
when he was. Mother was very withdrawn and unemotional.
She often went out in the evenings, leaving me alone
with my father, who was usually drunk. My two sisters
were already in college. Dad would ramble on and on
to me about his problems, and sometimes he'd cry. I
was scared and overwhelmed.
"I wanted to be
a veterinarian when I grew up, buy my parents never
even encouraged me to go to college. After high school,
I went to Texas to visit my oldest sister, and I never
left. Then at twenty-five, I patched together enough
financial aid to go to college to study business administration.
"That's when I met Russ, who sat behind me in class.
He was such a flirt, and at first, I was put off, though
I was impressed by his comments in class. We bumped
into each other at a party and, though I was with another
guy, we spent most of the evening together.
"Three years later, we got engaged. All this time, we'd
never talked about his mother. The day he took me to
meet her, she locked herself in her bathroom and screamed,
'Get that bitch out of here!' Finally, we left, but
Russ refused to discuss the incident.
"That's
been the pattern. Elana says and does the most vile
things, but Russ pretends they never happened. I know
he feels responsible for her. His father, a diplomat,
deserted them when Russ was only ten, and Russ held
the family together. His kindness is a great quality,
but it has reached the point where his mother is destroying
me - and our marriage.
"Elana's cruelty is
astounding. At our rehearsal dinner, she stood up to
make a toast and said, 'Well, I hope you can hold onto
him, though I seriously doubt it.' I was stunned at
first. Then I burst into tears and ran out of the room.
"A few years ago, when I told her my mother had
cancer, the first thing she said was, 'Well, I'm not
going to the funeral.' If we go out for dinner, she
insists on sitting between Russ and me.
"Russ
doesn't even tell me when she's coming to spend the
weekend. Whatever plans I've made go out the window
when she shows up. She also calls at all hours, often
waking us up.
"I'm furious that Russ never
defends me. When his mom behaves this way in front of
my daughter, though, I draw the line. Here's an example:
It was Elana's birthday, and it was about fifty-five
degrees outside. The first thing she said when we got
to her condominium was, 'Let's go for a swim.' She grabbed
Lauren and raced to the courtyard pool. Then, with her
clothes on - shoes and all - she jumped in and yelled,
'Come on, Lauren, jump in.' I told Lauren not to go
in, but Elana kept insisting, and Russ just laughed.
Lauren burst into tears.
"I swore I'd never
allow Lauren to be alone with Elana again, but she's
forever calling and enticing Lauren with shopping sprees,
movies and presents. Russ refuses to tell Lauren the
real explanation for her grandmother's odd behavior,
so I look like the bad guy.
"As a result of
all the tension, our sex life has really suffered. Russ
complains that I'm never in the mood. He's right. But
the truth is, he often arrives home from work hours
late and goes straight to his computer.
"We
rarely argue, though - except about his business trips,
which he springs on me at the last minute. I get totally
overwhelmed and anxious.
"I could have been
the best daughter-in-law anyone ever had. But I can't
forget what Elana has done."
Russ's Turn
"This was a classic
example of alcoholism's destructive effects on a family,"
said the counselor. "Russ
and Joy, who grew up taking care of others, came to
believe they had no right to assert their own needs.
This sense of failure lingered, triggering deep-seated
insecurities that later played out in their marriage.
"Children of
alcoholics are often afraid of conflict. Joy had trouble
expressing herself to her husband, let alone her mother-in-law;
Russ couldn't confront his mother or his wife because
he was afraid of hurting either of them. What's more,
instead of listening, brainstorming and then negotiating
solutions to problems in their relationship, Joy clammed
up and Russ threw himself into his work.
"Much of our
work in therapy was devoted to helping them recognize
these patterns. To do that, we drew a family tree
of relationships over three generations - which can
reveal personality traits as well as individual problem-solving
strategies.
"Seeing the
family history in black and white, Russ realized that
he was still the family caretaker. And although he
thought he was meditating between his wife and his
mother, he was really only paying lip service to that
goal. I pointed out that it was his job - not Joy's
- to stand up to Elana, to say, 'We have plans this
weekend' or 'You can't speak like that to Joy.' Further,
instead of letting his mother ramble on when she calls
drunk, he should hang up the phone.
