A difficult conversation

There is a difficult conversation I have needed to have with my Step-Mother for the last three and a half years. It relates to her backwards notion of mental illness and childcare.

When my Step-mother was pregnant with my baby brother (who is now 3 and a half years old) she said that I would not be allowed to be left alone with him or look after him. I was inpatient in hospital at the time after two attempted suicides. It upset me that, because of a mental illness, she saw me unfit to take care of my little brother, especially as I love children, have worked in a crèche and have been police vetted on numerous occasions for my Occupational Therapy and Applied Psychology courses. Even though she hurt me with her comments, I tried to understand where she was coming from. She was pregnant and full of hormones, It was a very long pregnancy in the making as my father and her had been trying for over ten years to have a baby. My suicide attempt came seemingly out of nowhere. I became very unwell, very quickly and she had no experience of mental illness before. I believe it was her ignorance that made her say nasty things about my mental health issues.When we don't understand things we make rude and presumptuous comments maybe unwittingly. 

I figured that , if I showed them how much I love my little brother and that I could be responsible in other areas of my life, such as living independently, paying my bills on time and child-minding for others, then I would gain back their trust and eventually be allowed to mind my brother. But, unfortunately that has not been the case. Still to this day I have not spent a moment of time with my brother without the constant presence of another person. I feel this is damaging our relationship. There is so much I wish I could do with him that I can't, because of the restrictions she has put on me.

This issue has been a major source of pain and suffering for me over the past few years. Yet I have never felt strong enough to bring it up with my step-Mother. I realize now, that there may never be a time where I feel comfortable to have that conversation with her, it's never going to easy for me, but it is important to me, so it may be something I am just going to have to do if I want to continue contributing to a life worth living. 

I guess the reason it has upset me so much is because I KNOW how great I am with children. I would never put a child in harms way. If I felt unable to look after a child, I would be the first one to say so.  I have spent more time than most people of the general population learning what triggers a bout of emotional vulnerability for me. I have a great amount of supports and tools available to me to help me cope with stressful situations and I am mindful that I do not become overwhelmed rather than just motoring on through.

Mental illness does not make me unemployable, otherwise, a much larger population of the world would be unemployed. Mental illness does not make me stupid either. Typically, those who are symptomatic or chronic to the point where they are unable to care for children, generally understand the fact and don't tend to enter the field. Mental illness is everywhere, whether you know or see it or not. Its there. People of all responsibilities, jobs, Etc. live with, cope with and manage to live healthy productive lives. 

I wonder if many parents would/wouldn't leave their child in the care of someone with a known psychiatric disability or disorder. There are lots of different types of childcare out there, and obviously stay at home parents, but it's hard to imagine that within the numerous kinds of day care, kindergarten, nursery staff and nannies, there isn't a single one with some form of mental health history or current problem. Should every parent be informed if a crèche worker or support staff member has clinical, medical or just Time of the Month issues?

What are your thoughts on this issue?

Lying as a way of avoiding distress.

Masking the truth

This is a topic I find quite painful to discuss. It brings up a lot of shame, leaving me feeling as if I tumbled naked out of a warm bed into a cold room and there was no time to cover up before a crowd arrives to view my embarrassment. Yet, I feel it's important to talk about this. After doing a good deal of reading on shame recently, I see how confronting it head on seems to be the only way to dissipate it fully. 

I must have been about four years old, when my nursery school teacher turned to my mother with a furrowed brow, a concerned tone and said something along the lines of ... "Some children lie, maybe to get out of trouble or to play 'make believe'.... that's harmless and can be corrected as the child grows older, learning it's not nice to be dishonest. But your little one's fibs are troubling. She truly believes her made up fantasies are real. I don't think she sees the difference between reality and fantasy."

When I was in second class in primary school (8 years old) I told my teacher and friends at the time that my Mum was expecting another baby with my Dad. My parents had been separated since I was four, it was a messy break-up, with lots of anger, manipulation and public arguments.  So you can imagine my Mother''s surprise when she came to pick me up and the other Mum's were congratulating her on her pregnancy and recent rekindling of her marriage. Looking back now, I think I did it to try and solve the problem. If I told enough people I had a happy family, then maybe it would come true. I remember fully believing what I was saying was real. This particular lie had a horrible outcome, it was of course found out and I was humiliated by having to publicly apologise and recant the lie to all my classmates. It not only filled my heart with shame, but compounded the reality of my distress of living within a fragmented family.

Another example is a bit more recent. I don't tend to tell people I had to leave my university course because of illness, I mince the truth, I brush it off, say I did finish and quickly change the topic. There are sooo many other examples, but I don't feel able to disclose them just yet. but I can allow you a glimpse at some conclusions I have come to about my lies.

