acoa sanctuary Community Group
The softer side of growing up in a dysfunctional home... a sanctuary to feel home with friends and never alone.
On July 16, 2012, I was invited to Doane College in Lincoln, Nebraska to speak about codependency and being an adult child of an alcoholic. The gentleman who invited me said that he too was an adult survivor of an alcoholic.
I never heard anyone describe themselves that way... I loved it. I still have a bad habit when someone asks me how I'm doing, I respond with, “surviving.”
How else does an adult child live? They survive.
It really hit me how much I survived when I began sharing my childhood as a codependent. In my poem “I Was Powerless,” I had a verse that said, “I was my mom's husband, and my dad's wife.”
That is really a powerful statement. So many times, I lied for my mom. Dad would come home from work and see mom sound asleep. Actually passed out, but I would lie and say how sick she was.
At the age of eight, I would make simple dinners and wake mom up and we'd both try and convince dad that she made it. The first time, I tried this it was a disaster. I shared this whole story with the psychology class and as I told the story, I became that child again. At first, I felt so proud that I made a meal for myself, dad, and mom. Then after the meal, I felt like a worthless human being.
There wasn't any mistake of my worthlessness when I heard the yelling and then the undeniable sounds of a fist hitting a face. Then to be told how horrible of a meal it was from both parents, I truly knew how worthless I was, not only as a child but also as a partner to my parents.
Growing up in an alcoholic home, everyone keeps the secrets... it's a source of power and it gives meaning to life. The more secrets you keep the more boundaries disappear and reality fades away. We justify the insanity of it all.
It's sad to say, at the time when my mom died I was 18 years old and it was the happiest day of my life. I thought with her death, the fighting would stop and we would have a happy family. Wow, was I wrong. The fighting just spread. As did our codependency.
I remember one night talking with family members and I said that dad should be happy. Mom was dead. It was what he wanted for many years. His wish finally became a reality. I was told that he didn't mean what he said. So... what I heard many times over many years wasn't what he meant? Then why did he say it?
He should have been the happiest man in the world, but the day mom died... dad began to die as well.
When I began sharing my stories as a child another family member told me, “it was just the times.” What does that mean? I won't say here what that meant to my parents, but I will share what I said in Lincoln.
I was asked if I ever tried to get help. I said yes. After one of those “it was just the times” moments, I called the cops. The cops came and saw the damage first hand... physical damage. But it was the 70's and if one person didn't press charges nothing could be done. So I wanted to press charges and was told I was to young to do that. The cops left. They left me in a house where the parents were out of control and they were in control of me.
What a horrible way to live. “It was just the times.” Insanity, abuse, alcohol... I was powerless.
I never heard anyone describe themselves that way... I loved it. I still have a bad habit when someone asks me how I'm doing, I respond with, “surviving.”
How else does an adult child live? They survive.
It really hit me how much I survived when I began sharing my childhood as a codependent. In my poem “I Was Powerless,” I had a verse that said, “I was my mom's husband, and my dad's wife.”
That is really a powerful statement. So many times, I lied for my mom. Dad would come home from work and see mom sound asleep. Actually passed out, but I would lie and say how sick she was.
At the age of eight, I would make simple dinners and wake mom up and we'd both try and convince dad that she made it. The first time, I tried this it was a disaster. I shared this whole story with the psychology class and as I told the story, I became that child again. At first, I felt so proud that I made a meal for myself, dad, and mom. Then after the meal, I felt like a worthless human being.
There wasn't any mistake of my worthlessness when I heard the yelling and then the undeniable sounds of a fist hitting a face. Then to be told how horrible of a meal it was from both parents, I truly knew how worthless I was, not only as a child but also as a partner to my parents.
Growing up in an alcoholic home, everyone keeps the secrets... it's a source of power and it gives meaning to life. The more secrets you keep the more boundaries disappear and reality fades away. We justify the insanity of it all.
