Chapter 23

Since Mother was the only reason I had resumed contact with Older Brother, immediately after reading his first, emotionally honest, reply, I sent her and Father a private message to let them know what had happened and that he and I were never going to talk again.  He was unrepentantly damaged and abusive and manipulative in ways that I had no room for in my life, and I regretted ever letting Mother pressure me into resuming contact with him, regardless of how many positive things we had in common or how good Older Brother was at pretending to be a friend when he wanted to.

Some of the deflections he mentioned were concerning, so I also informed my parents about those details.  I asked them if they were aware of those problems, and let them know that if they cared, they might want to help him if it was even possible.

My parents read my message immediately.  I expected a quick response, at the very least a short note that they were or were not aware of those problems and an indication of whether or not they would look into it.  I did not get a response for nearly two days.

The period of silence gave me time to ponder things.  I reflected on not only the spoon-related exchanges that triggered the final blowup between Older Brother and myself, but all the other exchanges and unmentioned elephants between myself and my parents in the prior several years.

One of those incidents happened two or three years earlier, courtesy of a Hepatitis A scare from a frozen berry mix sold at Costco.  Diana and I had bought this berry mix several times, so when the recall and free Hepatitis A inoculation notice came, I wrote what I felt was an amusing Facebook post about the dangers of food borne illness and my history with such illnesses.  As part of the story, I joked about how I was most likely immune to Hep A because as a teenager it was a nearly annual occurrence for me to be on the couch, barely able to move, puking my guts out for the better part of a week.

Mother and Father always wrote it off as a “stomach flu”, but my nearly annual encounters with such illnesses were more likely the result of food poisoning from my parents’ less than sanitary house and glaring lack of food safety.  The symptoms I experienced as a teen also perfectly matched the symptoms of Hep A, and in that case it would have had nothing to do with the state of my parents’ kitchen, and everything to do with food handling before packaging, like in the situation with the frozen berries.

My tongue-in-cheek post caused Mother to absolutely flip her ever-loving shit on me in a private message.  Emboldened by my emotional investment in our relationship and her successes so far at pushing my boundaries, she thoroughly gaslit me.  She blasted me for falsely accusing her and Father of child abuse.  That is the main detail that has remained with me.  How dare I accuse them of child abuse!

Well, at the time I wasn’t accusing them of child abuse.  Maybe some negligence, and definitely failure to keep a clean house, but accusing them of child abuse was not at all my point, or what I said.  The only negative thing I wrote about them in the post was that they kept a disgustingly filthy house, which was true.  How dare I?  If I had wanted to publicly expose their child abuse at that time, it certainly would have been a very different post.

What I did not realize at the time was that Mother’s response proved she was consciously aware she and Father had been abusive.  I did not imply abuse, let alone directly accuse them, and the overwhelming majority of food poisonings happen for non-abusive reasons.  Her unwarrantedly swift and hyper-vigilant self-defense proved she was already aware my teenage food poisoning incidents could qualify as an abusive level of neglect.  It was a perfect example of “thou dost protest too much.”

When Mother saw my post, she hurried to manipulate me in her defense, to firmly assert the lie that no abuse had ever happened, in any form.  She gaslit me in an attempt to create doubt in my mind about my understanding of events in my childhood.  She knew full well that I resented her and Father’s abuses and manipulations, so she rushed to manipulate the situation before any discussion on that post did create an admission of abuse in a public or semi-public space.

I have no doubt that Mother expected me to empathize with her hurt feelings, forgive the forcefulness of her response, and feel guilty for any “hurtful insinuations” I may have made.  That is, after all, the way things would have played out when I was a teen or young adult and still thoroughly entrapped in our abusive relationship dynamic.  I would have felt guilty and been recalcitrant.  Admitting to me, let alone anyone else, that she had been abusive or neglectful was never an option for her, and I expect it never will be.

