Acknowledging my abusive childhood

[kleeborp]

Hello.
I'm a 36 year old father of a beautiful 6 and 2 year old.

My wife and I started to do some couples therapy to work on our communication skills and some of the codependent tendencies I demonstrate. Eventually, we started discussing my childhood and my mom and I casually mentioned how scared and nervous I was when she would come home from work, because I could never know what sort of mood she would be in.
This led to a kind of 'aha' moment where my therapist reasoned that a lot of my codependency stemmed from having to navigate and manage my mother's emotions for survival. She said that it seemed like my mother had narcissistic and borderline traits and recommended me some books to look at and see what sort of feelings I had about them.


I quickly made my way through 'Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents' 'Understanding the Borderline Mother' and 'Stop Walking on Eggshells' along with discovering this forum and a subreddit dedicated to living with borderlines.
To say I was overwhelmed by shared experiences would be an understatement.

I had a rough, confusing, inconsistent childhood. But I had always just assumed it was fairly standard. I justified the abuse because I didn't have anything to compare it to. My mother would hit me, she knocked me out on one occasion, but she always told us that Grandma would hit her with sticks, so we had it easy.
She told me she hated me. She'd be better off without me. That I was worthless. She'd rage and yell and slap. But I was never bloodied and rarely bruised and even if she never apologized, she said she loved me sometimes and I was fed and stuff, so it was ok, right? It's how parents act sometimes.
In highschool I ate a bottle of Tylenol because I was sure that would be enough to end me. I passed out on the stairs. I remember the absolute panic I had when I woke up to her screaming at me. Not with concern, but rage. She took me to hospital and I lied. About everything. Voraciously and instinctively. I knew the punishment would be extreme if she figured out what I'd actually failed to do.
The doctors let me go and I justified the attempt as just something angsty teens do.

I moved out, eventually married the most beautiful, amazing woman, and things between my mother seemed to be ok.i thought we had both grown and I tried to put the past in the past, ignore my emotional scars, and move forward.
About 8 months ago we had a disagreement that I'll skip over, but while I thought we could discuss our issues like mature adults, she raged again. Raged like I hadn't seen in ten years. And then everything sort of came cascading back.
She told me she wanted to burn my house down, to cut her wrists and make me watch. She pulled her arm back to hit me again as a 36 yr old adult.
I had no idea what to do, so I sat there and let her rage and berate me for two hours. My car was on the street and it never occurred to me that I could leave.

So. Blindsided and reeling, I met with my therapist and started reading. Reading and remembering and reliving.

It's so wierd to acknowledge that I had an abusive childhood. It's so strange and validating to me that I'm not alone. That I'm.not crazy. That other people have had similar experiences.
I thought I was crazy that I can tell how someone is feeling by the way they walk. That my wife stomping up the stairs makes me freeze sometimes. That other people had to lie about hide things they liked so they wouldn't be taken/destroyed. But I'm not, and it's so validating.

I was sure that verbal abuse didnt count. That because I didnt have to seek medical attention I wasnt getting hit that hard. That other kids were lieing about not being scared of their mom's.

I was sure I was going to be childfree. That I didn't like kids. But then I got to hang out with my little neices and nephews and realized kids are kind if awesome. And I had two of my own and I can't begin to describe how amazing and wonderful they are and how much I love them and love taking care of them. It turns out I wasn't that I didn't like kids, but that I didn't like being a kid.

So now I'm doing the work. Always, always doing the work.

I find myself filled with such a whirlwind of vibrant, conflicting emotions the more and I read, and understand and actively acknowledge parts about my mom. The dissonance is unreal.

Like resentment. I resent being in a position to have to do this emotional work sometimes. I resent that she parented under a philosophy of 'i got hit, you can get hit too' where I parent my kids by 'i got hit, so you will never.' I resent that I can never have a meaningful conversation with her about my attempt without shattering her self image. I resent not being able to share with her what I've learned or help her. I resent that I never had the mother I needed or deserved. I resent a lot of my childhood but I'm learning to accept it. My feelings are real and valid and I'm allowing myself to feel them, to grieve, and to let it go.

