I'm not here. Truly.

I know, I know, I said I was disappearing until the end of November... and yet here I am. Addicted? No way! Just enthusiastic. Yeah, that's it... enthusiastic.

I am, for those interested, nowhere near 50,000 words. I'm at about 17,000 now and with just over a week to go there's no way I'll reach the 50K goal. However, that's okay. I decided a while ago to forget the word goal and concentrate on the words themselves. That goes entirely against the spirit of NaNoWriMo but I don't care, because I've made some great discoveries. In the process of putting parts of my story together I am finding links I had never seen before. I'm developing an understanding of some things and starting to see the inherent sadness of other things. The entire process has been incredibly valuable, more than I ever anticipated, and that is worth a great deal more than the satisfaction of reaching a word goal.

The flipside of this, however, is that a whole lot of stuff is being churned up and I don't necessarily have the capacity to deal with it all at once. Of course I don't have to deal everything at the same time, but a lot of it is out there now and it's hard to unring a bell, you know? So I'm continuing to take things slowly... I'm still a hermit, I'm still minimising my online activity and I'm taking lots of breaks from writing when I think my body and mind need it. If I were listening to my counsellor I'd also be shunning junk food, eating more vegetables and doing plenty of exercise, but hey, one can't have everything. (Although... if I HAD listened to her advice about self-care then I might not have had those midnight anxiety attacks either so perhaps there's something in what she says...)

So this is where I'm at. And hey, who's sick to death of the interminable updates about Femina's mental health and counselling sessions? Yeah, me too... but like I said, this is where I'm at...
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The age of compassion

In recent counselling sessions I've talked a bit about particular incidents that happened when I was growing up and still living at home. Mixed up with these memories are my thoughts and feelings about myself during that time. I've looked at photos of myself when I was small. There's one in particular where I'm about three years old - I'm sitting on the lounge talking on the phone and laughing and looking very cute. It's a happy photo and when I look at the little girl in that photo I feel so sad for her. My brother started treating me badly when I was quite young. I have no memory of it not happening and given that he's six years older than me it's likely that he was already picking on me to some degree even when I was that little. I look at the photo and I can see how awful it is that anyone could tell that happy little girl that she's worthless. Even more sad is that she would grow up to believe it.

The feelings I have when I look at those photos are entirely appropriate. The things that happened to me ARE sad. The problem comes when I look at photos of me at older ages, particularly when I'm about 14 and up. When I look at those photos I don't feel sad. At an intellectual level there's probably some sadness but mostly I am overwhelmed by the things I believed at the time - all the feelings of worthlessness and shame that were absolute truth to me then are truth to me now. I can't look at photos and think, "How sad that the happy little three year old grew up to become this fearful and unhappy teenager who believed she was worthless" because I'm too caught up in the belief that I was (and am) so worthless and ridiculous that I completely deserved everything my brother and others ever did or said to me. Not only can I not feel compassion, I don't want to believe that girl is me. I don't want anything to do with her; I don't even want to acknowledge her existence. I don't want that girl to be the building block of the woman I am today.

Whilst pondering all these things I came upon this poem...

Variation on the word sleep

Margaret Atwood

I would like to watch you sleeping,

which may not happen.

I would like to watch you,

sleeping. I would like to sleep

with you, to enter

your sleep as its smooth dark wave

slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent

wavering forest of bluegreen leaves

with its watery sun & three moons

towards the cave where you must descend,

towards your worst fear.

I would like to give you the silver

branch, the small white flower, the one

word that will protect you

from the grief at the center

of your dream, from the grief

at the center. I would like to follow

you up the long stairway

again & become

the boat that would row you back

carefully, a flame

in two cupped hands

to where your body lies

beside me, and you enter

it as easily as breathing in.

I would like to be the air

that inhabits you for a moment

only. I would like to be that unnoticed

& that necessary.

This is essentially a love poem (and as a love poem I think it's wonderful) but I was also struck by the third stanza:

I would like to give you the silver

branch, the small white flower, the one

word that will protect you

from the grief at the center

of your dream, from the grief

at the center. I would like to follow

you up the long stairway

again & become

the boat that would row you back

carefully...

Part of me still doesn't want to know that young girl, but there's another part, a tiny part... if I could go back in time and meet that girl, I think I would want to protect her. Maybe that's not compassion, not yet, but it's something. It's a start.

