Intro.
When raised in a home full of dysfunction we are going to come out, to varying degrees, with dysfunctional and maladaptive traits of our own. I know I did, it’s unavoidable.
My upbringing was full of chaos and high conflict without healthy resolutions modeled by my parents. There was secrecy and shame and bold threats carried out with fear tactics accompanied by sporadic and confusing punishments. Love was condition-based and used as a tool of manipulation, to make my mother feel good about herself. In my family, love was a bargaining tool to get what you wanted.
To my child-self, family felt like being caught in an undertow without the skills or resources to keep your head above water for very long. My family’s dynamics left me choking on water and gasping for air much of my childhood. By age five I hated myself, believing I was somehow to blame for the madness; and by age eight I wished I were dead. Home didn’t feel like the safe haven it was supposed to be, but rather a warzone. The only seemingly safe place was in my room, where I would huddle in my closet or on the floor between the bed and wall where I would rely on my imagination to take me “away” from the explosive battles happening around me.
On the outside looking in, my family was privileged in many ways and the notion that such dysfunction could take place on the inside was dismissed by those who knew us in our community. The isolation and secrecy created deep shame in which I carried with me throughout the years.
By the time I was a teenager I was fed up with living a lie for the sake of my family’s image and became vocal and outspoken exposing our secrets. As I protested family-time as my attempt to escape the never-ending fighting, my parents quickly labeled me as the problem. I could no longer escape the chaos as it was targeted directly at me, I was treated like the enemy. By high school, I had fallen into a deep depression and my family successfully spun the narrative that I was mentally unstable, and before long much of our community saw me as a “troubled teen”.
I lost myself during those remaining years of my youth. My health declined, both physically and mentally. I was reactive when met with anger by those I loved. I was untrusting of others’ true intentions. I was insecure with little self-worth or confidence. I was hyper-focused on my physical appearance, convinced that my only value was fused with whether others found me to be beautiful. I became verbally aggressive as a means of self-defense, using words as weapons, hurting those in my path. I was filled to the brim with a deep sense of toxic shame and self-hatred. I depended on my humor, sass and quick wit to feel like I belonged; to over compensate for my belief that I was stupid. However, my ego was fragile and my insecurities remained, bubbling just under the surface and at times I was arrogant and braggy leaving me with more shame.
I so desperately yearned for someone, anyone, to love and accept me to the extreme extent in which I felt unlovable and invisible. I felt lost and alone and I blamed myself because that is what happens when a child is raised in a home where love was inconsistent and condition-based. Where your reality is constantly denied for the sake of a false image. Love was not safe, but still desired. My family’s dinner-time motto was “I love you, everybody happy”. It was a lie, no one was happy; I was forced to hold hands and smile, and was scolded when I refused to partake. I seethed with anger under the surface and imploded every few weeks.
In the past, I have said hurtful and hate-filled words to people I loved; I’ve made inappropriate comments and behaved in ways that left me feeling embarrassed with shame afterwards. I’ve screamed with rage, I’ve run away. I’ve broken things, I’ve self-punished and self-harmed. I tried to take my own life. But then something happened, I grew weary. I was tired of the cycle of shame and, at times self-induced, pain I was in. I was fed up with myself after behaving in ways that did not align with my true authentic Self. I grew tired of my own bullshit excuses and stopped blaming others to justify my own reactions. I sought help and took accountability for my own dysfunctional behaviors and maladaptive coping mechanisms. I deconstructed my family’s system and curiously examined the patterns that began in generations past. I released the grips that the focus of hatred once had over me and I took responsibility for my life and learned how to hold compassion for all the past versions of myself. I unlearned unhealthy behaviors and learned healthier ways to be. I’m still learning. I consciously chose to heal. I’m still healing.
I don’t feel shame for my past self. My heart hurts for her and I have immense compassion for her and all she lived through. I hold understanding and unconditional love for her, and I forgive her. Because she is me, and I am who I am today because of her. I honor the memories of how heavy life felt and how I struggled at times to find the will to want to live. Those negative self-beliefs of my youth are untrue, I know this now. My mistakes were opportunities for lessons and growth, and I am forever grateful for my journey.
