That which my father could not do for me…

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He left my narcissistic mother to her own devices, which meant physical and emotional abuse on a constant basis. He turned his head and pretended his law enforcement radar wasn’t going off. He didn’t want to change the status quo because that would have meant that he wouldn’t have been able to focus on maintaining his alcohol addiction. She punished the adorable little gifted child who learned how to become invisible and perform on demand because she, as the adult, could not control herself. It was always my fault. He was more important than me and so was she because when I asked him for help, he enabled her and reinforced it. I couldn’t talk to anyone because of his job. It was a tiny place. As a grownup, people have told me they felt sorry for me. In pictures, I see them looking down at me with such fierce love and protection, yet they both threatened my safety. And my future.

Nobody helped. 

I became the next generation of emotional casualties in the line of many. Survival meant never being Me, whatever that meant, because it always led to pain and trauma.

I have never resolved these issues directly with my parents and that’s how they will remain. The only use for remembering these things is to further understand that I am a highly sensitive person moving beyond a traumatic background. [But she looks so *normal*…yeah, many of us do.] I’m making progress. I’ve never given up. I never will.

How I did better:

I took my son out of an abusive environment at a critical moment. I had the courage to state to H the way it was going to be with little explanation and no justification whatsoever. I stood up to him. I knew I had done something that my dad, super hero that he is, could never do for me. Further, I’ve deflected H’s negativity and pouting, along with the spin that sounds a bit like “see! It was his/your/their fault!” I stood up to him about that too.

That’s huge.


2 thoughts on “That which my father could not do for me…

  1. My dad did mind games with me. He always wanted me to be a broken spirit. The best thing I ever did was get away from him and his crazy drama. I saw Field of Dreams and realized my father and I had not had one game of catch. If we had he would have thrown the ball as hard as he could. Even now at sixty eight I still feel the scab on my ego. I worked hard not to become like my dad and hope I succeeded. At his funeral was three people including me. His second wife asked why I came because I was not invited. Like I said, Mind Games.

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