My Relationship With God
Mom's belief and behaviors about God:
My mom is a Catholic, and she raised her children in the Catholic Church. My mom knows the routine and rituals of the Mass. We were taken to church, but my mom could never quite explain to me why she did certain things. Like why we genuflect, why we nod our heads when we hear Jesus' name, and why she would strike her side when they would ring the bells before communion. I am not quite sure what my mom "believes." I know that she stands by the Pope's decisions and thinks that he is infallible.
Dad's belief and behaviors about God:
My dad never shared his religion (Presbyterian) or beliefs. He converted to my mom's religion when I was about sixteen years old. Prior to that, I never witnessesed my father going to a church of any kind.
From the above information, are there any of either or both parents' beliefs or behaviors that you have duplicated in your life? If so, what are they?
Definitely. I call myself a Catholic, but I know I am really not a "good" Catholic from an outsider's point of view. I go through the motions of the Mass, but I don't understand why I kneel when I do, or stand when I do during church, and I can't explain it to my children either. I married a Methodist man who never went to church again after his Confirmation. Unlike my mother, I have been largely unsuccessful in the conversion.
What were the long-term effects of these beliefs or behaviors (good or bad) that you saw in your parents' lives or relationship?
I honestly don't know, because I can't tell you what they really believed except that there is a hell and that I would probably end up going there one day.
What specific plan can you make not to have these negative results in your life and relationship?
I can be genuine, be slow to judge, and be quick to forgive.
Describe your relationship with God as a child.
Good, but very much fantasy. I've said before, God was like Santa. Good kids had prayers answered and bad kids didn't. I even thought sick children were somehow being punished for their sins. There was a boy that I went to school with who died from cancer in sixth grade. I remember wondering what he could have done that was so wrong. I still feel badly for having those feelings toward him, judging him. It may seem "unchristian" of me, but I refuse to tell my children the lie that my parents told me "God is going to get you for that" when I didn't comply with their requests or when I misbehaved. From what I saw as a child, bad kids got what they wanted and rarely suffered consequences. I finally came to realize (as a young adult) that bad kids didn't suffer consequences because their parents didn't enforce any, which is why they were probably misbehaving to begin with. Not because God had turned around and missed the boat completely on what the kid in question was doing. My parents' threats were just a convenient way for them to avoid parenting us. In December, Santa was watching, the rest of the year it was God, so you were either getting a stocking full of coal or going to hell in my house. As a result, I didn't see that my falling off of a bike two days after fighting with my sister was not somehow linked to a faraway God laughing his ass off at me, saying, "I got you!" It was at times like this where my mom was usually reminding me that her prophecy was coming true, "I told you God would get you for what you did." I also recall fearing that bad things would happen to me or my family if I forgot to say my prayers at night. I prayed out of fear of what would happen if I didn't, not out of love for a savior.
Describe your relationship with God as a teenager.
It was about appearances. I went to church to appear "good" to my mom's friends and the priests. I figured if people believed what I was displaying on the outside, then so would God and I would be a good candidate for Heaven. My hard work had paid off. I was one of two delegates from our church to meet the new Archbishop of New York, John Cardinal O'Connor. My mother was thrilled. I was petrified. I knew that one false move might cause embarrassment and dishonor for our family and church. I made it through, without incident, but it was not one of my most memorable teenage moments. I basically walked up to this prominent man, surrounded by other prominent men, smiled, shook his hand, and walked away. Whoopee! Nothing but a display of teeth and handshaking that day. I remember wondering if I was holy for having touched him, and if that would get me into Heaven. It was as a teenager that I met my future husband. During that time, I was coerced into having sex. I remember as soon as he was finished thinking, "Oh, shit, I'm going to hell!" The sin of premarital sex was definitely grave, and I engaged in the behavior with full knowledge and deliberate consent. All of the criteria for mortal sin. I felt sick and trapped. I screwed up big time and there wasn't a thing I could do about it. I was doomed to be seperated from God for all eternity.
Describe your relationship with God as an adult.
I had essentially pushed God out of my life as a young adult. I had lost hope for going to Heaven so there seemed to be no point in continuing to try to serve this demanding, hostile, old man in the sky, who really never gave me what I had ever prayed for anyway. God was a nasty perfectionist who had no use for me, except to mock me with the "You're going to hell" taunt. If you have ever seen a cat "play" with it's wounded prey, you will know how I felt. I was the mouse, and God was this huge, horrible cat that would grab me in His jaws and shake any time I tried to crawl away from His punishment. I thought it best to just lie still and play dead than to initiate another round of beatings. So, I was spiritually dead, knowing I was physically alive, but too afraid to move forward for fear of what was coming next.
Describe your relationship with God as an adult prior to your recovery.
Much as described above, I was God's redheaded step-child. I felt God was a distant, unattached, disinterested party except when someone else had made Him mad that day. Then I became His personal whipping boy. I felt like God was this giant phony, a fake that preached love and forgiveness and wanted everyone to bow down at His glory, but then He had me, His creation gone horribly wrong, hidden in His closet so that nobody could see what a big liar He was, and what a grave mistake He had made by making me, that he wasn't perfect after all. I felt all of His wrath was saved up for me and my lousy little life.
Describe your relationship with God as a recovering person.
