The Value of Conversation

This post is inspired by and in gratitude for Upsi and her willingness to allow the target that some estranged parents and other lurking trolls in blogland have painted on her virtual back.

From estranged parents pushing her into the lose-lose corner of 'tell me why I can't have what I want from my child' to those commenters who seem to be looking to push a button that will finally send her into a tailspin, I've watched as she conscientiously and carefully puts herself out there with gentleness, concern for all and care. It's not easy to be so transparent in recovery and growth, in fact it's damn hard.  Healing is hard enough to accomplish after lifetimes of trauma; doing so in a fishbowl is terrifying.  Especially once the trolls locate us and begin to play the games that can no longer elicit a response from their (wisely) hidden and estranged victims of choice.

Would I do it?  If I had these people invading my blog, would I allow the reasonable venue for discourse that Upsi has?  I don't know.  This is my space, and I use it to find myself under the cover of anonymity and to work through the many issues that I have and that have been handed to me.  Would I tolerate the barbs, the jabs, the thinly veiled attempts to guilt, gaslight, blame, etc?  Probably not, but only because my sanity outside of my particular Crazymaking Clan is directly proportional to my ability to hold up my very black and white boundaries.  I truly don't know that I could allow this to be an arena for the type of dialogue and discourse that Upsi navigates and moderates so expertly.

Given that and a whole lot of other variables, thank you Upsi for doing what many of us can't and allowing the Narcs and their Minions to invade your blog space.  Even when it truly pisses me off that they Just.  Never.  Stop.  Trying.  To Prove.  That.  They.  Are.  Right.

I think that the dialogue that she's allowed is supremely important, and here's why.

I was taught by my parents in many painful ways that I had no right to disagreement with the Narcs in my life, even if my disagreement with their wants, whims and desires was the only way to create safety for myself.  I was taught from my earliest memory that it was my job to be the sacrifice to their stated needs.  I was not important as a child, a daughter, a girl, a sister, a human bean.  I was there to be used and to be of use, and if I stepped out of that role, if I asked, begged, pleaded or demanded that they stop hurting me, they ganged up on me and hurt me until I caved back into my allotted place in the 'family.'  Scapegoat, whipping girl, sacrifice.

I was abused horribly, and to add further insult to injury, I was made to believe by the only people in my life, literally the ONLY people in my life for more than a year at any given time through childhood, that the abuse they heaped on me was my fault and that if I ever stood up for myself, I would be asking for further abuse, which I would receive and which would still and also be my fault.

I clawed my way out of that hell, inch by inch and scar by scar.  I survived, and for some time that was enough.  The sheer relief of the abuse stopping was so great as to convince me that that limited freedom of simply not being hurt anymore at that moment was peace, and it was compared to the active hell I'd been living in.  I got further and further away from the active abuses, though, and realized that I was indeed surviving, but that I couldn't seem to grow any further than my stilted perception that the absence of pain was equal to joy.

I was not, however, serene.  I was simply not being hurt on a daily basis anymore. When I realized that I needed growth in order to go from survival to actually living my life and thriving in it, I became a seeker.  I looked in all sorts of different places, but I often came up against some preconceived notions that didn't fit into my world when it came to trying to process my experiences with my narcissistic, evil, intentionally hurtful mother and father.  People who haven't lived under the cloud of these kinds of monsters really can't understand or believe what it's like to have parents such as these.  (And for the record, I'm glad that they can't; NO ONE DESERVES PARENTS LIKE MINE.)  They might have been hurt by their parents, but they can't understand the discontinuation of the entire relationship because of it.  So it's difficult to find a support group, it's hard to find others who DO understand what it's like to have these ominous, lurking master manipulators waiting around every corner to hamstring us with their blades of 'parental concern.'

I found others in this blog community who did understand it, though, and who don't try to tell me that my mother 'did the best she could with what she had,' or that my father 'probably didn't mean to hurt' me, who didn't excuse their behavior by explaining that my parents probably hadn't had the best upbringings either.  We understand in myriad ways that we are a minority; we are the children of narcissists who have grown up to break these cycles of unspeakable abuse, despite the societal pressure that we will 'forgive and forget' the transgressions of our parents.  Most people can't get away.  Many of those who can't break free will, sadly, do the same to their own children as was done to them.

And that's why those conversations over on Upsi's blog matter so much.  We are all raised in some degree of the crucible of crazy as children of Narcs and adolescents of Narcs and finally adults with Narcs.  They are able to get away with their abuses so easily for two reasons:  1.  We don't know anything else (any better) as we've been on their crazy train since day one.  2.  People have to have experience with this level of crazy in order to even begin to believe it's real.

So, those conversations over on Upsi's blog are a sort of living litmus test, I think, for anyone out there seeking who can't quite grasp that NParents are really that bad.  "Maybe they're just misunderstood," our agile brains tell us, or "Maybe my mind is blowing it out of proportion."

Then we find this community and we read the war stories and we see the hope and joy that's available and we hear about those of us out in the ether who have moved on, survived, thrived, lived and loved.  We realize that there IS another way than the path of pain we've been taught.  And when we doubt that it was really that bad, we can read the attacks and the comments from the Crazies when they venture over looking for their Narc Supply and be reminded that, YES, it WAS that bad.  And it still would be if we went back.

And then there are those who weren't raised by wolves, but who have some experience happening in their lives that they're trying to understand; step-parents trying to take care of children of an ex-spouse narc parent, ACoNs who haven't yet woken up but are trying to before they continue the cycle of abuse, spouses of ACoNs who want to understand how they can support their loved ones, siblings who are starting to have an inkling that their long-lost sister or brother might have been onto something.

If we can put it out here clearly enough, if we can be the first steps to even one child being rescued from a parent like mine were, well, then any amount of intrusion or dialogue, even from those seeking to harm, is, in my opinion, worth it.

The more we talk, you see, the more real it becomes, and the more tangible ideas and experiences like ours become to the world at large, the easier it becomes for the non-affected to see it.  Maybe someday these blog communities will be pointed to as the first step to eradicating child abuse?  It could happen, I have to believe that.

So, dear Upsi, keep telling it, and thanks for taking the bullets on all our behalf.  Thank you for keeping doors open and for allowing discourse and the space for the Narcs and trolls to expose themselves to the bright light of the truth long enough for any interested to see just how bad it can be.

I'm sure it comes at a cost, and I thank you for paying and hold my hand out with this humble offering of gratitude.

Love,
Vanci