The big R word as it applies to family... relationships part 2

I have a hard time talking about my family relationships. Which is ironic because when I was a kid, I would have loved to talk to someone because I had no idea how to handle what was going on. But I didn't know who to talk to or what specifically to talk about because I also had no idea I was on the spectrum. And being on the spectrum unknowingly complicated all my relationships- friend, family, co-worker, neighbor, and everything in between. 

Family relationships can be complicated. One thing I've learned over time is that you can pick your friends, you can pick your spouse, but you can't pick your family. I was lucky to have had relationships that I've treasured and that helped make me the person I am today. Everyone deserves that. To have at least one relationship that they treasure with someone who shows them what love, mutual respect, support and encouragement are all about. And also how to treat other people with those things as well. People don't realize how hard it is to be on the spectrum and try to have healthy, loving, supportive relationships. Or any kind of relationship. I've always struggled with relationships, and I have almost always blamed myself if it ended, but I didn't realize that even if it was my fault, it wasn't always intentional. Because of that, I will always treasure the relationships with the people who chose to be my friend or have a relationship with me regardless of my social and behavioral awkwardness or missteps.

One of the best relationships I've had was with my great-grandmother who lived with us and helped take care of my sister and I until she passed away when I was nine. She was warm, kind, loving, supportive, caring, and protective. She always made it clear that I was special to her. My cousin told me that my great-grandmother told her that when she was visiting other family that she needed to get back to me to take care of and protect me.  I'm so glad that instead of getting angry or irritated or impatient and yelling or any other kind of negative reaction, she came at me with love. Her rewards for us doing anything to help her were big, comforting bear hugs and I looked forward to each and every one. I miss seeing her on the couch watching the Lawrence Welk Show or cooking in the kitchen in one of her floral cotton zip up house dresses or praying in her room with her rosary beads, which my cousin sent to me before she died (one of my prized possessions), or the smell of her Avon lotion as she rubbed it on her delicately wrinkled hands.  My great-grandmother took care of us. After she died, it was never the same. 

One of the other most important relationships I've had was with my grandfather. Like my great-grandmother, he treated me with love, support, kindness, encouragement, and respect. He gave advice without meaning to and lessons without intention. He was one of the best people I've ever had the honor of knowing and loving. We spent many holidays at his house where he would make a huge meal which always included his delicious, buttery, slightly lumpy mashed potatoes (which my husband worked really hard to try to recreate and I think he finally got it!). I was lucky enough to be allowed to spend the night on a regular basis. He would take me to the movie rental place down the road from his house (where we would rent, gulp, VHS videos!), and buy us dinner from a local Greek gyro place (and treat me with dessert because he knew I loved their Russian tea cakes), or make microwave popcorn, and occasionally end with a nice bowl of Neopolitan ice cream (which he stocked the freezer with when he knew I loved it). In fact, whenever he found out a food I liked, he would buy it and make it in bulk. To this day I can't eat fried eggplant or provolone cheese because he made so much of it, that I got sick of the taste. He even once made an entire branch of broccoli for my husband when he found out he liked it and placed the plate in front of him (I thought it was for everyone, but nope! Just for him), and my husband ate the whole thing without hesitation and my grandfather loved him for it. My grandfather was also an avid reader and would take me to his favorite used bookstore to buy whatever I wanted and exchange books he'd already read, showing me that being a reader was something cool. I felt a sort of reverence for the books in his bookshelves, knowing those were the ones he KEPT. That bookstore still exists and I go there to this day. 