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A little bit of comfort

My brother (the one who bullied and abused me) has recently moved back to my parents' house. This doesn't thrill me and I am not willing to stay with my parents while he is living there. However, since I've never discussed the abuse with my parents I can't explain why I don't want to stay there - and the excuse of 'no room' won't really work since my parents have a four bedroom house with only three people in it. Hmmm. Anyway, that's a discussion I've deftly avoided up to now and I'm not planning a trip back there for a while so I'm not worrying about it yet.

The problem with the 'don't worry about it yet' approach is that I'm apparently too good at it. I'm so good at it that I actually forgot my brother was living at my mum and dad's house... so imagine my shock when I was chatting with my mother on the phone yesterday and suddenly my brother's voice came on the line. Let me add some context here - I haven't seen my brother face-to-face for at least two years. I haven't heard his voice in that time either. What I have done in the last two years is talk about 20 years of abuse. I've had nightmares and flashbacks. I've had frightening anxiety attacks. I've experienced depression. I've struggled. Of course, my brother is not directly to blame for these things - and in fact seeking to lay blame anywhere is unhelpful - but he is certainly a massive factor in it all and I was not ready to hear his voice on the phone. (I should add that he wasn't speaking to me and didn't even know it was me on the phone; he just picked up the downstairs extension because he wanted to tell my mother something and couldn't be bothered walking upstairs.)

When I heard his voice I started shaking and experienced other symptoms of anxiety. I had a long bath and did a few anxiety-management techniques and eventually I was fine. I slept well last night and felt pretty good today so I assumed I was over the shock of hearing his voice. Well, until this afternoon....

I made choc-chip cookies...

...and then some gluten-free dark chocolate brownies...

...and then some Mars Bar slice.

Uh.... comfort cooking, anyone?

(I haven't actually eaten any of this and will give most of it away. No, really. I swear!)

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For those who pray...

...and for those who don't...

I'm travelling a hard path in counselling. The fact that I'm ready to go down this path at all is great (in two years of counselling I've only touched on these things briefly a few times) and I know that ultimately it will be very helpful, but honestly... the process is excruciating.

Accepting prayers, good wishes and positive vibes.

Thanks.
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How will they remember me?

A couple of weeks ago a friend's wife died of breast cancer. I didn't attend her funeral but her husband posted on their blog the eulogy he delivered at the funeral. For privacy reasons I won't link to it, but let me assure you it was a great eulogy. The word 'eulogy' is derived from two ancient Greek words meaning "good words" and this eulogy was exactly that. It was warm and funny and sad and joyful all at the same time. Obviously a eulogy can only go for so long so you are forced to choose which memories to share and which character traits to highlight in honouring the person you loved. This has led me to wonder what things people would say if they had to choose a few things that sum up who I have been... and I wonder if these are the same things that I would choose?

I feel quite sure that someone would mention my fanaticism about correct grammar and punctuation. I would like them to talk about my faith in Jesus and my love for God and his people. Apart from those things, what is it that people notice? What is it that defines me?

Much of my life and energy at the moment is directed towards healing from abuse and trauma; and a large part of the process is about learning who I am. I endured many years of harmful words and actions that are part of the reason I have developed a view of myself that is both unhealthy and inaccurate. I know there is a "real me" and I get glimpses of her sometimes but for a lot of the time I am influenced by fear, doubt and confusion.

It won't always be this way, but for right now I think it would be fair to say that other people know me better than I know myself. Other people see things in me that I simply don't see, even when the evidence is right in front of me. The truth is there but my view of it is sketchy at best, and even when I see the truth I often don't believe it.

If it weren't for the fact that it's a bit macabre I would ask a few good friends to write my eulogy for me now, while I'm still alive. It's not a vanity exercise; I really want to know what it is that other people see - what is THEIR truth and how does it differ from MY truth? Actually I don't believe that truth is relative, so perhaps I should ask what is their perception and how does it differ from mine? And of the two, which one is the truth?

Hmmmm. It would be an interesting exercise.

