That's not so bad, right? Wife2's journey to understanding - and yes - triggers

[Wife#2]

Got a few minutes - posting a quick memory.  The last time I saw Sally alive (emotional flashbacks with triggers for me):

Time before last:

Dad was still living in the small town where the divorce took place. He hadn't yet remarried, which puts me around 12-13. So, Sally was about 13-14. Once before this, Dad and Stepmom and I drove to the institution where Sally lived. It was a great place, one of the best in the whole country. Dad was able to be relaxed about this place, because of the quality of care he knew Sally was getting.

So, the three of us drive the hour to the center, then wait about half an hour before they bring us in to her room. It's a nice room, it looks a lot like my sister's dormitory at college. Sally is there. She knows Dad and has apparently taken well to Stepmom, but she doesn't know me. I had only been there twice in 5 years, once with Mom and once with Dad. Anyway, the visit goes well. Sally isn't sure she likes me, but as long as Pepsi is part of the deal, she's fine with me around. She does her best to remain the center of attention, as if that was going to be an issue. The trip WAS all about her. Dad was just trying to see that his two youngest daughters got along.

Since that trip went well, Dad tried again a few months later. It's near both of our birthday (same month, less than a year apart), so Dad figures we could do a small party at his apartment. Since that earlier trip, he's been bringing her to his apartment for day-trip visits. Dad gets me from my mother's house. Then, drives all the way (three hours) to get Sally. Then, the hour back to his apartment. Again, as long as Pepsi is involved and Dad and Stepmom are there, Sally is ok with all this.

But, when we get to his apartment and I stay with everyone else, things are now not according to the pattern. I am a problem to her. She begins grunting and biting herself (she'd done this as a kid a lot, I'd seen her hand and it was nearly healed) and rocking. These are all Sally's high-stress signals. Not seeing them was more rare than seeing them in my experience. And, sure enough, here we were again.

I start to cry. My sister hates me. Dad is torn, his two babies can't even be in the same room together. It's time to drive Sally back home. She never even took her jacket off. I stay at Dad's apartment, I have nowhere else to go anyway and she will NOT tolerate me in the car anymore. After they leave, I cry to my stepmother about how Sally has always hated me. She tries to calm me, but she has no idea what it's like for me. I'm maybe 13 and my own flesh & blood sister hates me. As much as she loves our Dad, she won't stay with HIM because of ME.

After that, I decide as such a mature person (NOT), that I will love her, but that I don't want to put myself OR her through that again. She's told me as plainly as if she had words how she felt about me. The scariest part to me was that Dad's words later that weekend SOUNDED like he was consoling me, but it still came across as MY FAULT things went so disastrously.

Fast forward to her funeral.

Sally passed away in her sleep early one evening, not long after my brother died. Sally was the third of my siblings to die. I was 34, she was 35. I knew I would be driving Mom to the town. I hadn't been back, didn't even know that Sally had been in a half-way house, let alone where it was. I made good on never visiting her again. Dad and Stepmom had been in control of everything, even already having a burial plot for her in case they died before she did - she'd be taken care of. Mom and I drove up - six hours from where we now live.

I am eat up with guilt and doing my best to be by my Mom's side since we are literally in Stepmother's family territory. Mom is so deeply on the defensive and I can't blame her a bit. She was not included in any of the decisions related to Sally, not one. She was told about a few, but not included. So, she's been made to feel useless and interfering, enough to trigger any woman who's just lost her third child, let alone a uBPD mother! Mom may have her own issues going on, but I'm deeply sympathetic to her situation. My sympathy actually costs me in the eyes of my siblings, which is a dynamic I never do sort out.

At the funeral, Mom and I feel so DISincluded that we sit at the back of the church. THIS IS MY MOTHER'S CHILD! The one for whom she'd done 35 years of penance in her heart! And SHE was made to feel like an interloper on the family pew?! So, my chips are on my shoulder as it is. Then, Dad gives his eulogy. It's beautiful. He starts crying, which of course gets all of us children crying. But, something starts pricking at me. And it hurts! Wait, this man is speaking as if this girl NEVER hurt A FLY.... So, what am I? I mean really? She kicked, bit, punched me to get me away from her. All of my memories of her are of an angry face. I didn't even know she COULD smile until I saw pictures later. I didn't know she could be warm and welcoming - I'd never experienced that with her. He says she loved everyone (not me) and was a spiritually pure person (really? maybe to you!).

He spoke as if she'd never had a cross thought or action towards anyone her whole life. I had enough. I was hurt. He was lying, but he believed his lies! To him, that IS who she was. All those years when, for MY SAFETY, they had to institutionalize her weren't her fault, so whose fault were they? MINE? REALLY? Blame the victim?

For once in my life, I was angry enough to confront my father. Not at the funeral. I was already decidedly in Camp Mom, therefore ostracized enough. I waited until I got home, and like a chicken, wrote a scathing letter to him. I poured my heart out, all the hurt, guilt for not living up to the standards of Sally, guilt for being the cause of Sally NOT being in the family home all those years, anger at him making me feel that guilt, anger at the lies as if what I remember didn't even happen. That was the beginning of the end of the close relationship (as if we'd already had one) between me and Dad. He called when he got the letter, full of tears, tears that he hurt me so badly, but also tears of frustration - I WAS just like my mother, it seems.

