As stated in my last post, I've been "no contact" or "NC" for over 15 years, so it's more than reasonable to wonder why I'm not over it yet. Basically there are 2 general reasons:
1) As with most families, relationships between members are varied. My mother is still in contact with one of my siblings and I know she is aware of how my family has changed and grown over the years, even though we are no longer in direct contact. I have no control over other people and what information they pass on, so I have heard that she would "love" to be a part of my life. My mother always uses other people's good (although misguided) intentions to her advantage. I know what comes with having her as a part of my life and it's systematic poisoning of the emotional well. As a parent and spouse, I have an obligation to my family to protect them from relationships that are emotionally destructive. I maintain NC, because it is necessary. Still, there is a part of me that hates having to do it. It is NOT an easy decision to make and there is a large part of me that still resents the fact that I've been forced into making that decision. It was my mother that behaved inappropriately, not me. The leftover angst and resentment, plus the fact that she still finds a way to insert herself into my life means, I am unable to fully get over it. It's a constant state of "threat down".
And,
2) I am a parent. Being the offspring of a parent with BPD, means that you have not had a great role model as far as parenting is concerned. Although my father was present in the home, for the majority of my childhood, I feel as if he was a prisoner of war. In many ways I wonder if he didn't exhibit equal parts rebel and victim of "Stockholm Syndrome". There were times when he would fight tooth and nail with her yet there were other times that he would fall prey to the wild imaginings that somehow became truths in my mother's mind. He failed in his duty of care and allowed my mother's personality disorder to rule the household and govern the parenting style. Sadly, there were times when we, the children would feel we had to defend him. We were the parents, the pawns and the slaves to their dysfunctional role modelling.
Now, I worry about how I parent my own children. I second guess myself and have to work through things and re-evaluate constantly, so that I don't allow my mother's BPD parenting style to seep through into another generation. I am never fully over it, because I remain vigilant that I don't make the same mistakes.
In the coming posts, it will become more evident as to why I feel the pressure to be extra vigilant and why that vigilance means that I cannot fully put the past behind me. However, you should not be fooled into thinking that it means that I live a half life of misery with nothing but resentment and negativity. Honestly, it is because I have been able to chart my own adult life that I'm even strong enough to dissect the past and openly admit what it was---with all of the unhappiness included. I believe there is happiness to be found in life and in relationships, that is why I am writing this blog.
Tuesday, 15 May 2012
Sunday, 29 April 2012
Borderline Stew, Anyone?
My mother is a work of fiction, and as we all know the best works of fiction are the ones that are seeded in truth. As I delve into my mother's history, I will do my best to tell you both the facts and the fictions that accompany the reality she has built for herself. There are parts of her story that are truly awful and at times she sought to make those things even worse or change them to be as if from a beautiful fairy-tale. I am assuming that much of the story I was told was dependent on who was playing the role of villain at that time in her mind. The reality is, there was a villain to her story and that is what shaped the woman she became.
What I know with absolute certainty is, my mother grew up in a home that was fraught with turmoil. By the time my mother was 10, she had already gone through her mother's infidelity, her parent's messy divorce, complete estrangement from her father, the birth of her brother and an enormous lie that she must at all times adhere to. As far as family lies go, this was a huge one. She was never allowed to admit that her brother was her full sibling and not her half brother.
My grandmother had decided that anything associated with her first husband was poison and that included my mother, who happened to look a lot like her father. Since my grandfather was not around, it was my mother that copped the brunt of my grandmother's rage. My mother was the "all bad child" in the family dynamic. She could do no right. My uncle through no fault of his own, was the "all good child" since my grandmother had rewritten history and genetics and convinced herself that he was in fact her second husband's child.