"No matter what he said, Russ was still in deep
denial about his mother's alcoholism - classic behavior
for someone who lives with an alcoholic. Of course,
Russ had witnessed Elana's outrageous behavior his
whole life, so her actions weren't unusual to him.
Over the course of several sessions, Russ finally
admitted that his mother was an alcoholic. 'That doesn't
mean she's a horrible person,' I emphasized. 'She
has an illness that can be treated.' Elana continues
to refuse treatment, but Russ no longer feels he's
a bad son because his mother is still drinking. Recently,
when his mother announced that she wanted to move
in with them, Russ told her unequivocally no.
"Joy, for her
part, had to stop being a doormat. She was either
meek and apologetic toward Russ or nagging and complaining.
A reflective-listening technique (one person talks,
the other listens without interrupting and then repeats
what the partner has said) enabled Joy to say, 'I
need you to be present when your mother is with Lauren'
or 'I want you to call if you'll be late getting home.'
Russ was able to say, 'We need to work out a schedule
so that my mother sees Lauren more often.'
"I suggested
that Russ give Joy more notice of a trip, so they
can talk about ways to ease her fears. Joy realized
that she used to punish Russ for leaving her, and
she has worked hard to master her anxieties.
"Russ admitted
that he was afraid to talk to Lauren about her grandmother's
alcoholism, but he understood how important it was
to bring family secrets out into the open. Since he
felt less shame about it, he was able to tackle the
subject.
"Russ
and Joy have made great progress. No longer caught
in a tug-of-war between his wife and his mother, Russ
has more energy to devote to his wife. Joy knows that
to some extent she simply has to learn to live with
an intrusive mother-in-law. But with new skills -
and the support of her husband - she can do.
[Back to top]
Finding
My Father
by Dr. Pam Monday - Family Therapy Networker,
July/August, 1991.
I returned from the American Association for Marriage
and Family Therapy conference two years ago more excited
than I usually am after a meeting, especially electrified
by a workshop I had attended on family secrets. The
idea that much so-called psychological pathology might
arise from shame over long-buried family secrets struck
a deep chord in me, but I wasn't quite sure why this
particular workshop, out of all the good ones I had
attended, had such a powerful impact on me. Still keyed
up several days later, I was telling a childhood friend
about on of the cases presented at the workshop -- an
old woman whose obsessive hand washing ritual could
be traced to her secret shame at bearing an illegitimate
child many years before. As I told the story, my friend
looked at me intently and said, "Pam, there's a
secret about yourself you ought to know."
Startled, and oddly frightened, I asked, "What
secret?" wondering what in the world she meant.
She said, "My mother told me this about a year
ago, and made me promise never to tell you, but I've
wanted to ever since, and I can't keep quiet any longer."
I felt something inside constrict, and braced myself.
"What is it?" "Your
father wasn't your father."
There it was. A simple
statement that stopped the world turning. And yet
I felt an eerie sense of recognition, as if hearing
something I had known once, but had long since forgotten.
I started to wail, loud animal cries that sounded
to my own ears as if they were coming from someone
else. At the same time, I felt as if all the missing
pieces of a lifelong puzzle were falling into place.
"Thank you, God," I said to myself, feeling
gratitude and relief beneath all the anguish and upheaval
of the moment.
When I could speak
again, I asked my friend to explain. "Your daddy
who raised you," she said, "adopted you.
Your mother had been married before." I asked
where my biological father was, but she didn't know,
and could only tell me that she had heard he was a
rich businessman in Dallas.
As she was talking,
many of the discrepancies and incongruities in my
life that I had spent years of therapy and self-searching
trying to reconcile finally began to make sense. Now
I began to understand why my adoptive father, who
died in an accident 10 years ago, and mother, had
discouraged questions about the family's past when
I was growing up -- any tactless questions might provoke
conflict, which was always squelched at the onset.
Indeed, a kind of gag rule prevailed in our house,
kept in force by the old line, "If you can't
say anything nice, don't say anything at all,"
which effectively stifled the expression of much anger,
resentment, or sadness about our family. I now realized
that keeping the enormous secret about my birth father
had required either constant denial or censorship.
