After months and months of feeling pretty good, like I’m doing a great job healing myself and making a lot of progress overcoming and processing my childhood trauma, I’m having one of the hardest weeks of my life.
There was this kid I knew when we were child actors in the 80s. We were never friends, but just like me, he didn’t want to be on any of the auditions our mothers forced us to do. His mother was the most openly abusive monster I have ever seen. More than once, I saw her hit him in public. Literally every time I saw him, she was yelling at him, berating him, putting him down, and being emotionally abusive. Literally every time, hundreds of times, for about a decade.
I always felt so sad for this kid, and his siblings, who were obviously being abused and used by their mother. His mother was so unabashed about screaming at him in casting offices, even little 9 year-old Wil knew that he was probably being physically and emotionally abused at home.
I hadn’t seen or thought about this person in thirty years, but the other night I saw him on my TV from a movie he did in the 80s, and all of these traumatic memories of my own abuse were triggered. I remembered things I had totally forgotten, things that I hadn’t thought about since they happened 35 years ago, and I just started to sob, because I realized that if little 9 year-old me knew what was going on, certainly the adults who should have protected him knew, and they did nothing.
Just like the adults in my life, starting with the two people who I should have been able to rely upon more than anyone else in the world to protect me.
I was a kind, gentle, enthusiastic kid. I was super creative, with an endless imagination. I was honest, I was honorable, and I always tried to do the right thing. I really love that little boy, and I wish he was my own son, because he deserves so much better than he got. I just wanted to be loved and praised by my parents, which I don’t think is unreasonable for any child. But my father made it really clear from my earliest memories that I wasn’t good enough for him. He bullied me, he humiliated me, he hit me, and I lived in absolute terror of him. By the time I was a teenager, and had plenty of experience with bullies, I recognized how weak and pathetic he was, and I traded my fear for contempt. I didn’t respect him, I didn’t trust him, I would never confide in him or seek advice from him, but I still desperately wanted him to love me. I desperately wanted him to approve of me, to give any indication at all that I mattered. He was, and is, such a bully, such a narcissist, so selfish and so cruel, that that was never going to happen. My mother must have known how cruel he was to me, but she protected him and enabled his abuse. She gaslighted me about it for my whole life, as recently as the final communication I had with her. I’m working to accept the reality of who they are, and even though I won’t ever speak to them again or have anything to do with them, the absence of loving, nurturing, caring parents is always going to be there for me. It hurts, a lot. It feels kind of like the whole world.
So when I saw this kid, back in 1988 or whenever it was, I was reminded of being that sweet, gentle, curious, smart, clever, kind, child I was. That child who didn’t ever get affection or approval from his father, who learned that he could only get approval and affection from his mother when he was letting her use him to chase her acting dreams. Something happened, and it’s like this emotional dam I’d built to contain the sadness and fear I lived with when I was that child just totally burst.
The enormity and totality of my father’s abuse, my mother’s manipulation, and how unhappy, sad, and afraid I was poured over me in a torrent, and I felt like I was drowning. I still do. I’m caught in a rip current, and I can’t seem to swim out of it.
So now I have these two profound emotions swirling around in my head: I feel, in full color and as vividly as if it is happening to me right now, the overwhelming fear and sadness I lived with as a child. I was so afraid my dad would be mean to me, or that he would hurt me. I was so afraid that my mother, like my father, would not love me if I didn’t do what she wanted. Endlessly, I begged my mother to let me be a kid, and she refused. I did everything I could to earn my father’s affection and approval, and it was never good enough for him. I feel those things with the helplessness and confusion of a child, but I also feel white-hot anger at those awful people for hurting that child — for hurting me — so much, and so callously.
I love that little boy. I love his kindness. I love his compassion and his empathy. I love how creative he is, how much he loves to make up stories. I love how important it is to him to be kind, to treat people the way he wants to be treated. I want to protect and nurture and love that little boy the way he deserves. I want to go back in time, and protect him from the people who are SUPPOSED to be protecting him, who are using and hurting him, like he’s their property, and not their child.
When I remember being that child, I feel so angry and afraid, I could join the Dark Side, and that’s not something I like to feel.
I’ll get through this, because I am stronger than my abusers. I am better than the man who was my father, and I am working to heal from and overcome how manipulative my mother was. Some days are easier than others, but the last few days have been really, really tough.
It feels like the whole world, and if you understand what that means, I am so, so sorry.
I love you, Wil and I so wish that you would have been my son instead of your birth parents’ son. So many of us love you and love the boy that you were and the man that you have become. The duty of a parent is to love and show that love, to protect, and to nurture the spirit of each child. To help them grow into who they choose to be. I wish we could all go back and hug, protect you and get you out of there! Feel our hugs. Feel and know our love. And go take it all back to that young boy, covering him with it like a blanket of protection. And then let’s get him out of there!