Sometimes, my mother was downright inconvenient to my grandmother, so she would dump her with a stranger or on the doorstep of an orphanage (This is where you should note that the orphanages were turned into snooty private boarding schools in my mother's telling. However, I've done research into the organisations that she referred to and the only things that come up are: a school for wayward girls and a series of orphanages. There were NO all girl boarding schools run by the organisation she specified.). Please note that my mother was only ever put in the care of her grandmother when very young and the rest of the time she was dumped on the doorstep of a series of strangers. My grandmother never allowed my mother to be with her father. She also never allowed my mother to stay with uncles, aunts or cousins. My mother was a child alone and adrift. I believe that's exactly how my grandmother wanted it.
As early as 10, (which is a pivotal number both to her and later to me) my mother sought solace in religion. In fact she sought so much solace that she was devout if not downright zealous. She adorned her childhood bedroom with religious paraphernalia. My uncle once told me that if he wanted to tease my mother (as siblings do) he'd turn her religious pictures face down and she'd go nuts! (I'm not condoning his behaviour just stating a pattern of religious fervour.) For the rest of my mother's life, religion would be both a comfort and a weapon.
My mother's teenage years are a mystery to me, she never discussed them and almost no one knows what happened to her. I do know that she was in contact with her mother, but had little or no contact with her brother until her late teens, early twenties. By 19 my mother had met my father and they were engaged and so began the next leg of her journey and the start of a new life.
Epilogue:
It should be clear that my mother was born into a highly stressful situation. She was a child that was rarely nurtured, who lived with her mother's rages, and her mother's oscillating moods of occasionally being loving and often being indifferent or abusive (There were times of physical abuse that I have not documented because I cannot verify them although I tend to agree that they most likely happened.)
I believe that my grandmother was, most likely, also suffering from BPD. It should also be noted that I despise what my mother went through as a child. I cannot think of it without tears welling up. I can't help wondering what my mother would have been like, had she not gone through what she did. Of course, while I can feel both empathy and sympathy for my mother I am not negating her responsibility in how she parented us. I believe that, at some point as an adult, a person must take responsibility for their actions and do their best to stop a chain of abuse. My mother was/is smart enough to have done that, but she didn't.
What I know with absolute certainty is, my mother grew up in a home that was fraught with turmoil. By the time my mother was 10, she had already gone through her mother's infidelity, her parent's messy divorce, complete estrangement from her father, the birth of her brother and an enormous lie that she must at all times adhere to. As far as family lies go, this was a huge one. She was never allowed to admit that her brother was her full sibling and not her half brother.
My grandmother had decided that anything associated with her first husband was poison and that included my mother, who happened to look a lot like her father. Since my grandfather was not around, it was my mother that copped the brunt of my grandmother's rage. My mother was the "all bad child" in the family dynamic. She could do no right. My uncle through no fault of his own, was the "all good child" since my grandmother had rewritten history and genetics and convinced herself that he was in fact her second husband's child.
Sometimes, my mother was downright inconvenient to my grandmother, so she would dump her with a stranger or on the doorstep of an orphanage (This is where you should note that the orphanages were turned into snooty private boarding schools in my mother's telling. However, I've done research into the organisations that she referred to and the only things that come up are: a school for wayward girls and a series of orphanages. There were NO all girl boarding schools run by the organisation she specified.). Please note that my mother was only ever put in the care of her grandmother when very young and the rest of the time she was dumped on the doorstep of a series of strangers. My grandmother never allowed my mother to be with her father. She also never allowed my mother to stay with uncles, aunts or cousins. My mother was a child alone and adrift. I believe that's exactly how my grandmother wanted it.
As early as 10, (which is a pivotal number both to her and later to me) my mother sought solace in religion. In fact she sought so much solace that she was devout if not downright zealous. She adorned her childhood bedroom with religious paraphernalia. My uncle once told me that if he wanted to tease my mother (as siblings do) he'd turn her religious pictures face down and she'd go nuts! (I'm not condoning his behaviour just stating a pattern of religious fervour.) For the rest of my mother's life, religion would be both a comfort and a weapon.
My mother's teenage years are a mystery to me, she never discussed them and almost no one knows what happened to her. I do know that she was in contact with her mother, but had little or no contact with her brother until her late teens, early twenties. By 19 my mother had met my father and they were engaged and so began the next leg of her journey and the start of a new life.
