To All Of You Out There, Suffering Familial Pain

Many of us are carrying around deep wounds in our daily lives, that for one reason or another, we don't talk about. But they weigh on us every day. You are not alone.

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In my last post, I foolishly made the statement that my health and wellness journey had been bearing fruit, and as such, I felt confident I’d be writing more soon. I apparently jinxed myself, and a new bomb (with an old fuse) has gone off in my life since the last time I wrote. In an attempt to deal with it, I’ve spent the first two days of this week writing through it, drafting posts that I have decided will not be published, because they are too personal and too fraught with the delicacy of family drama. There’s no good way to talk about them in a forum like this without unintentionally crossing some line.

So with ambiguity as my friend, I’m taking one last crack at the themes that lie beneath. Suffice it to say: a specific event has shown me the true colors of some people in my family, and this epiphany is forcing the re-structuring of my boundaries. What is happening spans several generations, and the impact is so significant that things may never be repaired. Standing on principle has always come at an extremely high cost for me, and this is no exception.

Even in the midst of betrayal and lies, I feel a strange duty to protect some of the people involved from the kind of scrutiny I could bring to bear. I want to talk about what they’ve done, and why it’s wrong; I want to dive into the details and history of my upbringing, and the role it plays in all of this. I want to unpack so much that has gone on after years of trying to hold things together that are now coming apart anyway. But the irony of having a platform like this is that it doesn’t give you more power in matters like this, it only ties your hands. To use my reach in this way would be cathartic, but it would also very likely be petty and exploitative. And the truth is, I can’t stop what’s happening, so I don’t want to stay bogged down in it. It’s time to mourn what is lost, and do my best to move on.

Today, with this as the backdrop, I want to focus on something else. As I’ve been wrestling with the guilt, the hurt, the frustration, the anger, the loss, the recrimination, and even the lingering doubt that I am in the right — a panoply of complex, difficult emotions — I’ve also become aware of the intense and quiet suffering of many others.

My wife is a very private person, and as such, she sometimes really loathes my confessional writing. Putting myself out there, being vulnerable, letting the things that wound me be picked apart by any stranger who happens along, is not something she enjoys. But she broke down and posted something publicly this week herself, in a place where those concerned could see it, detailing her heartbreak over what has been happening. It was her hope that those who might be involved in this thing that is going on behind our back and against our wishes — we have no way of knowing how many people are in on it — would see her words and seriously consider our perspective, which has been mostly ignored. It was also a chance to tell our side of a story that has been obscured behind lies and manipulation. It’s always a risk that to say anything is to say too much, and to say nothing is to allow yourself to be a doormat, your concerns and feelings trampled underfoot without a second thought.

There seems to be no way to win, only different ways to suffer.

As a result of my wife’s post, we’ve had a somewhat surprising outpouring of support. What we didn’t expect was how many people would reach out to say, “I have endured something very similar, and I know how crushing it can be.” People who know that the pain is not always just caused by the person doing the thing that wounds, but by those who take their side even though they should know better.

Many of you reading this right now know this feeling too. Maybe you’re going through something like this right now. Walking wounded, carrying crosses you don’t know how to bear, having no choice but to forge on. The heartbreak can take many forms: wayward children; family members who gaslight, discourage, steal, cheat, or malign you; estranged relationships with siblings or parents; crushingly painful marriages, including those that involve abuse, infidelity, or abandonment; caring for someone with mental illness or dementia; sons or daughters who are engaged in self-destructive behavior but refuse help; even small children who have suffered unspeakable crimes at the hands of others. The list goes on. Going through life carrying these heavy burdens, trying to simply put on a brave face and function as though everything is normal, can be exhausting beyond measure. It’s as though all the color drains out of life, the volume of normal activities gets turned way down, and you drift in a half-dream state, going through the motions as your thoughts are dominated by the pain. Every day can feel like a battle to just get up and put one foot in front of the other, determination to get through it waxing and waning in a way that seems completely outside your control.

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Maybe you’re trying not to fall into your own pattern of destructive behavior as you try to cope, and this adds an additional burden. How can you be there for the people in your life who are not the cause of your pain when every ounce of your emotional resources are tied up with the one who is? What do you say to your small children who ask you what’s wrong, or need your attention? How do you hide the smudged mascara or the red-rimmed eyes when you finally pull yourself together enough to walk into the store after sobbing in your car? How do you hide the smell of the alcohol on your breath after the drink you had with your morning coffee, because you just don’t think you can get through the day without something to calm your nerves? How do you avoid sending the text where you lash out at the person who seems to have stolen your happiness? How do you deal with the aftermath of your words when you hit send against your better judgment? How do you manage the restless energy that comes with worrying if your loved one is safe, or not knowing why they refuse to speak to you, and there’s nothing you can do about it? What do you do with the guilt you feel when you know that mistakes you’ve made contributed to the situation, but that there’s no power on earth that will allow you to go back and undo them, and your apologies just aren’t enough?