You have grown from a kind, gentle, honest and sweet boy into a kind, gentle honest and sweet man. You have done that without your parents. You have done so brilliantly well. You will come out of this dark place too with your courage, family and being kind to yourself.
Hey Wil,
thanks so much for sharing.
My heart aches for the younger you, feeling your own pain, and empathizing with the other young man. My heart aches for you now, feeling it all over again.
I hope you can see that you are the same now as you were then. The words you use to describe the 9 year old you, are the same I would use to describe you now. Kind. Compassionate. Creative. Honest. Honourable.
I’m sorry you have to relive the trauma.
I thank you for showing an example of love even in your brokenness. I’m grateful for you.
I’m sorry you were triggered and caught up that way. I’ve had to say very similar things about myself – about what a neat kid I was and how I deserved better than what I got.
You are there for the kid you were now though. You may not be able to give him the past he deserved, but you’re giving him the future he deserves. <3
Also – thank you for being willing to let us see and share this with you. Seeing the progress you’ve made in your own healing gives me hope for mine.
Dude. You’ve been through some crap. When I saw your earlier work, I couldn’t have begun to imagine what it was like for you off screen.
Thanks for bearing you’re soul the way you do. We hear you. It probably helps you in some way, a little bit at a time. You’re helping others too.
Peace be with you.
I may not understand fully. But I do know that you have conquered this dungeon once before. I know you can conquer it again. You are Wil Wheaton. And you’re one of the few people in this world I support. I can’t think of many ways to show I care. I can only tell you that I’ll stand with you if you need me to.
Dude. I’m not going to say what you should do, but I will share what helped me.
First: CBT. Via a talented therapist. I had to train my inner inspector, learn to see what’s going on, then deal with it piece by piece. I’m still doing it today, nearly two decades after the greatest needs were resolved. It’s just a great way for me to stay mentally healthy. In a way, it feels like I’m polishing my favorite classic car. Gotta keep that shine!
Second: I was surprised when I learned how to identify the difference between reliving a memory, and remembering it. Reliving inflicts fresh wounds, right here, right now. I had to talk back to those memories, tell them they live in the past, and refuse to be traumatized by them again. It took dozens to hundreds of repetitions, but slowly their power was diluted then washed away. Permanently. They’d pop up, I’d talk them back down. It became an easy, instant reflex.
One trick that helped me with the persistent ones was to ask myself what the people involved in each memory are doing today, and if I would ever let them stand there and hurt me that way right now, today. Since it can’t happen today, then I refuse to let the past do it. I refuse to let my memory in my brain hurt me again.
The thing is, I have healed so many of my bad childhood relationships that it was simply unfair to let those memories have any power. My relationship with my Dad was terrible as a kid, but now he’s a great friend whom I adore and love completely, and who loves me back the same way. When a bad memory of him arises, I acknowledge it, then I let myself remember our most recent hug. Damn, if that doesn’t work every time! The past is past: Now is what matters. (Sharing how I created a new my relationship with my Dad would be a long comment on its own.)
Third: When I was drowning in bad memories that became waking nightmares I did grounding drills, to clearly separate reality from memory. I started with simple stuff: “I am walking my dog. I love my dog. I will set that bad memory aside. Because I love walking my dog. No bad memory gets to come between me and walking my dog.” Rinse and repeat.
The key for me here was to catch myself when I was obsessing, stuck in a loop, drowning. Forcing myself to grab the leash and walk out the door. Then come back for the dog.
Fourth: I learned to consciously and willfully approach the memory, where it was 100% my choice to revisit it, but at arm’s length, not by immersion. I made interacting with the memory something I owned. With time and safe repetition, I became able to hug that memory, and cry for the boy to whom it happened, and be thankful for the man I have become, the people who love me and who I love, and the rich life I get to live. Today.
Those memories still make me sad, but it’s at a remove: They don’t trigger my depression. Those memories are very much an important ingredient in who I have become. I refuse to forget them! When I work with troubled teenagers (I volunteer tutoring math at a last-chance high school), I recall those memories and my empathy for and with the struggling student next to me grows. Those memories directly empower me to help create change. I would be less of a person without them. I treasure them.
Fifth: There are cleansing cathartic cries. Then there are the sobs of fresh wounds. Learning to tell the difference was initially difficult, because I was so absorbed in and by them, but in time it became vividly clear to me. I still cry, these days mainly for film and theater dramas. I truly enjoy a good cry! But no sobs from or for the past.
Here’s to you and your journey. Thanks so much for sharing.