Wow, did I say all that? Looking back at what I thought and how I felt, it is hard to believe I am the same essential combination of organic material. There must have been some miraculous shift or change in brain chemistry over the past several months. As a recovering person, I realize that God is listening to my questions, He just doesn't reply right away because He gives me the time to answer them myself. He hears my prayers, but like any good Father, He doesn't always give me exactly what I want, but He does give me what I need. He hears me when I cry out to Him, but sometimes holding someone is better than rationalizing with them. I'm crazy about God now, really crazy about him. He cares about me and wants a relationship with me. It's amazing, I'm listening to several books on CD right now, one of which the author was an atheist, and the other the author no longer attends church. I am learning more about God from these books than I learned in eight years of CCD. I know, people get kind of skeptical about what is being said in these books, but I have more of an understanding of God and Jesus now than anything religious education taught me. The Brennan Manning book really helped too. All of this new information has really lit a fire under me spiritually. The more I read, the more I want to know. I trust God, love Him, praise Him, and desire His mind. I want to know what He thinks. I want to know everything about Him. I know now what they mean by a personal relationship with God. And my relationship with Him is not like anyone else's.
My Letter to God:
I think this letter has to do with the concept of God as a parent, as it follows our letters to our earthly parents.
We speak of God as a "father," yet I've never known a healthy parent and child relationship in this life. It is very difficult ot conceptualize a parent that is not critical of or apathetic toward me.
It is also hard for me to develop a clear picture of who You are based on religion. As a Catholic, I've always had the idea that you were unable to accept less than perfection, and that Catholicism was the "one, true religion," and that all others were destined for hell. I've met many people recently who do not believe this. They, rather, believe that theirs is the one true religion and that if I am not born again, then I am going to hell. Who am I to believe? And why is there this struggle over who is right and who is wrong? I feel tied up, like Gulliver in the land of the Lilliputians, struggling over whether to join forces with the big-endians or little-endians. A question for you - is faith alone enough, or must it also rely on the execution of the faith? Why can't we all be right? Why must I choose? What if I choose wrong?
I fear angering You. I fear separation from You. I want to choose none for fear of choosing wrongly.
My hope is that You are a God who is slow to anger and quick to forgive one who is repentant. I hope that this "one, true religion" thing is a lot of man's influence and insecurity and not Yours. I hope I will have the joy of meeting You one day. I hope that You are loving. I hope that You are everything I wished that my own parents would be.
I am coming into my own understanding, slowly, yet the fear still remains. I hope to one day eliminate that from my life.
Your daughter,
D----
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Exercise 86
My Relationship With Mom
Describe your relationship with your mom as you remember it as a child.
My relationship with my mother was alright as a child. I do not recall my mother trying to persue a relationship with me when I was young. I was usually the one seeking her out. We did not do very many things together, but she was certainly present. Example, we had parks and playgrounds nearby and I would beg for her to stop so we could play, but the number of times we went in my lifetime I can count on one hand. I was not allowed to have friends over to our house, again I can count on both hands the number of times I had a friend over or was allowed to be a guest somewhere. I was not allowed on field trips, and I was not allowed to join Brownies/Girl Scouts. I think she may have been afraid of the time investment. The reason I put these things on my mom, is because I was asking to do these things. My dad would say, "I don't know...ask your mother." And my mom would always say, "No." I also recall telling my mom that I thought she should try to win the Miss America Pageant when I was about four or five years old. Her reply to me was, "Are you crazy? Those are for beautiful women. Not women like me." I told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and she told me I was wrong and needed my eyes checked. She talked to me a lot though. I would go sit in her room on her bed while she would knit or cut coupons and I would ask her a million questions, anything and everything. I do remember she built me a dollhouse when I was about eight or nine years old. That was awesome!
Describe your relationship with your mother as you remember it as a teenager.
Well, for the most part, I was not a difficult teen. I figured my mom had it pretty easy with me. My grades were always exemplary, my friends were all clean cut, I was also extremely awkward, so no boys were hovering around trying to date me. But my mom complained bitterly about me being moody. Perhaps there is truth in there. I probably was. Or at least more moody than my older sister. I was the middle child so I probably was thinking I had a hard life at the time. Didn't we all as teens? I hated myself as a teenager. I felt ugly every day of my life. Copious amounts of freckles were definitely not helping the situation either. At around the age of eleven I began my battle with anorexia nervosa. I remember exactly how it began too. I had forgotten to take my lunch to school one day. I got off of the school bus, ravenous, and went in to tell my mother that I forgot my lunch and that I was starving. She said, "Well, it won't kill you to miss a meal." I remember going to my room and wondering what was meant by that comment. Was I fat? My sister was definitely overweight, but was I, and I just wasn't seeing it? Thus started a seven year battle surrounding food. I was paraded around at church because the priests took a shine to me. This is where I felt I made my mother proud. I looked good, so I made her look good. My mom would never come to any of my recitals for chorus or orchestra. I remember scanning the audience and seeing my father's face, but never my mom's. She never praised me for my excellent report cards. She would always just say, "Yeah, so? Isn't that your job as a student to do your homework and get good grades? Do you think this somehow makes you special?" I finally understand why getting good grades was so important to me. My teachers said such wonderful things about me, and I longed to hear them over and over, so I would read and reread my report cards any chance I got. Around the age of fifteen, I started working at the same place my sister worked...a movie theater. This is where I met my husband. He also was working there. Now the real fun started. I clearly remember the first time my mother met Pete, her exact words to him were, "She's never been on a date before. We never had this problem with her sister." She also jumped right in and told him of my plans to become a nun and how they hoped I would continue to work toward my dream. When we got in the car, Pete said to me, "I didn't ever think that dating someone was a 'problem.' I thought it was a normal thing." After that, I think she realized she was losing control of me. And she hated every second of it. I found I could stay thin by abusing laxatives and vomiting when I was around sixteen or so. My parents didn't really notice my weight dropping. The guidance counselor called and told them what was going on. Then I started therapy. It was largely unhelpful, but I went to appease the parents. The attitude I picked up from my mother was, "Are we done yet?" I don't think she liked being inconvenienced, taking me. Shortly thereafter I stopped going because that therapist was leaving the practice and I just never made an appointment with one of the partners. My mom thought I was having sex with Pete long before I really was. I took that to mean she didn't think very much of me. I got pregnant when I was eighteen, and that basically ended my teenage years. My mom's suffering was over.
