Processing, Warp Speed

DISCLAIMER: I know that this is going to be really hard for a lot of people to read because it is a deeply personal look into my controlling and abusive upbringing. But, I need to do this for me. I won't be offended if you have to stop reading.

I have pretty much spent the last few days engulfed in the book, "If You Had Controlling Parents", during any down-time. I purchased this book months and months ago and, for whatever reason, I never read more than 50 pages into it. Perhaps I had healed enough at the time in order to attempt some sort of functional relationship with my dysfunctional family. We all know how that turned out. I have since picked it back up and have escaped, not out of boredom but emotional overload, by falling asleep three times.

The book breaks the overcontrolling parent(s) into 8 types:

Smothering
Depriving
Perfectionistic
Cultlike
Chaotic
Using
Abusing
Childlike

Between both of my parents, they exhibited every.single.type.

The book describes "The Dirty Dozen Methods of Unhealthy Parental Control". Again, my parents utilized each method and I relate to at least one of the examples:

1. Food Control -- Dictating what, when and how children eat
Sound familiar?

2. Body Control -- Attempts to dictate dress and personal grooming
I was not given freedom to purchase my own clothes, even when I had my own job. Clothes were purchased only and approved by my parents.

3. Boundary Control -- Violating children's privacy
We did not have locks on our bedroom doors (it was an old historic home), my parents did not knock when they entered our room and my room was always subject to a surprise "jail toss" .

4. Social Control -- Interfering in the choices of friends and dates, discouraging contact with non-family members
I was not allowed to be friends with certain people and could only associate with them at school, when my parents had no control. I was pushed to date certain boys, although I rebelled on that one.

5. Decision Control -- Dominating school, career and major life choices, second-guessing or ridiculing children's choices
When I was in 8th grade, my father sent away for and made me review college pamphlets and applications to Julliard, New England Conservatory and Eastman School of Music. He insisted that it was never too early to get serious about college. My mother actually stuck up for me on this one when I broke down in tears over it.
When I wanted to join Young Life, the once-a-week bible study that happened during the alloted religious instruction time at school, my parents discouraged it and insisted that I was lying and only wanted to get out of school to sneak off to breakfast at McDonald's.
When I wanted to become a cheerleader, my parents laughed at me and told me that I was uncoordinated... and why the sudden desire to do something with sports? I had to beg them to sign the permission slip and had to practice my jumps in the back yard in the dark, so that they wouldn't mock me. I made Varsity, by the way.

6. Speech Control -- Dictating when and how children speak, compulsively correcting grammar or forbidding certain words, prohibiting dissent or questions
This one is pretty much a running theme that never stopped. I was not allowed to dissent and still am not. The book actually says that the parent "views dissent as a sin." Pretty much right on the mark. My father constantly corrected grammar. When it became popular to use "go and "went" in place of "said" (ex: He goes, 'What do you want to do?' and I went, 'I don't care.'), I was forbidden to use it. We were also forbidden to use the word "can't."

7. Emotion Control -- Overriding, dictating, ridiculing or discounting emotions
I wasn't allowed to be angry. Ever. It was disrespectful.

8. Thought Control -- Attempts to regulate morals, values and tastes, Parental philosophies of life delivered as dogma, Overzealous attempts to discourage new ideas
Again, a running theme that has haunted me into my own parenting.

9. Bullying -- Physical violence or harassment, verbal or emotional abuse, Intimidation, Prohibiting children from defending themselves
Uh. Yeah. I think you get this one, too. I was not allowed to throw up my hands when my father hit me with the belt or I would get it again. I remember one time around 15 years old, running up the stairs and into my room, begging him to not hit me. I ran into my room, pushed my dresser in front of my door and he broke the door down. I climbed under my bed and screamed at him to stop. My mother? Oh, she did nothing.