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It's a conundrum, alright

One of the consequences of having someone spend 15 years trying their very hardest to make me feel worthless, ridiculous and pointless is that most of the time I feel worthless, ridiculous and pointless. Sadly, logic often doesn't come into it. For example, my academic transcript at uni has only Distinctions and High Distinctions, which means I didn't get below 80% for a single subject for three years. Logic would suggest, therefore, that I'm reasonably intelligent. Despite this, most of the time I believe I'm stupid and for my entire degree I made excuses for my successes - "It's just a first year subject and they mark them easier", "I agreed with the lecturer so of course I got a good mark" and so on.

Trying to change long-ingrained beliefs is very difficult and knowing that those beliefs aren't true doesn't stop me believing that they are absolutely true. I said to my counsellor today, "I know that it's totally wrong to believe I'm stupid and worthless. At the same time I am 100% convinced that I'm completely stupid and worthless." So... I know it's a lie and I also know it's true. Yeah, blows your mind a little bit, huh?

Right now I'm feeling very optimistic and hopeful about counselling. I feel more hopeful than I have in ages, actually, and that's a great thing. At the same time, though, there is a BIG part of me that is convinced there is no point trying to change because I really am worthless, and I will never feel any different. Feeling and believing both of these things simultaneously is a little bit weird and very hard to explain and understand. However, I figure that feeling worthless AND hopeful is a whole lot better than just feeling worthless with no hope at all, so I'm taking this conundrum as a win.
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Roller coaster

Do you ever have a day or two where so many different things happen, and they're so intensely emotional - but all different emotions - that you hardly know whether you're coming or going? Let me fill you in on the ups and downs of my personal little emotional roller coaster this week.

Friday - UP
I chatted with my counsellor and agreed that it was time to get back into some issues that had been put on hold for me whilst I was dealing with some stuff at work. This included some journal entries that I'd sent but we hadn't talked about yet. I was keen to dive into it all again and looked forward to my session on Tuesday.

Sunday - UP
I returned to church after a three month absence (long story but I wasn't in a good place and needed a break). It was great to be back.

Monday - DOWN
I have been reading a book called The Body Remembers by Babette Rothschild. Although written for therapists, and thus highly technical, it's been very helpful. On Monday I started reading the chapter on flashbacks... and almost instantly had a massive anxiety attack as I remembered some flashbacks I had had more than a year ago. It was like a flashback of a flashback, which I didn't even know was possible. It is, and it freaked me out.

Tuesday - DOWN
My counselling session was first thing in the morning and I talked about my reaction the day before. In order to explain why a 'flashback of a flashback' is indeed possible my counsellor started to tell me a story about someone becoming anxious about being anxious. The more she said the word 'anxious' the more MY anxiety level increased, until I had to ask her to stop because I thought I was going to pass out. Yeah, it was intense. After a break and some breathing exercises I felt a bit calmer and we agreed to put this aside for the moment and talk about something more innocuous and less stressful. That helped but I remained shaken by the experience for the whole day.

Tuesday - UP
After my session in the morning I met with my prayer triplet. It was both comforting and refreshing.

Tuesday - UP
I went for a two hour walk in an effort to reduce my adrenaline levels which were still high after my episode of anxiety in the morning. It was good and helped to stop some of my anxiety symptoms.

Tuesday night - DOWN
I received the news that my friend's wife had died that morning, after being diagnosed with breast cancer ten months ago. She was 40; and leaves behind her husband and two young boys.

Tuesday night - UP
After a day of suffering the effects of the morning's anxiety and feeling increasingly afraid of going back to counselling next week and having the same thing happen, I finally reached the point where I decided enough is enough. I reached for my journal and wrote the following:

After writing that I felt a lot better and far more in control. I think something vital has just clicked in my brain...

Wednesday - UP
Givinya's baby was born!

So it's been an interesting few days. Up and down and round in circles.... I'm feeling a little tired now, to be honest! Here's hoping the rest of the week is boring and dull...
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Cloudy, but clearing

Firstly, thank you to those who commented on my last post or contacted me via email. Your care, support and prayers mean so much to me and you help more than you know.

I'm still not feeling quite up to my usual self. I think this has been building up for a little while now and this week it all rose up like a wave and dumped me on the sand. Apparently, this is called a STUG - a Sudden, Temporary Upsurge of Grief. (Where would we be without handy acronyms?) Good name, since that's exactly how it felt... and I'm always strangely comforted to hear that what I'm experiencing is normal and textbook. This is the kind of situation where I want to be boring and run of the mill.

