We Are a Product of Those that Came Before Us

A week or so ago I published a Facebook post taking a look at what were a persons earliest memories. It was very interesting to see how many involved wonderful memories with grand parents. 

My earliest memory also involves my Grandfather, Herman Manning.....but they are not so good. My Grandpa spent a lot of time with my brother and I when we were very young. Not because he wanted us, but because that was who would watch us at night when my mother was either working or doing her thing. I don't every remember my grandfather hugging me. My memories involve feeling like he didn't really want us there....like we were an inconvenience.  About the only good memory involves playing cribbage. 

My earliest memory though, involves trauma. It is the day that I knew I had to protect my brother Todd. It is the day I became his protector. He must have been 2 or 3 so I would have been 5 or 6. My grandfather was responsible for a lot of day to day care...including bathing. Ironically, I don't recall my baths but my brothers I still have nightmares about to this day. One day in particular my brother did not want to take a bath. He never did ...probably because he was terrified.  My grand father put him in the bath tub and the fight began. I remember standing in the shadows of the hallway of his home on Parkside watching, scared to death. Just when I didn't think it could get worse Grandpa set about to wash Todd's hair. Todd was screaming so loud and I remember hearing the gurgling as Todd took water in. I remember Grandpa him saying, "listen here you little shit". I remember him pushing him down in the tub. I remember wanting to go in and stop him because I was sure Grandpa was going to drown him. It wasn't just a little kid screaming, it was the sound of the gurgling when the water went in his mouth and the sputtering as he tried to breath. But I was just a little kid so all I could do was stand there in terror. 

Strangely, I was also very distraught when my Grandfather died. Most likely, any semblance of consistency was gone. I don't every remember my grandfather hurting me.....but I also don't remember feeling safe with him. 

So what is the point to this story? The point is we are ALL a product of those that came before us. Dysfunction and dysregulation is something that is handed down from generation to generation. What experiences did my mother have with my grand father? What I know for sure is that my mother was the last of many sisters and a brother. What I know is that my mother was also not protected as a child and was molested by one of my Aunts first husbands. My Aunt Etta filled me in about some things when I confessed to her that I was molested when I was a child. 

 What trauma did my mother endure to have her so dysregulated as a young parent raising us on her own. My mother could not cope with her anguish.  In the younger years, there was a lot of unpredictable behavior from the adults that surrounded me. There was a lot of intense rage and anger from my mother. There was also a lot of alcohol, a lot of men in and out of the house. As a young child I witnessed many things a child should never see, which included intimate relations with men and those same men abusing my mother. I spent a lot of time lurking in hallways plotting in my mind all the things I could do to save her....but never having the guts to do it. I spent a lot of time under my brothers bed vowing the violence going on in the other room would not come to him. Even the good times in the early days were terrifying because they could turn in an instant...with one call....with the knock of a door....with a song that played that reminded my mother this was all my fathers fault. There was no hugs....there were no words of endearment. From a very early age I knew that my mother did not like me.

When I look at the memories I do have of my grandfather, for the most part I just remember existing. There are the stand out moments like the bath tub scene. Or the time he put a rubber band on his dogs paw because he thought it was funny....only to forget it and have it embed in the dogs paw and stink to high heaven. If he was like this with his grand children......how did he treat his last child in a string of many? As my vision becomes clearer, I look at some of the behaviors of some of my Aunts.  One in particular was so out of control that her own child moved to another state to get away from her own mothers manipulation and obsessiveness. This Aunt was mean to so many. The things that she would say were outrageous. What happened to them to be this way?  My grandmother died when I was very young so I know nothing about her. How long has the generations of dysfunction been going on?

So as I write my story, I will be honest about my feelings and honest about the things that happen. But what I feel for my mother now, after a year of healing and learning, is an incredible amount of empathy.  Without a doubt, my mother had her own trauma to deal with. Further, my mother did not have the resources we do now. Heck, I didn't have the resources we do now when I was a young mother. While I may never understand the way she twisted the truth, which is the nicest way to say it, I understand that something happened to her and she did not have the resources to heal. Unfortunately, that trauma is a direct result of my trauma. I hope that someday in heaven, we have a beautiful relationship.  But for now, I heal from what came before me and I forgive. Each day I continue to remember that we are all a product of what came before us, but we do not have to be prisoners of it. 

This is the end of the housekeeping posts. From now on I am just going to write as concepts start to jell in my mind. I listen to so many audible books that help me understand why I am the way I am. My daughters used to say I play the victim. What I know for sure is that I am a product of the circumstances I grew up in. But I also have the power to not become its prisoner. Giving voice to my story is giving me the language to make sense of what happened to me, to understand and grow empathy for my Mom and for my brother who hates me so deeply. But I also know that having the language to process has opened up a whole universe for me. It has allowed me to give voice to those experiences and to move through those feelings from childhood. It has allowed me to leave fight or flight...which has been my home for 55 years. It has given me connection and groundedness....I have felt the sun on my face in ways I never dreamed.  

So buckle up buttercup...the ride might get bumpy but the sun will always shine!