I love this time of year; hanging with the kiddos, seeing generosity and random kindness on the street, dwelling on gratitude, the overall wind-down of yet another year and the reflection and memories that come with that, and the anticipation of a bright, shiny new one. Man, those are the things I live for.
But I am beginning to be oh-so-tired of some of the parts of this season.
Holidays are celebrations, to me, ceremonies to mark the passage of another chunk of this great big ball of life. This hasn't been the best year in the casa de Vanci, on the surface. We've had lots of sickness, lots of issues to deal with, lots of pain (both the good, growing kind and the bad, I can't fix this kind.) We've also had some goodness, sure, but a lot of the goodness that's come our way has been of the silver lining variety, so it's been bittersweet. That's okay, it's all just part of being messy human beans, and I like that about us; we don't have to pretend to be anything other than we are.
I learned long ago to take the sweet however it comes and to make it my own. I grew up in a world where there was never a good feeling without strings attached, there was never even a spoonful of sugar to make the medicine go down, there was very little kindness or compassion and what limited amount there was certainly wasn't freely given to me. In fact, I provided a lot of that care for others, whether I wanted to or it was taken from me.
It's hard for me to find balance between my natural inclination to reach out to those around me and show them that they matter to me and my overwhelming desire to isolate and insulate myself from the world at large. I'm not depressed and I'm not afraid of people, but I'm starting to become... well, disgusted is the word for it, with the people around me and their bastardization of this lovely season.
I cannot count how many times I have been asked this week, "Are you ready for Christmas?"
I respond the same way every time, "Sure I am. Why can't it be tomorrow?" And I smile.
And I'm stared at because this has become a weird answer to that question in a society that values price-tags over time spent.
The PC and correct answer to the question above, of course, is to launch into a monologue about how many gifts I have left to purchase, and to bitch about how expensive everything is. I hear this exchange all day long. And I don't get it.
As a group my co-workers and I decided that we wanted to do something for our boss. There was an email chain circulating for quite a while with suggestions for this single, well-off, fifty year old woman who happens to be intensely private with her personal life. A wine basket? A cheese basket? A chocolate basket?
Really? Why not just collect the money, shred it up into confetti and give her that? What's she going to do with yet another basket of crap? She can afford her own wine, cheese and chocolate, trust me folks.
So I suggested that we make a charitable donation in her name.
Which was like the frickin' shot heard round the world for a couple of minutes there. Dead stop. Then everybody chimed in about what a great thing that would be.
Like it was a new idea, like no one had ever (gasp) done it that way before, like such a thing was unheard of. So that's what we did and she was touched to tears by it. It mattered to her that we had found a charity we knew she would support, and that we'd thought to do something for her and for others.
It's not lost on me that my focus on gifts that matter is born, at least partly, of my upbringing as an ACoN. N's in general suck at gifts, and Nparents tend to use gift-giving as yet another weapon against their children, golden and scapegoat alike. They use gifts like they use everything, to their benefit. Growing up, the quantity and quality of gifts given to one child or another was in direct proportion to that child's conformity to their allotted role in my house. When I was a good little scapegoat, a quietly acquiescent of the abuse victim, I got nicer things, or at least larger piles of middle of the road things. When I began to speak out, stand up, make waves, the piles of things got smaller and the gifts I received became things that Nsis wanted or that GCYB had asked for - except that I'd get the generic brand or the size too small. On one notable occasion, ENF gave me a giant box of his used pots and pans (dusty and wrapped in newspaper,) as my only Christmas gift. This was at the last Christmas we spent with them, and was after I'd started making too much noise about what needed to change in the Clan. Point taken. At some point during a lifetime of this type of abuse, gifts stopped mattering much to me, no wonder.
And they don't count for much now, except that the gifts I receive now from the real people in my real life of a loving family of choice are often things that show how much I mean to the people around me. DH and the DD's always get me things like sweatpants and soft blankets and warm socks and slippers. On the surface that might not seem like much, but it's incredibly thoughtful as I am always cold. (Right now it's snowing. Again. Nineteen inches accumulated in twenty-four hours. TW, come take your weather back!) My BIL and SIL always get me something that speaks to me; a book, a magazine subscription that supports one of my hobbies, etc. They are gifts that say, Vanci we know you and we think you'll like this!
I try to do the same for all the people in my life, too. I spend time thinking about them and what I know of them and trying to envision what will make them feel just a little more special or let them know that I see them, hear them, support them, love them for their very own skin and everything it holds in. That's what makes the gifts matter to me, not the price tag or the trend du jour or what the Jones's have. That's what takes the crassness out of the commercialization of the generous season, I guess.
So that's what I keep coming back to, what are the gifts that matter?
For me, the greatest gift I've ever been given was the support of the people around me as I've extricated myself from the Crazymaker Clan and stayed out. They don't really get it, most of them, what it's like to live through that and to get away from that, but they don't have to. They just love and support me anyway, even when they don't understand.
And the greatest gift I've given myself? The peace of No Contact, of course, and permission to enjoy it.
So am I ready for Christmas number six without the Narcs and Minions?
Oh yessirree Bob. Let's move it up to tomorrow.