The terms he used, I've found out were pretty passive-aggressive non-apologies. 'I'm sorry you feel that I hurt you so badly by being honest at the funeral'. I'm sorry you think we weren't there for you (In my head screaming - then DO something about it!). I'm sorry you think I was a lousy Dad - that one really got to me. I loved my Dad so much and wanted his acknowledgment that I mattered so badly, that I tried to take back every harsh thing I'd written. Honestly, he wasn't so much a lousy dad as an absent dad - to me at least. He did the right things and said the right things when he was there, he just wasn't there much.

Anyway, since then, I've been an outsider in the family. I guess we're not supposed to express our negative emotions. Dad and I still talk. I still love him and his wife. I've since come to understand more about my mother's uBPD, though I knew a lot about that anyway (I'd already been in therapy several times). I knew that Mom was an issue, but she didn't deserve the treatment she got from my STEPMOTHER's family at that funeral. THEY hadn't had to deal with what Mom dealt (or failed, but that's not THEIR business) with. THEY hadn't had to feel the blame wash off Dad all over Mom. I could feel it, some was directed at me for not visiting my sister (??!!??).

The event of my sister's death and my reaction against my Dad about the eulogy have driven a wedge between me and the rest of my family. I am on the outside, desperately confused about why, because it had already been there for years, deeply sad and lonely because of the rift.

I had thought that maybe, just maybe, I would be redeemed when I had my son. Maybe, they would deem HIM worthy of family-hood with them. Nope, because he's my son, he's not worth the time, money or effort to drive to see, though my niece, who lives farther away than I do, IS worth the drive.

I am not a member of my family of origin, but nobody had the BALLS to say it to my face. They just disappear until their guilt gets too strong and they feel they HAVE to invite me (like Mother's Day). Outside of those few times, they act as if the biggest favor I could do them all is to die - and take my H with me, so they could get their hands on my son and raise him 'the right way'.

All this went on before I met my husband, before I was sexually harassed by a boss, before I was suicidal and depressed (that was a long time ago, I'm not that depressed now). I've felt like an outcast, like I didn't fit, like my brother (the golden child to both parents) was right when he said - of course you're adopted, you sure don't belong HERE with US!

I'm not so sure why this is playing on my heart so strongly. It's mostly that I can't get that image of Sally biting her hand, jacket still on, rocking like she'd done as a kid and feeling like I'd never be good enough to my Dad or my sister, or anybody. All I can think right now is how that was a seminal moment in my life - pointing out to me how family would always side against me. Even Mom unless I was defending her. But, her I can blame the uBPD for her stuff. What was it that convinced the siblings who remain that I am too damaged and too whatever to be worth relationship with? I keep coming back to that. What did I do wrong and how can I fix it so that I can have a family other than my husband?

My brother once verbally attacked my husband because my sister didn't like how he answered her question (long story). Point is, he didn't know what was going on, only that my sister and my husband were having words - in MY hotel room! GC brother charges in there, blasting my husband verbally, not even stopping to ask what was going on. He was justified in his mind because 'We defend our own in THIS family, buster'. Oh, really? Is that a fact? Just more proof that I was NOT a member of THIS family - my feelings have been trampled so many times, I just put a carpet over them. The last time I was at GC's house, he and his wife ganged up on me because I'm not 'of the family faith'. So, my inability to declare Mary a perpetual virgin and sinless (supposedly only Jesus managed that) and also ascended into Heaven means I don't deserve to be in the family? I didn't become an atheist, just a regular Christian (Sorry to those Roman Catholics out there - great religion, glad I had it growing up, but just couldn't take a vow that my faith included every piece of RC dogma).

But, I still want in the family! I still so desperately WANT them to love me, to count ME worthy. Knowing I'll never get it, I still weep with the wanting of a family I knew had my back (I say they do, they say they do, it hasn't been proven yet, I'm nearly 50). I STILL want my Dad to acknowledge that he was absent during my childhood and chose to be absent during my young adult years. I want to hear him say that he was wrong to put so much emotional and geographical distance between us and that he's sorry. BUT HE'S NOT, so that would be a lie.

Ok, I'm done with my rant. And my tears (for a while).

[Wife#2]