I also began to see
why my adoptive father -- my "real" dad,
for all I had known -- had always seemed so closed
and distant. He had never learned in his family how
to hug or touch, and was never demonstrative with
his own children. But especially with me, his only
daughter, he was so reserved in spite of my frantic
efforts to get close to him. Now his reticence seemed
understandable, given the strain of secretly raising
another man's child, especially during the years when
that child was an angry and rebellious teenager.
Seven years after my adoptive father died in a boating
accident, I finally grieved for him, talked to family
and friends about him, and cried because I had never
really known him. But I felt at peace with him, though
now, after I'd heard about my birth father, I regretted
not being able to talk to Daddy, ask him how he'd
felt raising me, and thank him for loving me as best
he could
After that momentous
lunch, when my friend and I said goodbye, I raced
to my church so I could talk to my minister, one of
the sanest, wisest people I know. "What do I
do now?" I burst out. "Call my aunt? Call
the birth certificate office? Weren't adoption records
closed then? What next? What next?" He answered
quietly, "Go talk to your mother," an obvious
step, and yet it hadn't occurred to me. My mother
and I had spent so many years not talking about what
we felt most deeply that the prospect of confiding
in her now felt strange and vaguely threatening. Besides,
it seemed almost perverse to entrust my knowledge
of this vast secret to the very person who had kept
it from me in the first place.
But the overpowering
need to know everything immediately overwhelmed whatever
hesitation I felt. I raced home and frantically dialed
my mother's house, trying to slow myself down enough
to sound rational. No answer. I began to call her
friends. "Where is she?" No one knew. But
they knew she would be at her volunteer job at the
hospital by 4:00 p.m. "Find her," I ordered,”
and tell her to cancel for today. I'm coming to see
her." I asked my neighbor to pick up my children
from school, leaped into my car, and struggled to
keep within the speed limit all the way to my mother's
house.
When I got there,
my mother politely ignored my agitation; the gracious
hostess as always, she asked me whether I wanted tea
or coffee. She was obviously nervous, and I was jumping
out of my skin, but still chatted for five endless
minutes, saying nothing. Finally, she said, "I
was afraid one of the children was dead." I shook
my head, looked her in the eye and said, "Tell
me about my father."
Her face registered
shock, fear, guilt, anxiety, but what came from her
mouth was anger. "Who told you?" she demanded.
"It doesn't
matter, Mom, just tell me the truth."
"I won't tell
you unless you tell me," she said with clenched
teeth, sounding like a stubborn, furious 5-year-old
caught in a lie. When I reluctantly told her, she
broke out in a flood of invective against her old
friend's "betrayal."
"Don't talk
to me about betrayal," I interrupted. "Tell
me about my father."
My mother suddenly
wilted, her rage vanished and she sighed in resignation,
perhaps even relief. She went into her room and came
back with an old wedding album. "I was going
to carry this secret to my grave," she said,
looking miserable and afraid. Together, we looked
at the album, at the newspaper clippings, the guest
list, the shower presents, and then at the pictures
of her and my father. What a strange feeling washed
over me! I looked like this man! I sat in my mother's
living room, looking at the pictures in a kind of
trance, experiencing myself both there and not there
at the same time, watching myself turn the pages,
feeling a whole range of emotions and at the same
time oddly distant.
"Tell me about
him, Mama," I said. What I heard was the story
of a woman who had been bitterly hurt in a tumultuous,
unhappy marriage of two immature people barely out
of adolescence. Charming, talented, and good-looking,
my 19-year-old father had also been an angry young
man, recently home from the war, chronically unfaithful,
and subject to wild mood swings. Just before the wedding,
my mother discovered that he had recently gotten a
girl pregnant and had arranged for her to have an
abortion. My mother said she cried as she tried on
her wedding dress, unable to tell anyone about her
fear that she was making a terrible mistake. "How
do you get out of a big, fancy wedding at the last
minute?" she asked me, the daughter who had asked
herself the same question just before her own failed
marriage.