Love,
Vanci
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
A Holiday How-To
I've always loved this time of year. Well, truthfully, these last few years I've loved all times of year - there's been so much freedom and growth in my life since I found my path away from the NFOO and, consequently, sobriety, that I've found myself more and more enraptured by the natural world around me. I find joy in quiet moments in the sun and peace in the sound of rain these days; brief interactions with the world I'd been too busy escaping from to notice before just fascinate me. But I particularly enjoy watching the world around me change - leaves turning colors and falling, days getting shorter, that crisp feel of a coming frost. I just love it, and there's something about preparing for winter that just feels right and homey to me. I like to nest and get ready for the cold, I guess, so I found myself this weekend on a rare trip to the store for new pillows and flannel sheets.
On my way to the housewares department, I couldn't help but notice; the holidays are upon us. There are costumes aplenty and bins full of little multi-colored dried corn cobs block the aisles. No matter that it's two and a half months to Christmas, the reds and greens are out in force. Ah... the holidays. When everyone gets sentimental for the days of yore and decides that - for at least a few days here and there - family is important. I've a sneaking suspicion that ACoNs put family first every day of the year - in my former life family took a place of precedence (under duress, I had to take care of the NFOO, don'tcha know,) and since I escaped (for the benefit of my real family, my FOC,) my true family has become of utmost importance. But the holidays, oh boy, they're a double-edged sword for me.
I have a different definition of family than most people I know. Most people define family through DNA and marriage or birth certificates. That used to be my definition of family, sure, it's the explanation I was given. And I broke my back and the bank for them, especially around holiday time. I did it all - the organizing, the driving, the shopping, the cleaning, the cooking, the hosting, everthing to make the holiday season nice and fun and comfy for everyone else. I received very little in return, one great example of this being the final Christmas pots and pans episode. The lack of thanks or reciprocation didn't even cross my mind for a lot of years, and when it did, well... who was I to ask for anything? I didn't want to be selfish, stubborn, greedy or any of the other bad things I believed I would be if I tried to break free of my indentured servitude to the NFOO and their holiday comfort.
But then, I woke up. I changed. I stood up for myself and my real family, which originally only consisted of me, DH and the DD's. It was in September 2007 that I issued my decree of NC with the Crazymakers. Just in time for the holidays. Grieving, shell shocked, traumatized beyond belief and having NO idea how to do the holidays right with just the four of us, I almost lost it just before the holidays that year. I felt like my heart had been ripped from my chest at times, and I wanted desperately for the pain to stop. So I made a plan. It helped. A lot. And here I am, going into holiday season number five without the NFOO around, and I have a plan. It still helps.
Staring at those greens and reds and little dried corn cobs and pumpkins and costumes last weekend, I couldn't help but think I need to put it out there for you. Maybe the tips and tricks and plans and advice I've gathered over the last four years of holidays can help you during this holiday season. I hope so. So without further ado, I present you with Vanci's Guide to Non-Narc Holidays.
Get through the first year, it will be the hardest.
It's all so new. I remember that it felt like everything I touched held a painful memory. The box of Halloween costumes had dresses in it that NM had helped to sew. Some of the little props - fairy wands and wings - had been made with Narc OS's help. The princess tiaras were a gift from GCYB. Every recipe I planned for Thanksgiving had a history, either of coming from NM years prior, or of my having prepared those dishes at the NP's house for everyone in the NFOO. How on earth am I going to change these dishes that serve twenty people to serve only us, a measley four? I thought. The ornaments on the tree had history and memories. There were even some good memories, and those were ever so much harder to deal with. We want to believe, you know, that things can get better, that maybe this isn't the end of the way that things have always been. We try so desperately to hold onto that one memory in twenty that was good, or at least not too painful. Making the best of things is one of the tactics that helped us to survive, after all. So, in the face of that, knowing that I didn't want to ruin the holidays for my FOC, no matter how small, by allowing the hurt and pain of the 'break-up' to overshadow the family time that we had, I came up with a simple plan:
Don't do anything that you've done before.
Screw it and screw them, I thought. I'm not doing the holidays the way that I've been taught. It didn't work - those holiday traditions that we had didn't make us a good family, a loving family, a kind group of mutually loving people. Even when I pretended that was the case, it simply wasn't true: those holiday traditions that we had were just another example of the way that the NFOO's dysfunction worked. NM preened over her potpourri'd house while dropping hints about which of her children would receive special gifts and which wouldn't. EF bought himself gifts, which he then showed us, making it very difficult to come up with anything we could afford from his very specific and expensive list of desired items. Narc OS went shopping with EF and pointed out all of the things that she wanted, thereby ensuring that she would receive all of them; some before the holidays and the rest during. GCYB didn't contribute, but certainly showed up on time to eat and to open all his presents, his many, many presents. Vanci shopped for gifts for everyone, bought all of the food that she would then prepare, packed up her entire kitchen, all the gifts and her family and drove out to the boontillies to bring the gift of a great holiday to her NFOO. This went on for years.
So, in year one, I didn't know what to do. I was at a loss. So I looked for opposites.
For Halloween, we'd always been obliged to drive our DD's to far reaching family's houses so that everyone could see them all dressed up. This had been difficult as we live in the North so Halloween is dark and cold. It's also often on a weekday. So, after work, we'd get the girls ready, feed them, trick or treat a couple of houses in the neighborhood then start the rounds out to the backwater compound of the Crazymakers.
What's the opposite of that?
