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October 25, 2006“That must be disconcerting for you…”Every once in a while, a public figure blips across my radar, and when I see him I am reminded of my birth-father, for there is a very strong physical resemblance between the two men. I noted it today to a friend who knows my background and my “story.” “Whenever I see him,” I wrote, “it’s like looking at my father.” My friend wrote back, “that must be disconcerting for you.” I thought about that for a while and realized, no, seeing this public figure does not cause me distress, rather it makes me feel very badly for my father. My “story” is my own, and it is one I am disinclined to share, partly because I abhor the sort of “perpetual victim” mentality in which others who have endured similar stress sometimes wrap themselves. Perhaps it is the only way they can cope, and if so, I won’t gainsay it but I have no patience for the “I am a survivor, let me tell you about my pain” mentality in my own life. I have never wanted a harrowing childhood ordeal to be the thing that defined me. To my way of thinking, if you clutch all of that to your breast and never let go, you are willingly stunting yourself and your potential. You are selling yourself short by establishing that all you are, or will ever be, is a wounded child. I am certainly not unsympathetic, but my pragmatism compels me to move on. Aside from mentioning once or twice that I left home at a young age due to “a matter of familial tyranny,” or that a psychopathic patriarch held some sway over my early life, I have never felt remotely interested in sharing that part of my personal life on this site, and indeed, you’ll get no scintillating (or searing, depending on your heart and disposition) details from this girl, today. Or ever. But having pondered my friend’s empathetic question, I will write about some of the odd lingering after-effects of abuse that I have observed. There is a strange displacement that occurs within a child who has endured sexual abuse by a parent. There is the dissociative element, of course. A child overwhelmed by what is happening to him or her tends to find a safe spot somewhere inside herself, from which she can almost “watch” the abuse, as though it is happening to someone else. And there are recurring images that become meaningful to such a child in ways that others would never consider. When I think back on that time in my life, I see images of doorways. The doorway through which I would interiorly pray someone - anyone - would enter, to stop the terrible chaos surrounding me…the doorway I watched while cringing beneath my sheets and blankets, hoping no shadows would be moving within the dim light and heading my way. The corner moulding of a doorway means little to most people. To me, it holds out hope of rescue, or fear of ruin. But it is the displacement that is interesting to me, and my friend’s inquiry. Disconcerting? This public figure we’re talking about is an indisputably brilliant but rather controversial fellow. There is a chance, a slim one, that his striking resemblance to my father is more than coincidental; they may actually be distant and completely uncharted cousins. And perhaps that fact - that this successful man might be a relative to that unsuccessful man - is why I feel so badly for my father, and what demonstrates so keenly to me the displacement I am thinking about tonight. My birth-father, anonymous and unremarkable to the world, was in many ways a man as brilliant as this public man. He was a phenomenal musician who could play numerous instruments, although he never had a lesson and could not read a note of music. He could draw out impressive building designs and mechanical designs, and engines. He invented things. Self-educated and rhetorically gifted, he could argue persuasively on politics and religion (he was against both). He had both the charisma and brains necessary to successfully lead efforts to unionize certain groups. He could run meetings according to Roberts Rule of Order and hold a room spellbound as he plowed through parlimentary procedures in such a way as to make everyone in the room feel enlarged, bouyed-up and important. He watched the nightly news and discussed it with me, and introduced me to critical thinking. A liberal Democrat at a time when that actually meant the embrasure of classical liberal standards, he was capable of looking at larger pictures, and so despite his admiration for Adlai Stephenson, he voted for Ike. Twice. He took me fishing, and bowling. He brought me stuffed animals when I was sick. He was the only person, in my memory at least, who ever read to me a bedtime story, and the delicious sense of safety, singularity and undivided attention in those moments has kept those obscure stories affectionately alive inside me, all these years later. And yet, he was a monster about whom - in past times of my life - I have written countless scenarios wherein I slay him, where I slip a stiletto into his sternum and pierce his terrible, dark heart. Or where I take a hatchet to his huge, brilliant and psychotic brain, or where I go to the cemetary carrying a long flowerbox which opens to reveal a shotgun, meant to shoot downward, into the grass, past the dirt and wood, to achieve penetration upon his corpse, and make sure that