It's been a strange week. If I'd had my way I think I would have stayed in bed all week and licked my wounds but of course I had to go to work. My emotions have been all over the place - one night I came home and cried because my letter box only had junk mail in it, another night I was almost beside myself with rage because a salesperson rang trying to get me to change electricity providers, and another night I happily did some painting and watched TV and felt pretty good for a few hours. Underneath it all, though, I've been feeling sad and overwhelmed. Not in despair but definitely struggling and unable to see a way out. My long-suffering counsellor, who deserves far more money than I can afford to pay her, has been patiently answering my emails all week, which have all been a variation on the same theme - "Tell me that this won't last forever. Tell me that healing is possible. Tell me this is okay. Tell me that I can do it. And now tell me again, please." So she told me and told me and told me again, every time I asked the exact same thing. The answer didn't change - "yes, healing will come" - but sometimes I just need to keep hearing it, and I'm trying so hard to believe it.

And now... I'm beginning to emerge from the wave. I'm struggling and I'm not free of it yet but it will come. And so will healing.
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Obscured horizon

I had a subdued counselling session yesterday. It mostly consisted of me saying, "I've been doing this for nearly two years, I don't think I'm getting anywhere, I can't see any progress and by the way this whole thing really sucks." My counsellor pointed out that I spent nearly a year with another counsellor who wasn't helpful to me, reminded me of progress I have made and agreed, "Yes, this does indeed totally suck."

I'm feeling tired and discouraged right now, to the point where I really can't see any progress even though I know it's there. All I can see are the negatives and the fears and the steps backward and the falls. I know they are not the whole picture but they loom so large on my horizon sometimes that they obscure everything else.

Yesterday I talked about how long this seems to be taking. I have had friends who were in bad places and had counselling for a while, but never for this long. My counsellor said something like, "The kind of thing you're dealing with isn't something that takes weeks or months; it can take years. You have had a lifetime of programming and it goes very deep; it will take a long time to work through it." Well. Okay. Of course I knew this - I've said it myself plenty of times - but I didn't want to hear it yesterday. Not years. I don't know why it should have made a difference... come the end of August I will have been in counselling for two years anyway and frankly I can't see myself feeling 100% fine in the next 12 months so I already know this is a slow process and will take (has taken) years. But still, there's something about hearing it that makes it real. Years. One year... two years... three years... and then??

I know there's not a quick fix. I'm not sure I'd want one, really, because I feel sure it wouldn't be a fix at all but merely a bandaid that will fall off later and leave me in a worse place than I'm in now. I'm not looking for the magic solution. I guess I'm just writing this to have a little moan. This is hard. It's slow. I can think of 500 other things I would rather do. I'm a bit overwhelmed by it all and I can't see any progress... my little flame of hope is more like a smouldering ember that's filling the room with smoke and choking me.

I'm trying to think of a hopeful note on which to end this post... something like, "I'm down but not out" or "I am discouraged but I know it will all be worth it". Even if those things are true, I don't feel them today. I'm discouraged. I am overwhelmed. I can't see the positives. And today, that is all.
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Truth

It's been one year and nine months since I first started counselling, and almost exactly one year since I started to understand the extent and impact of my brother's abuse. I have had weekly sessions during that entire period, apart from a period of about three months when I was having fortnightly appointments. That's a lot of counselling. It's such a part of my life now that I have trouble sometimes remembering what life was like before I started. In the last few months, as I've been digging deeper into trauma that's been buried for a long time, counselling has started to feel like a bad dream. I keep thinking that I went into this feeling a little bit down and depressed and now, without quite knowing how it happened, I'm living in a whole new world. It's a world where I talk about trauma and abuse in familiar terms, where anxiety is measured on a scale of severity but is never entirely absent, where often I can't sleep because talking about things has made me unsettled and upset, where sometimes I need to curl up in bed like a wounded animal and hide from the world, where I feel intense shame for things that shouldn't have shame attached to them at all - it's a world where I live with a pain that goes so deep I don't even have the words to describe it. I never intended to enter this world. I didn't even know it was there and sometimes I just can't believe this is where I live now. It feels like a bad dream and I want to wake up.