Describe your relationship with your mom as an adult.
Well, this encompasses about twenty years, so I guess I'll just start in my twenties. When I was twenty, I was pregnant again with another baby boy. The baby had a birth defect that was not compatible with life, so we ended the pregnancy early. This was not some spontaneous, "I don't want a baby right now," decision. This was a gut wrenching tragedy in our lives, that we remember every April 12th. My mom was not happy that I chose to end the pregnancy. I felt I had no choice. The baby would surely die. One cannot live without a brain. The "abortion" drove a wedge between us for a while. She is a devout Catholic and felt I should have carried to term. Another huge problem that has come between us is her feelings about my husband. She tells me often how "cute" she thinks he is, she sides with him in arguments, she laughs at his worst jokes, and she enjoys telling me how Pete could come live with her and I should live with my dad, we are, after all, so much alike, me and my dad. I know this sounds awful, but I believe she would try to be a wife to him if I ever passed away. It both sickens and saddens me, and I've already told my husband that if he even considers something like that I will come back and haunt his house. One of the other problems that stands out is that my mom now, knowing about the anorexia/bulimia, still subtly chides me about my weight. She will go out and buy stuff for me (which is nice) but will buy it in a size 22, and I'm not a 22, I'm a size 14 (for now). I think the final thing putting a lot of distance between us is her feeling about the medical profession. When I was going for training as a nurse's aide, she said to me, "So I guess when you are finished you will be a glorified maid." Today, I am a nurse. She lets me know regularly how stupid and fat she thinks nurses are. When my aunt died she took pleasure in telling me about how lazy the nurses that took care of my aunt were. She said, "You couldn't find one when she was having pain, but when I brought up the tray of cookies to thank them, they were coming out of the woodwork." And that is just the tip of the iceberg. She only started having bad things to say about medical professionals when I became a nurse. Before that, she would reminisce about her days as a candy striper. I do speak with my mother every other day. Despite the fact that all of this has happened and continues to happen, I still love my mother, but I also pity her. How awful her life must have been. This exercise has saddened me more than I imagined it would. I have had to stop several times to control my crying. It is not easy to feel like the person who is supposed to love you more than anyone else does, secretly, or maybe not so secretly, hates your guts.
I feel happy about my relationship with my mom because...
Despite everything, my mom is dependable. She does want what is best for my children. She loved to shop and would take me with her. And she loved to be frugal. We now sometimes talk about who got the better deal when we buy things, like groceries. She was "closer" to me than my siblings (on a strange note, this fits in the happy and not so happy category). She can be fun at times, like when she went on vacation with me and the kids while Pete was at H2H. I know my mother thinks about me often. She hasn't forgotten a birthday of mine or the kids in 38 years. She tries to support my cooking efforts because she is a really good cook. When I was a kid, she would sometimes let me sit and listen to conversations with company if I was really quiet and would sit in the other room. So I got to hear what big people talked about. That was fun.
I feel sad about my relationship with my mom because...
People think that my mother and I are very close. The truth is, I am really afraid to be myself around my mother, so she only *thinks* she knows me. I don't want to lose myself in the relationship, not knowing where I end and she begins. So frequently I hold back, trying not to be consumed by her, eaten up and then spit out. I am afraid that my children may some day say the same of me. This grieves me terribly.
I feel mad about my relationship with my mom because...
It's been used for appearances. She would brag about how great our relationship was to my aunt, to church members and church leaders, friends. I was "mini-me" from Austin Powers for many years.
My wishes for our relationship are...
Honesty, complete transformation of what the relationship is now, which is just me being a total and complete pacifist, and saying what my mom wants to hear, supporting her grievances against everyone and everything. Life is not always the way we want it. People are human, they behave irrationally at times. I can acknowledge her feelings (sounds like you feel...) but I don't want to support her in her personal attacks on people and issues anymore.
My letter to mom
Dear Mom,
I know from the stories of your own mother, and her own mother, that both you and Grandma had some serious mother issues. I know that you both suffered abuse, physical, verbal, and emotional. I am so sorry for your pain. I am sorry that your mother was so cruel to you, and that her mother was cruel to her. I know that in each generation it is getting less and less. It still doesn't diminish my pain that exists as a result of our relationship.