I heard my mother's
bitter recollections, but what my father had done
40 years earlier meant very little to me. I felt intuitively
that finding to him was the key to resolving my own
inner struggles. I believed my identity was at stake,
and even undeniable evidence that he was a world-class
felon would not have swayed me from my search. When
I left my mother, I thanked her for being so honest,
and told her with as much determination as I could
muster that I intended to find him. Once in the car,
I cried the whole way home.
All I had was his
name: John Miles. I called information, first in Dallas
and then Houston. I spoke to several David Miles,
telling my story to total strangers. In Houston, there
were three David Miles. I called two, the third was
unlisted. Dead end. I decided to start over with the
facts I had. In the wedding album was a brief wedding
announcement clipped from a 41-year-old newspaper--"Leona
Donovan, aunt of the bridegroom, living in Houston...
“Aunt Leona
-- a dimly remembered lady in a snapshot with me,
as a baby, on her lap. My mother had occasionally
spoken to her in passing, vaguely identifying her
only as distant kin, a shadowy personage obscured
in the mist of ancient family history. I called Houston
information. Miraculously, Leona Donovan was still
there. I dialed her number, wondering how old she
must be by now. To the frail voice of the woman who
answered, I said, "Aunt Leona, I don't know if
you remember me, but this is Pamela, John's daughter."
Silence. And then a warm, excited, "Oh yes, I
remember you!" She was 87 years old, but her
mind was sharp and clear, and when I told her I was
coming to Houston to see her, she seemed genuinely
happy.
I showed my children the photo album, told them about
my father and their grandfather, and said I was going
to search for him. But when I said I would be leaving
them with their uncle while I went to see my great-aunt,
my 11-year-old wondered why they couldn't come too.
"Mama," he said,” Aunt Leona is 87
years old -- I want to meet her before she dies!"
As so, off we all
went -- my children and I. When we got there, we saw
a picture of my father on top of Aunt Leona's television,
and listened to her talk about him as if he had been
her son. "Where is he, Aunt Leona?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said.” Your dad
was always a hothead, and 15 years ago, he got mad
at me, and I haven't heard from his since. But every
year I send a Christmas card to an address in Dallas,
and it hasn't been returned, so I assume he's getting
them.
“Leona had
helped raise my father, as she had no children and
he had no father. She obviously had loved him, and
tended to idealize his good qualities. That he had
left after some sort of fight apparently seemed to
her just another sad example of her family's tendency
to settle their disputes by permanently cutting each
other off. She admitted he had been "a lady's
man," and too wild for his own or anybody else's
good. But she had always missed him, and urged me
to keep looking. Now I wanted even more desperately
to talk to him, to hear him talk about himself, and
perhaps to understand myself better as well -- what
I heard about him made his struggles sound so much
like my own. When we finally left Aunt Leona, after
a long visit, I was clutching a piece of paper with
an address in Dallas.
I wondered how to
begin my first letter to the father I had never known--"Dear
Dad"? "Dear Mr. Miles"? I decided simply
to address him by his given name, "Dear John."
Eager to reveal myself to him, I wrote furiously,
telling him about getting my doctorate and beginning
a new private practice, about my divorce and my two
children, who wanted to meet their grandfather. Then,
in an impulse to protect both him and me from disappointment,
I hurriedly added that even though I would like to
meet him, I would understand if he didn't want to
see me.
Mailing it, certified,
return-receipt requested, relieved some of my anxiety,
and I settled down to wait. One week, two weeks, nothing.
I finally called the post office; they told me no
one lived at that address. I felt discouraged.
Aunt Leona had told
me my father had been a successful insurance agent.
In a burst of inspiration, it occurred to me that
maybe insurance agents were registered somewhere.
I found the State Board of Insurance in the phone
book, called them, and, incredibly, they reported
a John Miles registered in Texas. His number was unlisted,
but they gave me an address in Houston.
Again, I wrote the
letter, this time addressing him with no hesitation
as "Dear Dad" (by now, I thought I'd earned
the privilege.). Again, I sent it off, this time Federal
Express. It was Tuesday afternoon. On Wednesday evening,
I went to a party, trying to stop wondering whether
he'd received it yet. When I returned at midnight,
the red light on my answering machine was blinking.