At times I think that if I'd never gone to see a counsellor I wouldn't be in this place. I wouldn't be someone who has survived abuse. I wouldn't be anxious. I wouldn't have insomnia. I would float along happily and not be in this strange and difficult world. Sometimes I feel like I made a mistake seeing a counsellor, and that taking that step caused all these things to happen... like it's my own fault that I'm now struggling, and living in a place that's frightening and hard. These are the times when I need to remind myself of what is true.

Truth: whatever his motives, the way my brother treated me was abuse. Calling it abuse or calling it something else or even ignoring it won't change the truth. Abuse is abuse.

Truth: whatever her motives or her understanding of the situation, and even though she loves me, my mother allowed my brother to continue to abuse me. The fact that she loves me and didn't see it as abuse doesn't change the effect it had on me.

Truth: just because I didn't feel traumatised doesn't mean I wasn't. If that's my 'normal', how could I possibly know?

Truth: anxiety is not new. I've always had anxiety attacks, especially at night; I just didn't know what they were. Counselling helped me name them. It didn't cause them.

Truth: before I started counselling, I wasn't happy. I didn't feel safe. I didn't know how to trust people. I didn't like myself. I wanted a 'reset' button. I longed to escape, to be a different person, to start again where no one knows me. Counselling didn't make this happen; it just made me recognise it.

Truth: sometimes I don't know what's true, or I know it but I have no idea how to get there. I need help to see the truth and live in the truth. That's the point of counselling. It's not to make me feel terrible or to condemn me to a new and painful world; it's to help me see where I'm living and then help me move on and start to live in a better place.

And that's the truth.

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Dear Hallmark, I have an idea

It's Mothers' Day tomorrow. For the past few weeks I've been seeing an explosion of sheepskin slippers, nighties, chocolates, romance novels, foot spas and other things that every mother apparently wants. In addition, there are racks and racks of cards with sentiments like, "Dear Mum, you've loved and guided me my whole life. You've made me what I am today. I can never repay you. Thank you for everything."

These are all fine sentiments and I believe it's important to tell people that you appreciate and love them. I am left to wonder, though, what happens when you don't have a great relationship with your mother. What kind of card do you send when your relationship is scarred by deep wounds that may never heal? I've searched high and low but as yet I've been unable to find a card that says, "Dear Mum, for nearly twenty years you chose not to protect me from your son's abuse and you made me believe the abuse was my fault. Now you treat me like I'm a huge disappointment to you. You've helped to make me what I am today. I can never repay you." Hmmm... can't see Hallmark going for it.

I have mixed feelings about Mothers' Day. I have plenty of friends who are mothers and I think they're doing a great job. It's not all they are but it's a large part of who they are and it's a good thing for them to know they are valued (although appreciation would be good more often than once a year). At the same time I find it an incredibly difficult day because I, and I'm sure others with stories like mine, feel a mixture of pain and guilt. I look at the Mothers' Day advertising and I feel bad that I don't have that wonderful mother-daughter relationship that is being shoved at me from all sides. Whilst it's true that my mother allowed my brother to abuse me, it's also true that she fed me and clothed me and comforted me in her own inadequate way. I doubt she'll ever understand the damage she helped to inflict upon me. Does the good outweigh the bad? Should I act as though we do have a Hallmark relationship and hope that it becomes true? Am I wrong to still remember the pain?

The reality is, there is no scale. I can't weigh up the good and the bad and see which one comes out on top. My mother, whatever her motives, contributed to some terrible pain that has left me with deep scars. I am working hard towards healing but I can't pretend the pain never happened. Equally, I can't pretend we have a great relationship now. I believe my mother loves me but I really don't think she likes me very much; and the best I can say about our relationship is that it is politely strained.

It's Mother's Day tomorrow. I don't think I'll be sending a card.
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Using the 'A' word (no, not that one...)

I had a coffee today with a friend and talked to her a bit about my history with my brother. She knew I had some history of trauma but didn't know what it was. As I was talking I used the 'a' word - abuse. (I had to stress that it was not sexual abuse, because sadly it is so prevalent that people tend to assume that's the only thing 'abuse' can mean.) We chatted for a bit and my friend asked questions like, "Did your parents have any idea?" and "How long did it continue?" I said it went on pretty much until I left home at age 20, when my brother was 26. My friend said, "He was 26? Oh, well that's abuse."

