Month: November 2018

An Apology To The People Who Love Me

I’ve had to accept some pretty awful truths about myself over the past couple of years. I’ve had to accept that I’m far less strong, discerning and functional and far more fragile, broken and lost  than I thought I was. I’ve had to accept that for so many years I was hiding behind a facade that provided me with the semblance of a functional life while the real me was in hiding only making an occasional appearance. 

I’ve had to accept that despite my best intentions, my dysfunction, anxiety and issues impact people who love me and who least deserve to be affected by consequences of the abuse I’ve received over the years from others.

I don’t want this to be a list of excuses or reasons why it’s not my fault that I’m so high maintenance and I’m not looking for sympathy, reassurance or explanations of how my insecurities and issues are a natural consequence of my abuse. I get that. I am very aware that I didn’t become who I am in this moment in isolation and I’m aware that failures of the two most foundational relationships in my life to this point – my parents and the 22+ year relationship with my ex-husband – have created dysfunctional emotional pathways and automatic responses that I haven’t established by choice..

I know that many of the ways I react aren’t voluntary – they’re reflexes born of a deep-seated need to protect myself and conditioned responses I developed to minimise the hurt and help maintain appearances for the first 45 years of my life.

What I want to do is apologise for the ways my dysfunction hurts those I care about who go to such lengths to reassure me over and over that I’m loved, safe, valued, and connected.

I want to say I’m so very sorry that even though you’ve given me every reason to trust you and even though I believe your words of love and encouragement, I keep a small part of myself in reserve; a small corner of my heart that I’m shielding from the disconnection I know will come when you realise that I’m so flawed and broken and unloveable. 

I’m so scared that you’ll leave me without warning that I prepare myself in advance and push you away. I’m so sorry that I send you mixed messages by telling you how important you are to me then ignore you or withdraw from your attempts to reach out.

I’m sorry that I tell you through my words and actions that I don’t trust you and don’t need you. I do need you. I want so desperately to feel connected, but it’s the desperation that makes me pull back, because I’m sure that when you realise how needy I am, you’ll retreat anyway. I’m sorry that I’ve needed your support so often, and have made it so difficult for you to provide it without getting hurt in the process.

I’m sorry for texts and messages that remain unanswered and invitations that have been turned down. I feel so inadequate and lost in social situations now that I avoid them while at the same time wishing I didn’t feel so lonely and disconnected. I am trying to find a way to reconnect with the wider world, but it’s taking me a lot longer than I could ever have expected because it’s hard to connect when I don’t have any sense of who I am.

I’m sorry that sometimes when it all just seems too much and I want to run away and hide, I run away from you as well even though you aren’t part of the problem. I’m sorry for the times my rejection has hurt you. 

I am sorry that I respond to emotional triggers you can’t predict or control, and that your attempts at conversation and support so often result in tears and emotional monologues about how awful I am. I’m sorry that I filter your words through my insecurities to hear messages that you never intend and that I am so bad at stopping the chain-reaction of negative thoughts once I start down that path. I’m sorry that so many of our conversations end up in you offering reassurance and comfort with your original words and message lost amidst the tears and anxiety. I’m sorry that I ask for your honesty, then punish you by responding so badly when you give it to me.

I’m so sorry that the battle inside my head between being myself and being who I think everyone else needs me to be results in such a mess of emotions and thoughts and that you’re so often left with no possible way of navigating a conversation without it ending in distress and tears. I hate that I’m so conditioned to focus on what other people want or need me to be, that it takes so much effort to simply be myself. 

I’m sorry that my insecurities and confusion and constant sense of overwhelm mean that so often when you need me I’m caught up in the mess inside my head and I either don’t see your needs or respond to them in a way that isn’t helpful. I feel this most keenly with my children and I hope as they grow older they’ll forgive me for the times I’ve let them down and made it so much harder for them to process the huge changes that have happened in their lives in the past couple of years. 

I am grateful that I have such wonderful, compassionate, caring children who have been so incredibly forgiving of the difficulty I’ve had navigating us all safely through our lives over the past few years. I remain constantly surprised at my good fortune having such a wonderful man in my life who loves me so much that he’s willing to walk beside me as I slowly, slowly work through the mess inside my head and heart and attempt to find myself amidst the rubble of my old life. I am thankful for the wonderful friends who have withstood my neglect and confusion and tears to continue to reach out to me in support in moments when I’m unable to stand alone and for those friends who have simply continued to be themselves and share in a way that gives me moments of normality amidst the emotional challenges.

The process of dealing with my past and my abuse has been exhausting. I have only come as far as I have because so many people have loved and cared for me and helped me in so many ways to remain connected despite my belief that I’m neither capable nor deserving of connection and love.

I am sorry that this process is so difficult, for myself and for those closest to me, and even though I can’t always show it, I am grateful that you haven’t given up on me. Thank you. x

How Does This Happen?