I pressed it and a voice said, "Pamela, this
is your father." He spoke in a voice that radiated
delight, and he left two phone numbers.
Goose bumps, disbelief,
and then a rush of pure joy. Bouncing up and down,
I shouted, "I found him! I found him!" Then
I imagined my mother's reproving voice saying, "You'll
wake the neighbors," and the thought made me
laugh out loud. I was shaking like a leaf.
My hands trembling,
I first called my half-brother, who also lives in
Houston -- where my father lived! A sleepy voice answered.
"Johnny," I yelled, "I've found him!"
Instantly, he jolted awake, and cheered for me, his
voice filled with as much excitement as my own. I
asked anxiously, "Should I call him this late?
He's 61 years old -- what if he's angry that I woke
him?" "P.J.," my brother said dryly,
"I don't think he'll stay mad for long."
So, my heart in my
throat, I dialed my father's number. He answered on
the first ring; he had been sitting up in bed with
his wife, both waiting for my call. We were very excited.
Our words poured out in a jumble; we both talked at
once and interrupted each other, and laughed -- "He
talks even faster than I do!" I thought in amazement.
"Dad" rolled off my tongue as easily as
if I'd always called him that. "I can come to
Houston this weekend to see you," I said. "Where
shall we meet?"
"How about the
zoo?" he replied. This seemed perfect -- what
better place for a father and daughter to meet? He
had seen a recent picture of me, but the last picture
I had of him had been taken at his wedding 41 years
before. "What will you be wearing?" I asked.
"A blue suit," he said. "You're wearing
a suit to the zoo? I asked. He laughed. "Of course!
This is an occasion."
The next day I arrived at the Houston Zoo 20 minutes
early. Wondering where to park, I glanced up and saw
a white-haired, white-bearded man in a blue suit,
coffee cup in hand, pacing back and forth. It was
him, and he was early! I was flooded with relief that
he seemed as nervous and anxious to see me, as I was
to see him. I hadn't realized until that moment how
afraid I was that I might mean nothing to this man,
who had not seen me since I was less than a year old.
I fumbled
to get the key out of the ignition, and told myself
to breathe. Walking across the pavement, fighting
the urge to break into a run, I wondered whether I
should shake his hand; kiss him on the cheek, or what.
When I got to him, I stretched out my hand, but he
brushed it aside, grabbed me with both arms and we
hugged and cried, looked at each other, and hugged
again.
We walked arm in
arm through the zoo for eight hours, laughing and
crying together, packing years of missed conversations
into one electric day. Delighted by his knowledge,
his keen mind, and his wonderful stories, I thought
with amazement, "I am the daughter of this man."
I looked like him, talked like him, and we seemed
to share many of the same ideas and passions.
I asked him a million
questions -- why had he left me, why he had been so
volatile and undependable, what he felt for my mother,
what had happened to him, and what his life was like
now. I felt no sense of blame or resentment, only
a compelling desire to know him, as if I had been
given a fabulous but mysterious gift that demanded
my entire concentration and attention. Even so, mixed
with the joy of meeting him were feelings of sadness,
irony, and a little shame when I thought about my
mother, struggling desperately to forget the memories
of a painful marriage, and yet seeing the face of
her ex-husband every time she looked at her daughter.
My father told me about his abusive childhood, about
joining the Navy when he was 15 -- he had lied about
his age -- at the start of World War II, about the
horror of the battlefield from which he'd returned
home an angry, explosive, and self-destructive young
man. He said he knew he had been a lousy husband,
and would have been a rotten father -- he'd been too
immature and distraught to know what he was doing.
"I was 19 when you were born; I didn't know anything
-- right or wrong. I signed my rights to you right
away." He said this simply, as a matter of fact,
and I accepted it as I accepted him, without judgment
or inner doubts. Perhaps because I had never experienced
his abuse or anger, I felt no resentment toward him.
In the weeks that
followed, I saw him often, and idealized him, glossing
over traits that were less than wonderful -- his workaholism
and belief that his worth was somehow tied up in his
financial success, his stormy outbursts when he was
displeased, his tendency to withdraw from people.