This made me pause. Hadn't I just said it was abuse? It's not a word I use lightly and it's one I took a long time to accept. I danced around it for ages, calling it teasing, bullying, being picked on - anything but abuse. Abuse is for real and it's serious. Teasing can be forgotten; abuse requires healing. It's a big deal. I know it's a big deal and that's exactly why I don't use the word lightly. I was therefore surprised that my friend didn't see it as abuse until it met some criterion in her head. My brother was still doing what he did when he was in his twenties and that, according to her, is what makes it abuse. So does that mean it wasn’t abuse when he was 13 and gave me a black eye? Was it abuse when he was 17 and told me I was fat and ugly? When he was 12 and stole my colouring book so he could draw a thick black line through every page except the one with the picture of a witch, which he meticulously coloured in and then labelled with my name... was that abuse? Was it abuse when he was 12 and 14 and 17 and 19 and made me cry, then mocked me for days afterwards because I cried?

I have agonised over this. I spent weeks with my counsellor questioning whether abuse was too strong a word, and weeks later I went through it all again, and I may well go through it again at some point in the future. One of the reasons I have hesitated is because I know there are people who’ve suffered terrible abuses that make my experiences look like a Sunday treat. While I have struggled there are others who have decided the struggle is too hard and they don’t want to continue. I don’t compare myself with those people... and yet at the same time I do. Our experiences are vastly different but the result of our experiences is the same. My reactions, my fears, my thought processes, my insecurities, my recovery process – they are all typical of someone who has been abused. Not someone who has experienced X-level of abuse; just someone who has been abused.

I should not have to explain why my experience counts as ‘real’ abuse. Yes, abuse is a big word. I cannot tell you how much I wish I never had to use it – but when I do, please don’t make me feel like I have to defend myself. It WAS abuse even if it doesn't fit your idea of what abuse looks like.

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Debbie Downer

I read a blog today where someone referred to a negative email she'd sent as a "Debbie Downer email". I kind of liked it, and it was timely because today I'm writing a Debbie Downer post. Please indulge me; you know I don't write them very often. Or if you don't want to indulge me... uhh.... well, I guess your only option is to stop reading now.

When I started this whole counselling roller coaster ride I also started keeping a journal. I thought, "When I feel okay and have my sh*t together again - say in two or three months - it will be interesting to look back over this process via the journal." Okay, now I realise the 'two or three months' part was completely misguided but I was young and innocent then. The thing is, though, that first journal entry was in September 2007. That's 16 months ago and I can't help thinking that after doing this for so long I should feel a lot better than I do. Shouldn't I be fixed by now??

It's not even that I don't like counselling or don't find it helpful. I have found it enormously helpful and I've learned so much in the process.

* I've learned that the way my brother treated me while we were growing up was not funny, nor was it 'normal' sibling rivalry. It was deliberate abuse and that's NOT okay.
* I've learned that this abuse has affected my self-worth, my self-esteem, my family relationships, my friendships, my confidence, and a whole lot of other things.
* I've learned that just because the abuse stopped 18 years ago it doesn't mean the effects of it have disappeared.
* I've learned that not all counsellors are helpful and continuing to see an unhelpful counsellor is a very bad idea.
* I've learned that not all friends are helpful, even if they love you, and it's okay to be selective about who helps you paddle your boat.

That's a whole lot of learning, and there are many other things I'm continuing to learn... all of this is good, good stuff. I'm not saying it's not. But this is the double-edged sword that is counselling - things come up that you didn't know were there, or that you knew about but had disregarded, and they entirely change the equation. I said to my counsellor this week that when I started therapy I thought I was dealing with one issue, and as we've talked I've discovered more and more things, so that I feel worse - and more broken - than when I started. She assures me that all the things are related, and I can see that, but still I'm feeling tired and discouraged. She also assures me that I'm way further along than I think I am, and that healing is not nearly so far away as I imagine. Most of the time I believe that, but on Debbie Downer days I am scared that this is as good as it gets; and I will never really heal.

I know I've made progress. I've worked hard and I've really come a long way... but this is a marathon, not a sprint. I've been running this marathon for so long that I have lost sight of the finish line and some days I wish I'd never started the race at all.

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Happy families

My parents are arriving today from interstate for a short visit - they fly home again on Monday afternoon. I have mixed feelings about their visit. I'm anxious and I don't particularly want them here, which makes me feel guilty and mean. But given our history, I'm not sure my feelings are entirely inappropriate.