I feel so much empathy for her now, too. I resent that a little too. But the world isn't black and white and the nuance and dichotomy of feeling multiple conflicting emotions is valid, too.

I remember being 15 or something (who can say, thanks trauma amnesia, amirite?) and getting into an argument with her and knowing the hit was coming. I squared my jaw and she connected and I just took it and locked eyes with mine just filled with rage and hate, she took another swing and then broke down crying and left. I was so thrilled to have 'won' that interaction...

Looking back, I'm so sorry that little me had to do that to survive. It's terrible. But, as a parent now myself, I can empathize with my mom too. It would break my heart to ever hit my kid (and of course, I absolutely never would) but if my daughter ever looked at me the way I've looked at my mom, my heart would vaporize. I will never try to justify or excuse her actions, but I understand now that she didn't have the tools, she couldn't choose not to react in anger. It was instinct and personality disorders.

I read somewhere that you can drown in 20ft of water or 7, or 7inches. You're still dead. You can't compare trauma.
I know that other people had terrible childhoods too. Worse maybe. But that doesn't mean that I'm not scarred. Acknowledging that and validating that for myself has been such a trip.

I'm sad too. And disappointed. It's hard knowing that there's nothing you can do to help. She'll always be like this. She'll never get help. Not for me. And not for herself.
It's disappointing to know that I'll be able to totally let my guard down around her again. That I'll never be comfortable letting her around my kids unaccompanied.
But also it's comforting to know I can just leave. That wasn't a tool I had before. I'll know the signs of her ramping up and we'll just pack ourselves up and skedaddle. I don't have a responsibility to manage her emotions anymore. I never should have. I have a responsibility to protect my kids from ever feeling a single iota of what I did.

I'm proud of myself. For surviving. For doing the work. For choosing to grow and forgive and learn.
I know I'm not done by means. I'm got some brainspotting scheduled even, so we'll see what kind of garbage that dredges up for me to deal with.
I'm excited too. I'm excited to be the parent that I needed. I've definitely learned what not to do.
My parenting motto has been that 'patience is a choice. Choose patience' and im willing to extend that same grace to my mom.

It's hard. It's work. But I would do anything for my kids. Break chains and cycles. Feel hurts and recognize pain. They will never feel a hand raised against them. They will never feel the ego shattering hurt of words said in anger. They will never be scared of me, feel unsafe in their home, or wonder if they get 'nice dad or mean dad' today. They deserve better than that. I did too.

[Methuen]

Hi Kleeborp.  Welcome to our group!

I feel so connected to your state of mind, as it comes through your writing to me.  The awareness, the acknowledgements, the acceptance, the empathy and the compassion including self-compassion.

This led to a kind of 'aha' moment where my therapist reasoned that a lot of my codependency stemmed from having to navigate and manage my mother's emotions for survival.

I thought we could discuss our issues like mature adults, she raged again. Raged like I hadn't seen in ten years. And then everything sort of came cascading back.
She told me she wanted to burn my house down, to cut her wrists and make me watch. She pulled her arm back to hit me again as a 36 yr old adult.
I had no idea what to do, so I sat there and let her rage and berate me for two hours. My car was on the street and it never occurred to me that I could leave.

It's so wierd to acknowledge that I had an abusive childhood.  It turns out I wasn't that I didn't like kids, but that I didn't like being a kid.

I resent being in a position to have to do this emotional work sometimes. I resent that she parented under a philosophy of 'i got hit, you can get hit too' where I parent my kids by 'i got hit, so you will never.' I resent that I can never have a meaningful conversation with her about my attempt without shattering her self image. I resent not being able to share with her what I've learned or help her. I resent that I never had the mother I needed or deserved. I resent a lot of my childhood but I'm learning to accept it. My feelings are real and valid and I'm allowing myself to feel them, to grieve, and to let it go.