Like with Other Brother’s first reply to my criticism, that message from Mother was probably the only emotionally sincere interaction we had in my entire adult life.  In the heat of the moment, acting on fear of exposure, Mother sent a hurried message which she had not carefully curated.  It contained all her habitual narratives to explain away bad behavior, narratives she had stopped using on me years earlier when I stopped buying into them.  It was proof that she genuinely had not changed at all, and any appearance of respect or honesty was nothing more than an act for my benefit, to prolong access and allow her to conduct further manipulations.

I wish I had recognized all that at the time, but I only recognized enough to realize I was being gaslit.  I did not realize it was proof of her self-awareness, or the deliberate nature of her abuse and manipulation.  Being blatantly gaslit was enough to anger me, but I was emotionally invested in our relationship, and too deep in the throes of chronic illness to fully process or understand the encounter, so it was not the deal-breaker it should have been.

At the time I was not looking for an excuse to cut them out of my life.  Instead, I was grateful for what token scraps of support they had been giving me as I struggled with my illness.  Instead of walking away from the neverending cycle like I should have, I engaged with her, angry at her complete denial of all past misdeeds.  I felt the need for validation and the closure of acknowledgement, so letting it go and walking away did not even cross my mind.  I can still remember the heat of anger raging in my cheeks.  I reminded Mother that a couple years earlier she had apologized for mistakes she and Father made while I was growing up.  I specifically pointed out to her that at the time I had not asked for details.  Instead, I had let it go, let myself assume that the things she was sorry about were the same things that I was upset about.  I informed her that the state of the house growing up was one of those things.

I do not know if she dropped it because she remembered that if she pushed too hard, I might stop talking to her again.  I do not know if she dropped it because the best chance of her manipulation succeeding was if she seemed recalcitrant.  I do not know if she dropped it because she realized she made a mistake when she failed to carefully compose her manipulation.  I do not know if she dropped it because Father coached her to do so.  Regardless of the specific reason, Mother apologized in an insincerely vague and placating way, and let it drop.

Even though it pained me, Mother’s manipulation succeeded.  I was invested in the relationship, and too tired and sick to comprehend the full ramifications of the exchange.  I was angry about her blasting me, but I still allowed her to manipulate me.  I allowed yet another boundary to be crossed, because if I was in contact with her it was inevitable, and I did not have the energy to fight it.  I let her take more control of the terms of our relationship.

I altered my behavior because of Mother’s emotional manipulation.  I could not handle the stress of another similar incident on top of all the chronic symptoms I had to deal with every day.  I started censoring what I wrote online to avoid a repeat of her explosion.  My experiences with my family have a fundamental impact on the way I approach life, many of my philosophies, and my generally low tolerance for liars, abusers, and manipulators.  There are times when, in chatting with people online or posting about things in my life, it makes sense for me to mention some of the family drama that influences my viewpoints, but I could no longer mention even slightly unflattering anecdotes without risking another incident.  Mother wanted to be seen as a shining example of a Good Mother, and I knew that anything that even slightly scratched that image was going to be unacceptable to her.

One of the values I have is that I do not keep secrets.  Secrets too easily become lies, because not everyone is willing to accept a declaration of “none of your business,” and it can become necessary to lie in order to protect secrets.  The last thing I want in my life is lies, because it brings up an entire life being lied to and deceived by my family.  I never want to do that to anyone else.  As far as I am concerned, if it is worth me saying or doing, it is worth me saying or doing publicly.  I do not keep lists on my social media of what is allowed to be seen by who. If I post it, I usually post it publicly.

I did not realize it at the time, but because of Mother’s outburst I began self-censoring what I posted and what I wrote.  If it might, maybe, be perceived even slightly negatively by my family, I left that out.  I could not deal with the stress of another outburst and the emotional manipulation that would come with it, and I was no longer emotionally prepared to cut off my parents.  Instead, I was engaging in old coping mechanisms, making excuses for them, and praising them for actions that were less than the bare minimum in the hopes that if I set the bar low enough, they might rise to meet it.  Of course, they never did.  A low bar simply meant they could do even less work.