A few months after I left my abusive marriage, when I was confused about how I’d stayed in a relationship that was so toxic for so long, how I hadn’t even really realised how toxic it was until various social workers and secular counsellors immediately recommended I contact abuse support services when I shared details, a friend said something that has stayed with me: you don’t realise the air you’re breathing is poisonous until you take a breath of fresh air.

It made sense at the time in relation to my marriage. The reaction of others as I shared details from the 22 years I was with my ex-husband gradually helped me realise that what I’d accepted as ‘normal’ was in fact toxic and dysfunctional to an extreme level. I was surprised, but somehow not surprised, as I took a step back and realised that the relationship that had made me feel so sad and hopeless and isolated wasn’t considered normal by others. 

Then I faced the judgement of Christian friends and my church family for stepping away from my marriage and betraying my wedding vows. I had close Christian friends urge me to return to my ex-husband, even though they were aware social workers and domestic violence counsellors were advising me to protect myself and my children from his manipulation and encouraging me to access support services for abuse victims. Church friends ignored my assertions that he was controlling and toxic and urged me to do the ‘right’ thing for myself and my children and restore our family to what God intended. And I took a step back, took a deep breath and realised that the poisonous air hadn’t just been inside my marriage, it was inside my church too. 

Then my mother assured me she was there for me and I told her my ex-husband had been abusive. She was sympathetic and said she wasn’t surprised that I was so unhappy. She encouraged me to talk to her and lean on her, and in the same breath told me that she would be available to him too, because she loved us equally. When I told her he was stalking me, she said that was very troubling and if he shared anything with her that she thought might indicate there was a problem, she’d definitely let me know (then let me pay for the morning tea that she’d taken me out to for my birthday). 

And when, after months of no contact, I called her to confirm what my ex had told my (confused) kids – that he was planning to have dinner with my parents and they’d sent him a birthday card – I was informed very firmly by my mother that she had no intention of allowing me to tell her who she could talk to and she would most certainly be happy to have my ex visit her any time if that’s what he wanted. Followed up by a vicious text from my father accusing me of maniacal ranting, relentless selfishness, and informing me that I was no longer allowed to contact my mother directly. 

And I took another step back, took a deep breath and realised that the poisonous air had been there from birth. That I’d never breathed fresh air. That I’d been conditioned to accept the poisonous air as normal since childhood. Not just normal, but what I deserved; all I deserved. 

How did this happen? How did I live a functional and ‘normal’ life for so long, gasping for breath? 

I feel stupid and naive – how did I not realise this was happening? Why did I allow other people to define my worth? Why did I accept it when they said I was worth nothing (unless I was exactly what they told me I should be)? Then I feel angry. These were people I trusted, people I should have been able to trust above all others. People who should have loved me unconditionally but didn’t really love me at all. 

And then I just feel overwhelmed and broken and lost. How can I retreat to a place where I feel safe so I can rebuild myself when it’s obvious I’ve never been emotionally safe or accepted for who I am? When my entire sense of self has been defined by others whose only concern was how I made them feel? What does it say about me that those that should have loved me valued me so little (but said they loved me, even though I made it so difficult and was so unloveable). 

It isn’t possible to rebuild myself, because who I thought I was is built on lies and manipulation and judgement. I’m starting over and it’s surreal and awful and terrifying to be 47 years old and have no idea of who I am. I can’t discern the real me from the conditioned and controlled version of myself. I don’t know what I like, what I want, who I am. I feel lost. And I feel so supremely inadequate for the task of moving forward into my new life. 

I need to start over. But where do you start, when your life is already underway? When you have responsibilities and commitments? How do I take the mental time out that I need to work out who I am when I have a full time job, three teenagers and two step-children to encourage and support, and a new husband whose love gives me stability, but also leaves me confused and overwhelmed because I simply don’t know how normal relationships work? Where is the space in my life to work out who I am when I have so many reasons to simply be what everyone else needs me to be? Just like I always have. Just like I’ve been conditioned to do. 

My therapist has been talking with me about core values, about the core of who I am. She’s reassured me that person is good and kind and compassionate. But we’ve had to acknowledge that those characteristics are a response to how I’ve been treated and how others have made me feel. My parents, ex-husband, and church family made me feel so invisible and insignificant and inadequate, that I hate the thought of making others feel that way. A longtime friend jokes that getting people to share random details of their lives with me is my superpower, but the reality is that I hate the thought making others feel isolated and inadequate and I do what I can to help them feel connected and let them know that who they are matters, even if it’s only for the length of a casual interaction.

Which works on a casual level, but proper friendships require substance and I feel like an outline of a person, with no detail and no depth and no focus – a vague shadow that finds it so hard to connect with others. Real friendship requires giving of yourself and I simply don’t know who I am and I feel like I have nothing left to give.

And I wonder again, how does this happen? And how do I find the emotional reserves to move forward, when I feel depleted beyond my ability to recover? 

And I take a deep breath, breathe in fresh air, and face another day. Because I deserve the chance to be who I am and I refuse to let go of the hope that it isn’t too late to find myself underneath the debris of the person I let others tell me I was.