I lied to avoid the distress and the chaos in my life. However, the truth can and does emerge at times which leads to more chaos in an attempt to avoid the past and the destruction that always follows. I can understand why so many family members and friends started to distance themselves from the me. This then started the cycle of avoidance and low esteem. The feeling of abandonment and the lies. No one likes to admit to making mistakes or "wrong calls".

It was about control with me. When my life was so out of control, I could have a little through lying. Sometimes it was to avoid conflict. I couldn't stand anyone being mad at me. I often find myself lying simply because I can't stand one more moment of my real life. Sometimes the lies are of how I wished things were or happened instead of what the real situation is.

When I am really distressed I can't tell the difference between lying and telling the truth because I say what I think people want to hear. I don't tell whoppers as I am too terrified of being rejected if I am found out - but I fudge, exaggerate, deny things and change my facts all the time. I only just discovered this as I have been lying to myself for so long too about this! It's really hard to realize and admit that lying comes so naturally to me that I don't even notice I'm doing it. I would characterise it against the DSM criterion 'frantic attempts to avoid real or imagined abandonment' - I would say my pathological lying is part of my ongoing attempt through frantic 'relationship management' to make others happy and therefore unlikely to reject me.

People with BPD often experience deep and entrenched shame; lying may be one way to conceal mistakes or weaknesses that increase shameful feelings. People with BPD are often also very sensitive to rejection, so one function of lying could be to “cover up” mistakes, so that others will not reject them.

I think I lie lie as a means of protecting myself from rejection or a survival technique, and it did seem that a good deal of my lying was some kind of defence mechanism to avoid any intense feelings of failure and self-loathing.

Given that a BPD hallmark is interpersonal relationships that alternate between idealization and devaluation, the person with BPD may distort facts aimed at the person with whom they desire a personal relationship. … In the moment, their desired objective, whatever that may be, takes such precedence over speaking the truth or behaving honestly that the potential consequences of their conduct are reduced to shadowy details.”

Sometimes we may judge ourselves harshly and expect others to do the same. Lying serves to deflect shame when something might make us look bad, thereby maintaining whatever self-esteem we have on a temporary basis. … We believe that anything ‘bad’ would make others reject them. … Lies may mask real feelings and put up an impressive façade. Lies may help make sense of why things happen to us in our mixed-up identity.

In other words, some of us with BPD lie to avoid abandonment or to avoid self-hatred.

What are your experiences with lying and the presumption of lying?

Christmas Flashbacks

What does December/Winter mean to you? 

This is a really hard post for me to write. December means painful memories and flashbacks full of grief for me. When I was 4 years old my little world came crashing down around me. My sense of safety, of consistency, of stability was all destroyed when my father fought his last physical fight with my mother, packed up his possessions and left us. He walked away from my mother and abandoned me and my sister. 

I didn’t understand what had I done? Was it something I said? How could I make him come back? It must have been because I wasn’t well behaved, because I talked too much, because I annoyed him, because I wasn’t the perfect child. 

My memories of the separation are patchy, but the emotions attached to them are real, and are important; really important. I was scared that my mother would leave me next or my sister. I turned from an out-going child to a needy and serious little girl within days. I carried a furrow on my brow and a lump in my throat, and somehow, Christmas just didn’t seem all that exciting anymore. 

As the years went by my father compensated for his lack of emotional attachment to me and the non-existent yet much needed expressions of love with sensational, expensive gifts. It was as if he was showing up my mother who just about managed to put food on the Christmas dinner table, and keep us excited about getting a token from Santa. He picked us up on Christmas morning and showered us with gifts our mother dreamed of giving us, but couldn’t because my father lied and cheated his way out of paying child support. 

I knew something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t articulate my emotions the way I can now. I should never have been used as the pawn in my parent’s war. It was not the way a child should have been treated. It affected me deeply and Christmas was always a constant yearly reminder of how other happy families and tight nuclear formulation contrasted sharply with my broken home where sadness reigned and fear propagated like rabbits. 

So December means difficult emotions for me. Sorry no Christmas cheer is this post, but I thought that writing a bit about my story might give you some insight into what went on for me so you can see that these things can be processed and that there are ways to overcome painful memories. 

Fitting in

I would like to feel that I was a piece in their puzzle.

I want my own little slot to slide into where only I fit, where I am received, not in spite of my unique edges, but because of them.

I want them to feel incomplete without me, for them to feel the empty section which distorts the finished image where I am missing, and for them to spend countless hours tenderly searching for me under chairs and rugs, and squeal with delight when they find me and promise not to ever lose me again.

My family is a crackled jigsaw missing lots of bits. It’s not a faultless conclusion. It’s a child’s discarded toy, too difficult to complete, and too tedious to resolve.