But I saw in him so many of my own characteristics,
both good and bad -- his courage, intensity, spirituality,
and sense of moral accountability for the harm he
had done, as well as his willfulness, anger, and need
for control -- that finding him was like finding myself.
And by fully accepting and loving him, I could begin
to do the same for myself for the first time in my
life.
During all this excitement about finding and getting
to know my dad, I had not forgotten my mother, but
had badly underestimated her anger, fear, and shame.
I had kept her informed of my progress, and had written
a letter to her after I had found my father, joyfully
describing my pleasure and how wonderful I thought
he was, a refrain I kept up when I spoke with her.
During one conversation, some time after I had met
him, when I told her I was going to visit him the
next weekend, she suddenly screamed, "You are
twisting the knife in my back!" She blamed me
for being selfish and disloyal, and ruining her life.
But after several
years of therapy, I could listen this time without
anger or guilt; I could see her agony and hear beneath
her diatribe a woman begging me not to hurt her, to
protect her from her own bitter memories. That afternoon
we began a new, better kind of struggle with each
other -- a painful but truthful and impassioned conversation
that enriches us to this day. When I left my mother,
I was exhausted by the high-hearted feeling that we
had been joined in strenuous arm-to-arm combat from
which we both emerged victorious.
In May, I was to receive my Ph.D. from the University
of Texas, specializing in marriage and family therapy.
I very much wanted my father at my graduation, but
was afraid my mother would then refuse to come or
force me to choose between the two of them. But she
rose to the occasion with dignity, courage, and her
old wry sense of humor. "You have a right to
invite anyone you want; this is your day. But,"
she said, "Just remember who raised you."
We were to meet my father and his wife, Norma, at
the graduation party after commencement, a gathering
of my entire network, 30 relatives, friends, and neighbors
-- all of whom knew about the impending reunion and
were intensely curious. As we walked in the door,
I asked my mother how she felt, knowing she would
be seeing my father for the first time in 40 years.
"I'm scared to death and eating like a pig,"
she said -- a blunt, straightforward statement of
how she really felt, totally unlike the denial she
had lived with for so many years.
Given the
high suspense of the occasion, it seemed almost fitting
that my father would add to it by being late; he had
gotten lost on the way. When I finally saw his car
drive up, I went out to meet him and Norma. As they
came in the door, my friends started gathering around
to greet them, make them feel comfortable -- and check
them out. Mother was standing at the opposite side
of the room, and I saw her glance in his direction,
and then look away. I went to her, took her hand and
walked her over to face him. "Anne Monday,"
I said, "this is David Miles." My father's
face lit up; he raised his arms slightly as if to
hug her, then seemed to catch himself, and extended
his hand instead. They shook hands rather formally,
smiling shyly, like young people meeting at a party
arranged by their elders. In the pause that followed,
my mother introduced herself to John's wife and welcomed
her to the gathering. Later, the throng of friends
and family that had surrounded my father and mother
tactfully faded away, as if by common consent, and
left them alone for a long while. They stood together
in a corner of the room, their heads bent toward each
other, talking in low, earnest voices.
Later, my mother
told me they had talked about all that had happened
to them since parting 40 years before, and then tentatively,
recalled the happy moments from their marriage and
some of the painful times. My father assured my anxious
mother that he, at least, thought she had done the
right thing by keeping the secret. He told her then,
and the rest of the family later, how much he respected
Daddy and appreciated the good job he had done raising
me. When the two joined the rest of the party, their
eyes were wet.
The next day, Mother
told one of my children, "Your grandfather is
a really nice man," and my father said to me,
"Your mother is still such a lady." Since
then, he has been oddly protective of my mother, urging
me not to hurt her in my quest to know everything
about my family. In their joint bafflement over my
passion for uncovering secrets, they are as one. Nonetheless,
they have unfailingly supported me -- like proud loving
parents slightly mystified by their child's idiosyncrasies.