Some of the things you said to me when I was a child were horrible. I can't believe you could say such things to someone you were supposed to love. I recall you telling me I looked like a little slut when I parted my hair to the side the day I wanted to wear my hair like that to school. I just wanted to look pretty. I had all kinds of issues surrounding my looks, not the least of which was the sheer volume of freckles I had. I remember wanting a skin transplant. I wasn't trying to be a slut. I was just trying to make myself feel somewhat better about how I looked. The spandex pants were probably not a good idea on my part, though. I'm with you on that one. But why did you have to say, "What, you want every boy in town over here trying to screw you?" Yes, mom, I wanted the attention of a boy. I wanted a great romance. I was thirteen! Most thirteen year old girls want that. Some great love in their lives, but in an innocent way. It didn't mean I wanted to have sex with them! Don't you remember being thirteen?
Another thing I just don't understand, was why I was not allowed to go over to friend's houses and why they could not come to our house either. Kids are kids mom. They don't care if the toilet is clean or if the sink has dirty dishes in it. They would not be there to inspect your house. I just wanted someone to play with. Instead, the only person I shared secrets with was you, and at times you used them against me. I only remember going to two birthday parties as a child for classmates. And I never had a birthday party for myself with friends as a kid. On my sixteenth birthday, Peggy gave me a party at her house. That was it. It made me really sad, because I never felt celebrated.
I also don't understand why you weren't pleased with my good grades. I would read my report cards, ad nauseum, to look at all of the comments from my teachers. I know that you know this because I remember you scolding me once for reading it so much. I was just starved for praise mom. Hearing it from dad wasn't enough. I wanted you to love me too and I wanted you to think well of me. But I always got the impression you thought I was a conceited, boy-crazy little witch. And I was none of the above! I was an angry, emotionally hungry little girl with low self esteem.
And why, after me telling you the things that were going on with Bruce, would you allow me to spend the night over there? I remember you telling me to stop that talk when I let you know what was happening. I still don't have a clear picture of what exactly went on because I have been denying everything as a result of being dismissed by you.
I feel like you didn't want me to go to college, either. This is not a record of your wrongs or accusations, but as I see it you showed no interest in any scholarships I was eligible for, never asked me what colleges I was interested in, never asked if I wanted to visit any of them, and didn't fill out financial aid forms. I got the impression that I should just repeat your life, and everything between us would be fine. Essentially, that is what happened. I think you were the only person "happy" that I was pregnant. Dad told me he was worried I was flushing my future down the toilet, that I would always have it hard. Pete's dad wanted me to get an abortion. His mom was not thrilled either, but came around pretty quickly. Maybe I am wrong and you were being supportive, despite being concerned, but it seemed like you were inappropriately happy. There would go the idea of me ever "surpassing" you intellectually and financially. I hope I am wrong. But it doesn't feel like it. Especially when you berate and insult the medical and nursing profession at every turn and the fact that you are not rejoicing in the great news that David will be gradutaing college in December.
BTW, stay away from Pete. For my own selfish reason of wanting my husband for myself, but also because it will only cause you pain and me tremendous embarrassment when you find out what I have been living with for the past twenty years. And please stop trying to push dad off on me. It's freaky and it sounds incestuous and I don't think of dad in that way, thanks.
If you want my forgiveness, it's here. I'm sure it will be a while though. You never could stand to be wrong.
Loving you in spite of this crap,
D
Describe your relationship with your mom as you remember it as a child.
My relationship with my mother was alright as a child. I do not recall my mother trying to persue a relationship with me when I was young. I was usually the one seeking her out. We did not do very many things together, but she was certainly present. Example, we had parks and playgrounds nearby and I would beg for her to stop so we could play, but the number of times we went in my lifetime I can count on one hand. I was not allowed to have friends over to our house, again I can count on both hands the number of times I had a friend over or was allowed to be a guest somewhere. I was not allowed on field trips, and I was not allowed to join Brownies/Girl Scouts. I think she may have been afraid of the time investment. The reason I put these things on my mom, is because I was asking to do these things. My dad would say, "I don't know...ask your mother." And my mom would always say, "No." I also recall telling my mom that I thought she should try to win the Miss America Pageant when I was about four or five years old. Her reply to me was, "Are you crazy? Those are for beautiful women. Not women like me." I told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and she told me I was wrong and needed my eyes checked. She talked to me a lot though. I would go sit in her room on her bed while she would knit or cut coupons and I would ask her a million questions, anything and everything. I do remember she built me a dollhouse when I was about eight or nine years old. That was awesome!
Describe your relationship with your mother as you remember it as a teenager.