Ok, starting to get a time-line to help me understand...
* At birth, given to Godparents for three weeks, until Mom can be released from hospital.
* At three weeks, brought into the home. Immediately apparent to adults that sibling (Sally) does not want this baby in the house. She's just over a year old herself.
* Dad and Mom have no idea how to cope with Sally, let alone a baby YOUNGER than Sally, along with all the other children.
* Parents realize that institutionalization may be the only answer for Sally, to help me (I'm not thriving). Possible source of walls between Dad and me? Blaming me since the family worked until I was there?
* The year of the accidents, I'm one of the first to injure myself that year (fell, stitches to chin). The medical bills convince depressed Dad to attempt suicide. Now, he's even more depressed, having added to his expenses.
* Teasing by brother - mean in tone and constant and nobody tells him to stop, so I believe what he tells me. I'm stupid, don't belong in this family, was found and adopted. He is the second sibling to get away with hitting me. I fight back with him, though - often landing us both in trouble.
* Not sure about details, but was VERY skinny growing up. Dad recently commented that he wondered what was wrong, but nobody took me to a doctor. I've seen pictures, I was VERY skinny. Perhaps believing brother, chose not to waste family resources by eating very much? Certainly still failure to thrive at 7 years old. But, I'm smart so the parents figure it's all ok. I do remember clearly that it was a fend-for-yourself dinner table in our house. We often had company. I was the youngest and smallest. Mom was too busy helping Sally (back in the home) to notice if I didn't get enough to eat. Dad, when he was there, was usually talking with the older kids at the other side of the table and didn't notice.
* Oldest two sisters left to care for us youngers while Mom and Dad go out. Oldest fixes pot pies in the oven. They give me mine first and I take it to the living room instead of the kitchen or dining room. It flips into my lap as I sit, giving me 3rd degree burns on the inside of both thighs. The sisters do all they can think of to help me, but no doctor is called. The parents return home. There is nothing to be done at this point, the blisters are already over 2" high on each leg. They do take me to a doctor the next day. As Mom said, nothing to be done except keep the legs clean and dry until the blisters drain on their own. Mean brother finds this absolutely hysterical and wastes no time teasing me about my 'leaky' legs and walking funny. At 7, I'm asked to sit on a training potty instead of the sofa in case my blisters leak.
* Summers of the Spanish boys - no memories while earlier years are clear.
* Summer Mom runs away from all of us, to cousins in another state.
* Summer Mom brings all us kids to same cousins, we kids are left to make friends with these cousins and entertain ourselves - Mom is NOT here for family building with us.
* Moved from a big city to a very, very, very small township (One blinking light on the highway only). Now, I feel like a foreigner in my family and I am a foreigner in school. Heart-parents are with me on that move. They have their own troubles and start spending less time with me. Mean-teasing brother now too occupied with his friends to pay any attention to me, mean or not.
* Mom and Dad divorce. We lose the house we're living in (big whup - didn't care about the house, but will miss the woods). The new house Mom moves to is quiet, nice and dark. Then, the fleas take over. Within a year, Mom and I move to another city, smaller than the earlier one - she can't sell the house because of the fleas, they're that bad. She blames Dad because he divorced her.
* Mom's boss's daughter molests me during a sleep-over.
* Mom and I are in an outdoor drama production. One of the men in the cast tries to molest me. Though I'm only 12, Mom allows me and a boy in the cast to 'date' as her way of keeping me safe. Because we're 'dating', he believes it's ok to feel me up and kiss me. Eventually, he tries to coerce me into sex. That doesn't work, but I still feel used by him. It's a small town and he's happy to tell all the boys how far he got with me - and that my Mom KNEW! I was actually thankful when Mom moved. And that mean bro stayed with our Dad.
* It's just Mom and me in this city. We have no extended family or support. I get into fights at school, and it's because I don't fit in well - the other kids pick them and I just don't back down.
* I'm convinced the house Mom chose is haunted. I think it's a girl living in the attic - but strangely feel comforted when I sit in the attic. That is the summer of the peeping tom, the break-ins and the peeping tom who breaks in. Mom doesn't believe until she has no choice. My word alone is not enough. She only believes when SHE is face-to-face with one of them.
* We move again. Same city, but puts me in a different school district. I'm starting all over again. She now has support network of friends.  I like her friends, so this is ok.
* Mom begins to travel for work. I'm 15 (my 15th birthday) and being left home alone. She's told my siblings, who call, send cards (one sent a balloon bouquet). Mean brother drives from military base nearby, arrives drunk, orders me around (my best friend was staying with me), treats my friend like a problem - even though he didn't tell Mom he was coming and certainly didn't tell her he'd be drunk.
* I have to walk to work, school, home wherever, unless Mom feels like helping. I sometimes respect that as teaching me that my choices have consequences (OK, I oversleep, I walk to school). Other times, I can't believe that she'd rather some person she's never met drive me home late at night after work than for her to get off the sofa and get me.
* At college, I finally start having boyfriends. I wouldn't know a healthy relationship if it was right in front of me. First boyfriend from another country (NOT Spain). We visit Mom, she lands in hospital because of ?heart attack? No, acid reflux. When we get back to school, boyfriend dumps me. Begins seeing a friend of mine - they're engaged within weeks.
