The Adult Child
posted: Mar 15, 03:40 PM
I had a conversation recently with a close friend. When I think about the “conversation” it was more a case of what I was thinking being delicately pulled out of me. This apparently surprised my friend, as I am supposed to be good at talking.
I think I am good about talking about subjects which don’t directly relate to my emotions. When I feel vulnerable, I can’t talk.
So, this reluctance to talk about “the hard stuff” has lead to me writing and specifically has lead to me writing about some of the critical moments in Gemini’s evolution . O.k., how I came to be who I am today. Better?
In the beginning…no, this isn’t going to be long and drawn out, but I am going pretty far back. Back to my family of origin.
I am the oldest of three girls. Our mother was an artist and art teacher for a few years, but then essentially gave up both her work and her art to parent. I remember asking her why she didn’t“do art” and she said “I’m too busy with all of you, I don’t have time.” I don’t think it was her intention to make us feel guilty, but it’s amazing what children take out of interactions.
My father, who died over 20 years ago, was my stability. He was loving, predictable and funny; when he was home. He was a dental specialist with his own practice and worked long hours.
My mother used to say “Wait ‘til your Father gets home!” I always found our lives to be more emotionally balanced when my Father got home, so even as a little kid this didn’t strike the fear into me which I think she intended. In my teens I used to dream about his arriving home as his voice seemed to be the only one she would listen to, and he was fair about listening to us. We didn’t always get a “yes”, but we always received a reasonable reason for his answer or feelings on a subject.
This was important because it was next to impossible to keep up with my Mother’s mood swings. She seemed able to move from happy to angry faster than I can change a light bulb! As an adult I suspect there were a number of reasons for this, but as a child and adolescent it was a stressful and exhausting way to live.
There are days when I think maybe if you think about “life at home” you’ll remember things differently. I don’t. I still hear certain statements which were directed at me…“you’re lazy!”…“you’ll never amount to anything!”…“take that look off your face!”…“don’t wash dirty linen in public” (euphemism for don’t talk about anything to do with family outside the family)…“if your Father has a heart attack it will be YOUR fault!” (used on a frequent basis when we didn’t agree with her) and others I still can’t share, because somewhere deep inside of me, I still think she’s right and you will think less of me when you hear those words too.
My Mother has none of these memories and if my sisters or I try to open discussion about our childhood she immediately asks us “where she was, as she doesn’t remember anything like …”. According to her memory banks life was warm and fuzzy, with lots of friends around, at our house. Yes, there were some warm and fuzzy moments and yes, for several years there were lots of friends around. They were good buffers, she was nice most of the time when they were around.
In case I sound as if I am blaming my Mother for a bad childhood, I’m not. I was physically safe and cared for and both my parents parented the best way they knew how. My childhood wasn’t a bad one, it was ,however, one where I learned to keep “things” to myself.
I grew to understand that once “something” was shared with my mother it could, and probably would be, brought up at times when she thought it would be relevant to the discussion/situation. She could beat a “dead horse” with incredible energy years after the poor thing was buried!
This is a glimpse of why Gemini writes and doesn’t talk to her friends. I am scared to death to talk about me and what hurts, scares, worries me….
I used to talk about the difficult stuff to my Father. He was an incredible listener and very non-judgmental. My Father died of a stroke, I wasn’t there, when he was on vacation.
He’d had at least two heart attacks in the years prior to his death and the words “you’ll give your father a heart attack” stopped me from making certain momentous decisions about my life because I was afraid of how my choices might affect him emotionally. This phrase also stopped me talking through problems with the one person who had never let me down emotionally. What little talking I was given to, stopped when my Father had his first heart attack.
I hope writing here will help me finally learn to talk about my feelings when I know I need to. I also hope my writing gives you a more complete sense of who I am…
Gemini
Note: I know my Da would have encouraged and supported my choices and would have reminded me that my happiness was what he wanted. I miss him.