The Effects of Growing Up With Bottled Emotions

July 26, 2017, attempted to end @3:58 AM.

Sometimes I still fall victim to the hardness that I once knew. I catch myself being cold when I feel as if I’m witnessing weakness. It’s sad really, where that comes from. Just now I noticed that I had banned my dog from my bed and had been cross with her because she was shaking from fear of the occurring thunderstorm. Making jokes to myself, I said aloud, “I didn’t put a quarter in the bed” and, “I love you but I also love to sleep!”

Such things make me downtrodden at the thought of how this behavior came to be. Over and over, I replay the times when I was also cold to my daughter when she was emotional. I would say things to her like, “Are you fucking crying?!” She was just a small child and that incredibly lacked the type of love, support, and guidance that my daughter truly needed at the time. My regrets are too many to list. As it grows longer, the more I reflect. That time can never be retrieved but I still have life, and I can adjust from what I had experienced, into what I choose to experience now.

It is wishful of me to think that the seed of resentment had not been planted through my own behavior and has grown, for I have seen and felt it with all of my being. My daughter loves me but there is that nagging part of her that won’t let her forget just how flawed of a mother I have been. I hold zero blame to her. I wish I had been a better mother for her.

There is a difference between placing the blame solely on another and seeing things as they are, a compilation of circumstances that shaped us into a person we aren’t completely capable of fixing until we know, deep down, that we need to be fixed. Part of that is taking accountability for my own actions, for I have made my own decisions, as an adult is free to do, yet I forgive myself for my shortcomings and I hope that my daughter some day also will.

The problem with being an adult daughter of a narcissistic/ sociopathic mother is that our views of how things should be and how we should react to the world around us are distinctly distorted. The outpouring of sadness, the expression of affection, and the outward display of fear were all considered a frailty and that could not be tolerated. My father further put this ideal into a concrete belief. I recall him saying the very same thing to me when I was younger, “Are you fucking crying?!” What’s sad about that is that we were taught that showing our emotions was a sign of weakness and thus the cycle continues.

What I have learned, through my own discoveries and through the teachings of others, is that allowing yourself to be vulnerable in front of another person is really a very brave thing to do. Such a display involves a level of trust for me now because the thought that I could trust anyone with my emotions has been forever ruined. I’ve been manipulated and put down in the very worst ways as a direct consequence of ensuring my deepest, sometimes darkest secrets in the heads, hands, and hearts of others. The world has taught me throughout my years that not all hearts are like my own and, in fact, the nature of my heart is undeniably unchanged, despite the hell that I have gone through. Such a thing as this is very rare indeed.

I digress, however. The purpose of me writing this is to remember that my heart is still good and I still have time to correct the things I do and say when the darkness creeps in. I am not my mother, nor am I the young version of my father. I realize that when I said that learned phrase to my daughter, that it hurt me the moment it left my mouth, and that the reason for it was that I could not stand to see her cry; it made me feel helpless. The weakness I felt was then distorted into anger because I was not allowed to grow up with the love that I needed to develop into a healthy adult. My daughter deserved that love, too. My dog deserves that love from me. I am gaining a clearer understanding of why it’s important to experience all of our emotions, no matter how disheveled it makes us, because we then develop so much more. You cannot have only select emotions and rule out the others, for that is not only damaging (because you’re neglecting things that need to be experienced) but it’s also unrealistic and deeply unhealthy.

I’m so damaged and I brought my daughter up in a damaged environment because of that. I blame my upbringing for setting the stage for that but I also blame myself for not being stronger, and smarter, for not realizing that I needed to be more healthy of a person. The problem with that thinking is that I WAS strong; I survived. My daughter will survive, too. The scars remain but there’s no reason not to point at them and talk about why they’re there and how they came to be. Then maybe we can allow ourselves to look at them differently, as something that used to hurt but is now in our past, that we have accepted them for what they are, a reminder of a part of us that was once so wounded that it still shows.

Some days I look at those scars and I want to scream in anger, at why they’re there in the first place. Some days looking at them hurts so badly that I try to cut them out with alcohol. Some days I realize that they are a permanent reminder and feel that the only way to erase them is to erase myself completely from the world. Some days I don’t even notice them. Some days I am able to use the experience of them to help others. Some days they make me want to share the memory of that pain, to try to alleviate the current pain in the only way I know that is truly healthy for me, by writing.

I am not a perfect person but I am acknowledging my flaws and I strive to be a better person every day that I’m on this planet. I’m certain some days are more focused on what I want, whether it be good or bad for me, but I think everyone has their moments. Be kind to yourself, for you are all that you have. Remember when we were all that we had? Console yourself the way that you wished your mother had, for the divine mother resides in you. Be messy, let it all out, and take your time to pick up the pieces and place them where they need to go. A long neglected room does not get organized without first making a mess, laying everything out to observe, putting things in a place that works best for you, and getting rid of the things that no longer serve a purpose. Reorganize your thoughts and feelings just like you would that room. Maybe then you’ll find solace in a place that you once could hardly bear to be present in.