He also fueled my love of writing by answering 'fake' correspondence I created from fictional businesses, and requesting I make drawings and then turn them into stories. I also gave him a lot of my school artwork. He saved every single thing I gave him, as I later found them all carefully packaged away in a closet. He attended almost all my plays and choir concerts. Where my parents didn't like to hear me sing and often told me to stop or be quiet, he had me record the choir songs on a cassette tape and leave a cassette player with him and he played the tape so often, he wore out one entire side of the player and then asked me to give him another one so he could continue to play it. When I was in junior high, we lived in the house next door for a couple years, which was like a dream come true. I stopped in at his house every day after school where he would be waiting for me, watching out his little kitchen window. I fell on the ice one day and ripped my tights and scraped my knee and he came running out, picked me up, and patched up my knee for me. When my relationship with my parents became irretrievably broken, I was lucky enough to get to live with him full time. It was rocky in the very beginning when I stayed out late because he didn't give me a curfew (and my friends curfews were late or non-existent and they talked me into staying out with them, even though I felt guilty), and then when I would get home, grampa would be in bed but he would call out "goodnight!" angrily and I stopped doing it because I couldn't take his disappointment. I told my friends I wouldn't stay out anymore, so they started coming over to my grampa's house to spend time with me. He didn't seem to mind, reading his book in the kitchen while we watched movies or hung out in my bedroom. My friends all fell in love with him, some going by to see him even when I wasn't there, and he would have a cake plate laden with all their favorite goodies. Eventually he told me the only rule was to respect him and he would respect me. It was a new concept because I was sure my parents didn't respect me (my dad read our diaries, went through our stuff, they listened to our phone calls, put us down, laughed at us, and called us names all the time). And I lost respect for them the worse things got. In contrast, it was easy to respect my grampa.

I also had a cousin that even though I only saw her in person maybe three times in my life, I was in touch with her constantly and she was one of the sweetest, kindest, most loving people I knew. She called herself my "fairy Godmother" and listened to me vent and gave the best advice and shared her own trials and tribulations which made me feel less alone. She had a rough life filled with health issues and financial hardships, and yet she always made herself available to me. And she always had such beautiful faith, even in the face of all her troubles, that I admired her for it. If it wasn't for my grandfather, my great-grandmother, and my cousin, I wouldn't have learned about love, kindness, patience, faith, and compassion. I will always be grateful for all of their attention, understanding, and affection.

Unfortunately my relationship with my parents and sister was not so rosy. I have written and rewritten my account of my childhood so many times because I do but I don't want to go into specifics, because it is really triggering and I end up deleting it. There's is a part of me that doesn't want to say anything bad about them because I feel bad and guilty, even though I know they wouldn't return the favor. And I would love to temper it with good stories, but part of a trauma wired brain is not remembering the good times as much as the bad. Which is a real shame.

What I will say is that our relationships became more and more toxic the older I got. I don't know if either of my parents are Neurodivergent (ND), though the signs were there. My mom also had some severe trauma growing up so it could be that or both. I know when I was on the verge of being diagnosed, a lot of what I read and heard, including from therapists, is that trauma wired brains can seem a lot like ASD. Looking back on their personalities and the issues we had, much of it can be attributed to all of our ND brains, trauma, and dysfunction. But I will never know because I highly doubt they would ever pursue or acknowledge a diagnosis, and I'm not qualified to diagnose anyone but myself.

Don't get me wrong, there WERE good times and laughter, and moments where we enjoyed each other's company. And I would have a hard time saying they were bad people, at least not deep inside. I just think my mom was traumatized and didn't know how to deal with it and never sought help, at least that I saw or knew about, and my Dad was influenced by her. My dad's issues partly stemmed from he and his 3 brothers teasing and bullying each other because after my grandfather died we were sitting around in my parents' kitchen and they all told each other how upset they were at each other for it. The problem is, they came from a generation where you didn't seek mental help and I know for a fact my dad doesn't believe in or like therapists because he was against family members who suffered horrendous abuse from going for help. And even though they chose to go, he didn't encourage them to keep it up and when one of them said she no longer wanted to go, he was fine with it. Which also goes a lot towards explaining his indifference to strong mental health in his own children.

My mom was good at taking care of us when we were sick. She would reward us with our favorite things when we were good. And she loved it when we would watch the same shows or movies she liked or listened to the same music she liked. She was happiest at Christmas time and made a big deal out of decorating, letting us have our own decorations like plug in blow molds (mine was a snowman) and Christmas themed bedding. She was also a huge fan of Hawaii. My aunt and uncle took us to Maui multiple times and my mom fell in love with the place. She was relaxed and happy there and we had a much better time when she was relaxed and happy. Hawaii and Christmas, those were the good times. 