he is finally, really dead. The rare nightmare about him will wake me up gasping for air, momentarily unsure about the current status of his physical existance. The displacement of one who has endured the sexual abuse of a parent is a curious one, because it is not a banishment to a lonely island or a teeming crowd. Rather, it involves planting two feet on either side of a chasm and staring down into a deep fault-line you know you neither deserve (nor want) to fall into, and from which there may be no rescue if you do. “Good Daddy” is on one side, “Bad Daddy” is on the other, and the chasm will never completely close. It is the love, of course, that complicates all of this, that gives this state-of-being that Jeckyll and Hyde vibe. You justifiably hate your parent for all the harm he did you, but you also - and justifiably - love him because when he was not in his madness, he did do good and loving things. He did nurture you. This dichotomy of love and loathing forces the compassion and empathy you feel for your terribly damaged and ultimately pathetic parent to go to war with your moral outrage. It makes the chasm-straddle a lifetime inclination, even after you have confronted the parent, and gotten your tearful apology, and even after you have forgiven. I do not know very much about my father’s family or his early life, except that his own father died when he was still a child, and - it being the depression - he had to leave school in order to find work to help his mother. I know that even in his later years, the subject of his father’s death would distress him, and he always spoke of his deep sense of loss in being denied a formal education, a gift he denied his own children, by the way, even though all of us fervently wished to study and learn. It was the small spiteful part of his hurt, I think, that rendered him incapable of allowing his children to possess the very thing for which he, himself, so ardently longed. As a mother who wants every good thing for her children, I cannot understand how he could deny us. As a witness to his own crippled ambitions, perhaps comprehension dawns, but such comprehension can never make it okay. I am an odd bird, and his refusal to allow me an education (and in a household such as ours, he held enormous psychological sway over what all of us could and could not do) has in many ways been the deepest and most debilitating injury he inflicted. Sexual molestation of children is about asserting power and it is so rooted in real sickness of the mind and spirit that one may finally look at it and, while excusing nothing, come to understand that the afflictor was himself afflicted. But the other - the smallness of spirit, the spitefulness, the seeming intent to draw his own children down into his spacious hell of regret - that we might remain there and live it with him - that I will never understand. Unsurprisingly, in my adolescent years I was a bit of an insomniac; being awake was much prefered to closing the eyes and letting down the guard. My father would turn in early. Sometimes, in his sleep, he would weep outloud, sobbing and wailing - a keening of utter heartbreak and longing, and I would wonder - is that for your own father, or for your own unrealized dreams? Are you weeping for your sense of loss, or your sense of sin? Sometimes, when he cried, I would pray for him. But I would never wake him up and release him from the torment, oh no. I wasn’t getting that close. Either way, his somnolent tears would induce my sympathy, and looking back on it, I am glad to realize I could - even then - feel sympathy for my father, even as I cringed in my corner. It tells me that despite all the things he took, he never fully had me, he never possessed me at my core, where grace did still abide. Creatures, behold your Creator: He doesn’t beckon with a kingly nod, with silence and guards and gravity. He comes as a child, lying in a manger - in the very thing the animals eat from - and He offers you Himself for your own food, your own nourishment and strength. We are loved into being by One who is All Good. Flickers from hell may singe and scar, but they will never consume us. Be not disconcerted. These days, when I see a picture of the public figure who looks so very much like my birth father, I stare at the photo and remember him, and think of all the things he could have been, given half the chance, and all the things he was, and I think to myself, “oh, Daddy. You poor man. You miserable, fucked-up bastard. You pathetic monster. You poor, poor man.” Then I turn the page. http://theanchoressonline.com/2006/10/25/that-must-be-disconcerting-for-you/trackback/ 30 Responses to ““That must be disconcerting for you…”” |
October 25th, 2006 at 9:28 pm
[...] Quite a post from the Anchoress. [...]
October 25th, 2006 at 10:34 pm
For someone who was not going to dicuss your story, that was one hell of a powerful post!
The denial of education and the effort to define children within boundries drawn by the parents is particularly compelling for me. And my struggle has culminated in the acceptance that I am broken, as are we all. And that that gaping hole within me is God shaped, and that only He will fill it in. So after years of fighting against the definitions and boundries provided by a brilliant, broken father, I allow Another to define my boundries.