Love you, brother. Yeah, “brother.” I was writing about my “triggers” (I hate that word) and they all go back to the insecurity born from a lack in my childhood. One of my therapists (Joey Dolowy, he’s in Ventura county, worth looking up) had a saying… “proud parent of a happy inner child.” I recently started envisioning being able to reach into the past through memory to see if I could mend some of those rips in my emotional fabric. I want to just imagine that that younger me is my son. You say you love that young Wil… I hope I get there with young Chris.
jesus, wil, you’re my geek dad…and now you’re writing stuff that i’ve been through already. it’s uncanny and surreal and i keep feeling like you’re writing my words. because i quite literally have written those exact feelings. you WILL be ok, and you WILL get through the tsunami. and the next one. being a survivor isn’t easy but it gets better with practice.
Wil, I had hesitated about this when I first thought of it, because my first reaction was to share that I was proud of you. I wondered whether that was creepy or strange, because I’m not part of your world except in this strange way. But honestly it’s still how I feel. I’m proud of your courage and your writing and your growth. I’m proud of the way you’ve shared your struggles and I know (as these comments attest) that you’ve helped so many people. I’ve got two kids making their way to adulthood, who have their own challenges, but have the things you should have had. They have support for making their own choices, they have parents who listen to who they are. If either of them comes to display the courage, kindness, and growth you have in this one piece, then I would be happy for them.
The other thing I want to share, well take it as a hypothetical. I had a professor in wonderful class I took who said, that some people who are troubled and in emotional pain that won’t go away, are living with constant fear/anxiety. When they come face to face with a present tense reason for emotional pain, they are usually overwhelmed, because they think this will be like their other pain. But the truly felt pain is the harder, and more intense, BUT IT ENDS. Once they realize this, they can let go of some of the hold that fear of pain has had on them. Anyway when I was reading this post, this came back to me. So my wish for you is that this is the case, that the full color riptide, is the result of breaking down those walls, and that it passes and leaves you feeling alive and whole.
♥️♥️♥️
I am so sorry to hear this. It sounds like you are in a painful place right now, which feels doubly so because things have been going so well. Healing is never linear, especially with trauma, and our human brains rail against this every time. I have been reading Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma by Levine and would highly recommend it. I am still slowly moving through it because I can’t read much without having to stop and deal with what it has brought up. Sometimes I will try to imagine my personal path as one that is stretching far off into the distance, but what is right in front of me is jumbled, tangled, sharp, jagged. But if I can get past that part, I can see that the next bit is smooth, clear and even. For awhile, anyway. Take gentle care of yourself and that little boy that still lives inside you.
😣😣😣😣
Join the darkside? Explain please
He’s talking about becoming Darth Vader, as opposed to continuing to be our mildly befuddled Yoda.
Wil, I see you and I appreciate you. Healing is hard, painful work. You’re doing so well! We are holding space you here and we love you.
Thank you for sharing, sending you mental hugs (hope that’s ok)
You’re a good man. You do good work. You make the world better and brighter and kinder.
As someone who grew up on the coast, the trick to getting out of a rip tide is not to swim against it, but perpendicular to it. Rip tides are strong and fast and terrifying – but narrow. It’s not the whole world, I promise.
I understand this completely… I was watching a film called ‘What’s eating Gilbert Grape’ and realised how trapped I was in my own life… through illness… and the dam went! I ended up phoning a friend as I live on my own and she had to try and calm me down… which she did brilliantly… I was having a full on panic attack with crying so hard you can’t talk or breath properly and I just couldn’t stop!
Must admit though afterwards I did actually feel better eventually… not right away it did take a couple of months but it did help strangely…
Biggest huggles <3
Wil. Take comfort in your sons, who, as far as I can tell are fine men who you have nurtured and loved.
You have broken the cycle, and that is a real achievement; perhaps the only one that matters.
+1 to this.
Hey, Wil.
I don’t have any direct experience with what you’ve lived, but I saw what stage/little league/football/soccer parents did to some of my friends and classmates, and, yeah, it was awful. Using their child as a surrogate through which they could achieve greatness that had “unfairly” eluded them in their own youth.
I’m so sorry you lived that.
But what I can do, my friend, is remind you of all the great things you’ve done on your own, for yourself, for Anne, for your boys. You broke the cycle. It ended with you. That requires a degree of self-awareness, of compassion, of understanding, and, most definitely, of commitment to making that decision to break the cycle stick for you and yours.
You did that.
You.
Wil Wheaton.
You did that.
That is proof positive of your success in life.
