One in five adults live with mental illness
You’ve spent your childhood watching your mother or father struggle with anxiety, depression or obsessive-compulsive disorder. You can’t remember if you put the cuts on your arms or if it was something they did. Everything may be going smoothly and suddenly, you find yourself furious, panicky or tearful and you don’t know why. They never noticed the cuts. Your life is often filled with anxiety, uncertainty, and vigilance. You don’t let your father see you cry when his anger breaks your jewelry box; the gift you cherished that he gave you only two months ago. You were plagued by loneliness, vulnerability, and helplessness. You felt unwanted, abandoned, and lost.
I was convinced no one would believe me, so I hid my chaotic home life from everyone. I was the family mediator, calming down a frightened father and comforting a sad, lonely mother. I convinced myself I was defective or different from other kids. When I was in school, instead of paying attention to my teachers, I’d spend all day worrying about how my mom was doing.
I lived in a permanent state of hyper-vigilance, constantly attuned to my father’s erratic moods and my mother’s helplessness. I chose to stay close to my emotionally unavailable, controlling partners and swallowed my needs to gain their approval. I wish I was beaten. I’d feel more legitimate. Who cares about me? Doesn’t anyone notice? I felt angry. I felt scared. The problem is no one can see my scars. I feel like if I told someone I was verbally abused, they’d think I was just complaining about being yelled at. If I’d been a better daughter my mother wouldn’t have been so sick. If I’d been a better son my mother wouldn’t have been so sick. All I knew was my grandparents were telling me that mum’s sick and dad was telling me that mum’s sick and I was confused, because she didn’t look sick to me.
I need positive feedback
Trauma and betrayal.
Staying out of the way, and staying safe.
Growing myself up.
I found myself in a paralyzing depression. I was suffering from complex posttraumatic stress disorder. There’s nobody in this world who loves me … I don’t have a mother’s love or a father’s love, or, family love… so it wouldn’t matter if I disappeared off the face of the earth.
My mother stopped sleeping when I went to college. Maybe it was my father’s heart attacks, maybe it was me. She’s been withering since. My familial environment was terrifying, and the chronic nature of this negativity exacerbated the effects of the neglect and abuse I endured. I found myself constantly trying to fix him. When I’m asleep and my roommate burns her grilled cheese at two in the morning my heart races as the smoke detector beeps. It takes everything in me to stop the panic building. The tears escape anyway. Growing up with dad, I never felt secure… and I know that I have always been anxious, my whole life. I feared to pass on the illness to a future generation. I’m scared to have kids. What if I treat them the same way my parents treated me? What if I don’t get well enough to care for them?
These were necessary behaviors when I was young, but they aren’t vital for my survival anymore. You can identify and stop participating in abusive relationship dynamics. Try to engage with people who make you feel safe and respected, who listen well and are emotionally available. I can be my own person. Thank your shame for protecting you and ask it to please step back. Your childhood was not your fault. It was ok to put some distance between me and my mother, even though I loved her. I named, validated and felt the sadness in my body as I gave myself compassion. I took a walk through the park and looked at nature. I felt better. It fostered empathy, compassion, and resilience. You had terrible role modeling from your mother. You had terrible role modeling from your father.
I will not inherit my mother’s pain. I will not inherit my father’s fear. She never showed you that we can learn to control our impulses. So I’m worth saving? I’m not irredeemably bad? I will always have ups and downs and have to manage fears and the damage that will always be there, but now I accept it and work with it. I can thank my parents for everything they have done for me. But I no longer owe them anything. I will grow strong. I will get better. I will be happy. And I will remember:
I cannot heal my parents.
This is a Found Essay, meaning that I pulled lines from different essays on NAMI and incorperated them with my own experience wot create a creative Non- Fiction piece.