For me, while the
three years since I discovered my father have hardly
been perfect, there has been no shattering disillusionment,
no childish fantasies smashed -- only the hard steady
work of establishing a relationship. For example,
my father is something of a loner, and doesn't call
me as much as I wish he would. But when I complain,
he says he thinks about me a lot, and we talk about
why he tends to withdraw. He says he's always been
that way, even with his own sons, and seems puzzled
that I don't think this is perfectly normal. But he
is also there when I need him, giving me advice about
relationships when I ask for a man's point of view,
encouraging me, praising me, listening to me grumble
about my job or philosophize about he meaning of life,
or even letting me tell him he's full of hot air!
With all this, I still believe the search for birth
parents is fraught with danger. The search should
be undertaken as a quest for self-knowledge, not as
a desire to be re-parented. Expectations of unqualified
love, nurturance, and support to make up for real
or imagined deprivation can only result in crushing
disappointment. Even under the best of circumstances,
the road is hard. Only years of personal therapy and
family systems training had prepared me for the inevitable
upheavals in my family life -- the loyalty conflicts,
anger, guilt, and the potential for breaking an already
fragile family system.
Still, in my
own case, I am glad I was so unreasonably stubborn,
so foolishly and grimly determined to know the truth
no matter what the costs. When I tell a man named
John Miles that I need his approval, and he responds,
"I approve of you when you shine and get your
doctorate; I approve of you when you make mistakes;
I approve of you when you do well at work; I approve
of you when you are impulsive and willful. Pamela,
I approve of you." I am thrilled to know it is
my father speaking. When he tells me that my presence
in his life is a gift from God -- grace, pure and
simple -- I feel blessed.
[Back to top]
Forgiving
and Letting Go
by Dr. Pam Monday
- Whole Life, November, 1992.
When I agreed to write this article for Whole Life,
I never dreamed how I would procrastinate! I actually
missed the first deadline - something I simply never
do, even if it means staying up all night in order to
finish an article! As I have wrestled with this topic,
I have come to the conclusion that it is my very humanness
that is in the way here. Forgiveness is not the stuff
of being human: forgiveness is a divine concept. Too
much of the time, I am out of touch with the divine.
It is
human to be resentful, to hold grudges, to be full
of self-pity, bitterness righteous indignation, to
cling to pride, to resist letting down one's guard,
to be defensive, to try to blame others for our misery,
to justify our own negative behaviors. These are the
hallmarks of human sin - so human, and yet so self-defeating,
keeping us stuck in those comfortable, miserable ruts,
consuming our energy and preventing us from using
our talents and gifts optimally.
To forgive means
to let go of, or to give up, these human protective
devices. Forgiveness is an act of faith, a spiritual
connection that allows us to transcend an act of faith,
a spiritual connection that allows us to transcend
our humanness.
Have you ever asked anyone for their forgiveness?
When they granted it, did you feel you had earned
it or that their forgiveness was "owed"
to you? If so, I question whether what you received
was truly forgiveness. To forgive another means to
pardon, to absolve, to grant relief from payment.
It means they don't owe you anymore.
Hard to fathom as
a human being, isn't it? But in divine terms, to be
forgiven by God means we have accepted a gift of grace
(that is, help given humans by God) without having
to "earn" it. It's not a question of whether
we deserve it or not; it's a gift, pure and simple.
Forgiveness from God is role-modeling of the highest
sort, and we are called to follow that lead: "forgive
us our trespasses AS WE FORGIVE THOSE WHO TRESPASS
AGAINST US.
" When I am
the most judgmental toward others, angry at everyone,
allowing myself to give sentiment again and again
to my resentment, I am the most out of touch with
God. But when I am close to God, my soul is at peace,
the angry voices are quieted, serenity is close at
hand, and forgiveness is in my heart. Nothing has
changed, and everything has changed, for a few moments,
or maybe an hour or a day. Until once again I get
caught up in the business of being human.
Forgiveness is the
end stage of recovery - the part that comes after
all the other work has been done. It's the part that
comes after the grieving is finished. It is, like
grieving, a process and not an event, because the
letting go has to happen again and again and again,
like all of recovery. With practice, it happens faster
and lasts longer.
The timing of practicing
forgiveness is crucial. I am very suspicious of those
who give lip service to forgiveness, claiming to "forgive"
their "enemies" (or their parents, ex-spouses,
bosses, neighbors, etc.) without ever having allowed
themselves to fully experience the anger or hurt that
is a prerequisite to letting go! We cannot let go
of that which we have never experienced emotionally;
we are still in denial.