So you yet again touch my spirit in ways unpredictable. Thank you.
October 25th, 2006 at 11:14 pm
[...] The Anchoress. Please read what she wrote. [...]
October 26th, 2006 at 6:30 am
Sacrificing Children to Your Idols
I thought I “loved” ideas until I realized I loved them more than God. Now I recognize my own idolatry–and I see the damage that it did in my homeschool.
October 26th, 2006 at 7:53 am
How to believe
In spite of everything or because of it. The Anchoress explains.
October 26th, 2006 at 8:02 am
This was very powerful. Thanks for sharing. To forgive someone who molested you is a very difficult thing, though it is possible (only through God, but you know that, right?).
Thank you so much for sharing that; I’m sure it was not an easy post to write.
October 26th, 2006 at 8:15 am
Very beautifully written.
October 26th, 2006 at 8:36 am
http://tinyurl.com/ybpl33
The internet being mostly a medium of words, the craft and art of writing is resurgent. We communicate to each other by typing our language on a screen and then we push the send button. Where does it go? Who knows? Out there somewhere. Everywhere.
But in order to be effective, we must be communicative. It is at this junction of utility and art that our character is revealed. Surely, the same could be said for those early hominids or, probably, hominina, who left us a record of their thoughts on the walls of caves.
And so it is with the post today by The Anchoress. Just words cast into the ether….but so powerful, so well-crafted…so communicative.
http://tinyurl.com/ylr2qj
October 26th, 2006 at 9:23 am
I too grew up with a brilliant but very, very damaged father - but nothing even close to what you went through. What most impresses me is that not only have you survived, but in many ways you are an exemplar of what all of us, flawed or damaged though we may be, strive to achieve spiritually. Certainly I know that your site and your posts have consistently inspired and healed me many many times. So you see, while your pain will never go away, you have still managed to soothe the pain in others.
Just so you know - you are a HUGE influence on me (and I suspect I’m considerably older than you), including costing me a small fortune (LOL) in Bryn Terfel recordings and a radical change in my reading materials. And perhaps, despite my inclination to impatience (I am a redhead after all), an attitude of more kindness and consideration for those who aren’t moving quickly enough for me.
And our mutual love of the Excellent Pope Benedict!
You are always in my heart as a cherished friend.
October 26th, 2006 at 10:20 am
[...] That Must Be Disconcerting For You, written by The Anchoress, is about power and powerlessness and demons of the past, present and future. It would be easy to say that The Anchoress is a survivor of a most horrible kind of abuse- but in truth, only she knows if that is really true. With the elegance of the minimalist, The Anchoress writes of a troubled and traumatic past with a clear voice. While her story is about past- and somewhat unresolved issues, it is also the story of a life lived and a kind of personal, if not complete, redemption. [...]
October 26th, 2006 at 11:10 am
I’m so sorry that you had to endure that nightmare throughout your childhood. My daddy was and still is pretty screwed up in the noggin, but I love him too in spite of himself, and I marvel at his wealth of talent and knowledge. My daddy was an physically abused by his many stepfathers. He did spank me on occasion, but not nearly as many times as I deserved it. The most frustrating thing I still find bothers me about my dad is his courseness–his seeming total disregard for the feelings and opinions of others. However, I have learned throughout the years that it’s really just a tough shell for the feelings he does harbor and that he has a marshmallow center. I know this because I have taken on that same trait as my husband has pointed out. Isn’t it ironic that the very thing that aggravates me about my father has woven its way into my own makeup? I’m not callous like daddy, but I try to remain numb and not feel sometimes when I’m really choking on my own emotions inside. I think it would be accurate to say that I have a love-hate relationship with him. I love him dearly but can’t stand to be around him for more than a couple hours at a time.
October 26th, 2006 at 12:51 pm
Well done, thou good and loyal servant of God. In all things, stand witness to the good and deny all evil, and in your own righteousness you will redeem that selfsame evil. Forgive, but do not excuse. No man is pure beast, therefore listen not to your own beast that whispers for you to condemn him. At the same time, do not ignore the beast, but know it, and repudiate it.
Well done.
October 26th, 2006 at 1:53 pm
*Hugs!*
I admire the heck outa you!
