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It seems impossible for me to comfortably speak with any member of my family! EVERY conversation fails to satisfy my emotional and mental needs. And, it’s not like I don’t try or don’t have enough words to contribute. I strain my brain sometimes trying to pivot and adjust to every member of my family, and it’s never enough. It’s never good enough to get a satisfying talk with anyone. So, I go about my life, just trying to get through each day, never feeling quite at peace or comfortable with anyone, and my own family keeps pushing me “over the edge” because I am perpetually “too much.”
Ask for help? I might as well walk through a real mine field. Asking family for help is like pulling teeth and playing Operation. BUZZZZ! I said something wrong. I said too much. I’m too emotional. Have a question about financial papers or health needs? Go pay someone to help. My family has no patience and cannot simply answer any question.
Now, if I bent to that thinking and let their directions decide my fate, I’d likely be locked away in a mental ward, pumped full of hazardous drugs and broke from paying people to pretend to care and take notes on everything I have to say, just in case I pose a hazard to anyone.
One sister (although she’s not the only one to say it) says get a therapist; a therapist has to care about your thoughts and what you have to say because you’re paying them. Ha! She knows nothing. I’ve seen therapists. And, considering they are not only being paid based upon your quality of insurance and whatnot…and they are never really free to be themselves because they are under some supervisor which dictates what they can and cannot do…and because getting involved, emotionally, with any client/patient would be hazardous to their profession…they CANNOT care about anyone but themselves. Their job is to help people work through problems and find pathways to “recovery” (which includes “getting on with life”). They cannot be the friend you lack or the family that you wish you had. And, even if they could, if you are paying a therapist to fill such a role, you might as well be paying a prostitute for a good time. Or, pay your family that money and tell THEM to show some kindness and respect when you speak with them.
Even if I thought a therapist could help, all they can really do is deal with ME and my side of everything. But, when the problems involve many members of a family, no one person’s advice can change or improve that lot. When I previously spoke with therapist-S, my parents were present, and I was regarded a minor who was wide open to experimentation with drugs. I might as well have been a dilinquent drug user, though I never wanted to mess with my own thoughts or digestion (in other words, drug free, people, and preferring it that way). The only sensible advice would seem to be find other people. And, that’s already been a discouraging quest. I’m tired of walking it and I don’t have the energy or will to run.
Even if I left my family behind, moved on, what would that really do for my psychology unless I had a new family already in my life who would welcome me into it? To leave my roots in utter defeat in hopes of finding a new friendly crowd? That’s foolish…hazardous. And, I am not anywhere near that fearless.
Shouldn’t your own family have more decency and kindness than someone you hire, who has to be filled with so much information just to understand you as an individual, not just a “type A” mentality?
The other option to finding a kind, willing “ear” is to join a group, a club, a class of some kind. That’s wishful thinking. And, when you struggle with social anxiety (which I am sure some will say can be “medicated”…and I don’t care for that suggestion), it’s not so easy to mingle. And, with my luck, the only people who reach across the room to acknowledge me are people looking for trouble or who would be trouble if I got involved with them. That may sound cruel and pessimistic, but it’s true.
Other members of the family have had similar luck. I have a brother who perpetually gets sucked into “friendships” with people who make him initially feel like he’s important and valued…and then secretly wish he was out of their lives. He meets people and quickly boasts about how great they are and how they open doors for him (doors he rarely will go through alone for whatever reason). Somehow he retains many of these “friendships” until they mysteriously expire. He won’t say much about the loss of a friendship, unless he gets mad and says the person was a lying “jag,” anyway. He seems to burn up the tolerance of those he calls friend until they awkwardly ask him or do something to drive him away. He seems blind to people’s true feelings and never suspects anyone might be saying one thing when they mean another. [You might say being suspicious is unnecessary paranoia; but I’m suggesting people need to filter what they hear and experience and be somewhat aware of when their own actions or words might be unappreciated. My brother is unaware of all of that, even once he’s been handed the grim decision someone else made.]
When he loses closeness with someone, he turns bitter and alcoholic. He lacks self-control. He’s had so many disasters and wrecked cars, and yet my family has been tolerant and let him be himself, though he never actually seems to be “himself.” Yet, sometimes, he might not try or do something quietly or be down on himself because of failures he hates to mention.
[And, here I am, sensitive to all that, both sorry for him and struggling myself, and I am helpless.]