* First therapist. One visit. Wants to put me on an antidepressant, no follow-up appointment. I don't fill the prescription.
* First love, very intense, before the end of my freshman year, he dumps me for his ex-girlfriend, mother of his baby which is due in weeks. I cry for him and the baby, not for myself being dumped. I begin journaling for the first time in years, at the suggestion of my sister/Heart-Mom.
* Mom moves to a different state. My sister helps her. My stuff is thrown into trash bags for the move. Over summer break, I go to the new place and try to sort out my stuff. I get a job. Again, I have to walk or ride a bus or catch a ride. I managed.
* Brother that I consider heart-Dad writes family, coming out of the closet. This surprises nobody, but still causes LOTS of drama in the family. Dad rejects him, GC military bro follows suit, begins telling people he has 6 sisters. Tension is high between those who support Gay Bro and those who reject him. I'm in the support team.
* Heart bro defaults on loan from Dad. Dad uses this as excuse to stop paying for my college. I am homeless. I ask Dad to live with him - NO. I ask Mom to live with her - NO. Heart bro? Sorry, would if I could. Heart sis - OK, but only for a few months. I'm not homeless. (Best 6 months of my young adult life there - sis had her own issues and demons, but is wonderfully helpful and supportive to me - teaching me lots about being an adult woman.
* I move with college friend, fellow drop-out, to a new city where I know nobody. Situation is toxic and gets worse. I end up homeless and scrambling 5 times in 3 years there. Keeping a job is hard when I have no transportation.
* One of my coworkers date-rapes me and laughs that he's just given me AIDS. (Fortunately not true). I decide not to prosecute as I did let him in my apartment - too hard to prove and this was before date-rape was known to happen so much.
*After three years of struggles, Mom lets me move to her town and split bills. There are rules, I agree to her terms. Anything to get away from that city and that co-worker!
* New friend leads me down dangerous path, keeping up with her frantic lifestyle. I end up pressured into sex with boys I hardly know. One rapes me, but I'm afraid to do anything about it. His Dad is powerful preacher in town and I'm a newbie. I'm convinced by this friend to stay quiet.
* Heart sister and Heart brother both diagnosed with AIDS.
* Heart sister dies. So much to that simple sentence, but that is the basic fact.
* Begin toxic relationship that leaves me reeling and ready to be single for the rest of my life before I go through THAT again. Suffer his paranoia, inappropriate suggestions, push-pull, lies designed to 'test' me, finally have enough and end it.
* Enter therapy for real - got to get a grip!
* Work in toxic environment - boss is raging racist and bigot of many flavors - I have trouble keeping my mouth shut. End up being fired. Don't pursue wrongful termination suit as I don't have the money for a lawyer.
* Find out that boss was well connected - have trouble getting a full-time job. End up evicted several times.
* FINALLY land a full-time job. After a few years there, feel safe enough and built up credit enough to buy my house. Boss begins sexually harassing me. I succumb, even trying to convince myself I WANT the relationship. That fails. The harassment goes on for years. I finally break it off. He makes it clear my job is on the line. I don't blink. I instead check myself into a mental health facility with his abuses as my reason for feeling suicidal. It's now in the open. He and the business owner give lip service to being concerned, but when I'm released, do nothing.
* During this time, my heart-brother and Sally both die. Like Heart-sister, I will have to handle heart-brother's death in another post.
* Start dating now H. He anally rapes me. I leave. He convinces me to go back to him.
* I marry my husband within 4 months of first date. Shortly before our first wedding anniversary, I lose a baby to miscarriage. As soon as I return to work afterward, I'm put on notice and then 'laid off' (to prevent a wrongful termination suit).
* Find another job (still there!) within weeks. H and I struggle with family dynamics and our relationship. I struggle with stepson because of his foul, rude mouth.
* We decide we should sell one house and only keep the other. His is a mobile home and under a rent-to-own with his (I'm serious) ex-wife's step-mother. She won't let me be on the lease. My home is a brick ranch with a 30 year mortgage. He's already under bankruptcy, I'm not. I want us to take our time and think about the best move for everyone. He decides on a Wednesday that we're moving to my house that Saturday. This so stuns me, I tell him I'd rather divorce him than ruin his life and his future plans like this (as I had been assured such a move would do). Instead of waiting until that Saturday, he has his kids and a friend move us while I'm at work the next day.
* For the next three years, everything that goes wrong or is frustrating at all is blamed on MY house and therefore is MY fault. I'm so beat down that at one point, I search the records to find out if we can buy *HIS* house back. I look for properties that can be *ours*. He won't move but he wont' stop complaining, either. I'm so beat down that I'm willing to do anything to have peace again. HE takes advantage and insists that it is his right to have anal again.
* Until our son is born, he enforces this right from time to time. After our son is born, I finally put a stop to it. He threatens to get it elsewhere if I won't. I tell him that's fine as long as he doesn't mind that being brought up as the cause for our divorce.
* H will only back down from anal sex if I threaten divorce. It's only been since Christmas that he tried again and I saw a lawyer again. He's bringing it up and he's going to wonder WHY I'm ready to see a lawyer again.