Well, for the most part, I was not a difficult teen. I figured my mom had it pretty easy with me. My grades were always exemplary, my friends were all clean cut, I was also extremely awkward, so no boys were hovering around trying to date me. But my mom complained bitterly about me being moody. Perhaps there is truth in there. I probably was. Or at least more moody than my older sister. I was the middle child so I probably was thinking I had a hard life at the time. Didn't we all as teens? I hated myself as a teenager. I felt ugly every day of my life. Copious amounts of freckles were definitely not helping the situation either. At around the age of eleven I began my battle with anorexia nervosa. I remember exactly how it began too. I had forgotten to take my lunch to school one day. I got off of the school bus, ravenous, and went in to tell my mother that I forgot my lunch and that I was starving. She said, "Well, it won't kill you to miss a meal." I remember going to my room and wondering what was meant by that comment. Was I fat? My sister was definitely overweight, but was I, and I just wasn't seeing it? Thus started a seven year battle surrounding food. I was paraded around at church because the priests took a shine to me. This is where I felt I made my mother proud. I looked good, so I made her look good. My mom would never come to any of my recitals for chorus or orchestra. I remember scanning the audience and seeing my father's face, but never my mom's. She never praised me for my excellent report cards. She would always just say, "Yeah, so? Isn't that your job as a student to do your homework and get good grades? Do you think this somehow makes you special?" I finally understand why getting good grades was so important to me. My teachers said such wonderful things about me, and I longed to hear them over and over, so I would read and reread my report cards any chance I got. Around the age of fifteen, I started working at the same place my sister worked...a movie theater. This is where I met my husband. He also was working there. Now the real fun started. I clearly remember the first time my mother met Pete, her exact words to him were, "She's never been on a date before. We never had this problem with her sister." She also jumped right in and told him of my plans to become a nun and how they hoped I would continue to work toward my dream. When we got in the car, Pete said to me, "I didn't ever think that dating someone was a 'problem.' I thought it was a normal thing." After that, I think she realized she was losing control of me. And she hated every second of it. I found I could stay thin by abusing laxatives and vomiting when I was around sixteen or so. My parents didn't really notice my weight dropping. The guidance counselor called and told them what was going on. Then I started therapy. It was largely unhelpful, but I went to appease the parents. The attitude I picked up from my mother was, "Are we done yet?" I don't think she liked being inconvenienced, taking me. Shortly thereafter I stopped going because that therapist was leaving the practice and I just never made an appointment with one of the partners. My mom thought I was having sex with Pete long before I really was. I took that to mean she didn't think very much of me. I got pregnant when I was eighteen, and that basically ended my teenage years. My mom's suffering was over.
Describe your relationship with your mom as an adult.
Well, this encompasses about twenty years, so I guess I'll just start in my twenties. When I was twenty, I was pregnant again with another baby boy. The baby had a birth defect that was not compatible with life, so we ended the pregnancy early. This was not some spontaneous, "I don't want a baby right now," decision. This was a gut wrenching tragedy in our lives, that we remember every April 12th. My mom was not happy that I chose to end the pregnancy. I felt I had no choice. The baby would surely die. One cannot live without a brain. The "abortion" drove a wedge between us for a while. She is a devout Catholic and felt I should have carried to term. Another huge problem that has come between us is her feelings about my husband. She tells me often how "cute" she thinks he is, she sides with him in arguments, she laughs at his worst jokes, and she enjoys telling me how Pete could come live with her and I should live with my dad, we are, after all, so much alike, me and my dad. I know this sounds awful, but I believe she would try to be a wife to him if I ever passed away. It both sickens and saddens me, and I've already told my husband that if he even considers something like that I will come back and haunt his house. One of the other problems that stands out is that my mom now, knowing about the anorexia/bulimia, still subtly chides me about my weight. She will go out and buy stuff for me (which is nice) but will buy it in a size 22, and I'm not a 22, I'm a size 14 (for now). I think the final thing putting a lot of distance between us is her feeling about the medical profession. When I was going for training as a nurse's aide, she said to me, "So I guess when you are finished you will be a glorified maid." Today, I am a nurse. She lets me know regularly how stupid and fat she thinks nurses are. When my aunt died she took pleasure in telling me about how lazy the nurses that took care of my aunt were. She said, "You couldn't find one when she was having pain, but when I brought up the tray of cookies to thank them, they were coming out of the woodwork." And that is just the tip of the iceberg. She only started having bad things to say about medical professionals when I became a nurse. Before that, she would reminisce about her days as a candy striper. I do speak with my mother every other day. Despite the fact that all of this has happened and continues to happen, I still love my mother, but I also pity her. How awful her life must have been. This exercise has saddened me more than I imagined it would. I have had to stop several times to control my crying. It is not easy to feel like the person who is supposed to love you more than anyone else does, secretly, or maybe not so secretly, hates your guts.
I feel happy about my relationship with my mom because...
Despite everything, my mom is dependable. She does want what is best for my children. She loved to shop and would take me with her. And she loved to be frugal. We now sometimes talk about who got the better deal when we buy things, like groceries. She was "closer" to me than my siblings (on a strange note, this fits in the happy and not so happy category). She can be fun at times, like when she went on vacation with me and the kids while Pete was at H2H. I know my mother thinks about me often. She hasn't forgotten a birthday of mine or the kids in 38 years. She tries to support my cooking efforts because she is a really good cook. When I was a kid, she would sometimes let me sit and listen to conversations with company if I was really quiet and would sit in the other room. So I got to hear what big people talked about. That was fun.
I feel sad about my relationship with my mom because...
People think that my mother and I are very close. The truth is, I am really afraid to be myself around my mother, so she only *thinks* she knows me. I don't want to lose myself in the relationship, not knowing where I end and she begins. So frequently I hold back, trying not to be consumed by her, eaten up and then spit out. I am afraid that my children may some day say the same of me. This grieves me terribly.
I feel mad about my relationship with my mom because...
It's been used for appearances. She would brag about how great our relationship was to my aunt, to church members and church leaders, friends. I was "mini-me" from Austin Powers for many years.
My wishes for our relationship are...