I have an uneasy relationship with my parents, for different reasons that tend to morph together. One reason is fairly ordinary parent/child relationship stuff. My parents are tremendously bothered that I'm not married, and therefore they tend to assume that (a) I'm missing out on... just about everything; and (b) I'm not a real grown-up and need to be looked after. These assumptions tend to manifest themselves as my parents treating me like I'm a little girl playing house. When I was still living in Sydney my father once dropped around right on dinner time to repair something for me. I was just serving up my dinner-for-one - as I recall, something fairly boring like fish and steamed veges - and he looked at it and said, "So... you cook for yourself, do you?" (Actually I've had a similar question from a number of people - the assumption seems to be that people who live alone get by with just a can opener and a spoon.) With my father, though, the question implied amazement that I cook for myself and that I'm able to cook. He expresses similar amazement when I do things like arrange for my car to be repaired or... move interstate... and every time I do something 'grown up' he grills me with the most ridiculous questions to try to catch me out and prove I don't really know what I'm doing after all. I know there is genuine concern and care behind it, but there's only so long a person can put up with hearing things like, "When you put your car away in the garage make sure you've turned the engine off before you shut the garage door" (so I don't die of carbon monoxide poisoning in the 3.5 seconds it takes me to get from the garage roller door to the side exit door that leads to my backyard). My parents must be constantly astonished that I've managed to live this long without serious injury.

My mother tends to assume I'm missing out on everything and must be compensated. Actually my father thinks that too but he's too busy trying to keep me alive to do anything else. In my family we have stopped giving Christmas presents now - I have 4 siblings and they all have families of their own so we decided it was a ridiculous expense and was only causing us stress. I'm fine with it; in fact I was one of the instigators of this move. My mother, however, is horribly concerned that I won't get ANY presents for Christmas because I don't have a partner to buy me anything... so she said recently, "Well, I suppose we'll have to buy you a present this year, won't we?" Yes, that's verbatim. I assured her that I am very likely to get Christmas gifts from friends, and as a Christian the gifts aren't the most important part of the day for me anyway, but I think she remains unconvinced. I'm thinking now I should just milk this... "I'm soooo lonely and unfulfilled, but I know I'd feel better if only I had that red couch from Ikea... and maybe a flat-screen TV too. That would help to ease the pain..."

The other reason for my difficult relationship with my parents is more serious. Many of you who know me in real life are aware that I experienced long-term emotional abuse and bullying at the hands of one of my brothers. All siblings fight and disagree to a certain extent, but in my case my brother's behaviour was calculated, pre-meditated, sadistic and quite deliberate. - and it went on for about 15 years. In a few instances there was physical abuse - I once sported a particularly spectacular black eye - but for the most part his weapons were humiliation, belittling and disempowerment. (There's an okay article here about sibling abuse.) He was very good at what he did and I know there was a great deal that my parents didn't see. I think my father was probably oblivious to just about everything anyway as he was a shift-worker and was often at work or asleep during the times we were awake. My mother, on the other hand, was there and I know she saw at least some of what was going on... yet never intervened. It's possible she dismissed it as normal sibling fights and didn't really understand the extent or impact of what my brother was doing - this is one of the reasons sibling abuse is so little recognised or understood - but even so there are a few painful incidents where she simply failed to protect me.

This abuse has had a profound effect on my life. It's affected my self-worth, my ability to trust, my confidence; and it contributed to the depression I experienced earlier this year. Praise God I have a great counsellor who has experience in abuse recovery and has been tremendously helpful. Healing is a slow process but it's definitely possible and I'm happy with the progress I've been making. As far as my parents are concerned, however... there's a lot of anger there and other mixed feelings. I've never discussed this with them and I don't intend to because it wouldn't be helpful (they would never recognise my brother's behaviour as abuse and trying to make them recognise it would completely destroy our relationship) but that means that when they decide to visit I am processing a lot of stuff and it tends to be a very anxiety-inducing time for me.

Wow, this post is longer and more intense than I had intended.... sorry to make you sit through a counselling session! Many of you already knew this stuff anyway and I continue to be enormously grateful for your love and support.

For those of you who are the praying types, please pray that I can get through this visit without unnecessary trauma. They're here for five days... and I think I'll be taking comfort in blogging a lot during that time. You have been warned!

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