Well, we did work, came home, had a snack and got ready and then we drove to a neighborhood where we knew not a soul and trick-or-treated for HOURS randomly. No one knew us. We didn't have to make nice with anybody. The kids got to run wild through the streets till their little princessy legs gave out. Then we came home and had hot apple cider and sorted candy and watched a movie together with all the lights out. It was simple and fun and we all had a great time. And it wasn't like anything we'd ever done with the NFOO.
For Thanksgiving, for the first time ever really, we had a simple meal with a simple day in our own home. We played out in the yard. We fried a turkey. We played card games. We went for a walk. We took naps. We ate mashed potatoes until we were about to explode. Again, not like the chaos that had reighned over the NFOO Thanksgiving. No one fought. No one yelled. It was awesome and peaceful.
On Christmas Eve, which was traditionally when our presence (and money... and labor...) had been required at the NP's, we stayed home. We started a tradition of new recipes and we went ethnic, both the DD's helping to meal plan our sweet and sour pork and spicy orange beef that we made from scratch together. We ate with chopsticks. We've since done Thai, Indian and Mexican. My DD's are already talking about what we'll try this year.
We invited the in-laws over to play board games and they came, bearing a surprising amount of highly thoughtful gifts. We discovered a new recipe to make - Oreo balls - for Santa, and we left those out instead of the cookies we'd always made before. On Christmas day we did our regular wake-up, open presents and play with them, but we added a new item: a family gift. It was a video game that year, and we played together, all four of us for a lot of the day. This has become a tradition for us... what game will it be this year?
DH made his signature dish for us all, which is a real treat as he only has two dishes he knows how to make. It was the best Christmas I'd ever had.
You have to leave the old traditions behind sometimes to make room for new ones. And that is a good thing if you grew up with Narcs - those old traditions aren't friendly. When the year one holidays were done, DH said, "I've been waiting for those kind of holidays with you for YEARS."
Keep an open mind and a sense of humor.
Letting go of established holiday traditons is hard, coming up with new ones is harder. Change is hard and new is hard under the best of circumstances, throw a recently recognized lifetime of hurt into the emotional mix and the simple act of putting up the Christmas tree can become overwhelming. Be patient with yourself. You're building something from scratch, you know, and you'll make mistakes. You'll try things that won't work. It's okay, though, if you can keep it light. Stretch your wings and take off: make a new recipe, watch a new movie, buy a funky gift for someone, volunteer for something that you didn't have time for before, invite that person that doesn't have anywhere else to go over for Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe their kid will plug up your toilet with your hairbrush and you'll burn the pie while trying to get the plunger to work. If it happens, hey, you've just learned who not to invite next year. And if it happens and you can keep it light and not too serious, well, you'll have a brand spanking new memory and stories to tell in the future about the Thanksgiving That The Plumber Had to Come For Dinner.
Remember, whether they're good or bad, these new memories and traditions that you're working on will be absolutely awesome if for no other reason than you will OWN them with your FOC. The N's won't be able to spoil them, and if you're NC, the N's won't even know about them. So keep laughing, whatever happens and whatever you do, because progress is progress. If the Bumpous Hounds get the turkey, well, there's always the option of smiling duck at the Chinese food restaurant.
You're going to be sad/mad/hurt/angry/upset at some point. Plan for it.
Yes, it sucks to have a crappy family of origin. It sucks, frankly, ass. Big ass. And breaking away for the sake of our sanity and souls is a GOOD thing. But in the beginning, it can feel like abandoning a sinking ship for shark-infested water. For awhile, it sucks just as bad to be away from them as it did to be with them, especially when the entire rest of the world is pasting on their happy family holiday faces and signing about heading over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house. Everyone around you will be talking about their plans, which will invariably involve relatives coming to visit them or vice versa. They'll be excited about it. And while you listen to their stories of mirth and joy, you will have a tape running in your head that's playing some version of, "My family sucks, my family hurts me, we're going to be lonely, this is new and wrong, can I be wrong about this, etc, etc, etc..." You're going to be upset. Accept it.
I have sacred space in my home where I can go and shut the door and feel everything I need to feel without having to guard my face or my heart for any reason. I can cry a little there. I can talk to myself there. I can pound on things there. I can breathe there, always. I can stay there until I am able to reconcile what I feel with what I know and that is this: I'm mourning what should have been. I'm mad and angry becuase they hurt me and I let them for far too long. I'm hurt because they hurt me. I deserve time and space to heal. Allow yourself all the time and space you need to process the emotions when they become too much. Remember that you deserve to be treated well and you deserve to not be hurt. Don't leave your sacred space until you've said these things outloud. Don't leave your sacred space until you remember that it's going to get better. Allow me to repeat this, with emphasis: Your life is going to get better without them in it. It might take some time, but hey, if you're like me, you'll have a hell of a lot more time without having to serve the N's anyway.
What's that? You don't have sacred space, you say? I beg to differ! I've been locking the door, turning on the shower and sitting on the closed toilet lid to deal with my moments of emotional confusion or distress for years. There's a lot of healing that's happened in my bathroom. It's a great place for alone time, let's face it. Nobody really wants to be in there with you anyway!
Initiate a lockdown system.