Years had passed, and there had been enough pleasantness in the interim that I desperately wanted to retain that familial connection with them.  I still did not fully recognize the ongoing manipulation, or the causes, so I allowed myself to be gaslit into believing that there might be some validity to what Mother and Father said.  Maybe I was imagining more abuse than had actually happened.  Maybe more of it was misunderstandings and mistakes than I was thinking.  If they were as abusive as I remembered, why would I still care about them and want to have them in my life?

But I was not happy about censoring myself, and I slowly distanced myself from Mother and Father without realizing that was what I was doing.  Mother’s blatant explosion and violation of my boundaries rolled back the clock on my tolerance levels with my parents.

I was still ignoring and excusing a great many things, but I knew Mother had crossed a very important boundary.  My allowance of that ate at me.  I had thought I was beyond letting them manipulate me.  After the blow-up, I consciously understood I had been allowing manipulation to happen, but I no longer knew what to do about it.  If Mother would still do that after everything that had happened between us over the years, I could see no new way to explain things and have her understand or change her behavior.  I could see no way, because in truth there was no way.  She needed to want to understand and change for anything I said or did to help, but she did not want that, no matter what platitudes she said aloud.

Instead of ignoring the elephant, I started staring at it again, daring it to blink, begging it to tell me what to do to make things right.  Mother’s righteously indignant message had been too obvious and had damaged the false trust my parents had so carefully cultivated.  I think Mother and Father realized that, because afterward Mother stopped pushing boundaries.  Instead, she just called once a month or so to reaffirm the relationship and ensure I was still receptive.  Abusers are patient and calculating that way, and are very capable of noticing when they need to adjust their behaviors to avoid being kicked to the curb.  I did not always answer the phone, because I did not actually want to talk to Mother anymore, but I was also so deep in the emotional manipulation that I did not feel like I had a valid reason to stop talking to her altogether.  After all, it looked like they had been making efforts, and it felt like they had been trying to be supportive while I was suffering from illness, and I was giving them full credit for even the most lackluster efforts.

Despite believing I had overcome my old coping patterns, I let myself be drawn back into them.  I was ignoring transgressions and tolerating excuses, even as I stared at the elephant.  A large part of that was due to my exhaustion from chronic illness, but some of it was blind confidence in the mental and emotional recovery I had worked so hard on for two decades.  I believed I had achieved full comprehension of my past abuses, and had healed from them, because I had achieved as much understanding and healing as was possible as long as my parents were still in my life.

The act of being in contact with Mother and Father made both full healing and complete comprehension impossible, because having them in my life involved tolerating ongoing manipulation and abuse.  They either were incapable of a healthy relationship, or they did not want one, and so they were guaranteed to inject their manipulation and abuse into the relationship as long as it existed.

Any amount of manipulation and abuse creates wounds, even if they are low-level, scratching wounds that are easy to ignore.  If those tiny scratches happen on top of deeper wounds, they are going to keep those wounds open and bleeding.  As a result, it is impossible to fully heal when wounds are still being actively created or kept open, no matter how “minor” those wounds are.  A great deal of healing is usually possible, which is what I did, but at the time I did not comprehend the fact that the presence of my parents in my life made further healing impossible.  The ongoing pain and trauma they inflicted was so minor compared to what had come before, that it was easy to ignore and excuse.  Yet, it was still harm, and the act of excusing and ignoring it fed into unhealthy coping mechanisms so I could not heal.  That one outburst denying any and all abuse was the only wound post-reconciliation that cut so deep it could not be ignored or dismissed or excused.  It was like Mother had found the exact location of an old stab wound, re-inserted a knife, and then insisted neither the wound nor the knife existed while I bled in front of her.  Her grudging apology was like putting a Band-Aid over the stab wound while still denying she had anything to do with why I was bleeding, and she acted heartbroken that I would blame her while she held the knife dripping with blood.

Skilled abusers are always patient.  Part of what makes them effective is that they never start with full blown abuses.  They start completely reasonable and give all appearance of caring.  That was the playbook Boyfriend #2 used.  That was the case when Older Brother admitted to some problems and agreed to conditions for seeking reconciliation, and when Mother cried about how much it hurt her that her children did not talk.  Both Mother and Older Brother offered dialogs which they correctly thought I would be receptive to, and thus I allowed myself to be pulled back into toxic and abusive relationships.  They each took care to first establish trust and a strong connection which could later be exploited.

