love and truth
I cried my way through parts of today's Oprah as I listened to:
Phrases like "The kids think they have to keep things stable"
An 11-year-old boy saying, "when I found out they were getting divorced, it was like a dream died."
A mother saying about her (at the time) 9-year-old daughter, "We treated her like an adult. We didn't even think it affected her."
Yesterday, a post started writing itself in my mind and watching this show today has pushed me to write it here. Previously, I wrote about my feelings leading up to my trip back to the Midwest in April. I wrote about how "stuff" from my childhood, thoughts about my parents' divorce, feelings of anger and deep sadness were what came up for me when my dad told me he was going to get help for his drinking problem. The level of these emotions surprised me as I thought I would feel only relief if I were to ever receive that phone call. (I won't go into the details of my reaction again here; you can read it more in context in that past post.)
When I went to what is called "family week" back in April, I had very low expectations about the experience. I did not want to be there, not even a little bit. The counselors gave the family members homework for that first night. Mine was to write a letter to my dad that would explain my feelings about his alcoholism and how it affected me, along with a whole long list of other things. When I called my friend Heather to tell her about the homework and all the items on the list, she said, "So, this is due in a month right?" It felt like I was supposed to write the thesis of my life or at least of my childhood.
That night, I sat in my hotel room and let the emotion pour out of me as I sobbed through each sentence. Today, as I write this, I realize that I had actually never put on paper the feelings I wrote about that night, let alone said them aloud to someone who needed to hear them. Though, I have to credit all the writing I have done on this blog with giving me the courage and "clearness through emotion" to write what I wanted to say. When I finished writing, I felt I had accomplished sharing the truth of my experiences without placing blame but instead by just saying what it felt like and what my experience was.
As I wrote in the post here last May, being a child of divorced parents fractures you. This does not mean that as an adult I have a need to place blame (because I know I do not have this need) or that I am not thankful my parents are not together (and I am thankful for this) or that I wish my life had gone differently (because I am happy to be in this place and know I would not be here without my experiences…all of them). What is does mean though is that I will not apologize for the feelings I had then or the ones I have now. Those feelings belong to me. They are all about me. And, the experience of writing that letter helped me to realize that my need to play a certain role or protect the feelings that I perceive others have needs to stop being more important than the truth of my experience. Meaning: It is time I start being honest with myself.
Part of the letter I wrote my dad included the assignment of setting specific boundaries. Goodness me. If I had a dollar for every time I have encouraged other people to set boundaries or said I needed to set them…but to be forced to write, "When you do this, I feel this, so I am going to have to do this to feel safe" was quite an experience. To read it aloud was one of the most powerful moments of my life.
I read the letter to my dad on the last day I was there (family week is only three days long). I shared my experience of being a child in my family. I shared what it was like for me when he left. I shared pieces of who I am now. I set boundaries I needed to set. And, I asked for what I needed knowing I may not receive what I need.
It was possibly one of the hardest things I have ever done.
But, it is one of the things that makes me the most proud of me. Because I knew that it actually didn't matter how my father reacted. I had finally shared some of the heavy stuff I carry around in the backpack that is the baggage of my life.
And, something incredible happened that day. My father heard me. He heard me and listened to me. And, part of what I said resonated deeply enough that what he said in response gave me a true gift. Someone in my family, the last person I expected to, understood what it was like to be me when my family broke apart. Someone who most needed to understand, understood, even if just for that moment.
God lifted something off my heart that day.
Watching Oprah today, hearing M. Gary Neuman say how important it is for parents to simply listen to their children when the family is breaking apart, invited me to think about part of what I said in my letter to my dad. I said something about how even though my feelings leading up to this moment were filled with anger and resentment because I had to talk about all of this now because he had decided to get help (so things were once again on a parent's terms and not mine), I knew that I had been given the gift of this moment to share how I was feeling. Because the truth is, I have been wanting to share what I said that day for over a decade. And, today, after watching Oprah, I realize how that was the first time I had been able to really share the truth with someone in my family.
We must be able to tell our stories. We must be willing to listen when someone needs to share her story, even when it is about us, even when it might hurt us. We cannot forget that we have our own truth of the experience regardless of what the other person says her experience was.
Even though I have my father's blessing to share what I want and need to here or with others, I haven't talked much about my experience in April for many reasons. One reason being because it feels like it sits in a sacred bubble back in April, and I, probably like any child of a recovering alcoholic who experiences family week, worry that to talk about it with my family, my dad, others, might make it not real or might take away from the experience or might make my dad's recovery not real somehow. I worry as I write this that if I honor the experience publicly here, I might affect my life in ways I cannot anticipate.
But I want to say this: No matter who you are—a parent, a child, a partner, a friend, a sibling—you never know what might happen if you tell your story to someone in a way that is from a place of love and truth.
Because in many ways, I think this might be what it is all about: love and truth.
