solid 2/10

Emotionally abused child strongly believes that their parent is inherently good and deserves all the compassion in the world, all the excuses, all forgiveness and none of the blame for their actions (parents make sure children know that the blame would hurt them so children must never blame them) and will fight to defend the parent and point out why abuse was not really abuse, why children deserved it, why nobody is to blame, except maybe themselves, because “they weren’t good enough” to appease the parent which would then hopefully be a bit more kind (of course not). They often wont even admit how badly they’re scared of their parents.

To have an abused child realize they’ve been exploited, lied to, betrayed, systematically destroyed and dehumanized by their parent, their entire world needs to break down, everything they’ve been taught has to be acknowledged as a lie, what they considered right and fair needs to change to wrong, who they trusted the most needs to change to be least trust-worthy, who in their head, made sure they survive up to that point, needs to turn into a person who almost cost them their life, and destroyed it rather than held it safe. It’s not a fun ride. It’s devastating to go through, it breaks a person apart completely and forces them to re-construct their entire reality. And it’s the only way to have a chance to really recover, to validate themselves and their pain, to understand to what depth they’ve been damaged, and by who and why. It’s the only way to realize that they’re entitled to life, to food, to roof, to nurturing, to everything that was held against them, they’ve been required to feel grateful that they weren’t left to die. 

one more time.

“why take your phone into the store to get it fixed? they don’t care about you, they’re only doing their job.”

“I don’t want to order a pizza. they’re not making it for me out of the goodness of their hearts, they’re only doing it because it’s their job.”

“why didn’t you just have your girlfriend do that surgery instead of going to a stranger who only saved your life because it’s their job?”

With my girlfriend, I am free to be as partial, as irrational, as loving, as informal, and as irreverent as she and I like. And when we encounter an area of truly deep turmoil, I say–”I wish you’d talk to a professional about that.”

Because when I see clients as a therapist, the entire relationship is structured for them not to care about my wants or needs as a person, except for some very basic things: Meet a the time arranged, call if you can’t come, pay me, don’t physically assault me, don’t assume we’re friends outside of therapy. That isn’t because I don’t love my clients immensely; it’s like ensuring the sterility of an operating room. It’s a necessary basis for some of the work I do.

The self-contained nature of the therapy relationship gives them an environment that can handle the most radioactive of feelings. Inside my office, they can tell me about their rage and frustration with the people they love, and we can discuss whether that feeling is a rational, proportionate response; whether any good would come from sharing that feeling with the loved one in question; what the best way to strengthen that relationship is.  And so a child enjoys life sheltered from the knowledge that their existence might cause their parent bitterness or pain; so a spouse supports my client in their healing from an abusive childhood, without having to talk them down from crisis every time they look a little too much physically like my client’s abusive parent.

I screw up in my friendships and romantic relationships when I am too much of a therapist. When I pursue areas of pain and hurt instead of letting someone feel happy and secure in my presence, when I don’t let anyone see my own needs and feelings and am therefore unreachable, when I respond to my loved ones’ concerns with logical analysis instead of acceptance and sympathy.