My Dad wasn't great at one-on-one interaction with us. He actually wasn't bad when we were younger when we didn't hate the teasing so much. We found him funny back then. But he did tend to spend most of his time taking care of the house, cars, and yard. In the summertime he was always outside. If we helped, or were required to help, then we were around him. But he took being Manager of a retail store so seriously that even if he wasn't working, he was hyper focused every hour the store was open. Which meant we had 5 minute phone conversation limits so we weren't talking on the phone in case his work called, and since they didn't close until 9pm, that meant weeknights we rarely talked to our friends unless we were in extra-curricular activities, which my mom hated because she hated "chauffering" us around, so we had to find ways to get there or hope our friend's parents would take us some of the time. They were never all that excited to go to the plays or choir concerts we were in, hated when we practiced at home and let us know they were annoyed and rarely complimented us, or the compliments were sort of backhanded. And my dad was at work so much that if my mom was working and we were grounded, which we were a lot, we had to go to his store and sit in the back room. I'm not saying we didn't deserve to be punished or even grounded. Kids do need discipline and I'm not disputing that. But he was definitely better at punishing us than he was at spending good, quality time with us (and just being present doesn't count). He was either at work, in the yard or garage, listening to music, or watching TV and falling asleep in his recliner. We did spend some time with him, but he had a short attention span, limited patience, and could fly off the handle (melt-downs?) easily. So we didn't really have too much of a relationship with him, let alone a close one, even though my mom told me it was him that wanted kids (and she didn't, something she made clear to us on several occasions).

Again, that isn't to say we didn't have times where we laughed together or even where my sister and I didn't tease them back! Or that we didn't enjoy things together. They took us to Yellowstone National Park many times and we loved staying in the cabins and feeding the gophers and running around the balconies in Old Faithful Inn. When my parents didn't make me sleep on the floor in the closet because I ground my teeth and snored (even though I could hear my Dad grinding his teeth and my sister snoring), it could be enjoyable. Good and bad memories intermixed... 

I'm not saying I was perfect because I was not. Besides normal kid stuff, I did and said things I shouldn't have. Nothing huge- I wasn't arrested (though I was brought home in a cop car once when I was 12 because my sister and I ran away after being grounded for a year when we stole a bracelet from K-Mart, talked into by a cousin), I didn't do drugs (tried pot once and cigarettes a couple times in high school and both were awful), I did drink alcohol (a fair amount for a short period of time, but that is for another post), but I played by the rules most of the time- we had a strict curfew and fairly strict rules and I played by them more than my sister did (though they seem to remember it differently). I tend to do that in real life as well- play by the rules. And here's the thing- I know I could have been much worse. I knew kids that were worse (my own sister for one). But me? While I could lie, cheat, and steal (and have done all three in my life), I did it very, very badly. I have been caught every time I've done something that was against the rules, or a crime (like the stealing), and I am grateful for it! I hated every minute of ever doing anything wrong. I didn't get a rush like some people did, but I felt sick and guilty. My dad even told me once, to my face that I would always get caught (because I always did). And it seemed like we were always in trouble for something. When we ever did anything wrong, it was as if they felt betrayed that we would be 'bad', no matter what it was or how 'bad' it was (and I admit, some things were awful- like us eating all the chocolate bars out of my aunt's crate of boxes that she was selling to make money for her high school dance team and my grandmother had to cover the cost), but kids make mistakes. And hopefully learn the lessons of not making them again. With adults it's harder because while they keep making mistakes (which is only human), they are harder on themselves because they're adults. They also take it harder when someone they love or care about sees them make a mistake or calls them on it. And it seems like they forget what it was like to be kids and how kids make mistakes way more than adults. And most of the time they're stupid mistakes. But all of that is even more complicated if it comes from a place of Neurodivergence. When a kid on the spectrum makes a mistake, is it because they don't understand the social cues or the behavioral norms? When a parent is punishing a kid on the spectrum, is it right if they don't realize they've done something wrong? How do those kids learn from their mistakes if they don't fully understand? I don't have an answer. I know we were grounded all the time. I know we got spanked if we did something big and slapped across the face for 'talking back', which was sometimes just asking what we did wrong or why we were in trouble. And we were even spanked with a stick, a dowel that was the handle to a Fisher Price popping toy, if whatever we did wrong was big (though when you're a pre-schooler and you play with toothpaste that gets on the bathroom counter and mirror, is that a normal kid thing to do and does it deserve spanking with 'the stick' or is that a bit of an over-reaction on the parents part??). And we definitely deserved to be punished when we had a 'tea party' and used my mom's red glass decanter that she expressly forbade us to touch and of course it broke and we lied and said the dog did it (sorry puppy). And I know how upsetting it is to break something you love and feel deeply upset about it and then imagine that your kid broke something precious to you after you told them not to touch it? 