Epilogue:
It should be clear that my mother was born into a highly stressful situation. She was a child that was rarely nurtured, who lived with her mother's rages, and her mother's oscillating moods of occasionally being loving and often being indifferent or abusive (There were times of physical abuse that I have not documented because I cannot verify them although I tend to agree that they most likely happened.)
I believe that my grandmother was, most likely, also suffering from BPD. It should also be noted that I despise what my mother went through as a child. I cannot think of it without tears welling up. I can't help wondering what my mother would have been like, had she not gone through what she did. Of course, while I can feel both empathy and sympathy for my mother I am not negating her responsibility in how she parented us. I believe that, at some point as an adult, a person must take responsibility for their actions and do their best to stop a chain of abuse. My mother was/is smart enough to have done that, but she didn't.
Why, Suddenly, Write About It?
Why write this blog at all? :
Different people handle things differently. In my case, I have found that writing has allowed me to have the "voice" I never felt I was allowed to have.
The need for protection:
I am writing under a pseudonym (Pygmalion), because I want to protect my family (my husband and children) and also protect myself from members of my family who would not be pleased that I am writing this blog. Believe me when I write that I am NOT happy that I feel the need to write under a pseudonym. I truly wish that the state of my relationships allowed and even gave room for my thoughts, memories and emotions; clearly they do not!
In regards to my siblings and I, a leftover from our childhood remains the idea that any feelings we may have as a result of our upbringing are "in the past". In other words, "suck it up". In a strange move which I do not understand, pain from childhood is a character flaw that should not be indulged. I am as you may have guessed, "the weakest link". The fact that I want to discuss the past and deal with it honestly and openly has caused an enormous amount of tension between my siblings and I. But like all good children of a borderline parent, we allow it to be an unspoken brick wall between us. The more I try to encourage open dialogue, the more I'm considered as desperate and needy.
My only other concern is my borderline parent. I went NC (no contact) more than 15 years ago. However, through the family grapevine I know that not much has changed in regards to my mother's behaviour. She is tech savvy enough to be on the internet and she is vindictive enough to start any and all attacks on my character should she feel threatened. Again, let me state that this isn't about why she sucked, but rather, what I experienced and how I've dealt with it.
What you can expect from this blog:
I could write this blog as a stream of consciousness that flits and flutters wherever it may, but I am not built that way. So, my plan is to start with: 1) What I know about my mother, 2) What my childhood was like, 3) What I was like before understanding what was wrong with my childhood, 4) Where I first heard the words "Borderline Personality Disorder" and how my investigations into it began, and finally 5) Where I am now and onward.
I'll also include various exercises that I am working on as I work my way through the book, "Surviving A Borderline Parent: How To Heal Your Childhood Wounds & Build Trust, Boundaries, and Self-Esteem" by Kimberlee Roth and Freda B. Friedman Ph.D., LCSW, in an effort to give some tangible insights into this process.
Disclaimer:
I am writing strictly from my point of view with possible insights into what others were thinking, feeling, doing at various times throughout my childhood. I am not writing as an omniscient who knows all and imparts wisdom on the less enlightened. I am writing from "the trenches". I've been there and some days I still feel as if I'm down there.
Different people handle things differently. In my case, I have found that writing has allowed me to have the "voice" I never felt I was allowed to have.
The need for protection:
I am writing under a pseudonym (Pygmalion), because I want to protect my family (my husband and children) and also protect myself from members of my family who would not be pleased that I am writing this blog. Believe me when I write that I am NOT happy that I feel the need to write under a pseudonym. I truly wish that the state of my relationships allowed and even gave room for my thoughts, memories and emotions; clearly they do not!
In regards to my siblings and I, a leftover from our childhood remains the idea that any feelings we may have as a result of our upbringing are "in the past". In other words, "suck it up". In a strange move which I do not understand, pain from childhood is a character flaw that should not be indulged. I am as you may have guessed, "the weakest link". The fact that I want to discuss the past and deal with it honestly and openly has caused an enormous amount of tension between my siblings and I. But like all good children of a borderline parent, we allow it to be an unspoken brick wall between us. The more I try to encourage open dialogue, the more I'm considered as desperate and needy.