10. Depriving -- Withdrawing affection and attention when displeased, withholding warmth and encouragement
This is how they have always handled when I have "talked back", up to adulthood. They withhold love and contact. When we would have a fight, my parents wouldn't speak to me for days other than, "Pick up your backpack" or "We're taking your brother to soccer." My mother did not allow me to do my own laundry, and when we had arguments she would stop doing my laundry for days. When I was 18, I was the lead in the high school musical. They decided that they weren't going to drive me to practice anymore and I had to walk 5 miles on a highway into practice, arriving over an hour late. My opposite lead made himself responsible for getting me there from then on.

11. Confusing -- Unclear rules, mixed message, erratic behavior, baffling communication
My parents would give me permission to go somewhere (movies, a friend's house, a date) and would tell me at the last minute that I couldn't go. When I would protest and ask why, they would always claim that they thought that I was trying to pull something past them and that they didn't trust me. They would tell me that they thought that I was trying to sneak to a party to smoke or drink. I pretty much started doing just that shortly afterwards. If I was going to be accused of the crime, I might as well enjoy the act of doing it.

12. Manipulation -- Shaming, scapegoating and a host of other disingenuous techinques
I was always told that the reason that I got hit with the belt was because I couldn't follow the rules. When my mother gave me a black eye on the day before my Junior year of high school, I was told that I had to tell a lie: that I walked into a door. (dear God, could that be more textbook? And my mother had been a social worker that worked with abused kids!) When a friend went to the Principal and told him what really happened, I was almost removed from my home. My mother shamed and embarrassed me that I did not stick to the story and that "you know that it was an accident. I hit you with my ring and you bruise easily." Again... could this be more textbook?

In doing this soul-searching, I finally realized why I ended up with J, an abusive relationship after high school:

"Distortions of Relating

If closeness was dangerous, or if you were infantilized for too long... You may unwisely trust others or be unable to trust at all. You may see others as threats or as saviors - not simply as people."

The last two methods of the Dirty Dozen (Confusion and Manipulation) make up what the book calls "Truth Abuse".
Some of the techinques:

Scapegoating -- labelling one child as the source of all family problems. Scapegoating is a distraction that hides parental responsibility. I was always told that it was my fault that I was hit.

Erratic behavior -- Mercurial moods and unpredicatble, dramatic behavior that gives parents the freedom to act however they want...children grow up second-guessing and blaming themselves. I have already touched on this in the "Confusing".

Triangulating -- Unfairly involving children in marital matters, such as by confiding marital problems behind a spouse's back.
My mother did this constantly. As a child, she wouldn't go into detail but would use me as a way to get out of the house and shop. I was dragged around those dungeonous 80s malls and would have claustrophobic panic attacks in them and sit outside the store while my mother would spend to fill whatever void was caused by the latest argument with my father. Then, she would tell me not to tell him that the clothes were in the trunk. A month later, she would bring them into the house and, when my father asked where she got it, she would reply, "I've had this."
When I was a teenager, I was constantly dragged into the middle of physical fights between my father and mother.
Growing up, my mother never had more than the occasional glass of wine at Christmas. When I was newly engaged at 24, she started drinking heavily. As an adult, she would call me drunk and cry about how she thought that a friend was making the moves on my father. I talked to him about it and told him that he needed to resolve this with her. She called me again, drunk and crying, that I had betrayed her. The week after our honeymoon, when I was 26, she called to tell me that this woman, in a drunken stupor (because drinking was all that they had in common with this couple), had asked to have my father's baby. About a year later, I discovered that they were all buddy-buddy again. I told her that I did not want to hear anything more about that couple or their issues with that couple.

Martyrdom -- Playing the role of martyr by using phrases such as "If it weren't for you", "I do so much for you", "This is your fault", or "How dare you!" Martyrs tug on children's innate love for their parents... Rather than let their parents down, they feel compelled to do a dance of caring anytime a parent plays the martyr.
This has never stopped. Things happen TO both of my parents. They never have a role in it. And, when I "left home", I did it to them. When I argued against their suggestion to put cereal in Conor's bottle at 8 weeks old (which was my right to do), they were the ones who suffered a great injustice. When they called Conor a "little Hitler" at Christmas 2006 and Rick defended with the one sentence, "That's not nice", they were broken-hearted at how THEY had been treated for Christmas.
And, of course... Thanksgiving 2008.