And the hard part of finding out I was autistic was looking back on my childhood and realizing what they were doing was a form of abuse (which they would deny to this day), I didn't know what gaslighting was until recently and boy did they ever gaslight my sister and I. I used to tell my sister that we could show them a card that was black and tell them it was black and they would say it was white and we were wrong and be so adamant about it, intimidate, shame, and argue with us so strongly, that we would begin questioning ourselves and waivering, because that what gaslighting is like. I didn't know what a normal family relationship was supposed to be like. My father would say, all the time, that our relationships and their reactions and things they did and said were 'normal' and it was my sister and I that were wrong or abnormal (or stupid or being oversensitive, or dramatic...). I was intimidated and afraid of my Dad. And my mom would use our fear against us with the ever popular, "wait til your dad comes home" and then telling him WE had abused HER. Either way, relationships were tricky because my view of them was tainted by the twisted ones I grew up with.

Eventually, because they had no idea how to deal with teenagers, and they were never really capable of having any kind of emotional relationship with us, and they were so immature in their behavior, it was as if they were teenagers themselves, that things fell apart. Things they used to do that we were too weak to resist, like incessant teasing, embarrassing us in front of our friends, and so many more (some of which I know are 'normal' parent-teenage interaction, but he especially would take it past the limit when we would ask, beg, and yell for him to stop and he either wouldn't, laugh at us and our reaction, or get mad and tell us we were being stupid), just created a chasm between us. My sister and I didn't get along well either, and she could be really mean to me, but we did have times that we had to be a sort of a team, especially on vacations or when out as a family because we were forced to be together (and all our cousins were much younger than we were) and also since my parents were constantly grounding us, yelling at us, or fighting with us, sometimes for no good reason, or if it were a good reason, sometimes excessively. 

There were many reasons things broke down. It seemed like they couldn't take us wanting to be with our friends more than them, or wanting to be in our rooms listening to music and not out watching TV with them (my mom once angrily grounded me out of my room to spend time with her and I spent the whole time fuming and ignoring her), not wanting to talk to them (teenage angst), all the issues teenagers have with friends and boyfriends and whatnot. There was bad time after bad moment after bad issue... until it exploded when I was 17 and my sister was 18 and my parents and sister got in a huge fight and they kicked her out and she talked me into leaving with her (she was very persistent). I packed all my stuff (with my mom in the background loudly pointing out exactly what was mine and what was hers because she paid for it) and left without looking back. My sister moved in with her boyfriend and I moved in my with my grampa, my dad's dad, who told me no granddaughter of his would live on the streets (even though my dad refused to talk to him for a while after that because he really wanted me to live on the streets and 'learn my lesson', even though multiple friend's parents offered for me to stay with them, so that wouldn't have happened anyway). It was the best decision and best thing that could have happened. As I mentioned above, my grandfather was already one of my favorite people, but I will always treasure my time with him before I went off to college. 

My parents and I spoke only sporadically on and off over the years, with a lot of tension and awkwardness when we did talk, and relief and peace when we didn't. And while my husband loved my grandfather, he hated my parents, so there was no love lost there when we no longer spoke. We only spoke for a certain time out of necessity when my oldest niece moved in with my parents (can you say "generational trauma"? My mom lived with my great-grandmother for a while, I lived with my grampa, my niece lived with my parents...hmmm) and I needed to make nice with my parents (ie fake it) to have a relationship with my niece while she was there. Luckily, after she graduated high school, I never had to speak to them again (even though they stopped speaking to me first, it was also my plan to end it as well). I imagine that I won't have to see or speak to them probably ever again, even if my nieces get married or anything else. 

