A few months ago my husband and I read "When The Body Says No" by Gabor Mate, this book brought out emotions related to my parents that no psychologist was able help me with. The psychologist would say that I was angry at my father but I wouldn't understand why she would say that given that my father was perfect, or so I thought. When I spoke of painful situations provoked by him, a justification would follow.
When I was a little girl, my father would work a lot and mom would stay home taking care of me and my brother. My dad worked Monday to Saturday and at least on one weekday and during weekends he would go out with his friends to some bar or someone else's house. The problem was that he would go there immediately after work and stood there until late, and we would see him only during lunch time. This happend during several years and I lived constantly worried about him, fearing something would happen to him. I would get up a midnight to check if he had arrived and wouldn't sleep well until I was sure he was in bed. My mother, in her desire to protect us, wouldn't tell us the truth. I grew up taking care of them, aware of their needs, assuring they wouldn't feel bad emotionally about anything, I grew up thinking that my parentes were unable to do something for me and feeling guilty.
I was a strong little girl, I could do things on my own, I could take care of me. I cannot recall consciously whether they made explicit comments telling me that I had to do it all by myself or that I had to be perfect, I think mostly I interpret it as such. With Gabor Mate's book I had an episode where I cried inconsolably feeling anger towards them, the feeling lasted several days. I realized I felt abandoned, uncared for, unloved. I felt for a moment hatred, sadness, and I judged them. It was like someone had opened the faucet releasing what had been accumulated for years. I didn't talk to them for a week, I didn't want to do it. Until the emotion receded a bit and I was able to internalize it. Now I think they did what they could with what they had, within their capabilities.
We have a reading group and we are right now with Aleta Edwards' "Fear of the Abyss" and I identify myself a litle less with the PCS personality after a relapse of the auto-immune condition I have. My perfectionism and control softened after it. Last week I spend a week with my parents at the beach, away from TV and the city noise. Mom was taking yoga instruction and was away all morning, so I had the chance to observe my relationship with dad.
What I discovered was that I do not have an intimate relationship with him, meaning that I cannot tell him what I feel or make observations on his conduct. And what I have been asking myself is whether it is because I wouldn't give myself the chance or because I don't think he will be able to confort me or give emotinal support. He is an anxious person, little connected with his own feelings and unable to express sadness, anger or exhaustion. He is always fine. What I have felt with this is a sense of loss and mourning. I feel like I don't have a father, I cannot explain it, I just feel great sadness. It is like something in me died, but I don't know what it is. I didn't suffer abuse on their part, they are loving parents, and have supported me a lot with decisions I have made, have been there all the time and for that I am profoundly thankful, but now I can recognize that there were bitter moments too.
When I was a little girl, my father would work a lot and mom would stay home taking care of me and my brother. My dad worked Monday to Saturday and at least on one weekday and during weekends he would go out with his friends to some bar or someone else's house. The problem was that he would go there immediately after work and stood there until late, and we would see him only during lunch time. This happend during several years and I lived constantly worried about him, fearing something would happen to him. I would get up a midnight to check if he had arrived and wouldn't sleep well until I was sure he was in bed. My mother, in her desire to protect us, wouldn't tell us the truth. I grew up taking care of them, aware of their needs, assuring they wouldn't feel bad emotionally about anything, I grew up thinking that my parentes were unable to do something for me and feeling guilty.
I was a strong little girl, I could do things on my own, I could take care of me. I cannot recall consciously whether they made explicit comments telling me that I had to do it all by myself or that I had to be perfect, I think mostly I interpret it as such. With Gabor Mate's book I had an episode where I cried inconsolably feeling anger towards them, the feeling lasted several days. I realized I felt abandoned, uncared for, unloved. I felt for a moment hatred, sadness, and I judged them. It was like someone had opened the faucet releasing what had been accumulated for years. I didn't talk to them for a week, I didn't want to do it. Until the emotion receded a bit and I was able to internalize it. Now I think they did what they could with what they had, within their capabilities.
We have a reading group and we are right now with Aleta Edwards' "Fear of the Abyss" and I identify myself a litle less with the PCS personality after a relapse of the auto-immune condition I have. My perfectionism and control softened after it. Last week I spend a week with my parents at the beach, away from TV and the city noise. Mom was taking yoga instruction and was away all morning, so I had the chance to observe my relationship with dad.
What I discovered was that I do not have an intimate relationship with him, meaning that I cannot tell him what I feel or make observations on his conduct. And what I have been asking myself is whether it is because I wouldn't give myself the chance or because I don't think he will be able to confort me or give emotinal support. He is an anxious person, little connected with his own feelings and unable to express sadness, anger or exhaustion. He is always fine. What I have felt with this is a sense of loss and mourning. I feel like I don't have a father, I cannot explain it, I just feel great sadness. It is like something in me died, but I don't know what it is. I didn't suffer abuse on their part, they are loving parents, and have supported me a lot with decisions I have made, have been there all the time and for that I am profoundly thankful, but now I can recognize that there were bitter moments too.