The book also compares destructive cults to controlling families. Some of the main manipulations include:

- Give approval when pleased but withhold affection when displeased
- Scapegoat and play children against each other
- Stress compliance to rules and rituals that, no matter how mundane or odd, must be followed to the letter
- Silence disagreements by labelling dissent as "sin"
- Parents foster "truth abuse" by denying their destructive actions and being unwilling to discuss them even years later
- Parental needs, morals or relationships are seen as all important
- Parents have little tolerance for the gray areas in life
- Parents confuse their children with mixed messages or simply answer "Because I say so"
- Parents violate children's privacy by searching rooms, opening doors without warning, eavesdropping
- Parents feel they own their chilredn and can treat them as they like
- Parents rarely admit their mistakes
- Parents treat their children as second-class citizens

That last one was a huge smack in the head and made me realize something. If Conor had not been born with autism and I was not forced to look in the face of adversity and individualism, I probably never would have broken this cycle. If Conor had been neurotypical, I would probably have allowed (and even adopted) the controlling methods of my parents. Perhaps the abuse would not have happened (God, I hope not), but I think that my guilt to make my child "perfect" for my parents would have overridden my inherent logic to be a guide, not a boss, to Conor. Even though I knew in my heart that it was all wrong and I was mistreated, the "internalized parent" (basically, the brainwashing) would have taunted me and compared me to my parents' unrealistic and idealistic descriptions of my angelic behavior during childhood. I would have felt like a failure as a parent because Conor was not living up to this unachievable standard, and I would have undoubtedly damaged him and continued the cycle.

The book repeats this mantra:

1. You aren't responsible for what youre parents did to you, they are.

2. You are responsible for what you do with your life now, your parents aren't.

Other sections that hit me in the face were:

"In essence, controlling parents brainwash with a one-two-three-four punch:

1. Creating an environment hostile to growth

2. Blaming their children for creating the environment

3. Criticizing their children when the children suffer the consequences of the environment the parents created

4. Denying doing any of this."

-and-

"You are not crazy.
You didn't make it up.
Overcontrol really happened.
It was painful and destructive.
You could not help but internalize controlling parental voices.

If you could not help but internalize controlling voices, then many of your self-criticisms, fears, and doubts are not yours, nor are they your true voice. They are merely messages from your internalized parents. They are relics from a controlled past. They are simply bad habits. And you can change them."

I guess what proves that the brainwashing is there is that I had to stop the chatter inside my head that said, But, my parents claim that I'm overexaggerating. What would they think of this book? Without even realizing it, I was still seeking their approval: Approval that it was okay to accept that they were controlling and that these things DID happen to me.

For the first time, I guess I owe a "thank you" to autism. It saved my boy. If anyone else is struggling with this, or thinks that they are, click on this chart.

Don't let one more day go by where you repeat the damaging cycle of your past. Our kids don't have to end up in their mid and late 30s like us, trying to heal their inner child because of our damaged inner child.

When I wrote last night, I was still completely overwhelmed with rage, rejection and disbelief (and to be honest, really wanted to hit something or someone). Almost 24 hours later, I'm looking at it as something that just really was a long time coming. I would never allow anyone else to treat C or me this way; why should I allow it simply because they gave birth to me?

It really bothered me at first that I knew that they were going to sit around and trash talk me and none of them would accept culpability... until I realized that this was what always happens, anyway. So what. I can make this the last time. I no longer have to care about their approval. I don't have to listen to it anymore. I don't have to stress about the impending visits. I don't have to hold my breath to keep from exploding over their comments and actions. I don't have to waste one more ounce of energy on any of them. They want to play the martyr? Well, there they go. As far as I'm concerned, they're no longer family. Let them cry about that until their grave.