This in no way erases your past, in no way discounts what you are dealing with now as you sort through that long-deferred processing. But maybe it’ll help a little bit to remember how far you’ve already come, that you are a success in the stuff that really matters. That creative, sensitive little kid came through to the other side, didn’t forget his promises (tacit or overt) to himself, and is a creative, sensitive, grown-ass man now, who helped raise creative, sensitive young men who are following their own paths from the jumping-off point you and Anne brought them to.
I wish you peace, and healing, and love, my friend.
Jim Crider
I know it will never leave you as it’s part of you. But I hope it gets lighter again.
You are super strong and it’s amazing that you realised that they were shitheads and not you!
Be proud of you, you deserve to be soooo fucking proud of yourself.
And thanks for being honest about this topic. Reading your blog helps so many people!
Dear Will!
I can relate to your emotional pain. One therapist told me that although i am now 49 years old, inside me lives that boy that was abused too. And at intervals as I feel more secure and good, that sad Little boy will feel safe enough to open up Another abyss of emotional pain, to deal with. He’s advice was to see that, and to Comfort that boy’s feelings.
But I experienced the most horrific event the other day. Storytel had removed my lullyby. Ernest Cline’s Ready player one and Armada read by you! I am a junkie for listening to you read those books as i fall asleep.
I know you and Cory Docktorov are cyberpunks and going your own way. But I need that book, could you please please tell me were I can buy that audiobook? I live in sweden, and sometimes the content isn’t internationally available.
Looking forwards to listening to it again. And take care, it will get better and you will feel good again.
Yours faithfully
Magnus
Hi Wil.
Sending well wishes to you.
I’ve been along (and am still on) my own rough road, and though our stories are quite different I feel a kindredness in our journeys and emotional place in life.
Do your best to take care of yourself, and I will do my best to take that advice as well.
Glen
I feel like you are still doing good, even if you are feeling bad. Like the current was meant to sweep you off your feet for a minute, not to drown you but to show you what you could do – get your head above the surface and tread water for a little while. It doesn’t mean you are not still healing. I have been having a similarly strangely awful week, so I just want to say thank you for sharing. And I realized that I have a lot to learn about compassion for the little girl I was, because it made me realize that I never think of or talk to her as kindly as you do your little boy self. You spoke like someone on the Light Side even if you feel dragged by the undertow of the Dark. xo
Hmm. It is interesting that you called this a riptide. The problem is, people panic and struggle so hard against riptides they become exhausted and can no longer fight. Once you are caught in it, you can’t fight it- but you can understand it and survive.
There are a few ways to survive a riptide, and these are all relevant to your analogy. I might explain this in a clunky way (I’m sure you can do better) but here goes….If you get caught in a riptide and you are not a strong swimmer- call for help. Allow yourself to be rescued by someone qualified- don’t struggle on your own.
If you are stronger, you can go with the riptide until you feel it’s pull weaken …riptides eventually subside with weak points where you can swim parallel to the shore and back in on the waves- tired but safe. Stay calm and remember you don’t have to fight- its pull on your strength will pass. Breathe. Float. Look to the sky. Realise the riptide is not the whole ocean…just a small channel. There are calm places all around you just waiting for you. Take a moment to understand what is happening and that it will pass.
The thing is, your mind is wonderful. It realised that young Wil or hurt or broken or sad Wil would not have been able to cope with the full reality of these feelings all at once so it hid them deep inside. However, your mind is now noticing that you are sharing the past, you are making good decisions and are stronger than ever. Your mind thinks you are in fact strong enough to cope with a riptide- that you are strong enough to be taken far from shore, that you can cope with the terror of a riptide because you know what it is. It cannot defeat you now. Your mind thinks you are strong enough to swim home to the shore, leaving the riptide behind, dissipating into the ocean. Your mind knows that you have help nearby, that you are not a child swimming alone anymore. It’s confident in you, and believes in you. The reality is that you have been protecting young Wil all along, and you are swimming the riptides for him now you are stronger.
My husband found that therapy would often trigger an increase in flashbacks/memories, even remembered smells and sounds from trauma. It became too much at one point, a tsunami he could not escape. If there are too many riptides to cope with one after another (because even the most experienced surfer/Ironman can’t do that forever), or if you also hit a tsunami, tell your therapist and they can help you slow down the rate of therapy or find ways to cope (if you aren’t seeing someone, then this would be the time to acknowledge you need a hand, lay back & throw up your arm for assistance).
You are not alone.
I’ve been thinking about this post all day. I worry when I know a friend’s been triggered because the headspace is as traumatic as the event itself. You relive the trauma and it feels fresh. It’s a life sentence that has the capacity to punish forever. So I feel for you, and empathize.
I also appreciate the honesty of your post.We need to share our stories so others know they’re not alone.
I came here because I’m bingeing Leverage with my husband. You know, yadda.