When my youngest niece graduated high school, my husband and I sat on the other side of the arena from my parents and we were able to spend time with her without seeing them, even if it meant missing a celebration that was held at my parent's house, which my niece didn't seem to mind. But I'm not bothered by not talking to them or the possibility that I never speak to them again. I'm sure there are a lot of people that are horrified. I get the usual: "but what happens if they die and you aren't speaking?" question. I have not had touchy feely, lovey dovey feelings for them. Or if I did, it was when we were really little and they still hugged us and told us they loved us, which they stopped doing when we were young. They had this weird habit of when we would say something like, "don't kiss me in public", because that was a normal embarrassment for kids thing, they wouldget really angry and say "Fine! I'll never do it again!" and they would absolutely never do it again. My Dad once gave me advice about something and I criticized it or wouldn't take it (and I was maybe in my 20's at the time and now having had experience with my nieces at that age, people at that age think they know it all, so it wasn't like I was any different), but he said he would never give me advice ever again and when I asked for advice on something years later, he said he'd told me he would never give me advice again and he wasn't going to. We also had a huge fight when I was teenager when he told me to go unload the dishwasher and I came back into my room to find him reading a note I was writing to a friend where I had said my dad was "acting like a jerk" and he kept saying "I'm a jerk huh?" and wouldn't drop it. For years he kept saying "I'm a jerk though" even though I told him I said he was "ACTING" like a jerk at the time. Nevermind he shouldn't have been going through my stuff. I could go on. But I also don't want to be petty and I know they could have their own list and some things would be true. But it doesn't matter. And it's just a relief not to deal with them anymore since they have said such ridiculous, untrue, awful things about me to other members of my family, including my nieces, and they exhibited such awful behavior when I was at home, that I don't care. Truly. And it's my decision anyway so I'm the one that has to live with the consequences.  

And I know now exactly what to expect anyway, as my sister passed away at the age of 45 in 2015. She spent all of her adult life floundering (more proof of how badly my parents mistreated us and prepared us for life- ie. they didn't). And even though she was cruel to me our entire lives, I still tried to help her anyway and stayed in touch with her longer than I should have, but I had to let her go for my own mental health and the sake of my family (since when she's upset, she lashes out like when she told my entire family a nasty rumor about my husband and I, making him cry and making me so angry I didn't speak to her for years). My relationship with her degraded to non-existent for so many reasons, which relatives of alcoholics will understand. She was always demanding of attention and if she didn't get it, would throw a tantrum. From anyone. She was so desperate for my parent's attention, she would do anything. At one point she even denied much of what happened to us and took their side, thinking they would open their arms to her and bring her back into the family fold, not caring what it did to her relationship with me at all. She even moved to the same place moved to in retirement, thinking if she was close by, they could have a better relationship. But it didn't happen. And she was so mean to me, to my husband, and even at one point banned me from my nieces when they still lived with her just to hurt me, that I had to cut her off completely. That and the addiction, which eventually caught up to her. She had too much to drink and her heart gave out. I was sad at the circumstances of her death, but I did not and have not regretted not speaking to her. It was too hard for the last couple years we did talk. At the time of her death, we hadn't spoken for a couple of years. But still, she deserved a better life and I do blame my parents for how it ended.