In Older Brother’s case, the relationship broke down, not because of arguing over spoons, but because his past acts were so egregious that he could not push past the boundaries Diana and I had set in place.  His patience only went so far, and as it became increasingly clear he would not be allowed close enough to victimize us again, he made less and less effort at contact.  Contact required him to keep up the pretenses and appearances of being reasonable, and he was unable to move on to the emotional manipulation and abuse he genuinely desired.

Abusers hate to be told no.  They are even less inclined to take “No” if there is no possibility of later turning it to their advantage by playing along.  If it had not been spoons that created the breaking point, it would have eventually been something else.  The moment I confronted Older Brother over his bad behavior, he blew up.

In my parent’s case, the two-day gap while they carefully composed their reply gave me time to deeply reflect.  I had finally reestablished necessary boundaries with Older Brother, and he was right about one thing.  I did need to get some perspective.  It was just not the perspective he, or Mother and Father, had hoped for or expected.

I thought back to the relatively recent gaslighting from Mother where she denied even the slightest possibility of abuse, the event that caused me to alter my behavior online, to be disingenuous to myself purely for her comfort.

I thought about the multiple elephants in the room, and how I had waited so patiently for them to make a move instead of doing what I already knew I needed to do in order to live a life free from toxic relationships, abuse, and manipulation.

I thought about the fact that I avoided Mother’s phone calls because I did not really want to talk to her.  I resented the fact that we ended every call with “I love you,” because I did not love her, and I was lying for her sake.

I thought about Mother and Father’s “apology”, and the fact that it had proven to be a performance, a carefully considered and uselessly vague collection of words intended to manipulate me into forgiving them for things they felt no remorse over.

I thought about all the times my parents had colossally failed me or sabotaged my efforts, while still insisting I could count on them anytime, for anything.

I thought about the fact that I never would have gotten back in contact with either of my brothers if it was not for Mother’s manipulation, and that those toxic relationships had brought me nothing of value, not even a modicum of familial connection.

I thought about the fact that I never would have gotten back in contact with my parents if it had not been for social conventions screaming at me that blood is thicker than water, and you should forgive family, no matter what.  I intellectually knew those conventions were harmful, but they still affected me emotionally.

I thought about the various emotional manipulations I had received throughout my life, and I finally put the word “gaslighting” to much of what Mother and Father had done, especially when sweeping concerns under the rug, shifting blame away from themselves, or denying the very existence of bad acts.

I thought about the fact that when I legally changed my name, I entirely dropped their surname specifically so I would not be associated with them.  I had decided I wanted to do that when I was still a teen, and followed through on that intention in my 30’s.  I never once regretted the decision.

I thought about all of that, and so much more.

There was little anger in my contemplations.  Instead, I found clarity and calmness through understanding some of the specifics of what my parents had done and how they had done it.  I reaffirmed with myself what I did and did not find acceptable in my relationships, especially with family.  I reaffirmed my boundaries, and determined what needed to be done in order to make them as stable and solid as possible.  I could feel the firm foundations I lacked before, as mostly dismantled remnants of old and damaging coping mechanisms melted away to dust.

I knew the delay in my parent’s reply was not for my benefit.  The delay was for their benefit, to give them time to compose the reply they believed I wanted to receive.  It was suddenly so very obvious, because I had known all along that honesty was never an option for them.  The little child inside of me who had desperately wanted to believe their parents were honest finally threw up their hands and admitted that truth.

Honesty and true reconciliation were never going to happen.  It was not possible.

When they finally replied, Mother and Father proved beyond any shadow of a doubt that continued discourse was just an avenue for further abuse and manipulation.  There was absolutely nothing of value for me to find in that relationship, regardless of any hopes I had or how many chances I gave them.  They had made their decision long ago, and they had repeatedly refused to change in any meaningful way.