On our first NC holiday go-round, I carefully shut down my cell phone and placed it in the glove box of my car the night before each major holiday. I didn't check email. We didn't have a house phone, so there wasn't a worry there. We talked to all the in-laws and close friends we had (painfully few on that front) the day before the event and let them know that I would be incommunicado on the holiday, and we told them why. DH had his (carefully placed on vibrate and completely out of my site) cell phone with him for emergencies, but other than that we fell off the face of the planet on those first holidays.
It wasn't really a question of whether they were going to contact us or not, we knew they'd try. It wasn't even a question of what they would say or how they would try to hurt us, we knew that they would find a way. What it really came down to was self-respect. I and my FOC deserved to have a nice holiday, that's all. I couldn't help that they knew where we lived or that they had my number, but I could contol my controllables - I didn't make it easy for them to weasel in and ruin the day.
They day after Thanksgiving, when I returned to reality and turned on the cell phone, I had messages, sure. But they hadn't ruined our family's special day; I hadn't had to react to their attempts to contact and was able to put myself in a position to choose when and how I would approach the ugly, if at all.
I know that we live in a world of constant contact, but have some perspective. What are holiday's really about? Celebrating life, enjoying the people who are close to you. Hopefully all of those people are already there with you, but if they're not and they truly care for you, I can guarantee that they'll be secretly cheering you on when they speak to you the day before or after the holiday. Shut out the N's capability to reach you and you'll have a much more pleasant holiday.
I know this because I became a little complacent during the holidays of year two: I'd plugged my phone in to charge in the garage and had one of those heart-thumping, blood draining moments of horror when I walked by it to retrieve something and saw that I had a message from NM. I immediately turned off my phone and moved on, but I'd be lying if I didn't say it had a damper on my day. (BTW, the message, "Well Vanci, I hope you're having a good day with your family. That's all I wanted to say. I love you. NM." Emphasis was hers. LOL.) So, after that, I've been more precise about making sure my phone's turned off. Holidays are for family after all, and it's just too bad for them that they don't get to be in mine anymore.
Those are all of the major points that come to mind right now. I'll certainly write more as they come to me.
For now, though, I can hear my new flannel sheets calling...
Love,
Vanci
On my way to the housewares department, I couldn't help but notice; the holidays are upon us. There are costumes aplenty and bins full of little multi-colored dried corn cobs block the aisles. No matter that it's two and a half months to Christmas, the reds and greens are out in force. Ah... the holidays. When everyone gets sentimental for the days of yore and decides that - for at least a few days here and there - family is important. I've a sneaking suspicion that ACoNs put family first every day of the year - in my former life family took a place of precedence (under duress, I had to take care of the NFOO, don'tcha know,) and since I escaped (for the benefit of my real family, my FOC,) my true family has become of utmost importance. But the holidays, oh boy, they're a double-edged sword for me.
I have a different definition of family than most people I know. Most people define family through DNA and marriage or birth certificates. That used to be my definition of family, sure, it's the explanation I was given. And I broke my back and the bank for them, especially around holiday time. I did it all - the organizing, the driving, the shopping, the cleaning, the cooking, the hosting, everthing to make the holiday season nice and fun and comfy for everyone else. I received very little in return, one great example of this being the final Christmas pots and pans episode. The lack of thanks or reciprocation didn't even cross my mind for a lot of years, and when it did, well... who was I to ask for anything? I didn't want to be selfish, stubborn, greedy or any of the other bad things I believed I would be if I tried to break free of my indentured servitude to the NFOO and their holiday comfort.
But then, I woke up. I changed. I stood up for myself and my real family, which originally only consisted of me, DH and the DD's. It was in September 2007 that I issued my decree of NC with the Crazymakers. Just in time for the holidays. Grieving, shell shocked, traumatized beyond belief and having NO idea how to do the holidays right with just the four of us, I almost lost it just before the holidays that year. I felt like my heart had been ripped from my chest at times, and I wanted desperately for the pain to stop. So I made a plan. It helped. A lot. And here I am, going into holiday season number five without the NFOO around, and I have a plan. It still helps.
Staring at those greens and reds and little dried corn cobs and pumpkins and costumes last weekend, I couldn't help but think I need to put it out there for you. Maybe the tips and tricks and plans and advice I've gathered over the last four years of holidays can help you during this holiday season. I hope so. So without further ado, I present you with Vanci's Guide to Non-Narc Holidays.
Get through the first year, it will be the hardest.
It's all so new. I remember that it felt like everything I touched held a painful memory. The box of Halloween costumes had dresses in it that NM had helped to sew. Some of the little props - fairy wands and wings - had been made with Narc OS's help. The princess tiaras were a gift from GCYB. Every recipe I planned for Thanksgiving had a history, either of coming from NM years prior, or of my having prepared those dishes at the NP's house for everyone in the NFOO. How on earth am I going to change these dishes that serve twenty people to serve only us, a measley four? I thought. The ornaments on the tree had history and memories. There were even some good memories, and those were ever so much harder to deal with. We want to believe, you know, that things can get better, that maybe this isn't the end of the way that things have always been. We try so desperately to hold onto that one memory in twenty that was good, or at least not too painful. Making the best of things is one of the tactics that helped us to survive, after all. So, in the face of that, knowing that I didn't want to ruin the holidays for my FOC, no matter how small, by allowing the hurt and pain of the 'break-up' to overshadow the family time that we had, I came up with a simple plan:
Don't do anything that you've done before.
