Tag: Toxic family

Lie down with dogs…


Have you ever caught yourself engaging in out-of-character toxic behavior and realized you’re emulating someone in your life who plays a big role? You’ve probably caught their narcissistic fleas.

It’s from an old saying – When you lie down with dogs, you’re going to wake up scratching with fleas.

Narcissistic abuse leaves deep scars and traumas that often make us wonder if we’ve become narcissists ourselves.

Being criticized most of my life turned me into a critical person and I’ve always hated that part of me. It’s easy to unintentionally pick up behaviors from a toxic person. I had multiple abusers.

Narcissist abuse is a very specific abuse that is hard to overcome and it does a number on a person. It’s very hard to understand unless you’ve experienced it, and those of us who have, we just feel bonkers.

If you are recovering from Narcissistic Abuse, be gentle with yourself. Instead of “I should have known”, say “Now I know.” No one could have predicted what we went through and they fooled us.

This is your reminder that we are all on a journey and healing takes time. It’s also not a linear process and it’s very messy.

There’s nothing wrong with you, you were a target.

Why? Because you are awesome and some folks can’t handle that. You will triumph regardless.

(⊙‿⊙✿)

💖✌🏻

Pain-management


One of the frustrating things about bipolar disorder is what happens when I’m problem solving or waking up.

I’d really like to not think “I could just off myself and not have to deal with any of it.” as the first thought when faced with a problem. I’d like “God, not another day, why did I have to wake up?” to not be my first thought when I wake up.

Most of the time they are passive and just passing thoughts.

Occasionally I search for methods. I don’t necessarily have plans when I do that. Once in a while I do have a general plan, but not a detailed one. I also don’t have methods that are easily accessible in an impulsive moment. I know myself. I know better.

Ideation, thoughts, it all falls under passive or active. Doesn’t mean I’ll act on anything or that I want to act on anything.

Depressed or not, that’s me. Every day. Long before 2019 when the Wasbund said he wanted a divorce because he was miserable. He initially told my daughter he wanted a divorce because he was having suicidal thoughts. He tells me now he wasn’t suicidal.

I’ve dealt with suicidal thoughts since 1980. I started 1980 out at age 11 and turned 12 in September. My grandfather had died that year. It was also the year I was raped by my father and the year I started taking razors to my body.

1980 was a bang-up year. I’m still here 43 years later. I’m not dead yet.

“Back in my day…”


My 29-year old son and I have had a major disagreement stemming from hurtful things he said to me when I said it felt weird to no longer be a wife the day my divorce from my Wasbund of 27 years was finalized. I confronted him about it after I calmed down, but I did say some things that were hurtful that came from a place of pain. He blocked me on social media as a result.

Two months later, he then reached out to me on a day I was dealing with some serious drama involving my brother. Already agitated from that drama, I was not receptive to chatting with my son. His messages seemed dubious and I felt he was potentially wanting something from me that I couldn’t give. I said a few more things that were hurtful, and blocked him since he had messaged me from an unrecognized number.

I was in the wrong. I was hurt and angry that he wasn’t able to be supportive of me. It’s ok he couldn’t be supportive, it’s not something I should get angry about. People often have their own drama they are dealing with and don’t have the energy to be there when we want them to be.

I have to do better. So I try to do better, but I still miss the mark sometimes, I’m human, just like everyone else.

Raising a mentally ill child is very hard. But no matter what kind of crazy or dangerous stuff that happened when he was a kid, like trying to burn our house down, he was just a kid, he was still my responsibility, and he couldn’t help himself due to his mental state at the time.

I love my children.

This is what a proper apology looks like when you’ve hurt someone.

He calls me mother when he’s pissed at me. He’s reverted back to calling me mom, so that shows me he’s calmed down.

I don’t think I was abusive to him, but it’s possible he does. We used to have to hold him, restrain him in our arms, to prevent him from hurting himself because he would throw violent tantrums and thrash around. I’m sure there are other things he considers abusive that Child Protective Services did not. I know this because I sought out help from them. The only thing they did was investigate me, interview my children, and put me in touch with a respite provider. We didn’t have anyone who could give us a break.

He was extremely challenging to raise, and honestly, when he left home at 18 because he didn’t want to follow the rules, it was a relief because I was no longer legally responsible for him. I remain morally responsible for him. I still worry about him and try to help him when I’m able to. I try hard not to hold his past against him. Sometimes I’m triggered when he is unpleasant or tries to tell me how he thinks my marriage was, especially the years after he moved out. I sometimes bring things up when I shouldn’t as a defense that none of us are perfect nor are they always what they appear to be from the outside.