My only other concern is my borderline parent. I went NC (no contact) more than 15 years ago. However, through the family grapevine I know that not much has changed in regards to my mother's behaviour. She is tech savvy enough to be on the internet and she is vindictive enough to start any and all attacks on my character should she feel threatened. Again, let me state that this isn't about why she sucked, but rather, what I experienced and how I've dealt with it.
What you can expect from this blog:
I could write this blog as a stream of consciousness that flits and flutters wherever it may, but I am not built that way. So, my plan is to start with: 1) What I know about my mother, 2) What my childhood was like, 3) What I was like before understanding what was wrong with my childhood, 4) Where I first heard the words "Borderline Personality Disorder" and how my investigations into it began, and finally 5) Where I am now and onward.
I'll also include various exercises that I am working on as I work my way through the book, "Surviving A Borderline Parent: How To Heal Your Childhood Wounds & Build Trust, Boundaries, and Self-Esteem" by Kimberlee Roth and Freda B. Friedman Ph.D., LCSW, in an effort to give some tangible insights into this process.
Disclaimer:
I am writing strictly from my point of view with possible insights into what others were thinking, feeling, doing at various times throughout my childhood. I am not writing as an omniscient who knows all and imparts wisdom on the less enlightened. I am writing from "the trenches". I've been there and some days I still feel as if I'm down there.
Wednesday, 25 April 2012
So You've Survived. Now What?
I should start this first blog post by stating that my parent (mother) is as yet undiagnosed, or has been diagnosed but is keeping that diagnosis to herself. In fact, if you were to ask my mother if she had any type of personality disorder she would tell you that she's the only sane person she knows. She'd then proceed to tell you that there is clearly something wrong with you, just so you're aware of your own issues. Be prepared for a lengthy discussion with her regarding what is wrong with you and everyone else in your life. It will take several hours as she succinctly dissects your life and everyone in it. If you give her any numbers of contacts, be prepared that she will contact them to inform them of how unbalanced you are and that you cannot, nor should ever be trusted. She will do her best to convince others that she is the only one who can help them, deal with you. Your friends and family members will be angry, confused and will probably tell you that they do not want to hear from that person again. My mother will tell you that they were very grateful for her call, that they agree with her regarding her analysis of your unstable nature and that they said, "This about you."
It would be wonderful if I were exaggerating the above situation but it has happened many times before to relatives, friends and innocents who still believe that people are essentially rational and good. So, I am asking you to imagine a radical idea, a mother can in fact be her child's worst enemy. I have found that most people believe in the "mother as martyr for her children" so strongly that they find it impossible to imagine that a "mother" may not feel that way about her children at all. I understand how hard it is to imagine, but in order for you to go on this journey with me you must at least entertain the possibility.
This blog is not about, "Why my mother sucks." Instead, it is about where I was versus where I am now and pretty much how I got there. Like any process it isn't a straight climb toward recovery. In fact, you have to first define what recovery means to you and then devise a plan for getting there. The entire process is bumpy and frought with setbacks but, hopefully, worth it.
Welcome to my recovery process!
It would be wonderful if I were exaggerating the above situation but it has happened many times before to relatives, friends and innocents who still believe that people are essentially rational and good. So, I am asking you to imagine a radical idea, a mother can in fact be her child's worst enemy. I have found that most people believe in the "mother as martyr for her children" so strongly that they find it impossible to imagine that a "mother" may not feel that way about her children at all. I understand how hard it is to imagine, but in order for you to go on this journey with me you must at least entertain the possibility.
This blog is not about, "Why my mother sucks." Instead, it is about where I was versus where I am now and pretty much how I got there. Like any process it isn't a straight climb toward recovery. In fact, you have to first define what recovery means to you and then devise a plan for getting there. The entire process is bumpy and frought with setbacks but, hopefully, worth it.
Welcome to my recovery process!
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