I hope you’re feeling better and you’re getting enough sleep.
Thank you for sharing.
It’s interesting yet somehow reassuring to this from someone “in Hollywood” – or Hollywood-adjacent – since it’s part of the Hollywood mythos that family is always better, that it’s always a good idea to reunite with families regardless of whatever they did in the part. It’s not true, of course. I thought a recent episode of The Good Doctor was going to fall for that line too, but they avoided it.
My parents told me I was “planned”, but they were not at all prepared for the reality of having children. By the time I was aware of such things, I got the impression that they would have preferred that we just disappear. They are long-dead now, but I have a “sister” who ran away at 16 and got pregnant, and who contacts me about once a decade when she wants something. Of course I have nothing for her, so she vanishes again. That’s why “sister” is in quotes: being related biologically does not make someone Family-with-a capital-F. It’s the same with parents.
Thank you Wil. Thank you for sharing this pain, this struggle. Lately I’ve found myself writing about my own, similar experiences as a child – it’s so easy to get lost, to sink into that quicksand of memory. I find it helps to know I’m not alone. You are not alone. You have built a lovely family and home life that is such a beautiful reflection of who you are, who you have become. I know – when the miasma of depression, triggered by memory, is coating you, filtering what you see and how you see it – it can be hard to pull out of the dive. Sometimes no quantity of words can change your trajectory. Know you are loved. Look at those who love you. Listen to those that love you. Hold those who love you, those who you love.
That breaking of a protective emotional dam is the most overwhelming thing I have ever experienced. The exposure of the childhood mind and experience and raw emotion hidden behind it smashing into the adult brain that thought it had ‘handled’ all that is brutal. You’ll get through it, you’ve proved that already, and I wish you gentleness and love while you’re getting there.
I feel you, Wil. Because I’ve been there too..wanting my parents’ approval a nd not getting it because I was somehow just not enough for them, not good enough, smart enough, strong enough, not enough of ANYTHING for them and constantly trying to be whatever it was they needed.
When I look at you, I see a man who– in spite of a sometimes uncooperative brain– has meaningful relationships, creates cool things, and has some pretty amazing moments.
As someone with my own challenges, and I can’t tell you how important it is for me to see that. You struggle, but you overcome; you’re down, but you’re going to get back up.
We’ve never met, and likely never will, but my world is better because you are in it.
But all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.
-Dame Julian of Norwich
I don’t know why, but stumbling across this quote during a dark episode of my own gave me a surprising amount of comfort. I have used it as a mantra and a shield. Be well, dear Wil. You deserve it, and always have.
Wil,
I’ve never responded on your blog before, but I feel the need to today. I’ve been keeping an eye on your blog, watching you deal with the pain of your childhood. And I want you to know, I can deeply sympathize.
I also want you to know, you’re making a difference. You have a lot of fans, but more importantly, you have a lot of friends. I would like to count myself among them. Your experiences in dealing with your pain has caused me to finally see a therapist myself.
Now, I know my pain isn’t nearly as deep as yours. In fact, I have a pretty good life right now. There is no shame in getting help.
Another brother, out there in the Universe, wishing both of us control of our emotions,
William
So, so sorry. When I got stuck in that current, surprise surprise, writing helped me out of it. Use your support network. You will swim out.
You don’t know me from a hole in the wall, but I just wanted to say how incredibly proud I am of you. Recovery is tough. Really, really fucking tough. Sending you so much love. If ever you’re in Ottawa, I’ll give you a hug in person if you want it. For now, please accept this paltry internet hug.
I hope that some of you with more experience or knowledge might be able to respond. Years ago I had a somewhat similar situation to Will’s childhood experience in that I viewed a father yelling at his daughter while the mother stood by. They were in their driveway and apparently had returned home from the daughter’s soccer game where she had not played up to the father’s expectations. Both the daughter and mother were standing with their heads down, while the father yelled and yelled. It appeared that this was a common experience, and I was concerned that he was also physically abusive to the daughter & mom. I was standing by my car a few houses down, having come to visit a friend in the neighborhood. I didn’t know what to do, but waited until they went inside…wondering if I should intervene. But even though I was an adult, I was a woman and wasn’t sure what I could do without endangering myself or perhaps making situation worse for the daughter & mom. I still don’t know what I could have done. Does anyone have suggestions on how to act in a situation like this? I didn’t know these people but I feel to this day that there must have been something I could have done, both for that particular incident and their ongoing situation.
Personally, no amount of working through my past, or trying to parse why things happened, has ever helped me. My only relief has been to simply learn to live in the present moment, and allow the past to be the past. I don’t have to understand it, and understanding it doesn’t change it. I also however, and this is the important bit…don’t have to live there any more.