It was rather stressful being his parent. But I wouldn’t change being his mom.

He was a child and he doesn’t have my perspective. He only has his own.

Even if I don’t feel I was abusive, from his perspective he might feel differently and that’s why I apologized. I had mistakenly told him during our 3 month argument that I didn’t treat him like my parents treated me and he mentioned something he remembered as assault.

That’s why I say that what happened in the parent’s childhood shouldn’t be thrown back in a child’s face to get them to see you’re not as bad as your parents. They have no frame of reference to draw from and it’s completely irrelevant to whatever current situation you’re dealing with involving them. My parents did a lot of that “Well, back in my day…” when they were trying to punish me for something. I am not my parents.

It’s a prime example of the relative privation logical fallacy when parents say that to their children.

That fallacy can be called the fallacy of relative privation, which is a type of red herring or distraction from actual issues. The fallacy is essentially an argument that a problem is not important or does not deserve attention and resources because there are other more important problems. “Why are you wasting your time on X when there are children dying of cancer?” Source

It’s about perception and we have to own our own toxicity and face it.

Oddly enough, I don’t think I said things like that to my kids when they were growing up because I believe I didn’t tell them anything until they were adults, maybe they were teenagers. My memory is fuzzy on that.

They didn’t have the maturity necessary to process my trauma, I hadn’t processed it myself and I didn’t want to rob them of their innocence. Seeing the relationship my ex had with his mother, who disclosed her horrible childhood abuse experience to him when he was a child, that’s not something you want to burden your own children with. It’s your cross to bear, not theirs. Kids don’t owe their parents a thing. Not even respect. It has to be earned. They didn’t ask to be here. We brought them into the world and they are our responsibility.

We had a tremendous amount of good times when he was under my roof, and I remember those times very fondly. I did stuff with my kids because I wanted them to feel important, because they are.

The most valuable thing you have to give someone is your time and attention. My grandmother gave me her time and attention frequently, and that made me feel important to her. That was enough to get me through my childhood. 💖

I hope he remembers the good times, and they bring him comfort, too. 💖

Welcome to Hell 🔥


Let’s roast marshmallows.

When I ran away from home for the last time at 17, there were 2 choices. I could let the trauma destroy me, or I could be strong, build up resilience and take on the world.

I can certainly survive, adapt, be strong and live my life. It’s what I do.

So I chose to take on the world and have been doing a pretty good job of it, if I do say so myself. The children I raised seem to think so. 💪🏼👍🏼

Yet it still hurts sometimes when I crave love and there’s none there. I have finally found love for myself and I practice self-compassion despite the pain. That’s what shines through. The love for myself is so new.

I want to go home but home no longer exists. Home was my grandparent’s house, a loving, nurturing environment.

Me on Christmas Day 1971 at my grandparents’ home in Chicago.

I wish my father hadn’t moved us to this city in 1973. That move took me away from the watchful eyes of my grandparents. Free of scrutiny, I was subjected to much harm by the abusers on my father’s side of the family, including my father. I mark October 1973 as the start of my personal Hell.

I was molested at age 5 by a cousin who was 16, raped by my father at 11, who continued to molest me and coerce me to expose my private parts or let him grope me until I left, raped at 13 by my father’s youngest brother, then raped again when I ran away at 17 by my grandfather’s brother. He was letting me stay with him so my parents wouldn’t find me as I was a runaway and they had reported me to the police. I was on the lam. 👮‍♀️🚓

I’m not even going in to the mental and physical abuse, which were also pretty horrible.

Revictimization is something that happens to sexually abused/assaulted children, all my perpetrators were male.

I have been a survivor since I ran away from home in 1986, but I still ended up with 3 abusive men. I did have a girlfriend for a while, but she moved on. I never had problems with her.

What always hides in the corners of my mind is the fact that there are those who didn’t survive their childhoods like I did mine. That’s the fallacy of relative privation sneaking in telling me I didn’t have it so bad.

But it was bad.

Ain’t Nothing Gonna Break My Stride


My father set me up for a lifetime of being easy prey to toxic, horrible people.

My family is unsupportive and full of mentally disturbed people.

Every serious romantic partner I’ve ever had has been abusive in some fashion.

People I thought were my friends, weren’t.

I ended up in a sociopath’s line of sight. (Not my ex husband.)

And limbo feels eternal.

Fuck you, universe.

Is that all you got?

You’re going to have to do better than this to break me.