It's sad to say, at the time when my mom died I was 18 years old and it was the happiest day of my life. I thought with her death, the fighting would stop and we would have a happy family. Wow, was I wrong. The fighting just spread. As did our codependency.
I remember one night talking with family members and I said that dad should be happy. Mom was dead. It was what he wanted for many years. His wish finally became a reality. I was told that he didn't mean what he said. So... what I heard many times over many years wasn't what he meant? Then why did he say it?
He should have been the happiest man in the world, but the day mom died... dad began to die as well.
When I began sharing my stories as a child another family member told me, “it was just the times.” What does that mean? I won't say here what that meant to my parents, but I will share what I said in Lincoln.
I was asked if I ever tried to get help. I said yes. After one of those “it was just the times” moments, I called the cops. The cops came and saw the damage first hand... physical damage. But it was the 70's and if one person didn't press charges nothing could be done. So I wanted to press charges and was told I was to young to do that. The cops left. They left me in a house where the parents were out of control and they were in control of me.
What a horrible way to live. “It was just the times.” Insanity, abuse, alcohol... I was powerless.
Powerful stuff, and Yes... I too have heard alot of what you mention. The Argueing, fighting, beating each other up, and my Afather was KING Of the Verbal abuse when it came to my mother, and his words to her when us kids would question him would be "Deal with them!" Never did understand that! we were all standing in the same room asking simple questions yet he would storm out and say... "Deal with that or them"
In My Story, He saved Most if Not ALL the Physical abuse for my Mother, who already felt lower then dirt, because of the verbal, she always was trying her hardest to please him which left me feeling like that was the only way to be, PLEASE them... PLEASE them... PLEASE them... Which has made it rough for sure when I was programed to such a thought! And Could maybe explain why even after I was Raped by 2guys one Night I Felt I Still PLEASE Them... PLEASE Them... even tho Inside I was Dieing a Slow Death! and tho the one I did not see again, the other I Turned in to a Boyfriend because he was Manipulative enough to have me believe it wasn't his fault they drugged me, it was the other guy... And he was just doing what he thought was OK! SICK SICK SICK... is what I was... I Still struggle on that one for sure...
I'm so Grateful I found Al-Anon even if it was 20yrs after the fact, because i have Slowly begin to Heal, and Hearing story's like yours Dave, and everyone else in these rooms, & boards I Realize... It Could have been worse, and YES... I Survived.. I Know some that Could not... And Chose to Exit this life because of it! I'm Grateful I didn't quit ME!
Tho Alcohol has Always Played a Part in ALOT of my Nightmares, there is times I'm Grateful I was a "Blackout" drinker... Cause I can Barely handle the things I DO Remember! And God is the ONLY On that Knows the things I Don't!
So Grateful You Survived My Friend... You have Carried Me at times when I COuld not Carry Myself with your Courage, and insight, and I Will be Forever Grateful .... Love & Hugs My Friend... THANK YOU for Sharing your Story... And I'm Very Grateful you are an "Adult Survivor"...
Love, Hugs & Prayers always...
Oneness....
And the things we did in childhood to survive carried forward to mess up our adult lives and relationships. Because I didn't know any different, I kept doing what I had been doing, and getting what I had been getting.
Recovery...ESH...corrective experiences...a real, one-on-one relationship with the God of my understanding (and not someone else's understanding)...one day at a time...bring the immeasurable gift of Serenity.
I am forever grateful for the gifts of recovery that you guys so graciously share.
Entirely different conversations but it eventually ended up being about abuse.
Each of these ladies said they would have preferred being physically beaten then verbally abused. Their thoughts were that the physical wounds healed, but the verbal wounds still haunted them...
It was those conversations that really made me think, not only about my childhood but also my adulthood.
The physical beatings I received from my father as well as brothers, really don't matter... but those verbal attacks... oh boy... they still can pop up at the strangest times.
As an adult, I don't physically abuse anything or anyone... yet I still can revert to old ways and say things I later regret... that verbal abuse I received as a child, to me, is so much more worse then the physical abuse from that time...
Dave