We are taught some of the worst beliefs in dysfunctional families of origin by some of the most hurt people on the planet and we expect them to get everything right.
Note: this post talks about domestic violence.
When I was a young mom, I had no concept of grey rocking, low or no contact. There were plenty of times I was angry at my parents and had I known about those things would likely have used them.
Instead, I had the very dysfunctional support of my parents who, today, I know loved me deeply -and- were not great parents. People in my generation or age window of 50-60 plus year olds, often use the “it was different then” or “we’d never have” tropes to muse about why their own children have estranged from them.
My family of origin did not talk about anything important. We didn’t talk about things going on in our country, we didn’t talk about what our individual lives and experiences were for us as part of that family or out in the world. In fact, when I was a high schooler and traveled for a drum and bugle corps trip and got sick with most likely strep throat, I had a fever and was medicated and I had some pretty strong reaction to the medication. When I called my parents to tell them, they both were angry at me and were no comfort at all. As a parent, I get the reaction of strong emotion when you’re not with your child and something happens. It’s the never coming back to things to repair or amend or discuss that was lacking in my relationship with my parents.
Later in my life while I was still married I risked telling my mother that the violent domestic abuser I settled for marrying pushed me on a stair case when I was pregnant with my daughter. Years after that, I had divorced and was living in my parent’s home, my mom told me my dad wanted to drive from Illinois to Texas to beat the shit out of the guy. The thing is, nothing ever happened. As far as I know, nothing was ever said to him, no protective action for me ever happened any of those years of my marriage (there are reasons trauma and domestic violence survivors are seen as liars, they take massive risks telling anyone about the harms done to them and frequently are met with no help).
During that same period of living with them, I tried clumsily to find ways to connect on a more deep level with my mom and I finally told her that her and my father’s oldest son threatened to rape me when we were teenagers, my mom looked at me, got emotional and said “Well. I guess I was a horrible mother.” In that moment she was, yes.
Take those instances as you will. The years I lived with my parents as an older person myself was a mostly bad thing mixed with a little good. The bad was I was drowning in depression and pain and I knew on many levels because of who my parents were, there would be no effort made to help me in healthy ways. The good was, I had a spot to try to rest my body and heart and they were very giving in accepting me in their home. Also, this is both good and bad, I got to see up close and personal who they were. And my newly maturing old brain along with my past child’s brain was right on track in terms of seeing who they were vs who I imagined them as when I was young. My dad and mom were bitter to the end toward one another, dad was a passive aggressive person who had lost all hope in life and mom was most likely what would be categorized today as a covert narcissist and chronically depressed.
All that to say; I understand my children’s choice to cut contact. I brought the model of not talking about serious things to the life I imagined I would build and naively believed would change through all of the almost 18 years of abuse of myself and my children.
I did not challenge my kids on their own actions or thoughts or beliefs as they grew up. I was pretty much the personification of a wallflower of a mom with only a few exceptions during their growing up years.
Interestingly when I talk to old friends today as I have been learning (taking the risk) to share the past violence we experienced and I was keeping secret for so long, they almost to a person, tell me how surprising it is because I came and come across so confident. I get that. I am a confident person in my soul. Those years though? I handed over all my self to that violent, misogynistic, bigoted man because of my cultural and family of origin training to go along to get along, to be quiet, to put absolutely everyone before myself.
So when our estranged children rightfully call us immature it’s because many of us are learning to be adults in our advanced ages. I’m 63 as of this writing and it has been about the last five years that I can say I have significantly grown into an actual adult. Mostly. The heart wrenching part is that my healing both physically and emotionally have overlapped with my oldest and youngest Son’s decisions to jump on the estrangement wagon with my Daughter who has estranged herself from me for around 13 years now. I think that’s why I have this conviction there is a human development aspect to taking the steps to estrange from family. We are taught some of the worst beliefs in dysfunctional families of origin by some of the most hurt people on the planet and we expect them to get everything right, be self aware and be mature in dealing with us. That’s where the enormous amounts of publications on generational trauma get traction from; us, our parents, our grandparents and so on. It doesn’t lessen the heartbreak I have of being alienated from my children and grandchildren. It informs me and helps me see where I need to improve and mature. And it tells me some of the ways my kids are hurting.
If you have ever been hurt by a person who was tasked with caring for you, and your kid or kids are not speaking to you, there are threads there. It’s our responsibility to look at those things, fix what is possible and when or if we ever get the chance; tell our children “I understand why you chose to estrange. I’m sorry. I love you.”