I read somewhere that you can drown in 20ft of water or 7, or 7inches. You're still dead. You can't compare trauma.
I know that other people had terrible childhoods too. Worse maybe. But that doesn't mean that I'm not scarred. Acknowledging that and validating that for myself has been such a trip.

I'm sad too. And disappointed. It's hard knowing that there's nothing you can do to help. She'll always be like this. She'll never get help. Not for me. And not for herself.
It's disappointing to know that I'll be able to totally let my guard down around her again. That I'll never be comfortable letting her around my kids unaccompanied.
But also it's comforting to know I can just leave. That wasn't a tool I had before. I'll know the signs of her ramping up and we'll just pack ourselves up and skedaddle. I don't have a responsibility to manage her emotions anymore. I never should have. I have a responsibility to protect my kids from ever feeling a single iota of what I did.

I'm proud of myself. For surviving. For doing the work. For choosing to grow and forgive and learn.
I know I'm not done by means. I'm got some brainspotting scheduled even, so we'll see what kind of garbage that dredges up for me to deal with.
I'm excited too. I'm excited to be the parent that I needed. I've definitely learned what not to do.

This.  All of it.

With this disease, I think it might be possible for it to stay lurking in the background under ideal or "ok" conditions, but because they are unwilling to address their internal issues, the fire burns within and is just waiting to flare up again when they are triggered by "anything".  Their rage is like a forest fire that burns underground in the snow all winter, and then flares up again in the spring or summer when the conditions are right. 

I'm 61, and I only recently acknowledged that I had a terrible mother.  How did I miss this for so long?  In other aspects of my life (i.e. not as a daughter) including my career, people recognize me as being "perceptive".  And yet I couldn't perceive my own situation until a few years ago.  It's really only in the last few days that I was able to say "I had a terrible mother".

I was walking on some trails with a friend recently, who relayed a story about a monk somewhere who said that when you boil it all down, what the world needs is more kindness.

I really connect to that. And yes, patience too.

It's lovely to have you join us. Welcome.

[Methuen]

It's occurred to me that it's also likely that your mom's rage could have been directed elsewhere over the 10 year interval you mentioned.

My life got better when I left home, went to university and had children.  A little over 20 years later, it got a LOT worse when my father died.  He was a genuinely good person, and I would dearly love to have a conversation with him today about what he must have silently endured after I left home, and probably sheltered me from.  There would be so much for us to talk about and support each other with.

After he died, my mom needed a new person to dump on, and as an only child living nearby, I was "it".  This was a completely new level of disorder from what I had experienced in childhood.

As they age and incur losses like hearing, sight, mobility, driving and suffer chronic and acute health issues from all their stored trauma, the mistreatment on their target can actually get worse in my experience.

I am happy for you that you are figuring all this out in your 30's.  I fell into the trap of trying to be the "good daughter" well into my 50's before I accepted the reality that despite my wanting the relationship with my mom and to "help her", she was un-help-able and I would never  be "good enough" for her. 

Good on you!  Take care of yourself, and your wife and those amazing children! Go forth and find joy and live your life! 

[zachira]

You've seen the light and get it that your children are not safe being alone with your mother, nor are you. My mother with BPD is deceased and I did not figure it out until very late in life that I had been abused. The best piece of advice my therapist ever gave me was that when in the presence of a disordered person was to focus on how I was feeling inside instead of taking on the feelings of the disordered person who was trying to dump their disordered feelings onto me so he/she would not have to acknowledge their own feelings. When we have a mother with BPD who has frequent meltdowns and targets her children to unleash her anger on, we are on a long journey to own our own feelings while allowing the disordered people in our lives to own their feelings. Having a mother with BPD is a lifelong sorrow. I have much respect for how you truly get what is going on with your mother. Keep up the good work on separating your emotional system from your mother's while being the kind of father all children deserve and being married to a wonderful woman who supports you in this journey. I have heard that brainspotting is really effective for healing from traumatic memories.