A friend from church wrote to me and told me that, even though I don't want to hear it, I have to forgive them so that I can move on with the healing. Know what? No, I don't. Not really. I remember from the "Toxic Parents" book that I read years ago (and, incidentally, loaned to my brother like a complete idiot), forgiveness often doesn't help the healing and can even be a form of denial. The book suggested forgiving only if the person actually does something to earn it, such as acknowledging what happened or trying to make amends. I can assure you that THAT will never happen. And, even if I do forgive? It would not be the *acts* that they have committed, but I would forgive their inability to honor and cherish their own children in a loving and gentle way. I could forgive their confusion, desperation, fragility and humanity. But, I don't have to forgive what they have done. I can't tell you how many times I have heard from people who don't have narcissistic parents (and have no basis of comparison) things like, "They did the best they could" and "They're only human too" and "Maybe you held them to too high of a standard". Um no. I think it is a pretty low standard to expect that they would not belittle my child or attempt to physically hurt me.

I have to tell you that I find absolute glee in one thing that happened. When R rushed in (my hero!) and grabbed S by the neck, he slammed his head against the wall and S had an "oh shit" look on his face. Then, my dad grabbed R's arm and his 5'6" 140 lb frame didn't even move my 6'1" 200 lb husband. For once, they had both met their match. They might be able to muscle me around but guess what? They can't bully everyone. And that's what they are: BULLIES.

Fortunately, C does not ask to go over to their house or even call them. So, perhaps this happened at an age where he is young enough for me to fade them right back out. To be honest, I have very few memories from his age. I guess that it speaks volumes that I really could care less whether I ever talk to them again and my only concern is for C. I neither want nor need a relationship with such vile people. I told R this morning that I realized that I truly hate my brother. For at least 20 years, he has had this elitest and untouchable attitude, as if he is just wasting his time with such peons, even though he has done literally NOTHING with his life: he will be 35 in two weeks and has not kept a job longer than a year, he never finished college, he does not own a home, has no assets and his girlfriend of three years just turned 22 (you do the math) in October because no one his own age would put up with what a loser he is. I have no real relationship with him because he is so sensitive that he explodes over anything other than a "safe" topic (weather, tv shows). R mentioned that the reason that there were so many straws is because all three of them are so fragile that you can't say anything dissident to them, not to mention that my parents have a warped idea of what "respect" means. Just because you disagree with something that your parent says or does, it does not mean that you're being disrespectful.

So, that's it. My mother's MO is to email me with a lengthy, passive-aggressive and rambling "I'm sorry but YOU" email, which I plan to reply to with, "I did not read this and have no need to hear anything else that you might have to say. Our relationship is over. Please do not send anything to C because it will be refused. He does not need things from you. What he needed is something that none of you are willing to give: time, patience and understanding." Yep. I just heard a door slam and lock. Three strikes. They're out.

And, that's where I am. Moving forward.

Sad

My Thanksgiving started off amazingly. I ran a ten mile race in the morning and was on top of the world.

I came home and got ready to head over to my parents' house. Because I was planning on doing this race and wouldn't get there until mid-afternoon, I decided that we would stay overnight. That way, everyone was happy and got their way. Well, my mom has been passive-aggressive about it for the last week, anyway. Every time I would call to ask or tell her something, I got a cold, "Hi. What's up." I've been ignoring it and figured that she'd just get over it once we were there.

She called around 1:00 pm, while we were en route, and said that she was worried that I hadn't called when we got on the road. (mind you, I had told her that we would get on the road around 11, so we would be there between 1:30 and 2:00) Then, she said that she wanted to make sure that I hadn't gotten hurt during the race or that something happened and I was in the emergency room. Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.

We arrived shortly before 2 and I tried to tell her about the race. She half-listened with the "mmmhmmm, that's nice" replies. I stopped trying to tell her. Okay, whatever. It isn't something that she deems worthy of praise, I suppose. She then made a snide comment to my brother that she won't be running any race to get a medal anytime soon. Sigh. Okay, whatever.