October 26th, 2006 at 2:08 pm
Very well written, Anchoress. Am much impressed. With the writing, and the strength of spirit that surrounds it.
October 26th, 2006 at 3:26 pm
You have my prayers in getting through such an ordeal.
October 26th, 2006 at 3:26 pm
I am sorry that happened to you.
October 26th, 2006 at 4:31 pm
One more thing- life is, at it’s best, about survival. Sometimes we have to survive our parents, hardship, illness-all of it sucks. But those of us who are survivors- of illness, poor childhoods, whatever…it makes you stronger. And gives you the strength to cope when life is challenging.
Lately I wondered if, as a society, we have lost the ability to survive…but that’s more related to the post above this one, isn’t it?
October 26th, 2006 at 9:13 pm
What a moving post, dear Anchoress. As a psychotherapist, I am always amazed by stories such as yours - that out of such evil comes such strength and resilience and hope and faith. With your permission, I would like to print this off to give to my clients. You’re always in my prayers.
October 26th, 2006 at 9:20 pm
[...] The Anchoress writes a post on her late father. In many ways it is moving; yet still unsatisfying. There are powerful words about her father’s tyranny; but no story to give them depth. [...]
October 26th, 2006 at 11:31 pm
Wow. Anchoress. Wow.
You are blessed by God indeed, young lady.
Wow.
October 27th, 2006 at 7:20 am
[...] I’ve said on many occasions that I think “The Anchoress” is probably the best writer in the blogosphere. She recently wrote this amazing piece about surviving the worst kind of childhood trauma. I can’t describe in words how powerful it is It’s the kind of piece that will stay with you for a long time. God Bless Anchoress. [...]
October 27th, 2006 at 4:34 pm
The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make His face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up His countenance upon you and give you peace.
October 27th, 2006 at 8:10 pm
I am so sorry.
Regards,
Sarah
October 28th, 2006 at 12:20 pm
Anchoress, well done!!!!!
You are a profoundly brave woman.
October 28th, 2006 at 7:11 pm
When I was a child, my father was a small town physician and was often out late at night. I remember lying in my bed, afraid of the night and imaginary bogey men. When I would hear Dad’s pickup pull into the driveway, I would relax because I knew he would protect us. Even though he was 5′10 and 175 lbs. and had probably never been in a fight in his life, I had confidence that he would not allow any harm to come to us.
What a tragedy it is when those who are supposed to protect us are the very ones to harm us. I cannot imagine.
But what courage and grace you have shown in your attitude toward your father and in sharing your story. God bless you.
October 28th, 2006 at 11:47 pm
Comment deleted for duplication (see comment below). Comments are moderated. If you do not see your comment immediately posted, it only means things are waiting for me to release them. For the record, I have yet to censor a single comment - Admin
October 29th, 2006 at 6:47 am
Thanks for sharing! I don’t like the “survival” mentality either. As you, I have confronted and forgiven because it was a beginning for me to move on. I too feel pity for my father because of his own emptiness and losses in his life. It is sad indeed. I’m almost 45 yrs old, mothering two small children. I was raised in an orphanage in Germany till I was almost 14 and once my birth father found me (American) and brought me here, he chose to do what he did. Even though I have fogiven him, I shake my head in disbelieve sometimes him knowing I spend my entire childhood in an orphanage and yet he could not even so much as provide me with a safe home once I came here. My children are the center of my life and I make sure they are taken care of in every way possible. At times though, I recognize a hole still in my own life. It is difficult to know what to do with it.
Dear Anchoress, how did you move on in your life? I can tell by your writings that God is an intricate part of your life. There is a sweetness to it that I too recognize because God often is the only thing that makes sense to me.
October 29th, 2006 at 10:47 am
Viola, I cannot explain it. Something has always been very pragmatic inside me. It can only be grace. I doubt that I will ever write on this issue again, though.
October 29th, 2006 at 12:44 pm
Anchoress, I’m glad you did though!
I wish you the very, very best indeed!
I enjoy your writings very much! Thank you!
January 3rd, 2008 at 6:00 pm
[...] it all. Brave and heart-rending. I’ve said before that I don’t favor overidentifying with one’s status as victim, but this is not that. This is all about mercy - the forgiveness of others and the forgiveness of [...]