[Notwendy]

Yes, our stories have some similarities and I think this may be a bit of a natural course of things. The family we grow up in is the only reference point we have- we don't know what "normal" is. I think unless the abuse is extreme (like severe neglect of injuries)- what we experienced doesn't catch anyone's attention. We don't see it as abuse. We don't know anything else. I had the impression that abuse meant it was abuse all the time. I know now that it can cycle.

When we grow up in disordered families, we learn behaviors that allow us to function and feel safe in these families, but are dysfunctional in our adult relationships. I also had to work on co-depedency which caused issues in relationships. Of my parents, I didn't want to behave like my BPD mother, so my father, who was co-dependent, became my model of "normal". (along with role modeling desirable behaviors too).

I also though my mother had improved for a time after moving out. I think what happened is that we weren't home all the time any more and we didn't see what was going on. I also think perhaps parents get a bit of a reprieve with the empty nest. Dad didn't have the responsibility of supporting kids. That was less stress on him- and so he probably was able to be emotionally supportive to BPD mother a bit more. When my parents visited - it was both of them together and she also could hold it together in front of my kids for short visits.

I realized later that the thinking she was better wasn't true although I also think it was wishful thinking- I wished for it and so wanted to believe it.

But if there is a stressor- then we see the behaviors. For you, it was an argument with your mother. For Methuen and me- it was when our fathers were not able to maintain their emotional caretaking.

What made me realize it was abuse was when a local DV shelter had a fund raiser. They were selling T shirts that said "Love doesn't hurt" and handing out pamphlets about kinds of abuse. But I realized that in my house growing up, there was hurt, and fear, and if I dared to ask about it, the reply was "of course your mother loves you". Then why am I so afraid of her? Like you, I can tell a person's mood from accross the room. Riding home on the school bus, I didn't know what "mood" I'd find my mother in. I was afraid to invite friends home from school as I was afraid of them seeing her in one of her "moods".

First I think we need to remember and process- for the sake of our own understanding what happened- and the behaviors we learned to cope in these situations- and which ones are not functional for us now. Then- we need to move forward. It doesn't mean we forget, but we do need to process and let go of resentments so we can move forward. For me, it took counseling and 12 steps CODA/ACA. This is not a fast process and it's always a work in progress- but the work is worth it.

I recall the first time my BPD mother said something to me that would have been hurtful but that time, I didn't emotionally react to it the same way. I just thought "well that was strange" and that was all of it. I knew then that the emotional work was being effective. Is it always like this? No. This is a significant person to us. There are times I do feel the comments are hurtful, but I don't react to her the same way as before. I can also recognize what is happening and rationalize better. Keep up your work and it can get better. You can recognize that your mother is repeating behaviors she learned as a child. You now have a chance to do better with your own family and not perpetuate the cycle.

[Tired_of_This24]

I had a rough, confusing, inconsistent childhood. But I had always just assumed it was fairly standard. I justified the abuse because I didn't have anything to compare it to.

So much of this resonates with me, but especially this section. We thought it was normal, and most likely we all thought that it was because of something we had done or just that we were not good enough.

It’s a lot of work to undo terrible parenting and to redo it well for ourselves. I resent having to do that too, very much. But I love how you frame it as being proud of yourself for doing the work. I hope I can get to that feeling someday too.

[Notwendy]

So much of this resonates with me, but especially this section. We thought it was normal, and most likely we all thought that it was because of something we had done or just that we were not good enough.

It’s a lot of work to undo terrible parenting and to redo it well for ourselves. I resent having to do that too, very much. But I love how you frame it as being proud of yourself for doing the work. I hope I can get to that feeling someday too.

You can do it- and it can happen. I have done some work too. It's an investment in yourself. We can't change the past, or the disordered person but the work on ourselves is worth it. For me, this has been through counseling and 12 step CODA, ACA groups.

Our childhood families of origin do feel "normal" as it's the only one we know growing up. My BPD mother's perspective of other people is through her disordered thinking and projections but a child can't understand that.