coming clean

Those 2 days dragged on. I made my list. It was actually quite long. I called Maria several times but was met with a "click." I still was trying to navigate my way around the "boundaries" I went by Barnes and Nobles for books about divorce and being abused as a child. While there were tons of books about abuse and divorce, I found that they all followed a curious pattern. Nearly all books about divorce were geared towards women. Most books about abuse talked about overcoming it for yourself , not about how it could possibly affect your marriage and parenting. The two books that did were written by women for women. I did gravitate to one book. "A boy called it" This book touched my heart so much. I got online and read more about this persons ordeal. My abuse was nothing compared to what this mans was. He endured horrible physical abuse for years. In the aftermath it was obvious he was still scarred. He was a parent now, but not surprisingly his marriage ended in divorce. I realized three things during those 2 days waiting for my next appointment. First thing , my therapist was right. I didn't love myself. In fact I didn't really know how to love. My concept was to praise during the good times and remove love during the bad times. Second , I truly believe men don't have much support during a divorce. It is unacceptable for us to fall apart. Yet , when we don't , we are labeled as having no heart. The truth is, divorce is horrible for both sides. There were days I would wake up with so much pain in my soul. I didn't want to go to work. Third, while many people talk about getting passed abuse, very few talked about how abuse can severely damage every intimate relationship you have from that day forward. I showed up at my next appointment with a little better perspective. One thing I did request. "could you call me Tom?" My therapist nodded and went over my list. She was actually surprised that I made my list. But I was serious. We talked for hours about my fears as a man. My fears as a father.I slowly uncovered more about my childhood. To describe my relationship with my mother I would often touch my knuckles together to symbolize that we always butted heads. We just didn't get along. I always felt she antagonized me. I'm sure some of that had to do with being called stupid all the time. My therapist went on to ask what kind of home my mother grew up in. My mother was the oldest of 3 kids. My uncle Bill was the youngest. My aunt had died 3 years ago from renal cancer. My mother for the most part was the overachiever. However I always got the impression that she felt her parents loved my Aunt Dawn more. My uncle was constantly being propped up on a pedestal and helped. My mother got no such praise or help. I somehow always felt that she was trying to prove herself to her parents. She married the smart PhD from Cornell. Moved out. Became a teacher and then a nurse. "You know much of the anger that your mother projects on to you is a direct relation to the inadequacies she feels about her own life? You get that right? Her brother needed constant support. Her sister got constant praise. She longed for that love but never received as much as she probably needed. You got all of the backlash. You represented her bother and sister all rolled into one. At the same time she expected you to try as hard as she did. When you didn't, she punished you by taking away love and scaring you in to submission." This was much more than I expected. I still didn't understand completely. My father was an entirely different story. I've often heard my father referred to as "Saint Joe". He was an exceptional young man. Near perfect grades. Student body president, valedictorian, Captain of the football team, and from what I understand a good looking guy. My Father was the youngest of 4. His brother Kenny died when he was very young and that left my Aunt Kathy and Uncle Bob. My dad was the perfect kid. Both my aunt and uncle have relayed to me that my dad never did anything wrong. He gave to charities. He helped underprivileged kids. He had a dream, after watching a documentary about children starving in third world countries, that he would get his PhD in Plant pathology and help cure these countries crops so that they could flourish and in turn feed more people. And that is exactly what he did. So the anger... I just didn't get. I always considered my dad successful. He was my hero. Until he got angry of course. Then I was scared. "Did your mom and dad ever fight Tom?" They really didn't . My mom constantly criticized him. She did call him stupid a great deal. There were times when my dad would request my mother not to purchase something and she would do it anyway. She spent a great deal of money on hoarding. We had 3 refridgerators and 1 freezer filled with food. There were things in there from 3 years past. My mother refused to get rid of anything. Our garage looked like the pantry to a soup kitchen. I once counted 50 bags of pasta and 100 cans of soup. And then there was the cereal boxes. at least 20. Stacks and stacks of Tupperware. You've got to remember I'm an only child. It was the three of us. And when I left it was the two of them and the problem didn't get any better. My mother just kind of did what she wanted. Unchecked. She would yell at my dad, and he would just nod his head and walk away. Defeated. "So your mothers abuse wasn't exclusive to you . Your father endured it as well? I nodded"Did you ever tell your dad she locked you in the closet?" No. "And he never came to save you?" No. "let me explain something about abuse. It's not exclusive to children. Husbands beat their wives. Women verbally and physically abuse their husbands and everyone takes it out on the kids whether its directly or indirectly. Your mother physically and psychologically abused you terribly. She also abused your father. Your father in turn took his anger out on you. That was why he was inconsistent with his discipline. You probably walked in at the tale end of your mom ripping into him. He wasn't about to hit her,but he could get a sense of that manhood, dominance, and control back by hitting and scaring you. Neither is right." For the second time in two sessions I started to cry. "Why didn't he help me? I was just a little boy." Sensing me breaking my therapist sat next to me lifted my chin. Look directly in to my eyes. "You are not them. OK . We are going to get you better. Just remember you are not them. You aren't even related to them." I gathered myself . It wasn't easy. You hear about people crying during therapy and I always thought it was silly. I mean why can't you just figure it out on your own? That notion seems so uneducated now. " OK I'm going to leave you with a thought and some homework she said. First of all everyone responds to abuse differently. Some cower and are never the same again. They become very fragile shells. Some in turn abuse others. Be it their spouses or children. And still others fight back. They don't give in. They stand up to the pain. Which one are you? I think I already know. But I need to know what you think. Think about it. Also next week, we need to talk about Maria OK?" I nodded. "Oh and Tom? The fighters to abuse have their own bunch of problems. They internalize and self destruct. Not so good. See you next week." She's killing me.