Screw it and screw them, I thought. I'm not doing the holidays the way that I've been taught. It didn't work - those holiday traditions that we had didn't make us a good family, a loving family, a kind group of mutually loving people. Even when I pretended that was the case, it simply wasn't true: those holiday traditions that we had were just another example of the way that the NFOO's dysfunction worked. NM preened over her potpourri'd house while dropping hints about which of her children would receive special gifts and which wouldn't. EF bought himself gifts, which he then showed us, making it very difficult to come up with anything we could afford from his very specific and expensive list of desired items. Narc OS went shopping with EF and pointed out all of the things that she wanted, thereby ensuring that she would receive all of them; some before the holidays and the rest during. GCYB didn't contribute, but certainly showed up on time to eat and to open all his presents, his many, many presents. Vanci shopped for gifts for everyone, bought all of the food that she would then prepare, packed up her entire kitchen, all the gifts and her family and drove out to the boontillies to bring the gift of a great holiday to her NFOO. This went on for years.
So, in year one, I didn't know what to do. I was at a loss. So I looked for opposites.
For Halloween, we'd always been obliged to drive our DD's to far reaching family's houses so that everyone could see them all dressed up. This had been difficult as we live in the North so Halloween is dark and cold. It's also often on a weekday. So, after work, we'd get the girls ready, feed them, trick or treat a couple of houses in the neighborhood then start the rounds out to the backwater compound of the Crazymakers.
What's the opposite of that?
Well, we did work, came home, had a snack and got ready and then we drove to a neighborhood where we knew not a soul and trick-or-treated for HOURS randomly. No one knew us. We didn't have to make nice with anybody. The kids got to run wild through the streets till their little princessy legs gave out. Then we came home and had hot apple cider and sorted candy and watched a movie together with all the lights out. It was simple and fun and we all had a great time. And it wasn't like anything we'd ever done with the NFOO.
For Thanksgiving, for the first time ever really, we had a simple meal with a simple day in our own home. We played out in the yard. We fried a turkey. We played card games. We went for a walk. We took naps. We ate mashed potatoes until we were about to explode. Again, not like the chaos that had reighned over the NFOO Thanksgiving. No one fought. No one yelled. It was awesome and peaceful.
On Christmas Eve, which was traditionally when our presence (and money... and labor...) had been required at the NP's, we stayed home. We started a tradition of new recipes and we went ethnic, both the DD's helping to meal plan our sweet and sour pork and spicy orange beef that we made from scratch together. We ate with chopsticks. We've since done Thai, Indian and Mexican. My DD's are already talking about what we'll try this year.
We invited the in-laws over to play board games and they came, bearing a surprising amount of highly thoughtful gifts. We discovered a new recipe to make - Oreo balls - for Santa, and we left those out instead of the cookies we'd always made before. On Christmas day we did our regular wake-up, open presents and play with them, but we added a new item: a family gift. It was a video game that year, and we played together, all four of us for a lot of the day. This has become a tradition for us... what game will it be this year?
DH made his signature dish for us all, which is a real treat as he only has two dishes he knows how to make. It was the best Christmas I'd ever had.
You have to leave the old traditions behind sometimes to make room for new ones. And that is a good thing if you grew up with Narcs - those old traditions aren't friendly. When the year one holidays were done, DH said, "I've been waiting for those kind of holidays with you for YEARS."
Keep an open mind and a sense of humor.
Letting go of established holiday traditons is hard, coming up with new ones is harder. Change is hard and new is hard under the best of circumstances, throw a recently recognized lifetime of hurt into the emotional mix and the simple act of putting up the Christmas tree can become overwhelming. Be patient with yourself. You're building something from scratch, you know, and you'll make mistakes. You'll try things that won't work. It's okay, though, if you can keep it light. Stretch your wings and take off: make a new recipe, watch a new movie, buy a funky gift for someone, volunteer for something that you didn't have time for before, invite that person that doesn't have anywhere else to go over for Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe their kid will plug up your toilet with your hairbrush and you'll burn the pie while trying to get the plunger to work. If it happens, hey, you've just learned who not to invite next year. And if it happens and you can keep it light and not too serious, well, you'll have a brand spanking new memory and stories to tell in the future about the Thanksgiving That The Plumber Had to Come For Dinner.
Remember, whether they're good or bad, these new memories and traditions that you're working on will be absolutely awesome if for no other reason than you will OWN them with your FOC. The N's won't be able to spoil them, and if you're NC, the N's won't even know about them. So keep laughing, whatever happens and whatever you do, because progress is progress. If the Bumpous Hounds get the turkey, well, there's always the option of smiling duck at the Chinese food restaurant.
You're going to be sad/mad/hurt/angry/upset at some point. Plan for it.
Yes, it sucks to have a crappy family of origin. It sucks, frankly, ass. Big ass. And breaking away for the sake of our sanity and souls is a GOOD thing. But in the beginning, it can feel like abandoning a sinking ship for shark-infested water. For awhile, it sucks just as bad to be away from them as it did to be with them, especially when the entire rest of the world is pasting on their happy family holiday faces and signing about heading over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house. Everyone around you will be talking about their plans, which will invariably involve relatives coming to visit them or vice versa. They'll be excited about it. And while you listen to their stories of mirth and joy, you will have a tape running in your head that's playing some version of, "My family sucks, my family hurts me, we're going to be lonely, this is new and wrong, can I be wrong about this, etc, etc, etc..." You're going to be upset. Accept it.