When asked why one particular group of people always seemed so peaceful and calm, the Buddha, who is widely regarded as a fairly together guy, said:
They do not grieve over the past,
Nor do they yearn for the future;
They live only in the present
— That is why their face is so calm.
It’s from yearning for the future,
And from grieving over the past;
This is how people become withered
— Like a fresh reed that’s been hacked down.
-The Arañña Sutra
The thing about rip tides is if you try to swim out you will drown. Even as a badly abused kid, I was taught this, because we lived just a few blocks from the beach. Rip tides will carry you out, but if you just float and ride them, they will let you go. Then you can swim away from them parallel to the beach, and then ride the kinder waves back in. And it’s a great metaphor, thank you for that one. Ride this one for a bit. Sounds like you needed to revisit this to let a bit more come out. Take care.
Will, I see you. I hear you. I am you. Thank you for this. Thank you for trusting other survivors of abuse. Thank you for being the words inside my head that I have not yet had the courage to write. Just…thank you.
Someone very kind told me once that there was historical precedent for making your way out to the other side – you did it before, and you will do it again. I believe in you. You can do this.
My son is just like you. You met him — I was the mainstage moderator at this past Awesome Con, and he was the one who was awestruck because you did the audiobook of “Ready Player One.” I know those cons are exhausting for anyone who does them so you may not remember, but you treated him with such respect. You asked him about the “RPO” movie and about his new Lego thing he was carrying, and now he’s watching “TNG” and loves Wesley so much and talks about how he met you and how you were so nice.
I’m sharing this because I wanted you to know that there are other Wils out there — curious and kind and imaginative and funny — and that you are treating them the way that you should have been treated (I hope my husband and I do, too). Even though you can’t go back and treat young Wil the way he deserved, you ARE treating the young Wils you meet the way you should have been treated. It’s not the same, but it’s something.
I hope things look up for you — and they will, because Depression Lies — and you get back to the beach and solid ground soon.
All my love, Wil. From the small to the large, the world is better for having you in it. Thank you.
I hear you. I see you.
Thank you for sharing this with us. Thank you for being frank about your struggles, it helps more than you can know. Sending you love, and holding space for you.
Thank you, Wil. I wish I could grasp your struggle, because then I’d be able to reach out and say “I’ve got you”, but all of our struggles are unique to each of us. Yet, by reading these posts, you help me come to grips with my own issues growing up, and my own difficult relationship with my parents (at least a +3 modifier), and that’s not nothing.
They say, “a burden shared is a burden halved”, so I’m hoping by sharing to the uncountable masses that support you, that your burden is reduced by a commensurate amount.
Please, keep on keeping on. You have a rare gift to turn introspection into real, concrete value for those who read your posts. You are a toolmaker, and the world benefits from your toil at the forge and mill.
Thank you.
Wil,
I have especially enjoyed your blog for the last year.
No..that’s not right. I’ve been encouraged by it.
You’ve been doing a lot of psychological archaeology and I have been an accidental traveler with you as well.
As I did my own emotional spelunking, I’ve realized that things in my past that I knew about, but dismissed, were, in reality, a big deal.
I was taught by those around me that I was “too emotional” “sensitive” and “needy”. I learned to agree with that sentiment. And as a result I developed a codependent (addictive) relationship with food, sex and relationships that shut me out of my emotional life.
I was told to be afraid of my emotions. And so I was.
As this year has progressed, as I have done the emotional work, as I’ve read this blog and other media, I have started to know that I don’t have to be afraid of my emotions.
All of those things can be summed up in 1 panel from a recent comic book I read. Doomsday Clock #12.
Dr. Manhattan (of all people) says to another character:
Do not be afraid of what you feel.
Your blog has been a helpful tool towards me being able to do just that.
I can now face my feelings without fear.
Thanks
Darrel
(link to picture https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Heartwarming/DoomsdayClock )
Wil, I don’t know if I’ve ever even @ you on Twitter or anything, and I just randomly came across your blog from I don’t know where. But I could have written much of this about my parents (and have). I don’t usually go for the “you’re not alone” mantra because it can be invalidating to our unique pain and come across as gaslighting BS just as much as any pointed insult. So right about here, paste something in that you find helpful: _________. I am still working through a relapse from this summer – hospitalized twice, been through this whole game before, and it’s frustrating as hell. Shouldn’t we be over this by now? But dude. It’s OK. It’s OK to not be OK. I hope you find a good moment of respite today, wherever it is. Enlist whoever and whatever you need to do to feel safe. <3
Thank you for writing this. I hope you find your way through this soon.
Out of idle curiosity, if I may ask: have you tried contacting that other kid? I didn’t know if that would help, or just be wtf weird.