Honesty, complete transformation of what the relationship is now, which is just me being a total and complete pacifist, and saying what my mom wants to hear, supporting her grievances against everyone and everything. Life is not always the way we want it. People are human, they behave irrationally at times. I can acknowledge her feelings (sounds like you feel...) but I don't want to support her in her personal attacks on people and issues anymore.
My letter to mom
Dear Mom,
I know from the stories of your own mother, and her own mother, that both you and Grandma had some serious mother issues. I know that you both suffered abuse, physical, verbal, and emotional. I am so sorry for your pain. I am sorry that your mother was so cruel to you, and that her mother was cruel to her. I know that in each generation it is getting less and less. It still doesn't diminish my pain that exists as a result of our relationship.
Some of the things you said to me when I was a child were horrible. I can't believe you could say such things to someone you were supposed to love. I recall you telling me I looked like a little slut when I parted my hair to the side the day I wanted to wear my hair like that to school. I just wanted to look pretty. I had all kinds of issues surrounding my looks, not the least of which was the sheer volume of freckles I had. I remember wanting a skin transplant. I wasn't trying to be a slut. I was just trying to make myself feel somewhat better about how I looked. The spandex pants were probably not a good idea on my part, though. I'm with you on that one. But why did you have to say, "What, you want every boy in town over here trying to screw you?" Yes, mom, I wanted the attention of a boy. I wanted a great romance. I was thirteen! Most thirteen year old girls want that. Some great love in their lives, but in an innocent way. It didn't mean I wanted to have sex with them! Don't you remember being thirteen?
Another thing I just don't understand, was why I was not allowed to go over to friend's houses and why they could not come to our house either. Kids are kids mom. They don't care if the toilet is clean or if the sink has dirty dishes in it. They would not be there to inspect your house. I just wanted someone to play with. Instead, the only person I shared secrets with was you, and at times you used them against me. I only remember going to two birthday parties as a child for classmates. And I never had a birthday party for myself with friends as a kid. On my sixteenth birthday, Peggy gave me a party at her house. That was it. It made me really sad, because I never felt celebrated.
I also don't understand why you weren't pleased with my good grades. I would read my report cards, ad nauseum, to look at all of the comments from my teachers. I know that you know this because I remember you scolding me once for reading it so much. I was just starved for praise mom. Hearing it from dad wasn't enough. I wanted you to love me too and I wanted you to think well of me. But I always got the impression you thought I was a conceited, boy-crazy little witch. And I was none of the above! I was an angry, emotionally hungry little girl with low self esteem.
And why, after me telling you the things that were going on with Bruce, would you allow me to spend the night over there? I remember you telling me to stop that talk when I let you know what was happening. I still don't have a clear picture of what exactly went on because I have been denying everything as a result of being dismissed by you.
I feel like you didn't want me to go to college, either. This is not a record of your wrongs or accusations, but as I see it you showed no interest in any scholarships I was eligible for, never asked me what colleges I was interested in, never asked if I wanted to visit any of them, and didn't fill out financial aid forms. I got the impression that I should just repeat your life, and everything between us would be fine. Essentially, that is what happened. I think you were the only person "happy" that I was pregnant. Dad told me he was worried I was flushing my future down the toilet, that I would always have it hard. Pete's dad wanted me to get an abortion. His mom was not thrilled either, but came around pretty quickly. Maybe I am wrong and you were being supportive, despite being concerned, but it seemed like you were inappropriately happy. There would go the idea of me ever "surpassing" you intellectually and financially. I hope I am wrong. But it doesn't feel like it. Especially when you berate and insult the medical and nursing profession at every turn and the fact that you are not rejoicing in the great news that David will be gradutaing college in December.
BTW, stay away from Pete. For my own selfish reason of wanting my husband for myself, but also because it will only cause you pain and me tremendous embarrassment when you find out what I have been living with for the past twenty years. And please stop trying to push dad off on me. It's freaky and it sounds incestuous and I don't think of dad in that way, thanks.
If you want my forgiveness, it's here. I'm sure it will be a while though. You never could stand to be wrong.
Loving you in spite of this crap,
D
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Exercise 85
My Relationship With Dad
Describe your relationship with your dad as you remember it as a child.
My dad and I had some good times when I was a child. Overall, the relationship was good. I idolized my dad. I used to sit on his lap when he would read the newspaper, I could usually be found outside working with him, raking leaves, pulling weeds, whatever the project called for. I do remember being the only one of my parents' children working alongside either of my parents. My siblings usually made themselves pretty scarce when there was work to be done. No worries, though. I had, at least for the moment, my mom or dad to myself, so if it meant hard work, it seemed to be worth the effort it took. I didn't know that my dad had a drinking problem until I was a little bit older, maybe ten or twelve years old. I do remember that my dad was just this really silly, funny man when he would drink his beer. Sometimes I enjoyed his unpredictability when he would drink. He would drive recklessly and beep his horn and yell obscenities at the other drivers. As a kid, that was cool. The freedom of flying along in a car at pretty good speeds. My cousin liked it too. She would sleep over at my house sometimes and we would scream in the backseat of the station wagon on the drive back to our house. Some gifts that we kids bought him, as children, had beer logos on them. I almost always stuck up for my dad when there was a disagreement. He rarely had any backing, so I would back him up. He knew he had a friend in me, so on holidays I would get gifts that my dad would pick out. Usually my mom shopped for everyone, but my dad would do some of the shopping for me, so it made me feel special. I was like the son he didn't have, even though he had a son when I turned six.
