Who You Let Treat You Like That

Today's earlier post and all of the comments and back and forth got me thinking.  Uh oh.  No, really, it's a good thing.  I felt that it was necessary to delete some ill intended comments from an anonymous commenter; particularly I found these comments offensive because she/he was calling other commenters names.  I see no reason to call the people who've taken the time to put their precious energy into speaking here in blogland names.  It's rude, it's unproductive and I don't like it.

So I deleted and I'd do it again.  I've posted a comment policy that summarizes that I will delete commenters who choose to abuse or attack other commenters on this blog.  I feel strongly about this.  Thanks to Q's Sis, vicariousrising, Jonsi and Upsi for discussing this with me in comments.

Most of the other bloggers that I know moderate their comments and I think that could help to avoid the kind of speed attack that was happening today, but I don't want to moderate.  I'm not interested in being tethered to a comment moderation role and it's generally been my experience that those who want to comment do so primarily in helpful, compassionate, empathetic and interesting input.  I'd rather not have those comments sitting in an inbox until I finally remember to check it while in the middle of dinner or on the phone or happily driving home from work. Maybe I'm idealistic, too, and really want to give people the benefit of the doubt.

Most of the other bloggers I know wouldn't have deleted some of the comments that I did today, and I think that's just fine for them.  I respect that decision to let it ride.

What I thought about today though, was something that DH said to me while I was embroiled in the pre-fight warm up round to my extracting myself from the NFOO.  I see a lot of talk about taking the Red Pill, and I think that's an apt metaphor to discovering the truth about our narcissistic families of origin.  My experience was a gradual Wake Up, and that's what I've always identified it as.

The beginning of my realizations that something was very, very wrong with my 'family' happened in September 2006.  I still played my role and did what was expected, you know just giving up all of my time, money, self, like that.  But I was developing this sneaking suspicion that I wasn't quite as invested as I had been.  I started to question things, first to myself, then out loud.  Just little things, like why everyone in my family assumed that all of my nicer-than-theirs (and harder earned) possessions were always to be available to them.  Why it was okay for ENF to borrow my truck and bring it back dirty and with the fuel gauge on E.  Why I not only was expected to make the holiday dinner, but to do it outside of my own home AND pay for the entire thing.  Why, when I asked for partial reimbursement for the food, I was suddenly the bad guy.  Just a few mini rebellions, a few ground tremors... but they were building.

I made my Stand in January 2007, and that's when it all blew the fuck up.  I've written reams about that period of time and what came after, the brief incidents that I've had with flirting at contact and the couple of points of actual contact.

But today I am thinking about that period of time between my first realizations of the Crazymaker Clan's true nature and the solidification of their role as such in my mind and heart.

DH was with me through all of my questioning and all of my bumbling through the horror of finally beginning to understand who they really were, what they were really like and how I was really being treated.  It was rough.  Hot asphalt on bare feet rough.  Needles under fingernails rough.  They fucking launched an all out full scale war against me.  And I didn't know how to react, I wasn't sure what to do with this new attack or with my new feelings.  For awhile, I just stood there and took it.

I got help and started picking up tools, but I was outgunned and outnumbered.  I started to draw boundaries, super broad and weak ones, but they'd violate them right away, and I'd just stand there too caught up in wondering why they'd do that to be able to defend myself while they violated more and more, hit me harder and harder.  I'd draw another one and the cycle would start over.

NSis got into the habit of calling me to berate me and scream at me about what I was doing to her by making myself more unavailable, how I was killing our mother, that I was ruining my daughters' lives, that I was cuckolding my husband (they NEVER would admit that he was anything but controlled by me, that he could possibly have had a say in any of the decisions to limit and eventually end contact, cause, you know, blame is best heaped on the scapegoat and all.)  We're talking about me listening to her rant and rave over the phone for such long periods of time that I'd have plug in my cell phone at the wall charger and stand there leashed to the wall while she laid into me for huge chunks of time, hours even.

I look back at that now and I think, what the fuck?  Why did I answer the phone?  I knew what was coming; the song never changed except that it got longer and meaner.

And DH would get so mad at me for that, he'd be just livid when that phone rang and I answered it.  DH is a nice guy.  When I say that he was livid, I mean that he would turn red in the face and leave the room.  But that's LIVID for DH.  And I, so well trained to be the peacekeeper, soul giver, make everything better for everyone girl, I'd find him eventually (once I'd been released from NSis or NM's or ENF's or GCYB's rage, because eventually they took turns making these calls,) I'd go find DH and say, "I'm sorry, I just have to answer or they'll keep calling.  What if something was wrong and I didn't answer.  Blah, blah, blah..."
And DH finally said to me, "Vanci, you don't let anyone else in the entire world treat you like that.  If I treated you like that, we'd be divorced in a minute.  If your boss treated you like that, you'd walk out on your job.  If a stranger on the street treated you like that, you'd take them OUT.  Why do you let those horrible people treat you like this?"

That was a big part of my wake up process, a significant piece of the manner of the dysfunction clicked into place for me.  I wish I could say that I immediately took his words to heart and got the hell away, but it took awhile still.  Sigh.  I did get away, though, and that's what counts, and I have carried DH's wisdom in my pocket ever since.

I won't be berated for being myself, for having an idea, for having an opinion, for telling the truth, for speaking up or speaking out, for liking or disliking something or someone, for wondering about something or questioning something, for having a heart or for being cold, for my eye color or my word choice or my thoughts.  I just will not allow it for myself or for the people who are visiting my online 'home' here.

Question me?  Yes.  Challenge my thoughts or intentions?  Yes.  Make a suggestion? Yes.  Differ in your view?  Absofreekinlutely.  Argue a point?  I'm game.

Berate or shame or call me names?  Well, if we were face to face I'd tell you that those are gravel-kickin' words.  Or I'd walk away.  I will defend myself, one way or another.  I'm working on the expression of anger thing, so I'll choose to delete and end it rather than to engage.

And that's what my comment policy's about.  Be a human bean and remember that the rest of us are too; act accordingly and appropriately to that fact.  Or... buh-bye.

Love,
Vanci