Another mistake in
timing is to forgive someone who has hurt us without
knowing what to do differently to take care of ourselves,
or to prevent ourselves from being hurt in the same
way again. An example is the battered wife, who, having
fully experienced the hurt and anger, "forgives"
her batterer, but has not yes learned how to establish
boundaries and set and enforce limits to ensure she
will not be battered again.
A third timing mistake occurs when we prematurely
forgive someone who is abusing someone else whom we
have a responsibility to protect. For instance, it
is appropriate to hold on to anger toward a non-recovering
abusive parent if he/she has interactions with our
children. It is appropriate to reveal the secret of
sexual abuse in our families and take step to prevent
continued perpetration on other family members. Sometimes
feeling the anger gives us the courage and the energy
to take a stand when everyone else in the family is
either in denial or too afraid to break the "no
talk" rule.
Before we can begin
to forgive, we must go through a series of steps.
The first step is awareness - we must acknowledge
the pain (the reason we erected our defensive walls
in the first place). The second step is actively grieving
- experiencing the anger, sadness and pain that signifies
grief is in process. The third stop is learning what
we must do to minimize or prevent the buildup of hurts
and resentments in the future. This is where, as adults,
we empower ourselves to prevent the reoccurrence of
abuses that we were powerless to prevent as children.
Many of us look back at our childhood at those who
hurt us or did not teach us how to take care of ourselves,
and we place with those people the full responsibility
for the problems we face now. But as adults it is
our responsibility to take care of ourselves.
As adults, we have
a part in every interaction; we cannot change others,
but we can change our own behavior. We can learn to
speak up as soon as someone hurts us; we can learn
to set limits and follow through on appropriate consequences
if we feel invaded or used; we can ask directly for
what we want and need; we can say "no";
we can challenge abusive power by refusing to play
the victim role; we can be rigorously, but respectfully,
honest with ourselves and others.
And we can learn
to forgive ourselves for all the times we, as adults,
have allowed others to hurt us, and for all the mistakes
we have made and will continue to make as long as
we are human. We can accept our own imperfections,
and at the same time continue to grow and change.
As we do all of these things, we are building self-esteem
and self-love. Once we have found the self to love,
we can begin the transcendence of self that is forgiveness
of others.
There is much controversy
in the recovery field about whether people who have
been horribly abused "should" forgive the
abuser. I can't answer that question. But remember,
forgiveness is the divine act of grace - it doesn't
have to be earned. It isn't about releasing the abuser
from the debt that is owed. How does that help you?
(1)
It breaks the intense emotional connection between
you and the abuser, and in doing so, it frees you
to be your own person, no longer controlled by that
other human being.
(2)
It breaks the cycle of destructive entitlement that
gets passed down across the generations. The one who
has been abused feels (either consciously or unconsciously)
owed, or entitled, to emotional or physical nurturing
not received from the parents. Unable to collect from
the parent, he or she unconsciously turns to the next
generation, collecting from their children instead
- thereby perpetuating another generation of children
parenting parents, instead of the other way around.
To let go of being owed - to forgive the debt - means
you are free to focus on living fully in the present,
without having your energy zapped by the ghosts of
the past.
(3)
It allows new patterns of relating to emerge, if longing
for family connections is still in your heart. I have
been amazed and awed by the power of family ties -
that ancient, indestructible call of the clan that
has ensured the endurance of the family since the
beginning of man's history. I have seen an adult child's
feeling of deep hatred coexist side-by-side with intense
love for an aging parent who, in their prime, was
horribly abusive to that child. I have seen the longing
for connection pull a family together at death's door,
with forgiveness being granted just in time to allow
healing to occur as the barrier of hatred magically
dissolved.
I have heard
the deep regrets from those who waited too long: "Why
didn't I speak up and tell him what I felt? Why didn't
I at least try to connect in a meaningful way instead
of cutting off all contact? He was all I had left;
I wanted to talk to him and I didn't - I missed my
chance." And I have heard this: "I was glad
when he died. And I have waste |