C is over-excited, bouncing around and getting itchy to eat, so he keeps trying to steal corn muffins. I told him that he would have them at dinner, along with green beans and that I wanted him to try some mashed potatoes. He starts acting like I'm serving up poison, of course, and my mom offered to put a couple unmashed aside and my brother has to make a snide comment about, "Oh great. Doing something special for him instead of making him eat what there is." I kept my cool and said that it is about texture for him. He asked if C likes french fries. I said that he does and again explained that it isn't the fact that it is a potato; it is the texture. He kept harping on it and bitching to no one in particular that we didn't get anything different and had to eat what was put in front of us. My mom actually defended and said that she tried different ways for him to like tomatoes. My brother just kept harping on about it and my dad chimes in that you ate what you were given and that was that. I STILL kept my cool and said that accomplishes nothing other than, "I'm the boss." So what. That's not the goal. The goal was to get him to try new textures.

Thirty minutes later at dinner and C is wired and still whining about trying the potatoes. My dad tells C to "relax" and that he's "heard enough". Okay, I'm starting to boil by now. I start trying to get C to try the potato under protest. 3 bites and he'll earn dessert. I'm sure that I don't have to tell most of you all about the gag reflex that comes into play when a new texture enters the mouth of a kid with sensory processing issues. My brother actually stands up from the table in a huff, throws down his napkin in a big scene and storms out the front door.

Two minutes later, my father says passive-aggressively, "I just can't sit here and watch C about to throw up. It's making me sick to my stomach." And HE leaves the table.

This is when I completely lost my shit.

I shot at my mom that I was tired of the judgement. My mom replies, "He was getting sick to his stomach!" I yelled that he is a 62 year old BABY who had kids and needs to get over it. (did he vomit every time we spit up??) I went on and said that C's disability is NO different than if he was a child in a wheelchair. Would they call him lazy and tell him to walk? She replies, "You don't want C to talk back to you and you're not setting a good example by talking back to me."

This is when I jumped up from the table to go clean up because, by this time, (the yelling probably didn't help), he did spit up a bit. My mom follows me into the kitchen and I slammed the cupboard door. My mom gets on my ass about how she doesn't slam stuff at my house. I went off and started yelling about how I am completely tired of the judgment from the two of them and the disparaging comments that they make every time we get together. My mom yells back that I'm taking it out on her. I replied that I was venting and she says that I'm hypersensitive. I asked, exactly what was my reaction supposed to be when they both got up from the table because of my son? I screamed that I'm tired of the fact that they won't accept that he has autism and mentioned the comments on my father's birthday. I said that I didn't say anything because it was his birthday, but that it is constant. She again went back to the hypersensitivity thing and I screamed, "How about a little GRACE?!?!" She yelled back, pointed her finger in my face and said, "How about YOU have a little grace?!" I took her hand out of my face and pushed it away. She actually said, "Did you just push me?" I said, "NO, I got your hand out of my face." She then went back to how I was taking it out on her. I stopped and said, "You're right. I'm going to tell the people who need to hear it."

I went storming down the hall where my brother, his girlfriend and my father were hiding in the office like pussies (and probably talking about how crazy I am). I got three words out of my mouth and my brother starts yelling back and saying, "Why are you yelling at me? Why are you yelling at me?" over and over. (my family's typical MO is to deflect) Then, he gets right in my face and starts screaming something like, "You wanna yell?!" and starts aggressively walking me back to the wall. I have to tell you that I have never felt so much rage. I grabbed him by the neck and pushed him to the other side of the room. This is when my father grabbed me and was holding my arms. My brother is still screaming at me and I kicked him and told him that he might be my brother but I will kick his ASS. He started to come back at me... while my father is still holding my arms. Fortunately, R heard the commotion and did exactly the same thing that I had just done to my brother. I ripped away from my father and said that we were leaving.