After really looking at the big picture of my life, no wonder I feel like a used-up, dirty and unwanted string mop-head. Used, but not even respected for what I can do, just railed against for what I can't, then left sitting in dirty water to figure my own way out.

Oh, yippie - Dad forwarding some prayer email to me at work.

[Three Roses]

Your title, "that's not so bad, right?" says to me that mixed in with all that - as if THAT weren't enough - you've had your feelings invalidated. To invalidate a child is to keep her from learning to know how she feels, and to trust her own feelings. Or express them in a loving, supportive relationship. Or have them met.

Big hugs to you, should you want them. I'm sorry the child that grew up feeling unloved had so few people she could turn to.

[Wife#2]

Thank you so much, Three Roses. I'm a big-time hugger! So, thank you for those cyber-hugs, thank you very much.

It took me several tries over three hours to post that post. I've just read over it. You know, you hear those statistics on molestation and rape. For someone who grew up thinking I'd beat the odds, I really didn't, did I? Of course, I was in total denial about (I'll call her Bev, Mom's boss' daughter) what happened with Bev, and even though I was only 12, I considered the cast-member boy a boyfriend. He was just getting what he could and compliant little me went along for the molestation! I guess I was considering that I wasn't stranger-raped before I turned 18 to think I was so lucky.

But, I have been raped twice as an adult, and coerced into agreeing countless times. I think I owe my inner child a whole lot more love and a voice that can be heard!

I'm going to ask this somewhere else also, since this is my personal journal, but - Could part of the reason I struggle with honoring other people's boundaries stem from the fact that I was not allowed boundaries as a child? This is something that can be learned, right? Please say right!

[Dutch Uncle]

I'm going to ask this somewhere else also, since this is my personal journal, but - Could part of the reason I struggle with honoring other people's boundaries stem from the fact that I was not allowed boundaries as a child? This is something that can be learned, right? Please say right!

I'll answer it here: Right! 

I'm impressed by your journal. May it be of aid in your recovery/healing journey. I'm pretty sure it will.

from me to you too.

[Wife#2]

Thank you, Dutch!  Right back at you!

[Wife#2]

I was re-reading some of the posts I've written. I'm still not ready to post about the death of my heart-mom sister or my heart-dad brother. I really don't have the words just yet. I'm also trying to get what really happened straight, given that both times were full of conflicting information in my memory.

One part I can talk about, the part that has impacted me the hardest and has landed me in counseling twice (once with the fool who just like to read my writings), is the situation between me and Mom after the death of heart-Mom sis. I don't remember what name I gave her elsewhere, I think it was Missy. Anyway, I'm going to call her Missy and my brother, the kind one, I'll call Jack.

So, Jack had moved to the same town as me and Mom shortly before Missy died. Jack and Missy were best friends as well as siblings. He would have moved nearer to her, but she was married, and already obviously dying and Jack knew he'd eventually need our support, so he moved here.

When Missy did die, Jack and I were devastated. I don't care if you know something is coming, it's still horrible. Heart wrenching! I'd lost grandparents, but we hadn't been close. This was the first close death I'd suffered through. Jack was absolutely beside himself. Knowing that he had the same disease that killed her, it was just beyond words. He suffered so deeply. All I could do was let him know I was there if he wanted me, I'd console him as best as I could. He ran away, physically, to be near friends. He landed in the hospital - I think ready to die himself. But, he didn't. He did choose life, which lasted 9 more years, for which I'm grateful.

Anyway, Mom and me. Oh, how horrible. I was compassionate. She had just lost a daughter. No parent should have to bury a child. That's just wrong! Even with all the compassion I could muster, I could not help her through it, though. And, showing her compassion seemed to negate any need that I may have had for comforting. It was a pretty bad one-way street emotionally.

Jack was also hurting very badly. I tried my best to comfort him, but I was just not Missy. He and I did become closer, but it was never as close as the two of them had been. He and I did help each other tremendously through that time and I'm grateful for the sibling camaraderie we shared.

I got into therapy, realizing that I had to have someone *I* could talk to. That helped. Jack got himself into therapy. That helped him. Mom, she went to a therapist, who decided a month into her treatment plan to only handle children. So, instead of finding another therapist, she just let him monitor her Prozac prescription and went on. Seriously. She went once a month for her meds. When he stopped carrying Prozac at his practice and had to write her a prescription, instead of giving her samples each month, he reduced the 'visits' to once every six months. Then, once a year and only to write the prescription for her.

Her depression was palpable. I understood that. I tried to help, but I couldn't be daughter AND therapist. Jack couldn't be son AND therapist. So, both of us took care of our mother the best we could, the best we knew how. The strain was tough of both of us. Jack even commented that it was rougher on me, he could tell, because she and I lived together. I had to move out to save myself. So, I did. Under pretty bad circumstances, because I wasn't ready yet. But, I spent lots of time back at Mom's place, being there for her.

It was not long after this that my niece came for her first ever visit with her grandmother. Well, that was a disaster. Mom wasn't healthy enough for herself, she sure couldn't be there for her granddaughter. I ended up having her (let's call her Alice) stay the rest of the trip with me. My sister, her mother, was disgusted. Alice was disgusted. I was pretty disgusted myself. The event that caused Alice to call me and prefer to stay in my apartment by herself while I worked rather than with my Mom came when Alice asked Mom to go for a walk. Mom said she didn't have time. Alice understood. After about 10 minutes, Alice, being 12 and curious about her grandmother's home-based business, peeked over Mom's shoulder at what was so difficult. Mom was playing computer solitaire. THAT was what was so important that Mom couldn't spend 10 minutes with Alice.

