To date, this post has had more attention than anything else I’ve shared: more views, more likes, more comments, more saves, and more shares. By far.
I shared it with the intent to draw awareness to the psychological damage that can be caused by emotional abuse. What I realize is that this is a message that more people need to hear.
In a lot of ways I had a privileged childhood. Both sides of my family are well-educated and accomplished. We weren’t wealthy, but I didn’t want for many things and there was no overt abuse. People were probably confused as to why I was not happier. We look great on paper.
I received the message that I was difficult to love as a child. This is not to say that my childhood was bad or filled with trauma, but there was a lack of affection and connection. I’ve mentioned before that there is addiction in my family, but I want this blog to be about healing and not about blame or the negative behaviour that accompanies this disease so I hope you understand why I keep the focus on myself.
I will make the point that if you are actively numbing yourself in one way or another to the world around you a wall is built. It is much harder to connect with people, be open to their needs, and connect with healthy intimacy. This can be an especially challenging situation for children who look to adults to model relationships, self-worth, and community.
As a child, I had the perception that the discord in our household was because I was not smart enough, active enough, social enough, thin enough, whatever enough. Positive achievement and events were applauded and then backhanded with suggestions on how I could be better next time. Negative events were blown out of proportion and over time lead me to conclude that no matter what I did, my deficits were glaring and insurmountable. I don’t have memories of discussion being encouraged and I recall my efforts to express my feelings being shut down, often with physical barriers as people stormed off and left me.
Interacting in this way was confusing. I don’t think the intent was to make me feel inadequate and unloved, I believe if anything it was to encourage, toughen me up, and ready me for high achievement in the same way that has been done in my family for generations.
In some ways, I guess it did.
I am driven, independent and strong, but I also have a crushingly low opinion of myself and have a lot of trouble being vulnerable and open. To this day, I shrug off compliments and achievements and push myself to the next goal. It’s hard for me to relax without feeling guilty and I am more invested in what other people think than my own opinion of myself. I sometimes feel that people aren’t being sincere when they give me positive feedback, like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop and for them to tell me what I could do to be better.
Although not a conscious choice, it has lead me to sabotage relationships with emotionally healthy people for fear that they would eventually see my flaws and reject me. I believe it has resulted in me choosing to maintain relationships with people who are also emotionally closed because it is more comfortable not to be seen.
Reflecting on my childhood, I was a good kid; I was smart, caring, and cute as hell. I wasn’t hard to love or deficient. Without understanding why, I’ve been angry for her for a long time. As I work through recovery, I’m also starting to feel sorry for the people who couldn’t show her that they loved her in a way she could have understood. Likely because they also had not received this message when they needed it most.
I feel compassion and gratitude for her for continuing to try to protect me by pushing people away and lashing out in anger. I’m sorry that a part of me feels the only way to survive life is to be perfect, invulnerable and alone.
As I patiently wait for my heart to accept what my brain knows I work on giving myself what I needed as a kid: understanding, encouragement, and unconditional love.
I tell myself I’m not hard to love now just like I wasn’t then.