Reasonable discourse is impossible when you are dealing with people who are invested in manipulating and abusing you.  No matter what you say, no matter what you do, they will have a counterpoint, a denial, an excuse, some form of gaslighting to turn it around and make it someone else’s fault – probably yours.  Somehow, they will probably also end up the victim in their twisted narrative of events they orchestrated.

My parents very carefully composed a formal letter response that they felt would include all the details I wanted to hear, phrased in a very diplomatic way.  It read like a response one might send to a cold contact over a potential business dealing, who was interesting enough to not dismiss out of hand, but also a complete stranger likely to disappear and never write back.

Glaringly, their reply did not address my questions about Older Brother at all.  There was no indication if they were aware of any problems he was having, or if they intended to make any efforts to help him.

Mother and Father were very specific about stating how much they understood where I was coming from on the “spoon issue”.  Proving how much less skilled they are at social manipulation compared to Older Brother, they included enough details to be blatantly wrong on every single point.  They did not understand my perspective at all, even though I am extremely public and have usually been very open with them about my feelings and perspectives.  In fact, following the exchange with Older Brother, I posted publicly on social media explaining my perspective on the overuse of the Spoon Theory, which included some in-depth discussion with friends.  Considering that Mother monitored everything I posted, I am certain it would not have been hard for them to review that thread and regurgitate it back at me had they bothered.

Either Mother and Father only pretended to listen, or they are absolutely incapable of stepping outside of their own perspectives long enough to attempt to see something from another person’s point of view.  Instead of addressing my concerns, their reply read like what they would be upset about, if they were to be upset about it.  It had no relation whatsoever to why I was upset.

As far as I am concerned, Mother and Father did not have to agree with my point of view about the Spoon Theory.  I am passionate about my perspective, but I also recognize that there are other valid perspectives on the subject.  However, Mother and Father were so befuddled by my viewpoint, and so terrified of visibly disagreeing with me in any way, that they concocted “understanding” that only proved how much they did not actually understand.  It only showed how desperate they were to craft an answer which would smooth over and sweep away the entire conflict, no matter how inauthentic they were in doing so.  It proved how much they would rather lie and manipulate than be honest and straightforward for two sentences.  It demonstrated that they interpreted the presence of my boundaries as me needing to be Right and always pandered to, like I was some sort of narcissist.  It showed that they believed it was the Spoon Theory disagreement which caused me to cease contact with Older Brother, rather than his abusive reply or habitually manipulative behavior combined with his past bad acts and betrayals.

If Mother and Father could not comprehend my point of view enough to discuss in an honest way something as simple as the Spoon Theory, something they had no personal investment in, then discourse on any issues they did have a stake in was beyond impossible.  It would have been a protracted exercise in futility, frustration, stress, and manipulation.  Even if I was not ill, I would not have cared to waste my time that way.  I would not do it with a former friend.  I resolved to no longer do it with my family.

There is a very strong social convention that says you must forgive family, no matter what they do.  It is a neverending trope in movies and television, that people will be cruel, selfish, worthless, toxic, and generally terrible, but by the end all is forgiven with a laugh track, because Family!  This kind of compulsory forgiveness is toxic, and in real life it never leads anywhere good.

There are many different ways to define forgiveness.  The field of psychology has one definition, which is based in letting go of anger and resentment so that an individual can find closure and no longer be constantly tormented by past traumas and bad deeds.  This is the kind of forgiveness I have been working towards, because my family will never be willing to take the steps necessary for two-party forms of forgiveness.

The most common practical forms of forgiveness require the participation of both the person who was wronged and the person who did wrong.  They are based in sincere apology and making amends, often with the goal of reconciliation.  This kind of forgiveness makes reconciliation possible when the person who did the bad deeds owns up to what happened and does whatever they can to make amends for it, while also resolving to never repeat those past bad deeds.  If the person who was wronged accepts the apology and efforts at reconciliation, the relationship can continue, and in some cases may even be stronger for it.