Thank you for reading…
it is what it is
Reader Comments (18)
Very powerful post...I have experienced so many similar things that I felt my heart racing as I read your words. Thank you, Liz...for telling the truth.
Love,
D.
Love and truth. Yes, I do believe that is what it comes down to. Thank you for telling the truth. These are really hard and really important truths.
x
Thank you for allowing me the honor of seeing what this experience means to you. I heard so much self-respect and courage in this post - powerful.
You are a brave girl--I respect your courage and it inspired me.
wonderful post, liz! i am so glad your heart began to heal in april and that you are able to move forward in your truth. thanks so much for sharing this. :-)
back when i was doing social work in atlanta i met a woman named dr. janet geringer woititz, the author of some very important and interesting books on the subject of "adult children of alcoholics." she and betty ford were speakers at a professional conference i attended. it was such a powerful experience to listen to them both speak, and it became clear in those moments that all dysfunction contaminates us as children, so often in similar ways. many of us who were in the audience were moved to tears as we listened to them speak, some of us not adult children of alcoholics, but adult children of dysfunctional families, nonetheless. we identified with every word dr. woititz said. the dysfuncion of our childhoods was manifested in similar ways in all of us. the common denominator we all recognized as we listened was amazing. and here i sit telling this to you some 20 years later, remembering it as though it were last week. if you have not read her books, you might be interested in checking her out.
we still hope to meet you and jon when we are in your neck of the woods sometime. we have been through there a few times this year, and i always think of you when are there.
wow...
such a real and honest post...
i watched oprah last night, also
and cried a bit as those children
talked about what they needed
and what didn't happen to make
them feel safe and secure.
and isn't it funny how they said
that how it is handled as a child
affects the child for the rest of
their life...that is huge.
thank you for sharing your story.
Oh Liz-powerful beautiful stuff.
Wow girl. I am in awe of you and your strength.
I hear you girl.
Love you
Tough subject, lots to think about. O! how one's actions can change the course of so many lives. Growing up there were many things I knew were "wrong". I felt a constant air of fear, dread, there were walls being put up everywhere. I grew up, moved away, gained more life experiences of my own. Then I realized everyone else did not live like this...what happened to my family? Finally last year, while on the phone with my mom, she made a statement..."Daddy was a through & through alcoholic" she was referring to her own father, and yes, I'd heard the stories, I knew that already. It affected her so much, she kept it all inside, put her head down and went on. Her next statement really hit me "I raised my children in fear, in fear of everything, I raised you as if he were still here, I raised you in the home of an alcoholic" Suddenly everything made sense, everything. I guess your post brought on all these thoughts because I'm thinking of the difference it might have made had my mom let go of some of her baggage. Just talked about it, shared her thoughts...it might haven given her the chance to breathe...I think at 50, in many ways she's still holding her breath...thanks liz for sharing, I'm happy to listen.
there could have been no better words for me to read today.
thank you liz
you are too wonderful for words
Vx
Liz, thank you for sharing this in such an open and deep way. I know that I will never reach that level of understanding with my now-85-year-old alcoholic father. I admire so much the courage you found in facing and naming your experience to him and to your family, and now here to us. I have said it before, but it is even more true now: You are an inspiration to me.
oh babe, you are a goddess,
and i deeply honour you for you and what you wrote here.
thank you...
the world needs to hear this: all of this.
xoxo
It is beautifully honest of you to write about this and I'm so proud of you! Even though you still carry this, it is my belief that the load will be infinitely lighter for giving it a public voice. You are a brave and lovely soul. xx, JP/deb
Your vulnerability moves me.
You are one incredible woman.
liz--i love hearing other people's stories, and yours moved me. i tell myself that i also like to tell my own story, but i don't think it's true. i like to journal, process, analyze, poet-ize my story but tell it? that's something different. to take it "public" or to tell the people who should know ... yikes! i'm glad to hear it was powerful experience. maybe you've given others courage ... i'll think about it myself.
Thank you.
Oh boy...you´ve given me a lot to think about. I´m going through a divorce right now and I´ll be watching and listening to my children - and I want to be there for them if they want to confront their father (or me?) with their feelings one day. I have so many feelings I´m trying to come to terms with myself at the moment, I truly hope they aren´t keeping things bottled up inside that will plague them in the future.
Liz, this is beautiful, and I thank you for continuing to share your truth.
Timely too.
My Mom presented me with a wonderful little book of quotes yesterday called "Timeless Values" and these two words...love and truth...are repeated so often throughout it's pages.
How beautiful that you were given that gift back in April and that it has calmed your heart and removed a weight that has been with you for so very long.
May this goodness continue to manifest itself for you.
xoxo
thank you for your love and your truth. it has helped me to find mine. and though i sense that you are saying in more recent posts (closer to oct.4, today) that you are drawing back from blogging, i also know you are very strong in your vision and courage and that you are living your truth -- no matter how much i may miss your writing here. blessings of good luck to you, my friend.