We are not survivors. We are Fucking Champions.
I tried posting this through the regular WordPress site (twice), where I found it through their “Reader,” and their site said my comment is awaiting moderation, but that site isn’t taking the “likes” that I gave peoples’ comments, plus there is one newer comment after mine, so I’m assuming that you never got it. Anyway, here it is. It’s kinda long, but bear w/me (when you have time, heh) :
I came here to congratulate you on a fantastic job well done this morning in The Ready Room (which you did do!), but got so much more from reading what you wrote here. My parents did to me what your parents did to you, only I never got to be successful at anything, and they still treat me like a lousy disappointment. But what they don’t get is that my struggle to succeed at anything is 100% rooted in what they put me through; what I went through as their daughter, in their abusive home, etc. They even went so far as to lie to police and judges about me, taking out false protection orders against me and forcing me to be homeless in the process, after using me to take care of their new house for them after they bought it but didn’t move in right away (weird, I know, but that’s just what happened; I can’t make any real sense out of it). I didn’t even know how they could pay for that house – we were dirt poor all my life, or so I was told. Turns out, they were making over $100,000/year between the two of them, by that time, but they hid all that from me and forced me to live in abject poverty for no real reason at all.
I’ve been struggling to try to figure out whether I ought to ever speak to them again or not. The protection orders were years ago, thrown out by one of those judges when my parents were caught lying about everything, but I didn’t speak to them again for several years. Then they decided they wanted to waltz back into my life, and unfortunately, though I’d made a good go of the job scene at first, right then, I was days away from going to a homeless shelter. I told them about that and they started sending money, of course. If it weren’t for my two rescued cats, I would have turned it down, flat out. But I couldn’t do that to my fur babies, so I took it anyway – and have been reintroduced to nothing but more hot-and-cold treatment from my parents ever since. I did’t expect them to change; I didn’t expect anything from them at all, and really, I still don’t. And they haven’t really changed. They somehow still think I can’t hear what they say if I’m on the phone with one of them, they cover one end of the receiver, and they start arguing with each other. They think I can’t hear how they treat my Autistic brother when they do that, either, and I’m pretty upset about their using me as an excuse to tell him to shut up, because I might hear him being his normal self. Well, I can hear it all, and my only small relief in that is in knowing that our insane NSA keeps recordings of everything. Not that it matters – that stuff will likely never be heard by more human ears. Anywho.
I’m their only “normal” (Aspergers, but higher functioning) adult child. There won’t be anyone else to take care of them once they hit their 80s. Yeah, they should have thought of that. Serve’s ‘m right. And all that other BS. But senility runs in the family, and my Dad is already showing signs of it. I’m convinced they both have mental health issues, on top of underlying rotten personalities, and I really don’t know what to do, whether I should be there for them or just chuck it all and hope for the best. I’ve been through a lot of health (internal, physical, and emotional) problems, including being in and out of surgery, etc., in the last few years, and am stuck with their financial support because it’s been too difficult to find work that would have been too hard to do anyway. I also live in a state that has some pretty crazy rules surrounding income limits and available healthcare, and most of the employers around here don’t offer healthcare (or if they do, it’s lousy and they charge employees at least 50% of the premiums right out of their paychecks), and minimum wage puts all full time employees above the state limits for Medicaid. Anyway, the job scene is atrocious, and I do keep trying to find something that will work, but for the moment, am stuck with my parents parading their “magnanimousity” for all to see and give them laurels for, since most people who know them personally don’t have a clue that they’re lying to them outright about me, about the false nature of the old protection orders, etc. On top of it all, I’m stuck with playing a role I don’t want – that of the “grateful” daughter. Well, I’m glad for the money, but I don’t like who I have to thank for it. I don’t appreciate the decades of outright abuse at their hands. I don’t appreciate having to write this anonymously, having to create anonymous online accounts everywhere (including on FB – I had to give them a fake name in order to be able to talk about my life at all with my friends over there), and so on. I don’t appreciate the hundreds of nights lost to everything from panic attacks to outright melt-downs because of them. I don’t appreciate the melt-downs when I did have work, while on breaks, sobbing in the bathroom while trying to shove sandwiches down my mouth and using the toilet at the same time in order to try to keep up with insane work schedules, and then having to “straighten up” and go back out and make someone else rich while I was so broke I was working full time, on Food Stamps, and still having to put bills on credit cards I could only have after getting my first job after being homeless because of my parents. I don’t appreciate the beratement from them, the negative assumptions made about me by them, the physical abuse, and the time they told me that God didn’t love me when I was only about 5 years old. I don’t appreciate the constant threats of abandonment, being put into Foster Care for being a “bad child,” and homelessness – even as young as 4 years old, being told by my Dad that, for my 18th birthday, he was going to toss me out on my ear. I don’t appreciate my Dad making a joke, when my Mom wasn’t around (I was stuck alone with him as a passenger in his car while we were out driving one day when I wanted to apply for a cashier job), when I was 22, about how I supposedly wanted to sleep with him.