In toxic forgiveness, the apology and amends stages are completely skipped, or are woefully insincere, and yet there remains the expectation of forgiveness and reconciliation.  This is a very powerful tool for abusers and toxic people because it provides them with free passes to continue committing bad deeds. They apologize, the victim is expected to instantly forgive, and nothing changes.  This is exactly what my parents did when they offered their uselessly vague “apology” for the “mistakes” they made while I was a child.  They offered the appearance of remorse.  I accepted it believing it was sincere and forgave them even though they had not earned forgiveness.  My forgiveness strengthened our reconciliation, and in doing so, strengthened a toxic and abusive relationship they could exploit.

Toxic forgiveness is when someone insists that they apologized, so that should make everything better with no further effort to make amends or change any behaviors.  Toxic forgiveness is when someone says you should always forgive family, no matter what they have done or continue to do, because that is just the way they are.  Toxic forgiveness is forgiveness that is compulsory and expected, regardless of the feelings of the person who was wronged, or the harm that was done.  Toxic forgiveness is the insistence that someone should “forgive and forget”, which eliminates the ability of a victim to place boundaries or insist upon changes to prevent future bad deeds and traumas.  After all, you cannot insist on changes to behaviors you are expected to forget ever happened at all.

Being a relative should not give someone a free pass to behave badly.  If anything, it should be a reason to behave better than they would with other people.  Family are the people who usually are an integral part of your life, your formative experiences, and your legacy.  They should be the ones you can count on to help you through the bad times, and celebrate with you in the good times, without reservation or hidden agenda.

Real family are the people who you love without reservation, and who you love in return, regardless of any genetic or legal component.  I do not love my blood family.  As long as I respect myself, I cannot love them.  One-sided love is a love that brings only heartache.  My heart still aches, so I must have loved them at some point, but that time lays in my youth, when I did not know myself and was blind to the dynamics of our relationships.  As my awareness of their deceit and manipulation grew, so too did feelings of betrayal.  If they were ever even the tiniest bit like who and what they claimed to be, it is so mired in their lies and performances that I have no way of discerning it.  I do not believe they ever genuinely loved me, no matter how many times they said it, because their actions consistently proved otherwise.  I honestly wonder if they are capable of loving me, or anyone else, even themselves.

At this point, I cannot bring myself to believe anyone in my immediate family was ever truly sincere about loving me.  They hurt me too deeply and too habitually for genuine love to be a motivation.  I took the risk of trying again after walking away from them once, not because I genuinely wanted to, but because they said they wanted to do better, and I believed them enough to give them the opportunity.  It only resulted in more pain, trauma, and heartache hidden under a thin veneer of false sincerity.

I replied and informed my parents I was done.  I no longer wanted any contact from them, in any form.  I did not go into details, because there was no point.  I had tried to explain myself countless times in the past, and they could never grasp the tiniest shred of understanding.  Attempting to explain myself again only would have opened the door to protracted discourse, so that they could craft new “acceptable” answers and try to wear down my resolve.  It was a dance we had played out countless times.  Explaining myself would have meant doing the same thing over again, for the thousandth time, and expecting a different result.  The only way to change the dialog was to have no dialog at all.

I understood fully that the only possible outcome from being in contact with Mother and Father was continued lies, manipulation, and pain.  That was the only kind of contact they wanted, so it was the only kind of contact I would ever have with them.  I did not need some grand transgression before I could draw that line, although in retrospect there had been plenty of them.  Understanding that my life would be happier and less stressful without them in it was enough.

I deserve better than what they brought into my life.

Everyone deserves better than that.

The relief I felt at knowing the abuse and manipulation would never happen again was palpable.  Despite my illness I was grinning from ear to ear for almost two months, overjoyed to be free in a way I had no idea was possible.

I suppose there is some very small chance that my birth family might decide to be better people someday, but that is no longer my problem, or my solution.  They made that bed, carefully cultivating it over the course of my entire life.  They can lie in it without me, and I have never regretted that decision, not even for a moment.

My situation with my family is tragic, but the tragedy is not found in the act of walking entirely away from them.  The tragedy is in the fact that they were not capable of being family that was worth having.  I will forever be grateful that I was able to understand that fact, and eventually walked away from them for good.