I grew up with crazy...but, we called it normal

I was chatting with a friend of mine last night. She lived with an out of control addict for 20+ years. Her kids got into recovery when they were 8 and 10. For years they begged for her to leave the "bastard". After more than 10 years of recovery my friend was finally strong enough to get a divorce. By then the kids were grown. Now the grown kids; also known as Adult Children, the same kids that could see the dysfunction in their parents, are recreating their early childhood patterns in their adult lives. Both of the "kids" married alcoholics.

They had already walked through that pain and trauma of childhood and survived, why would they choose all of that suffering for themselves?

For me, it's so much easier to see someone else's crazy behavior than it is to see mine. I don't even realize what I do. If I could have seen my crazy behavior from outside the fog of emotion and reaction of the moment, I am sure I was the one that looked totally nuts. I remember having a conversation with a friend about my mom's death and I smiled at an inappropriate time - a signal that I was getting significance from my mom's murder - and I didn't realize I had smiled. I was so disconnected from my emotions that it took the guidance of a friend to know that about myself.

I grew up with crazy and recreated crazy as an adult. I watched my parents fight and get divorced and then my mother's murder. My dad was a narcissist - totally unaware of anyone's needs but his own - so I modeled that "love" by marrying addicts. When I was in my early 30s I was in an abusive relationship. It was a power struggle just like my parent's rocky relationship. I remember thinking - clear as day - this is the man that will kill me. Just like it was having lunch on Friday. I expected to live - and die - the same life of my parents.

I read about this goose that was separated from it's mom while it was just an egg. A kind helpful human incubated the egg and when the chick was born it imprinted on the person. It called the person "mom". That goose ALWAYS walked upright like a person vs waddling like a goose. That was it's model for the world and it didn't even realize that it's not "supposed" to walk that way. That's how I was before I got into recovery, I didn't even know that love doesn't hurt, being hit or called names or stony silence is abuse, or that God's wish for me is perfect happiness.

Accepting unacceptable behavior

I've been beaten, I've been raped, I've been tortured, I've been abused. My daddy's
"perfect family" taught me that these things are just part of being a family. It's ironic that my mother's father left when she was four and my grandmother raised my mom and aunt by herself. You'd think that that side of the family - the unacceptable side - would be more abusive. The "perfect" side of my family - the intact family with the football star and the cheerleader - was the side that hid the bruises, cruelty and the pedophilia. To make matters worse, my perfect family called this behavior love.

Both of my grandfather's were alcoholics. Both of my parents were Adult Children that lived with unacceptable behavior and called it "normal", even love. That's why, when my father was cruel to my mother, she took it and hid it from the kids. That's why, when he began beating her, she tried harder and took responsibility for his actions.

In the dysfunction, the perpetrator is never responsible for his own actions - everyone else is. "If I hadn't talked back, if I got better grades, if I was thinner, if I was more beautiful, if I just accept him as he is then he will love me. The victim eventually believes that it is they that are unlovable. It's their fault that no one loves them.

When my dad murdered my mom, he was not responsible. He "felt like an animal in a cage and she just kept poking at him" he "had to do it to protect himself". Each one of the kids - age 7-13 - took responsibility for mom's murder. I should have been there to protect her, my brother knew something was wrong but when he realized that a gun was gone he didn't know what to do - he was 11, my sister opened the door to let my dad in. We shouldered the blame and guilt but the murderer did not.

After the murder, we were expected to go and visit my dad. We were expected to love him after he had taken away the only warm ray of love in our lives. We never talked about why he was in jail. We just pretended that everything was "normal". We tried our best to look perfect.

The perfect house in Almaden was sold. Our things were boxed up and stored at my grandmother's house. There was no debriefing, no accountability, no discussing how to handle things. That whole part of our lives was "removed" and we moved forward.

When boyfriends were selfish I had had worse - my father was the ultimate narcissist so it actually felt familiar. Not good but familiar. When money was taken out of my purse, I put up with it. When my head was slammed into the tile bathroom floor, I took it. I thought I was being loyal and proving my love by staying.


My kid used to get attention by behaving badly. Bad attention was better than being invisible. I did the same thing in relationships. Being seen was preferable to not being seen at all. If I was slapped across the face, I was definitely being noticed. There was even an excitement to being able to get someone's attention to that level. I was so sick.

I have been alone for seven years now. Drama, abuse and cruelty are not part of my life.

When I moved into my apartments in Dallas I was again faced with the power struggle. One of my tenants - a drug addict - had taken on the "alpha" position. Much like the alpha dog, he had chosen my apartments as his territory and had pee'd all over it. He was unpredictable and he had everyone on edge. I noticed the old power struggle energy, I noticed my wanting to knock him off his pedestal. Today I make a different decision. Today I can let that go. It takes two to have an argument and I chose not to argue. I set the rules. I was firm and he chose to move on. Today that drama is unacceptable. Today I choose what behavior is acceptable to me. Today I choose happiness.

Being Good

My stepkid had a hard time in school. He was kicked out of first grade when he stabbed a kid with a pencil out of anger. Three days later he was mine and it became my mission to help him. He had a lot of issues with anger and I think he was abused by his mom but, I think I abused him, too - at least I wish I could have ignored his behavior and loved him more.

I knew he was a smart kid and I often thought his IQ was higher than the "average" which explains why he was bored in school. Our school system is set up to teach at an "average" level - which really means that if you are one of the kids right in the middle of the bell curve then you are getting taught how you need to be taught and everyone else is on their own. The other thing school teaches us is how to conform. On a personal level the teacher cares about each individual kid but in a practical sense, she can't, she has to keep 40 kids on task and "under control". What the kids really learn is to conform. Forget what your gifts and dreams are. Become plain vanilla so the class as a whole can continue. If you conform your teacher loves you and your parents don't have to go to parent teacher conferences and you're not grounded.

Take this the next step into adulthood. It doesn't matter what your gifts are, what you really excel at, or what makes you happy. We get married, we get into debt with the wedding, then we work really hard to pay that off before the kids come. Then we work even harder to send the kids to the right preschool and homework and chauffering kids around and white lies, and soccer practice and more kids and college and suddenly the house is empty and you're 50.

Do you ever wonder who that 5 year old, full of energy and promise, was? Can you remember? Did she dream of SUVs and juggling faster and faster to keep the job she hates?

I try to be good so people will love me but who was that person that everyone loved?