The point at which I realized that I couldn't keep trying to 'help' Mom through this came about a year after Missy died. I was visiting during the day, on a day of vacation. The phone rang. It was a bill collector. Mom broke down crying, telling the caller that her daughter had just died and she was struggling to pay for the funeral (Missy was cremated and the church let us use the chapel for her memorial for a small fee of like $100, Missy's husband absorbed the debt for the cremation). I heard this and became disgusted for the first time in my life with my mother. She was lying AND she was USING the death of her daughter to dodge a debt. A year later. As if it had just happened. I was dumbfounded at first. But, when she got off the phone, she was still crying, so I tried to be patient. When she had stopped crying, I asked her who that had been. It was a debt for her business, that if not paid they would come and repossess her computer, essentially putting her out of work. I asked if work was that slow, she said that it wasn't but that she had a hard time sending out bills to her customers. I found some excuse to go back to my place.

I called Jack and asked him what he knew about all this. He laughed and said, Oh, yeah, Mom's been dodging all kinds of bills with that line of bull for months. I told him what she'd said about not mailing out invoices. He said he'd check into that and get them in the mail if that would make up some of the money for her. Which he did the next day. He called me later and told me that the total NOT invoiced was pretty big, but not THAT big and only went back about a week. We then realized she was manipulating all of us to get us to leave her alone about money. She didn't want to think about her debts and she would use whatever she had to in her efforts to ignore them.

Jack and I decided that we were going to distance ourselves from Mom's financial life, including what debts she had. Each of us had found ourselves in the position of helping her out financially at one point or another. It was time to stop being enablers.

This was not an easy decision! Our mother, we knew, had ALWAYS been bailed out by someone. Our Dad during their marriage, friends in the years after. Her children off and on over the years. Some, who hadn't lived in town with her, continue to bail her out sometimes and don't understand why Jack and I decided what we did. It's just that we realized that if we continued bailing her out, she'd never have to figure it out on her own and she'd never have to be responsible with her spending. Instead, she could poor-mouth one of us or one of her wealthy friends and here would come her rescue! No change in her habits required.

I think what pissed me off the most about this time, besides knowing that I was expected to be there for her and get my support elsewhere, was that I was helping her out financially, as much as I could, but when I needed help in my early 20's, she couldn't do it. Dad wouldn't do it. And I had to figure it out alone. I did figure it out alone. I figured out that if I was only bringing in X dollars, I only had X dollars to spend. If living expenses were almost X, that left me with little food money and no fun money. Period. I couldn't expect anyone else to 'spot' me or 'cover' me or pay my way, that just isn't the way of the world! Mom was blowing money on fun stuff and trips and lunch or dinner out with friends this whole time. But, not paying her bills!

A few years later, shortly before Jack died, she just decided to quit paying her taxes, because she couldn't afford her CPA. She went on retreats, beach trips, out to the movies and still ate out, but she couldn't afford to pay her CPA - who I knew and who would work with her on payments - to get her taxes done! For 7 years! Only when she got threatening letters from the IRS did she even call me to tell me, and ask me to fix it for her. So, I read the documents, helped her know who to call and what to say, I did the taxes for all those years and got her set up to do her own taxes THAT year.  She refused to move in with me and save money, but she didn't slow down her spending! I started inviting her to MY house for dinner, knowing I could afford the groceries better. She didn't like having to drive *all the way* 7 miles from her place to mine for dinner. But she could drive over 50 miles to the beach with friends for a weekend.

I refused to spend much time at her place after Jack died. It would have broken my heart and pissed me off no end if I heard her using JACK's death to avoid bills, just like she'd done with Missy. It was better that I NOT know about that.

Sally died less than a year after Jack. That stung. I've written about that and how I stayed by Mom's side, defending her against the remaining siblings. This was her THIRD CHILD to die, this one suddenly. I couldn't leave her out of my heart. That was just too much pain for any mother to bear. So, I was there for her. I held her hand and held her head as she cried. I drove her into 'enemy territory' for the funeral. I chatted with her to take her mind off things for moments at least. I let her tell whatever stories she wanted to tell, in her own way. I didn't correct what I knew to be factually wrong - that was my kindness to her.

When we got back to town, it was hard on both of us. I had my own place, all alone. I tried AGAIN to get her to move in with me to save money. I tried asking as her daughter, as a friend, as a potential companion, with offers of paying HER if she would help keep the place clean. I had the spare room, she knew that. I even had a spare bedroom that could serve as her office! I was willing to do just about anything to get her under my roof to help her out - knowing that I'd probably need therapy the whole time. I deemed it worth that at the time, but she refused. I wouldn't force her, that was where I drew the line.

Since then, I'm sure she cried poor to my siblings. Sometimes they help her, and sometimes they try to make me feel guilty for NOT helping her. I've told them about the times I've got myself into a financial pickle because of helping her, but they say that I should just forgive that and keep doing it. Because I live here in town with her. And I'm her daughter. And that's what you do. Now, my husband gave me permission to tell them that HE said to stop because of the problems we've had. Now, they resent HIM because they see HIM as the reason I don't just keep bailing Mom out.

The thing is, they gave up expecting her to be self-reliant. They are permanent enablers, and they know it, and they're ok with it. But, they ALSO expect me to knowingly be her enabler and be ok with it. I don't see it as elder abuse to stop enabling her. They do.