I don’t know what the hell is wrong with that generation, that so many of them chose to treat us GenXers the way they did. They were supposedly the “Free Love” generation. Oh, really? Too bad that didn’t translate over to their own children (in non-sexual ways)! But it sounds to me like you, so many others here, and myself were all victims of a really sick, twisted generation of self-absorbed, false-love Boomers who simply had everything going for them and who never gave a damn about anyone else, in their estimation. What I do know is that I give up. I don’t understand them, though I’ve tried, hard – even watching old footage of the Vietnam War, of the protests, of Woodstock, of the JFK Assassination and all the newsreals from that (that are posted online), and a lot of old home movies made with real movie cameras from back then. Anything I could get my hands on, to try to get a grip on who that generation is, what they’re about, and why in the world they turned out like they did. None of it makes real sense, so I just flat out give up.
I hear you when you say you won’t speak to your parents anymore. I’ve more than reached my limit with mine – but I’m still stuck with not knowing whether I ought to cut off all ties with them. As the saying goes, “There are duties to perform” down the road. Who’s going to care for them in their final years? Who’s going to deal with their estate after they’re gone? I’ve tried talking with them about these questions, and they refuse to discuss them with me in any real detail. I’ve been left to wonder if they even care about any of that, at all. They’ve lied to me about so many things, over time, that I don’t even know if it would matter if they did discuss those things with me. I feel a huge burden about that though, and I don’t appreciate that either. I don’t feel like I should be put through all of this upset. I know, even if they don’t (or won’t), that I don’t deserve that. I never did any of the horrible things they claimed about me, and I always tried my best not only to be a good person and do the right thing, but also to make good grades in school, to have gainful employment and so on. That’s all I do know. I’m just grateful that I don’t live with them, and I never want to live with them again, yet I really don’t know if it’ll turn out that way — I also don’t know if it’ll even matter, in years to come. If they both go totally senile, will any of it really matter? The part I hate more than anything else about this is that I don’t dare have any real conversation with them about it. I even try to do that, and they’ll stop sending money. One day, they’ll be so out of it that trying to talk about it won’t matter at all. I think my Dad has already crossed that line. I hate it that I can’t have a really decent, healthy, open, sane relationship with them, because they simply don’t want that kind of relationship with me, for real. They never did and they never will, and I’ve been forced to accept that about them; I have no other good option.
Anyway, you are definitely not alone in what you’re going through here, and what you’ve been put through by your parents for all of your life. I’m so sorry for what your parents did to you, and for what that other boy’s mother put him through. I couldn’t care less what excuses they rely on, or how they try to victim-blame – it was wrong of them, even if they’ll never admit it. And they won’t. None of them ever will. They do see us as their property – and they use the fact that the State sees minor children as the property of their parents as an excuse to treat us that way well into our adult years. Yet no one ever held them accountable to treat their “property” with love, care, kindness… They treated their cars better than they treated us! They just couldn’t stand it that they weren’t allowed to use us the way they used their cars, to get from point A to point B… They never saw us as valid people with emotional value, and on top of it all, they berated us for ever expressing an emotion or any form of individualism at all. They were the Borg. Hell. They are the Borg. I guess what I’ll never understand is how they can go on social media, read all that our generation has written about it, and, as usual, just ignore it instead of seeing themselves in it and being utterly ashamed for what they’ve put us through, emotionally, physically, etc. They think we’re supposed to be grateful from crumbs from their tables, and they don’t recognize that they were supposed to share the feast with us as their offspring while teaching us how to make our own feasts at the same time. They don’t get it that there’s nothing wrong with both handing a man a fish and teaching him to fish all in the same day! Anyway, I give up on ever trying to understand them though. It’s a futile effort.
Letting go of one’s parents is a hard choice, and it’s one not made lightly, so I understand how hard that must have been for you. I support you in it. Sometimes, we just have to move on, when we can. I mean, would we ever put our children through all of this mess? No, of course not. We would never have the insanity to do that to them and then expect them to take care of us in our old age; yet look what our parents are doing to us, right? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. I’m shocked that any human has the audacity to even try that. Yet, look what they did? Look what they put us through? It’s cringe-worthy.
That’s cool.
Parents can be tough. We can remedy that experience in ourselves by being better parents to our own children. Although the pain never really goes away, we can halt its movement down the generations by “just being better”. Good luck.