Describe your relationship with your dad as you remember it as a teenager.
Around this age, I started understanding why the drinking was a problem. My dad was a binge drinker. I don't know if that qualifies as an alcoholic. He never missed work due to drinking, but he missed other things, like Easter. Most times, at this age, my dad was someone I enjoyed talking to. He would teach me things like how to change a tire, how to use a table saw, and would talk to me about which colleges looked good, even though financially I would not go because I felt bad saddling my parents with a bill that they could not afford. He was always impressed by my school grades so I worked hard to keep them up. But, I was beginning to understand why my older sister was so embarrassed by him. A few times when she would invite people over, my dad would be sitting in his underwear watching football and drinking beer. He also had too much to drink one night when we had our neighbor friend in the car with us and was yelling out the window at people as we would drive by them (mom was driving). My sister was mortified. When he would drink, he just wasn't quite as funny anymore as when I was a kid. I began to worry about car accidents and about what people thought of my situation. I started having anxiety attacks when I was fourteen. One time he accidentally touched my breast after drinking too much. He was trying to line up the stripes on my shirt. That pissed me off big time. And I hated it that he would make those noises when he would see a pretty woman "mmmmmm."
Describe your relationship with your dad as an adult.
It is definitely good. He is doing the father-son thing with my husband. I know that I am capable of doing some pretty "manly" things due to my relationship with my dad. This is okay for me because I feel self-sufficient as a result. He still gives me advice on everything, but often times he is right and I am grateful for the resource I have in him. But he doesn't make me feel guilty either if I don't take his advice. He respects my opinions and will often ask for my opinion on issues.
I feel happy about my relationship with my dad because...
I learned a lot from him. He supported me in my nerdiness. He's a great guy when he doesn't drink. Some people would say he's a great guy when he does. I wouldn't. He is fun to be around. He can talk about any subject. He's down to earth, typical middle class man. Fred Flintstone or Ralph Kramden is who I would equate him with.
I feel sad about my relationship with my dad because...
Many times my mom was not fulfilling my dad's emotional needs, and he would lean on me. She did not always want to listen to his stories or ideas so he would tell them to me. This would put me at odds with my mom because she felt like I was betraying her by listening to him. It's just all too crazy for me. She would try to starve him by ignoring him and then would get mad when he was being fed by me listening to him. So either way, I would lose.
I feel mad about my relationship with my dad because...
I hated that he didn't have the guts to stand up to my mother and my sister who were laughing at his social clumsiness and sometimes incompetence. They were being disrespectful and he would not even request that they stop. I wanted to scream, "Dad, take your balls out! Show them what you are made of!" And now I marry a man who does just that! Coincidence??? Also, my dad's drinking left me with some really crappy memories and his ogling women still annoys me.
My wishes for our relationship are...
To continue to respect each other and for him to stop encouraging my husband to participate in certain bad behaviors (i.e. looking at women, drinking).
Letter to my dad:
Dad,
What would you say if you could read all of the things I just wrote? Do you remember any of these things? Would you say this is an accurate recollection of how things were? It was years ago, but the memories remain.
I guess now it's my turn to have mom and Dawn standing behind me as I start berating you. I wish all of the great times with you were not overshadowed by the crappy memories of you indulging yourself in alcohol. I just, as a mother, need to ask you what the hell you were thinking when you would take my life in your hands by driving DRUNK, not even under the influence, but piss drunk, man? Are you somehow different from the other drunk drivers on the road? You're special? You're too smart and too good a driver to get caught? Okay, remember the cat you ran over on your way home from drinking with your dad? I do. I remember us kids crying and you wouldn't go back to move it to the side of the road. It could have just as easily been a child, and you are damn lucky it wasn't. How would you have lived with yourself after something like that?
I remember the first time I heard you vomiting after having too much to drink. I was scared that you were going to die that night. I remember thinking you were going to die some of the other times you would get sick from drinking too. I couldn't believe mom would be laughing at you. I was terrified.
And what was with the porn and looking at other women? I know you have no idea about this but Pete was arrested for sex addiction. Do you know what this stuff does to marriages? I was almost divorced over this garbage. I know mom acts like she doesn't care, but I sincerely hope that on some level she does. That she hasn't become so apathetic that it truly doesn't matter to her. Do you know that I was looking at some of your porn as a kid? These were formative years, dad. Why were you so careless?
I think I'll save the praise for when I see you in person, and let you know all the things you did "right" at that time. For now, the only thing I can offer you is forgiveness, if you want it. I can still love you even though I don't understand why you did the things you did.
Love,
D
Describe your relationship with your dad as you remember it as a child.