I think this is part of why I've more or less been written out of the family. They haven't deleted me as a friend on Facebook, but that's the only way I find out anything that's going on in the family. There is no mail. There are no phone calls. If I don't get into Facebook for a few days, I might just miss out on an invitation - like the one to my great-nephew's upcoming birthday. Invite by Facebook Events only. Seriously! And if I accept, I'll be expected to transport Mom. Which means my husband won't go. Which means I will feel responsible to feed Mom and my DS8 on the trip, paying for the gas by myself. Which makes me not want to go at all. I know this, because it was this way when going to my niece's graduation. Because, while I may get some thanks, it will come from my brother and sister-in-law, not Mom. She'll be too irritated that I won't let her (speed demon) drive my vehicle. And I won't ride with her in her car because her driving scares me.

I think the reason for this post is that, while I was/am disgusted at Mom for using tears as manipulation, I needed to work this out in my mind. I was there for her in a very real way, financially and emotionally. She used me and others and kept living as she always had, even though her financial situation was bad and getting worse. I have been made to feel like the bad daughter for ending the financial manipulations. And regarding tears, I kept mine to a minimum through Missy's death, Jack's death and even Sally's death, to make it easier for Mom to bear her pain. To make it easier for her to even look at me - if I was crying, it made her cry even harder. I got good enough at it that the first time my husband complained that I was using my tears to manipulate him, I stopped crying almost altogether.

I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually really cried in the past 8 years. I've shed tears, slowly, privately. But, because of watching my mother USE her tears on creditors and to hear my husband tell me that tears are to manipulate others - I have a hard time just feeling the sadness or gladness that can bring tears. I get choked up, then I have to stop because I feel sick to my stomach that maybe my tears aren't appropriate.

I've got jealous of my stepdaughter, who can still cry at her daughter's laughter and at the ASPCA commercials. She can cry just because she wants to have a good cry. I'm glad for her, and have tried to tell her not to let ANYONE take her tears away. I want mine back. I miss them and wish I hadn't let circumstances and people convince me to give them up. It is surprising how hard it is to get that 'manipulation' voice out of my head, or that 'Mom-clone' voice out of my head long enough that I can just cry.

[Danaus plexippus]

I don't know what to say and I don't know if this will be at all helpful, but what the *, I doubt it will make things worse. https://youtu.be/HbnEBfW0UDs   

[Wife#2]

Thx, Danaus. The video did help. I did want to ask one thing, though - do you see me as depressed when you read my posts?

Because, self-awareness is one of my big blind spots. I can tell other people how they're feeling with pretty good accuracy. But, defining how I feel? That's trickier sometimes.

My H has been telling me that I'm 'snappy' towards him a lot lately - but that may be HIS c-PTSD and the fact that he doesn't always hear me and I get tired of repeating myself most of the time! Or, it may be that he pushed my 'self-protection' buttons recently and I haven't been able to 'reset' them yet.

For now, in the journal, I've been working on authentic memories of childhood and pre-marriage years. I'm trying to rediscover who this woman is that my husband married. Since we're both 'damaged goods', it's good if at least one of us does the work of healing and moving forward, at least for the sake of our son.

And, in a therapy session with Mom and sis invited, Sis confessed that she thought I was one angry child growing up. Well, yes, if I was ignored and neglected by parents and cruelly teased by a brother (the Golden Child) and hit by an autistic sister (she was the older Irish Twin sister) I couldn't hit back, well, I could see some reasons for anger.

So, I go between angry, sad, melancholy and probably some depression. But, I have no illusions about my worth to my current family. I know I am loved. Suicide is so not an option!

I did want to say again that it's sweet that you took the time to find that video and share it with me. Sincerely - thank you!

[Danaus plexippus]

I'm not a T. All I can say is real things have happened to you that would knock anyone's trolley off it's tracks. I'm subscribed to that lady's videos. I think she's amazing. If you have time, give her other videos a look.

[Wife#2]

I may do, thanks for the link to get started with!

[Wife#2]

Sitting outside at lunch today, I let a really good memory wash over me. It's helping my mood.

I'm about 11-12 years old. This is pre-divorce, but probably during the big fighting. Mom and Dad would send me out of the house so I wouldn't hear them fight. Like the very act of sending me out of the house didn't announce clear enough that they were about to fight.

Anyway, I drift down the hill that is our back yard. Through the little thickets of woods to the creek. I sit down on a flat rock and take off my shoes. It's a pretty day. I'm in shorts and a halter top - hey, it's the early 80's! The creek water isn't cold, but it does feel nice washing over my feet. I just sit there, sun on my face, creek water flowing downstream. I am absolutely by myself. It's so peaceful and quiet. I can hear bugs buzzing and the breeze in the trees.

I open my eyes and look out over the small field left of the zig-zagging creek. It's overgrown with dandelions and Queen Anne's Lace. There are some other colors out there, but I'm too content to stand up and go explore just now.

I have no idea how much time passes, but the sun is below the tree line.  I figure it's getting late enough I should head home.

This memory is one I cling to over the years. The first apartment complex in the city of my high school years has a creek near our building. I visit it, but it's visible, crowded, noisy. I get no peace by that creek. The next time I really get to sit and enjoy a creek is in college. Then, I must wait until I buy my house. But the creek near my current home is not easily accessible to those of us who don't live directly on the shore.