I have sacred space in my home where I can go and shut the door and feel everything I need to feel without having to guard my face or my heart for any reason. I can cry a little there. I can talk to myself there. I can pound on things there. I can breathe there, always. I can stay there until I am able to reconcile what I feel with what I know and that is this: I'm mourning what should have been. I'm mad and angry becuase they hurt me and I let them for far too long. I'm hurt because they hurt me. I deserve time and space to heal. Allow yourself all the time and space you need to process the emotions when they become too much. Remember that you deserve to be treated well and you deserve to not be hurt. Don't leave your sacred space until you've said these things outloud. Don't leave your sacred space until you remember that it's going to get better. Allow me to repeat this, with emphasis: Your life is going to get better without them in it. It might take some time, but hey, if you're like me, you'll have a hell of a lot more time without having to serve the N's anyway.
What's that? You don't have sacred space, you say? I beg to differ! I've been locking the door, turning on the shower and sitting on the closed toilet lid to deal with my moments of emotional confusion or distress for years. There's a lot of healing that's happened in my bathroom. It's a great place for alone time, let's face it. Nobody really wants to be in there with you anyway!
Initiate a lockdown system.
On our first NC holiday go-round, I carefully shut down my cell phone and placed it in the glove box of my car the night before each major holiday. I didn't check email. We didn't have a house phone, so there wasn't a worry there. We talked to all the in-laws and close friends we had (painfully few on that front) the day before the event and let them know that I would be incommunicado on the holiday, and we told them why. DH had his (carefully placed on vibrate and completely out of my site) cell phone with him for emergencies, but other than that we fell off the face of the planet on those first holidays.
It wasn't really a question of whether they were going to contact us or not, we knew they'd try. It wasn't even a question of what they would say or how they would try to hurt us, we knew that they would find a way. What it really came down to was self-respect. I and my FOC deserved to have a nice holiday, that's all. I couldn't help that they knew where we lived or that they had my number, but I could contol my controllables - I didn't make it easy for them to weasel in and ruin the day.
They day after Thanksgiving, when I returned to reality and turned on the cell phone, I had messages, sure. But they hadn't ruined our family's special day; I hadn't had to react to their attempts to contact and was able to put myself in a position to choose when and how I would approach the ugly, if at all.
I know that we live in a world of constant contact, but have some perspective. What are holiday's really about? Celebrating life, enjoying the people who are close to you. Hopefully all of those people are already there with you, but if they're not and they truly care for you, I can guarantee that they'll be secretly cheering you on when they speak to you the day before or after the holiday. Shut out the N's capability to reach you and you'll have a much more pleasant holiday.
I know this because I became a little complacent during the holidays of year two: I'd plugged my phone in to charge in the garage and had one of those heart-thumping, blood draining moments of horror when I walked by it to retrieve something and saw that I had a message from NM. I immediately turned off my phone and moved on, but I'd be lying if I didn't say it had a damper on my day. (BTW, the message, "Well Vanci, I hope you're having a good day with your family. That's all I wanted to say. I love you. NM." Emphasis was hers. LOL.) So, after that, I've been more precise about making sure my phone's turned off. Holidays are for family after all, and it's just too bad for them that they don't get to be in mine anymore.
Those are all of the major points that come to mind right now. I'll certainly write more as they come to me.
For now, though, I can hear my new flannel sheets calling...
Love,
Vanci
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Making Life More Fair
The majority of my day to day life is full of contentment; there's peace and safety, joy and humor, satisfaction in jobs well done, lots of learning and growing. It's all good, most of the time, and when it's not, I've gotten very good at reminding myself that the dark clouds on my internal horizon are fleeting and infrequent. And I've been given a built in sort of barometer to measure my attitude against - I happen to work in a place that is filled with some largely, well, unhappy people.
They tend to complain a lot. I'm overgeneralizing, I know, and lumping a whole melting pot of personalities together under the umbrella of 'they,' but I'm talking about the vague sense of unrest, melancholy and joylessness that runs through the place as an undercurrent, so I feel okay about the blanket approach.
Every time I walk into the breakroom that all the departments in the building share, if there is another soul in the room, it seems that there is a gripe that needs to be aired. Today there was carrot cake and angel food cake in celebration of one of our co-worker's birthday. I walked into the room and commented on how nice the cakes looked. There were two ladies sitting at the table eating cake. One complained that there wasn't any chocolate cake. The other complained that the cakes were ruining her diet.
I thought, but did not say, "Oh shut up! There's cake! Free cake! Two choices of cake!" There is a part of me that reacts strongly, almost viscerally, to what I perceive as ungratefullness on the part of others. I think this can be directly linked to the unfairness that I was shown from an early age by NM and EF and later in life by OS and YB too. It's something that's difficult for me to talk about, though, because I was also taught early on that I am not allowed to notice or comment on the unfairness - my FOO firmly believed that lack of acknowledgement of a practice, behavior or thing has the magical ability to - poof! - make the unwanted thing just go away.