My dad and I had some good times when I was a child. Overall, the relationship was good. I idolized my dad. I used to sit on his lap when he would read the newspaper, I could usually be found outside working with him, raking leaves, pulling weeds, whatever the project called for. I do remember being the only one of my parents' children working alongside either of my parents. My siblings usually made themselves pretty scarce when there was work to be done. No worries, though. I had, at least for the moment, my mom or dad to myself, so if it meant hard work, it seemed to be worth the effort it took. I didn't know that my dad had a drinking problem until I was a little bit older, maybe ten or twelve years old. I do remember that my dad was just this really silly, funny man when he would drink his beer. Sometimes I enjoyed his unpredictability when he would drink. He would drive recklessly and beep his horn and yell obscenities at the other drivers. As a kid, that was cool. The freedom of flying along in a car at pretty good speeds. My cousin liked it too. She would sleep over at my house sometimes and we would scream in the backseat of the station wagon on the drive back to our house. Some gifts that we kids bought him, as children, had beer logos on them. I almost always stuck up for my dad when there was a disagreement. He rarely had any backing, so I would back him up. He knew he had a friend in me, so on holidays I would get gifts that my dad would pick out. Usually my mom shopped for everyone, but my dad would do some of the shopping for me, so it made me feel special. I was like the son he didn't have, even though he had a son when I turned six.
Describe your relationship with your dad as you remember it as a teenager.
Around this age, I started understanding why the drinking was a problem. My dad was a binge drinker. I don't know if that qualifies as an alcoholic. He never missed work due to drinking, but he missed other things, like Easter. Most times, at this age, my dad was someone I enjoyed talking to. He would teach me things like how to change a tire, how to use a table saw, and would talk to me about which colleges looked good, even though financially I would not go because I felt bad saddling my parents with a bill that they could not afford. He was always impressed by my school grades so I worked hard to keep them up. But, I was beginning to understand why my older sister was so embarrassed by him. A few times when she would invite people over, my dad would be sitting in his underwear watching football and drinking beer. He also had too much to drink one night when we had our neighbor friend in the car with us and was yelling out the window at people as we would drive by them (mom was driving). My sister was mortified. When he would drink, he just wasn't quite as funny anymore as when I was a kid. I began to worry about car accidents and about what people thought of my situation. I started having anxiety attacks when I was fourteen. One time he accidentally touched my breast after drinking too much. He was trying to line up the stripes on my shirt. That pissed me off big time. And I hated it that he would make those noises when he would see a pretty woman "mmmmmm."
Describe your relationship with your dad as an adult.
It is definitely good. He is doing the father-son thing with my husband. I know that I am capable of doing some pretty "manly" things due to my relationship with my dad. This is okay for me because I feel self-sufficient as a result. He still gives me advice on everything, but often times he is right and I am grateful for the resource I have in him. But he doesn't make me feel guilty either if I don't take his advice. He respects my opinions and will often ask for my opinion on issues.
I feel happy about my relationship with my dad because...
I learned a lot from him. He supported me in my nerdiness. He's a great guy when he doesn't drink. Some people would say he's a great guy when he does. I wouldn't. He is fun to be around. He can talk about any subject. He's down to earth, typical middle class man. Fred Flintstone or Ralph Kramden is who I would equate him with.
I feel sad about my relationship with my dad because...
Many times my mom was not fulfilling my dad's emotional needs, and he would lean on me. She did not always want to listen to his stories or ideas so he would tell them to me. This would put me at odds with my mom because she felt like I was betraying her by listening to him. It's just all too crazy for me. She would try to starve him by ignoring him and then would get mad when he was being fed by me listening to him. So either way, I would lose.
I feel mad about my relationship with my dad because...
I hated that he didn't have the guts to stand up to my mother and my sister who were laughing at his social clumsiness and sometimes incompetence. They were being disrespectful and he would not even request that they stop. I wanted to scream, "Dad, take your balls out! Show them what you are made of!" And now I marry a man who does just that! Coincidence??? Also, my dad's drinking left me with some really crappy memories and his ogling women still annoys me.
My wishes for our relationship are...
To continue to respect each other and for him to stop encouraging my husband to participate in certain bad behaviors (i.e. looking at women, drinking).
Letter to my dad:
Dad,
What would you say if you could read all of the things I just wrote? Do you remember any of these things? Would you say this is an accurate recollection of how things were? It was years ago, but the memories remain.
I guess now it's my turn to have mom and Dawn standing behind me as I start berating you. I wish all of the great times with you were not overshadowed by the crappy memories of you indulging yourself in alcohol. I just, as a mother, need to ask you what the hell you were thinking when you would take my life in your hands by driving DRUNK, not even under the influence, but piss drunk, man? Are you somehow different from the other drunk drivers on the road? You're special? You're too smart and too good a driver to get caught? Okay, remember the cat you ran over on your way home from drinking with your dad? I do. I remember us kids crying and you wouldn't go back to move it to the side of the road. It could have just as easily been a child, and you are damn lucky it wasn't. How would you have lived with yourself after something like that?
I remember the first time I heard you vomiting after having too much to drink. I was scared that you were going to die that night. I remember thinking you were going to die some of the other times you would get sick from drinking too. I couldn't believe mom would be laughing at you. I was terrified.
And what was with the porn and looking at other women? I know you have no idea about this but Pete was arrested for sex addiction. Do you know what this stuff does to marriages? I was almost divorced over this garbage. I know mom acts like she doesn't care, but I sincerely hope that on some level she does. That she hasn't become so apathetic that it truly doesn't matter to her. Do you know that I was looking at some of your porn as a kid? These were formative years, dad. Why were you so careless?
I think I'll save the praise for when I see you in person, and let you know all the things you did "right" at that time. For now, the only thing I can offer you is forgiveness, if you want it. I can still love you even though I don't understand why you did the things you did.
Love,
D
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