And You....

I can remember being huddled in the corner of their bedroom, they were fighting in the hallway, my only route of escape. Things were being thrown and she was screaming at him. That really wasn't all that unusual, but his anger was. She was frequently out of control, but he usually kept his calm, very infrequently loosing his temper. But when he did.... He was yelling and knocking things off tables. Things crashed around me and I covered my ears, crying, afraid I would be found. She backed into the room where I was trying to make my self invisible. He followed her into the bedroom where he kept on her until she was backed into the same corner where I was kneeling. I'll never forget the look in his eye. He was pointing at her and yelling, his face getting closer and closer to her, spit flying out of his mouth. I was afraid of him. This fight had nothing to do with me. It was between them. It was there issues, and they had many. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Caught in the storm. And as happens when anger and frustration boils over, who ever is in the path tends to get some of the fury. Even when his anger was directed specifically towards my Mom, I was terrified that he would turn to me and say "And you...."

My parents did the best they could. They weren't perfect. Often far from it. So many things are forgivable, after all, I made it to be a fairly competent, functioning adult. But there is one thing my parents failed me in, and that continues to plague me to this day. Their inability to convince me that I was lovable and that no matter what mistakes I made, or what bad choices or trouble I got into, they would love me. NO MATTER WHAT. I frequently felt like I was bad. That I was a disappointment. That I was a mistake, unwanted and only tolerated. That there was no redeeming qualities I possessed, that made me a good daughter in their eyes. I was always reminded of my shortcomings and can't remember being praised for my achievements or even celebrated for who I was. The older I got, the more often I was reminded of everything that was bad about me. On occasion I was shown off to other people, BUT NEVER did my Mom or Dad tell me that I was special, loved or a good girl. My parents never stood behind me, took my side or defended me. It was always my fault.

So I grew up believing that I was not good, likable or even worthy. As an adult, I would develop relationships where I would get a glimpse of these things. People seemed to like me, and when they liked me, it stirred a desire in me. I would gain some feelings of being likable and even worthy. Often times I would find myself becoming closer to these people emotionally, craving this acceptance. And then something, as it often does in relationships, would happen (there would be a difficult thing, a disagreement or even a differing of opinion) and I would know that I did something wrong and that I was no longer worthy. It doesn't matter how good I had been or how hard I tried to be a good friend or partner, this thing, this bad thing, this mistake inevitably would over-write everything good I felt about myself. And it was all my fault, because I was bad. This has ALWAYS been so hard for me. But up until very recently I didn't understand why in these moments I became a child again, wanting desperately approval and unconditional love. But these relationships are NOT parental relationships, and love and friendship isn't always unconditional. Sometimes for very good reasons, relationship run their course and end. But what I wanted more than anything was approval. For them to tell me they would love me no matter what.

But what I ALWAYS took from this was that something is wrong with me. So wrong that I need to be different, that I was bad and there for not worthy of this friendship/relationship/love. In an effort to prove that I was lovable, I would often try to fix this relationship, by sacrificing some part of something that was valuable to me (my self worth or self respect), and usually only reinforced my feelings of not being good enough when I was unable to "fix" whatever this was. Lots of times, in hind-sight, the issue for them had very little, if anything, to do with me.

I was reminded this past weekend of just how fragile my self image is when you have people you trust knock you down. When even as an adult I know that there are many pieces and parts of me, some good and some bad. I can, in my mind, believe that I am over all a good person with good intentions. Am I perfect? No. Do I have things about me that I know aren't good qualities? Yes. But I would like to believe that on the whole I am a good person. And I would like to believe that the people I trust know this, and love me for me, short comings and all. But when people are angry and they do "my inventory" reminding me of my short comings, forgetting all about any good things, I am put back into that place where I am unable to let go of this judgment.

Like a child, I hear these things that people say, the list of things that are bad about me, and I believe, once again, that I am bad. It's all my fault. I know it shouldn't matter what another may think, and that hidden among this long lists of things wrong with me are the truths that this has more to do with them, than me. But I am that child in the corner again, just waiting for him to say "And you..."