My mother grabs me and physically shoves me into the spare bedroom and shuts the door and won't let me leave. I told her that she needed to get out of the way. She pretty much told me no. I pointed to the door and then the window and told her that I was going out of the room one way or the other. She starts yelling at me that I am not respecting her and that I need to listen to her. I shot back that she lost all authority over me (she always throws God into it) when I married R. Now, GET OUT OF THE WAY. She still wouldn't go and I opened the blinds, to get ready to climb out the window. I was getting out of that room one way or another. She finally moved. I left and started throwing all of our stuff in the car.

As I'm walking through, my mom is whining that she knew that "this" was going too well (I assume that she meant our family getting along, since Thanksgiving had only been going on for 2 hours). She's had a hell week "and now this". I said, "Oh, poor you." I told her that they have both played the martyr for 20 years and never accept responsibility for their own part in anything. She starts trying to hit below the belt. She screams that I had a choice to leave. I screamed back, "Why did my choice have an ultimatum of 12 noon and when I wanted to stay until 3 when E could drive me, I had to walk instead?!" My mom started screaming and my father yelled at me something to the effect of "that's enough", to which I replied, "F*** you, Dad." I was seriously enraged by this point. My mother takes this opportunity to try to hit below the belt and screams, "And YOU are going to teach autistic children?!?" (this is a blog topic for another day) I ignored it. She then yelled, "And YOU go to church?? You're a hypocrite!" I yelled back that the church is full of hypocrites and I'm not perfect, just forgiven. She yells back that I'm not being a very good example to C. (this is such a joke in so many ways) I told her that she acts like she was the perfect mother when she kicked both of her kids out of the house. Yes. BOTH. My brother got kicked out of the house when he was 20, the weekend that I brought R home to meet my parents for the first time. My father held a BB gun to him, to get him to leave. Yeah, model parents.

Apparently, I hit a bit of a sore spot with dear ol' mom because I was about to open the front door with more stuff in my hands and she ran up behind me and grabbed me by the hair, my mother's favorite disciplinary action, screaming that I made a choice to leave. Never in my life have I put my hands on my mother but enough is enough. I'm 38 years old. It wasn't acceptable at 16 and it really isn't acceptable now. And, too bad for her because I'm going to fight back now. I figured tit for tat and grabbed her head of hair and whipped her to the ground while screaming at her to get off of me. My brother comes around the corner and grabs me from behind. He is pulling me away from her... as she still has my entire head of hair in her hand. I'm screaming that she has my hair. I turned around and pushed him, telling him to get the f*** off of me. Now, my mom is bawling and the two suck-ups in her life are comforting her. R tells me to go outside. I told him that I still need my shoes. I had to walk out the back door, through the back yard and to the car without shoes. C was in the back yard with S's girlfriend and I told him that we were leaving. He protested, of course, and it broke my heart. He's so innocent and has no idea how mean they really are to him without him realizing it. I don't think that they love C. I think that they're in love with the idea of C, the grandchild. I told him that I was leaving and he came with me. During the first scuffle in the office, R was cleaning C up and he missed it. During the second scuffle, he was in the back yard with my brother's girlfriend. When we got in the car, I cried because I was so angry and had so much more that I wanted to say. C asked if I was upset and apologized that I was mad because he didn't like the potato. This made it even worse. I got my act together and told him the truth: Uncle S and Grandpa were not very nice to you and it made Mommy very angry.

They'll never change. The comments are said to hurt me right now but C will eventually understand that they are made about him. This was the straw that broke the camel's back and that's because there were so many straws that I'm not allowed to address. I'm almost 39 years old and can't disagree with anything that my parents (and brother) say or do without a "scolding". They will never view me as an adult, they will never stop judging and I have to accept that I need to walk away from this toxic relationship.

I definitely blew up and that's all on me. But, how many times am I supposed to swallow being offended and having them treat C like a second class citizen? They make me feel so horrible and say and do such shitty things to C and I'm supposed to sit there and take it in the name of harmony and respect. My ears are burning because I know that they all sat around and talked about how horrible I am for ruining Thanksgiving. The funny thing is that it only got physical because they both went after ME, but that's not how it will be remembered, I'm sure.

And that's why I'm sad.