I have a hard spiky outer shell with a soft chewy center.

And I bite.

Broken Trauma Bond, Part 2


It’s been a long, complex, arduous journey.

I finally broke the trauma bond. I’ve been trying to do it for 18 months. I’ve severed ties with my father. It’s permanent. It wasn’t a misunderstanding. It was his systematic and persistent abuse of his family over a long period of years that really never ended. I sent him a 3 page letter laying it all out so there’s no confusion about why.

He was supposed to protect me. He didn’t and in fact, perpetrated unspeakable crimes against me. He blamed me for his actions and abuse. He shamed me. He was sexually aroused by his child and acted on it. He is a sick man.

His actions set me up for revictimization multiple times. The negative narrative in my head pointing out all my defects, flaws, telling me I’d never be enough is his. I intend to silence that voice like he tried to silence me for decades.

He is an abusive, controlling, violent, toxic, overbearing, manipulative, hebephilic, sexually deviant, narcissistic sociopath that brutalized and traumatized his family and that’s the truth. He has everybody fooled into thinking he’s a moral, upright, responsible man, but my brother and I know the truth. My mom knew.

He’s a big bully. He brutalized his family, beat up on his wife and children, and I don’t care if anyone believes me or doesn’t believe me. I lived through it, barely. I know what happened and I know what still happens.

I don’t have to tolerate the monster anymore. I am sure he will rage out when he finds out I’m not keeping his secrets anymore, but I don’t care. Bring it. I’m not afraid of him.

Anyone who wants to take his side, see yourselves out. I do not have time or patience to defend myself and I have nothing to prove.

I’ve spent the last 2 years untangling the chaotic mess of toxic people in my life and he’s the last one to go.

I sent my therapist a message for an appointment, yesterday. Hopefully I hear from her soon. I’m exhausted and I need to process and regroup. She will be able to help.

I should have severed this link 36 years ago when I ran away from home for the last time. But it’s never too late.

I am fearless. He is accountable for his crimes, and any fallout that affects anyone else as a result of being exposed is on him alone.

The pen is mightier than the sword and I’ve endured 48 years of traumatization and mental anguish that I didn’t deserve.

I am telling my story.

Fini.

Broken Trauma Bond, Part 1


The horrific abuse I suffered throughout my childhood made me extremely vulnerable and desperate for love. I carried a deep sense of shame throughout my life because I was repeatedly told it was my fault I was abused and assaulted.

It wasn’t a mistake or a misunderstanding. It was a deliberate systemic campaign of terror over many years designed to feed my father’s ego that nearly killed my brother and I.

It made me an easy target for toxic abusive people who abused me further. My younger brother has fared much worse in how his life is playing out.

My father used to tell me that I owed him everything because he provided a roof over my head, clothes on my back and food on the table. He demanded respect from everyone and his word was the ultimate authority in his house. He backed up that authority with angry words that cut us all down, his fists that blackened eyes, and his belt. He brutalized his wife and children. There was no such thing as compromise in his vocabulary, he was a treacherous, unscrupulous despot.

I remember thinking to myself that none of the things he provided mattered without love.

It is the job as a parent to protect, provide safety, security, support, love, clothing and nourishment for a child’s mind and body.

My brother and I were starved for love and affection, and it’s caused both of us horrendous problems throughout our lives.

I just remember my grandfather apologizing to me and telling me that he didn’t raise my dad to be the way he is after he witnessed one abusive episode. My father has a terrible temper that he took out on all of us.

I don’t care to know why my father did the things he did. No matter the reason, he chose to abuse his wife and children. So it’s irrelevant.

I suffered so much throughout my childhood yet I managed to not abuse my own children, so no matter what he went through, it’s no excuse. Children who are abused don’t have a high rate of becoming abusers themselves. Only 1-in-7 go on to abuse.

The brutal abuse didn’t strengthen me and mold me into who I am. I am who I am despite what I went through. It revealed my creativity, tenacity and intelligence. It’s a testament to the few people in my life who did show me love and kindness which I drank in like a desert nomad dying of thirst, and my own strength and tenacity that I was able to survive and become who I am. I’m still becoming. Yet sometimes I wonder what I could have become without it.

My father was a monster who was 10 feet tall and I was always afraid of him. Finally breaking my trauma bond with him released me from his internalized perfidiousness.

I am a victorious warrior and I not only survived, I thrived. That is an accomplishment. I’ve thrown down the last of the chains of oppression that were wrapped around my soul. I am living my new life and there is so much more to look forward to, I’m anxious to get on with it. 💖