I was taught that I could not acknowledge the unfairness my parents excercised in how they treated their children, and that if I did need to point out the unfairness, well, that just meant that I was a whiner. There was something wrong with me, don'tcha know... Didn't I understand how hard they were trying to support me? Didn't I know that I was not an easy child to raise? Didn't I realize that it was easier for me to take care of myself than it was for OS or YB, as I was so capable? Really, they wanted me to believe, they were just leveling the playing field for me.
Here's how it worked ~ school was easy for me, they said, becuase I'd always seemingly effortlessly acheived A's in all my classes. Yes, all my classes, forever, at least until the 10th grade. I skipped the 8th grade entirely, just went from 7th to 9th, and still carried A's. It was more difficult for OS and YB, my parents explained, so really what they were paying compliments to OS and YB for on those report cards with A's and B's and C's was effort. Which, of course implied that my A's came with no effort, and therefore I deserved no or less praise for my accomplishments. I was minimized, as were my, ahem, efforts.
That's just one example of the way the game was played. I swallowed it for years without complaint, largely because I didn't want to appear to be ungrateful. I was trained to be grateful for scraps from the metaphorical table of love and affection, all while watching the golden children be fed a feast.
The saddest part to me is how well ingrained this minimization and de-humanizing became. Right as the planet was cracking four years ago, we had our final Christmas with the FOO. It was a typical one - NM and EF 'hosted' the festivites which worked out well for OS and YB as they (mid-30's and late 20's respectively) lived at the family home, too. So, true to scapegoat form, I was the only family member who lived outside the clan bubble. I packed up my DH and daughters... and the gifts... and the food... and the games and everything else Christmas-related and we hauled the 15 miles out to the clan compound.
I cooked a lot of the meal and helped to clean it up - again, this was an expectation fulfilled rather than a gift of service on my part. The time came to open presents and everyone sat in a circle with their 'pile.' OS and YB and even OS's husband had HUGE piles of gifts in front of them; 25-30 each, all but three or four from NM and EF. My DH had about eight gifts in front of him. I had one very large box.
I'd asked for pots and pans. I normally hesitate to specify what kind of gift I would like - I'm not sure if this is due to my inner knowledge that 'they' wouldn't get me something I really wanted anyway or if it's because I was conditioned so early on and so consistently with the idea that it was my role to be grateful for whatever I received, even if it was only scraps. But I was starting to grow and change before that last Christmas, and I was becoming stronger and clearer. So, when I'd been asked what I would like for Christmas, I responded in a relatively normal way. I asked for pots and pans. Simple enough, right?
I noticed the gift count, but I thought, "Well, I'm sure that my gift was just more expensive than all the smaller gifts OS and YB have. Maybe they just packed a bunch of gifts into one big box."
When I opened the large box, it was full of pots and pans, alright. Dusty, used pots and pans wrapped in newspaper. EF explained that he 'just couldn't find any nice pans' that I would like, so he'd decided to take a bunch of his used pots and pans and give them to me instead. Some of the pans still had little flecks of crusted-on food in them.
I swallowed the hurt and the pain and the shame and the absolute heart-break of the validation that I was, in fact, less important to my parents than my siblings and I said thank you. It took awhile for OS and YB to make their way through their piles of gifts, so I watched and smiled and ooh'd and aah'd over what they received. I played my role to perfect dysfunctional pitch, but there was just a smidge of uncomfortable truth breaking through my defensive walls. I was so, so uncomfortable, even if I didn't allow it to show through the outer veneer.
When we, finally, arrived home later that night, DH flipped his lid. He pointed out the unfairness and wanted to know why I hadn't said anything. "I can't believe they break the bank on OS and YB and they give you one crappy box of hand me downs! I can't believe you accept the way they treat you! They treat their dogs better than you; the dogs had more gifts than you!" And then he delivered the kicker, the line that really cracked me open - I can still hear his voice as clear as day; "No one else in the entire WORLD is allowed to treat you like they do! No one!"
And it clicked for me. It was only one tangible example of the scapegoating, the unfairness and the cruelty, but it's one of the first incidents that I was able to see from a slightly removed to normal perspective. It helped me later on as I moved into No Contact with the FOO as a way to remember that I was slighted, that the family was 'out to get me' (and keep me in my place,) and that no matter how they tried to revise history, gaslight me, diminish me or flat out lie, it wasn't true. It's not really paranoia if people are, in fact, out to get you, is it?
I carry a mental picture of that one box; those dusty/used/scratched up pans. I take it out when I need a reminder that gratitude is my choice in life, but there's no rule that says I have to be grateful for being kicked around. I don't have to be grateful for crumbs anymore; I don't need those poisoned scraps.
I'll make my own feast in life, and maybe I'll have a little of that carrot cake in the break room, too.
Love,
Vanci
They tend to complain a lot. I'm overgeneralizing, I know, and lumping a whole melting pot of personalities together under the umbrella of 'they,' but I'm talking about the vague sense of unrest, melancholy and joylessness that runs through the place as an undercurrent, so I feel okay about the blanket approach.
Every time I walk into the breakroom that all the departments in the building share, if there is another soul in the room, it seems that there is a gripe that needs to be aired. Today there was carrot cake and angel food cake in celebration of one of our co-worker's birthday. I walked into the room and commented on how nice the cakes looked. There were two ladies sitting at the table eating cake. One complained that there wasn't any chocolate cake. The other complained that the cakes were ruining her diet.