On the “flip side,” I’ve been struggling my whole life to avoid his mistakes and be “the good guy” in my family, and it’s achieved nothing for my benefit. All my effort gets washed out by my family getting sucked into their own displeasure. We all are sucked into ourselves, possibly because the world has become so crappy. But, I feel like I’m still trying to be nice with everyone…and they can’t be nice enough with me. My hazardous brother seems to get any attention he wants, even if family doesn’t like what he does. I don’t think anyone has ever cut him off or short. But, when I get talking or emoting, it isn’t long before I have to step aside and let the life of someone else through. I am always in the way of someone’s progress.
If you want to know about any sisters, you’ll have to take a number. Unlike the “men” in my family, thanks to my mother, the girls/women have been more respected, like royalty. They are heirs to the throne that my dad never had. Dad bowed to Mom. And, I’ll leave that at that. My sisters are not necessarily rude or spoiled, but they are oddly intolerant with very limited patience for anything outside their little bubbles. They have their own social circles, friends that have helped them get to places and status I can only imagine. It’s easy for them to talk as if life is easy, even when they sigh and complain. It’s easy for them to tell me to do something for myself, as if they didn’t have help.
They didn’t do much on their own…not without someone there to see them through it. They might not be married if I didn’t have a part in it. One sister wouldn’t have kids with the names they do if I said nothing; and if she tried to discuss travels with my other siblings, they wouldn’t give her more attention than I would because they haven’t had the same travels. [Even I get rather ugly and jealous when the one sister talks about travels because I wish I was able to do the same, and I’m not invited.] The other would be a bridezilla if I didn’t calm her down. And, her kids might be dead if I didn’t help babysit (unpaid for years of daily assistance); she could have hired a stranger or “friend” to babysit and dealt with the chances of that (or sacrificed her job to be a good, consistent mother and let the father make enough money to suffice instead of budgeting for whims that pile up fast).
And, have I ever told any member of my family they are “too much?” If I did, I took a break and came back to try, again. I never told any of them to get a therapist or join a club to solve their problems. [Of course, I didn’t have to because, lucky them, they have “friends” of a sort. Yet, if you ask them, they’d say those friends aren’t much help. So, are my sisters actually doing just fine on their own?…or are they not sure how to value their friends?] I didn’t leave them with that to leave them in a hole of misery. [Or, if I did “ditch” someone, I guess even I fail to remember. But, again, I feel my own emotional strength is rather limited by the “food” I’ve been given.]
I have an aunt who has always been a spark of life and witty even when she’s occasionally so blunt that it leaves me troubled. She didn’t have any kids of her own but sort of adopted a big family and seemed to be doing just fine with everything. She, like most of the family, WAS a smoker. Then, her husband became ill, and she had to care for many of his needs. That seemed to crack her. She lost control. She couldn’t handle life, anymore. She ended up in an “institution” with limited family access. As with every other member of this family that has needed “intensive care,” certain members avail themselves while others seem to simply say, “I can’t. It’s too much. I can’t do anything to help. It’s beyond me.” And, those who try to help the “sick” person get mad at those who don’t try, holding grudges for years or cutting people off.
[I feel about as helpless as that “lost aunt” and wish I could help her. I don’t write her off because I can’t help, right now. I still think of and worry about her. The rest of my immediate family…don’t even bother asking their feelings.]
Even if I don’t get along with family, I don’t think I’ve ever left any member feeling like they couldn’t try again with me. Maybe it’s just a no-win situation; maybe we were cursed just the way we were put together, a cursed family doomed to crumble. [Yet, I can’t bend to thoughts of murder or suicide to end it quickly because the ideas make me nauseous. It’s immoral and unnecessary…even if it feels necessary.]
They have had friends to reach out to and spill their guts when needed. I have not…at least, not since I was a kid and had maybe one or two trusted friends at a time. And, even then, I couldn’t be fully myself with them because my parents were restrictive, cutting time short and denying phone calls.
[How is it I have been able to at least try being comforting or helpful to them? Or, are we all guilty of being similarly insufficient to each other? Am I just not fully aware of their limits? I’m not even sure of my own limits but find myself trying, sometimes “over-extending” myself. Yet, if I did less, I’d feel heartless and inhuman. And, if I do more, I feel…consumed.]
Do with this what you will. What does it matter where or what I say? Kindness and thoughtful responses are appreciated. Message in a bottle.
Writingbolt's Creation 