And even though we both made mistakes, ultimately for me, they were our parents. It was their job to provide a safe, loving, nurturing environment, otherwise why have kids? I mean it, why would anyone have kids if it wasn't because they wanted to? I'm not stupid- I know there's accidents and people who say they want kids and don't mean it (like my mom told us she did with my dad), but that leads to exactly what happened in our house. Good moments aside, the bad stuff from not wanting to or being prepared to or getting help to be a parent in our case led to what I know will be lifelong trauma, depression, anxiety, and PTSD. And I have spent a lot of time trying to unravel the concept of forgiveness. But the only part I've really been able to apply to my own personal perception, is the understanding part of it. I understand a lot of the why things happened the way they did because I now know some of what they dealt with as kids, young parents, and with us with our own quirks (my ND and my sister's extremely demanding and difficult personality). And I know for my mom, especially, it was bad. I feel sorry for her and get angry when I think about the adults that failed her in her life. But she could have gotten help as an adult to deal with the trauma, but as far as I know she didn't and we suffered for it (not just my sister and I, but my Dad too as I saw her mistreat him as well, though that didn't change my overall opinion based on his behavior towards us). I really wish she had gotten help too. After everything she went through, I wish she could have gotten tools to find the kind of peace and relief she deserved because no child should ever be bullied, gaslighted, or abused in any way. They are defenseless and they deserve a strong, loving, supportive foundation to be good human beings and productive members of society. I know that's naive and silly because there are way more people that suffered some kind of trauma than that didn't, but that's what everyone deserves. And her parents and sisters will suffer the karmic consequences themselves, as will their families.

As for forgiveness of my parents, I have done a lot of self-reflection based on my own traumatic experiences growing up with those people in that household and while I may have a better understanding of some of the why, I am not ready to forgive. And I am allowing myself the space and the compassion of maybe never being able to forgive. And knowing that does not make me a bad person. There's the saying that you can forgive but not forget. For me, those things are tied together. I will never forget and because of that, I can probably never forgive. And my parents told my nieces that they don't forgive me and don't want a relationship with me either, so it's not like it matters to them anyway.

I do wish things were different and I had a happier family life growing up. But I was so lucky to have my grandparents. And my cousin. I wasn't alone and I wasn't unloved, no matter how much my parents made me feel that way. I have thought over and over if I had the chance to say something to them, if I would and what it would be. But I don't think I would. I think enough has been said over the years, a lot of it hurtful, and I don't think any of us are capable of having a mature, adult conversation. It wouldn't help to mention that I was diagnosed ASD because I just think it would create more arguing and debate that I'm not interested in. There are times I do get really angry about it and want to yell at them, at my aunts and uncles who I wish had stood up for us more, and tell them they were gaslighting and neglecting to help a child with special needs and that some (not all) of my behavior was out of my control. So, I will leave it as it is and try and think of the good times, like Christmas (which was one of the best, most happiest times at our house), and try to let the bad times become a forgotten memory. 

And one last more current family relationship: I have been lucky enough to be in my nieces lives since they were born. I held my oldest niece when she was 2 weeks old and I had never experienced that kind of love before. When my sister lived anywhere near us, I visited as much as I could so I could spend time with her. I was there the day my youngest niece was born, but unfortunately she had to be put in the NICU, so I didn't get to see her until she was some months old. And then they moved away so I didn't get to see them as much, but when they moved closer when they were still little girls, we went to visit a lot. We knew their lives were rough which I won't go into because again, it's not my story, it's theirs, but we tried to give them a break by taking them out to get treats, maybe buy them something fun for the pool or things that they were interested in, just so they could have a fun day or two with two people who had a good relationship and who loved them unconditionally. I felt very protective over them, hoping they wouldn't have to go through what I/we went through, but I wasn't in their lives enough to keep it from happening anyway. And while there have been times where we didn't communicate as often, my youngest niece and I keep in touch regularly and she now has 2 boys (1 of which was diagnosed on the spectrum), and I really treasure our relationship. My oldest niece and I are not as close, but she's also incredibly introverted and socially isolated (and quite possibly on the spectrum). I have told them both many times that I would be there for them and I have tried to keep my word as much as possible. Having the support of my youngest niece especially, who knows I'm on the spectrum and is so patient and understanding and forgiving of me and my quirks (which should help her with her son who is now 6), is really special to me. And she's becoming a counselor, which is fitting after everything she went through.

I do not take any relationships for granted because I know how hard it is to have healthy ones, especially being on the Spectrum and having social and behavioral problems. But thank God for the ones I did have and thank God for their unconditional love, attention, kindness, and affection. I'll never forget how much they were there for me when I needed someone. They're gone now and I miss them terribly, but I would not be the person I am today if it wasn't for them.