I thought, but did not say, "Oh shut up! There's cake! Free cake! Two choices of cake!" There is a part of me that reacts strongly, almost viscerally, to what I perceive as ungratefullness on the part of others. I think this can be directly linked to the unfairness that I was shown from an early age by NM and EF and later in life by OS and YB too. It's something that's difficult for me to talk about, though, because I was also taught early on that I am not allowed to notice or comment on the unfairness - my FOO firmly believed that lack of acknowledgement of a practice, behavior or thing has the magical ability to - poof! - make the unwanted thing just go away.
I was taught that I could not acknowledge the unfairness my parents excercised in how they treated their children, and that if I did need to point out the unfairness, well, that just meant that I was a whiner. There was something wrong with me, don'tcha know... Didn't I understand how hard they were trying to support me? Didn't I know that I was not an easy child to raise? Didn't I realize that it was easier for me to take care of myself than it was for OS or YB, as I was so capable? Really, they wanted me to believe, they were just leveling the playing field for me.
Here's how it worked ~ school was easy for me, they said, becuase I'd always seemingly effortlessly acheived A's in all my classes. Yes, all my classes, forever, at least until the 10th grade. I skipped the 8th grade entirely, just went from 7th to 9th, and still carried A's. It was more difficult for OS and YB, my parents explained, so really what they were paying compliments to OS and YB for on those report cards with A's and B's and C's was effort. Which, of course implied that my A's came with no effort, and therefore I deserved no or less praise for my accomplishments. I was minimized, as were my, ahem, efforts.
That's just one example of the way the game was played. I swallowed it for years without complaint, largely because I didn't want to appear to be ungrateful. I was trained to be grateful for scraps from the metaphorical table of love and affection, all while watching the golden children be fed a feast.
The saddest part to me is how well ingrained this minimization and de-humanizing became. Right as the planet was cracking four years ago, we had our final Christmas with the FOO. It was a typical one - NM and EF 'hosted' the festivites which worked out well for OS and YB as they (mid-30's and late 20's respectively) lived at the family home, too. So, true to scapegoat form, I was the only family member who lived outside the clan bubble. I packed up my DH and daughters... and the gifts... and the food... and the games and everything else Christmas-related and we hauled the 15 miles out to the clan compound.
I cooked a lot of the meal and helped to clean it up - again, this was an expectation fulfilled rather than a gift of service on my part. The time came to open presents and everyone sat in a circle with their 'pile.' OS and YB and even OS's husband had HUGE piles of gifts in front of them; 25-30 each, all but three or four from NM and EF. My DH had about eight gifts in front of him. I had one very large box.
I'd asked for pots and pans. I normally hesitate to specify what kind of gift I would like - I'm not sure if this is due to my inner knowledge that 'they' wouldn't get me something I really wanted anyway or if it's because I was conditioned so early on and so consistently with the idea that it was my role to be grateful for whatever I received, even if it was only scraps. But I was starting to grow and change before that last Christmas, and I was becoming stronger and clearer. So, when I'd been asked what I would like for Christmas, I responded in a relatively normal way. I asked for pots and pans. Simple enough, right?
I noticed the gift count, but I thought, "Well, I'm sure that my gift was just more expensive than all the smaller gifts OS and YB have. Maybe they just packed a bunch of gifts into one big box."
When I opened the large box, it was full of pots and pans, alright. Dusty, used pots and pans wrapped in newspaper. EF explained that he 'just couldn't find any nice pans' that I would like, so he'd decided to take a bunch of his used pots and pans and give them to me instead. Some of the pans still had little flecks of crusted-on food in them.
I swallowed the hurt and the pain and the shame and the absolute heart-break of the validation that I was, in fact, less important to my parents than my siblings and I said thank you. It took awhile for OS and YB to make their way through their piles of gifts, so I watched and smiled and ooh'd and aah'd over what they received. I played my role to perfect dysfunctional pitch, but there was just a smidge of uncomfortable truth breaking through my defensive walls. I was so, so uncomfortable, even if I didn't allow it to show through the outer veneer.
When we, finally, arrived home later that night, DH flipped his lid. He pointed out the unfairness and wanted to know why I hadn't said anything. "I can't believe they break the bank on OS and YB and they give you one crappy box of hand me downs! I can't believe you accept the way they treat you! They treat their dogs better than you; the dogs had more gifts than you!" And then he delivered the kicker, the line that really cracked me open - I can still hear his voice as clear as day; "No one else in the entire WORLD is allowed to treat you like they do! No one!"
And it clicked for me. It was only one tangible example of the scapegoating, the unfairness and the cruelty, but it's one of the first incidents that I was able to see from a slightly removed to normal perspective. It helped me later on as I moved into No Contact with the FOO as a way to remember that I was slighted, that the family was 'out to get me' (and keep me in my place,) and that no matter how they tried to revise history, gaslight me, diminish me or flat out lie, it wasn't true. It's not really paranoia if people are, in fact, out to get you, is it?
I carry a mental picture of that one box; those dusty/used/scratched up pans. I take it out when I need a reminder that gratitude is my choice in life, but there's no rule that says I have to be grateful for being kicked around. I don't have to be grateful for crumbs anymore; I don't need those poisoned scraps.
I'll make my own feast in life, and maybe I'll have a little of that carrot cake in the break room, too.
Love,
Vanci
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