Regardless - I have my memories. I can almost feel that peace, that connection with the bigness of nature. I can see the water of that creek, clear as glass, and my feet - toes swirling in the sand at the bottom. 

I'm sure I've written about that visit to that creek several times elsewhere. That is my happy place. That is my happy time. I am all alone, but I am at peace, for a while at least.

I'll write about the months watching the writing spider work it's magic on the front stoop another time.

OH - another wonderfully happy memory has just snuck into my brain!

The day I graduated Middle School (aka Junior High School). I had only been with those students for that school year, but I already had a pretty good number of friends. We were all so excited! All of us girls were in our white dresses (required) and the boys in their white shirts and blue ties (also required). We looked so handsome and so almost-grown-up! We felt almost grown up that day.

So, Mom has to work, but my Heart-Sister, Missy, is there. She drove up from her city just for me! She was at college and I was so impressed with everything about her. But, she was making today about me. She drove me to the school. I'm so excited to show her off and to show my friends off to her! The graduation ceremony is actually kind of boring. I'm no star student, so I get one or two awards, but cheer loudly for my friends who were star students. My sister watches and cheers for them along with me.

Afterward, Missy drives me back home. There had been a bad storm not long before and a tree was partially down in the back yard. But, it was still alive and green. So, Missy takes LOTS of pictures to give to Mom and Dad (both not there - just Missy) and our siblings. The 'baby' is now a rising High School Sophomore! Since I'm getting so grown, my sister decides to take some pictures with my hair down and flowing. These are some of the best pictures ever taken of me! You can see, even through my glasses, that I'm smiling in my eyes, my face AND my whole demeanor!  I get the camera from her and get some pictures of HER in front of that fallen-but-not-dead tree - it's such a perfect backdrop! So, it's just the two of us for a few hours until Mom gets home from work. Dad calls and congratulates me - he sent a gift in the mail. The other siblings have sent cards, one or two call after Mom gets home. Mom - realizing that this IS a big deal, makes a very nice dinner and we three 'ladies' sit around the table talking for hours after dinner. Missy spends the night and heads back to her college town the next morning. It had been a perfect day from beginning to end.

I like recapturing these great memories! It's worth the others when I can get these back, too!

[Wife#2]

This weekend was a strange one. Not bad, just strange.

One good part was putting into practice what I learned last week I was not doing as well as I could for my DS8. How insidious is the habit of invalidating another person? How easy to fall into the trap!

So, I spent some time each day making sure that he knew that his opinion mattered. Not that I would always agree with him, but that was beside the point, the point being he had a right to his opinions and feelings and wants and desires. I'm learning how to validate him as a person and yet say no. By the smile on DS8's face both nights as he went to bed, I think I'm doing ok. Now, to me, the real work begins - making this the norm instead of a good weekend. Making validation a part of the family dynamic. Hubby liked that I was validating HIM as well. DS23 got a kick out of being included - even if he chose to go with friends instead of be with us.

The sad part of this is that it was a shock. The good part of this is that being validated is real easy to get used to, so I'm hoping to teach the young men that they DESERVE this, not just once in a while, but as a part of any healthy relationship. My learning curve will be to show them respect as individuals while still maintaining the parental role (not slipping into friend role). Also, to show DH respect and validation without letting that be turned into me becoming a floor-mat again.

Having a spine and showing validation and respect don't seem to co-exist in my experience. This is a learning experience, for sure.

I just had a small 'flash-back' of a sort. Just a brief one. It's an emotion more than a full memory. The best way I can describe it is a feeling that someone needs to help me understand because I don't. I'm not sure WHAT I don't understand. I just know that I don't understand something and I'm scared. And I'm a little bit mad, because they're not helping me!

As soon as I tried to figure that one out, other little ones kept hitting me. Various ages, various locations, various siblings in the room. This may sound stupid, but it's like a montage. Different siblings walking away, GC Bro slapping me away (my hand because I was reaching for what he was looking at), telling me to shut up, other siblings telling me to shut up, go to bed, Mom giving me THAT look. I know I was a complete pest as a child. I've been told often enough by ALL the older siblings and my parents. But, here's the thing... how can a child who feels loved and validated be a pest? How can a child who knows his or her place in the world want to bug others about? Would it even occur to a child who feels valued?

I'm getting angry because I'm comparing in my head how my siblings who married and had children turned out and how I turned out. How our children are so different than each others' children. How our grandchildren are so different.

I feel like I took a very bad left turn when everyone else saw the road-sign and turned right.

Dang, I was in an ok place, but now I'm spiraling. Time for me to quit typing for now.

[Danaus plexippus]

You are applying yourself to getting your family on the right path. Have I ever mentioned life is not fair? You will always find someone worse off than you and someone better off than you. Comparing ourselves among ourselves is not a healthy thing to ruminate on.

[Three Roses]

It's all in how you were seen. Children are children; they make messes, ask interminable questions, follow you everywhere. It's in the job description. It's the adults' job to be patient, to give love and proper direction, to not label but let the child discover who she is and what she likes, naturally.

You were not a pest; you were a normal, natural, curious child who was not allowed to be herself.