“It’s not always easy being her daughter.”
“I think,” she said, “sometimes it’s hard no
matter whose daughter you are.”
—SARAH DESSEN, Along for the Ride
THIS IS not a “blame your parents” chapter. This is not a “blame yourself” chapter. This is a “your parents are part of the picture and it helps to talk about it” chapter.
All parents have stories. When you become a parent, you will have a story. A hint of the pain that shaped her father-in-law’s life experience gave Rita an insight into why he is such a nasty parent. Not all difficult or abusive parents had difficult or abusive parents. And not all children of difficult or abusive parents become difficult or abusive parents. But everyone has a story. And we are all shaped and influenced somehow—however uniquely—by our parents and our relationships with them.
No one really knows why people develop eating or self-injury disorders. We have a lot of good guesses but no real facts. We know that genetics and biology play a role. We know that birth order, culture, community, and peers are all factors. And we know that environment, relationships, and family figure in as well. But we don’t know what the formula is—to what extent our interactions with our parents have shaped our character and behavior, and to what extent it’s biology, genetics, or blind luck.
Parents loom large in our psyches and our lives. They are woven into our deepest, most intimate pains and needs as well as our hopes, aspirations, and goals.
To ignore the relationships you have with your parents in your quest for wellness would be like ignoring your arms when you are trying to swim. You are intertwined with them in ways that are deep and wide.
It might not be necessary to work things out with your parents in real time in order to recover, though if you are living at home they are a big piece of the picture. If you are out of the house, or if your parents are not in your life, you can just reflect on what I say in this chapter. But at some point in your journey toward wellness you will most likely have to learn a bit about your parents and focus on your experience of being their child.
The desire to be understood by our parents is one of our greatest longings. If your parents are in your life—no matter how old or young you or they are—you might have to help them understand you, your needs, and your feelings. It shouldn’t be necessary, but you might have to lead the way.
It might be that your distress is the red flag of your family. Some theorists even believe that if one person in the family has a serious problem, it is really the symptom of the whole family; it is the family that needs help, not just the one who has the problem.
You should not have to be the bridge to everyone getting help, and you should not have to parent your parents. You should not have to teach them how to speak to you or consult with you or treat you with respect. You should not have to inform them that they should model respect, treat each other with respect, and treat you with respect as well. You should not have to tell them that they have some part in the problem and that everyone will benefit if they take part in the solution. You should not have to tell them that when they argue with your feelings, they are hurting you; that when they call you names, they are taking your insides out; that when they make it impossible for you to say what you need to say in words, it makes you want to slice your arms up.
You should not have to tell them that when they yell so much it makes your stomach curl inward, or that a lifetime of hearing them complain about their own weight has had an effect on you. You should not have to tell them that when they comment about your food and your body—even if they mean well—it makes you feel like pounding yourself on the head. They should not hit you, belittle you, talk to you about their sex lives, or borrow your jeans and tell you that they are too big on them. You should not have to tell them that while all families need help sometimes, if they cannot get along with each other they should get help and leave you out of it.
You should not have to tell them any of this because you are the kid. No matter how old you are, you are still their kid. Most likely you don’t have the words to tell them these things, and besides, they should know.
But people are not always who they should be or who we wish they could be. You can, if you would like a better life, help them be better parents even if you believe they don’t deserve it; even if they are drunk or demanding or difficult or demeaning; even if they are wise and wonderful and just sometimes woefully off base.
Most people, at every age, crave a connection with their parents. We are shaped not only by our interactions with them but by our need to interact with them. We might never outgrow our craving for parental approval, harmony, understanding, love, and acceptance, but we can eventually transform it into something livable. Why does the longing for parental love often lead to frustration and disappointment, and away from productive communication? How come things get so tangled? Why do arguments with parents sometimes make people feel like they just want to give up and die—or at least resort to some extreme form of communication? And what does any of this have to do with wanting to recover?
There are storms of many colors. Ask Amanda. Amanda’s dad is a very smart man who teaches high school English. The kids at school think he is pretty interesting. He is cool in front of the class, likes to tell jokes, and imitates famous people. He and Amanda have a monthly “date night.” They go out to Friendly’s for ice cream sundaes and talk about life. Sometimes her dad talks to her about her mom. At first these confidences made Amanda feel important and special, but now they make her feel awkward and uncomfortable.
Amanda generally likes to be with her father. He is the one who takes her shopping and buys her clothes since Amanda’s mom hates to shop. Her parents get along OK most of the time. The problem is that whenever they fight, it’s pretty ugly because Amanda’s father is prone to throwing huge fits of rage. Usually his anger is triggered when Amanda’s mother has lost something important like her driver’s license or bank card—which her mother does often—or when the house is overly messy or the laundry has not been done.
When her father loses it, he loses it big. The way Amanda describes it to me is this: “First, he starts to breathe heavily. Then he clenches his fists and his face starts to turn red. His eyes get really wide and his eyebrows rise high up into his forehead, as though they would like to leave his face, but can’t. And then he starts to bellow really loudly. He goes on for about ten to twenty minutes, calling my mother names, saying what an idiot she is. He hits the wall with his fists and kicks at the wall over and over again.”
He has never hit Amanda or her sister or her mother, but Amanda is terrified anyway. No one is allowed to leave the room when her father rages. He says everyone must listen and hear him out. Everyone is afraid to move. After he is done, he usually walks out of the house for a while. When he comes back, he does one of two things: he pretends it never happened and just starts talking normally about anything, like the weather or the football game at the high school; or he comes in and puts his arms around her mom and says how sorry he is, and promises that he is going to get better. He calls her “love” and “darling” and “beautiful,” and her mother nods and says it’s OK.
Amanda’s parents are the ones who suggested she see me, because they are worried that she is not eating properly and is too interested in losing weight. They don’t think she is anorexic, but still …
It took about four months of weekly sessions with me before Amanda told me about her father’s temper. She feels extremely disloyal talking about him, and she wants me to like him. Most important, she does not want me to tell him what she has told me—which of course I would never do.
I want to help Amanda survive the storms without starving to death. All this storming in Amanda’s house has affected her, and talking is one of the best ways I know to survive storms. I want her to talk about what it’s like to be in her body and in her house; what it’s like to love and hate a raging father and a strict but well-intentioned mother; and what it’s like to need them both so badly.
But we mustn’t hurry. We must go step-by-step—no sense getting blown away by talking too much too quickly. Amanda notices that when her father starts up she does try to sneak away, but if he sees her he tells her not to move. She had not realized this before. She had not remembered trying to leave. She now knows that she feels trapped at these times, and frozen with fear. In those moments she feels out of control and wants to die. And now, even on their dates, she just feels weird because she can’t understand how this dad whom she mostly loves can get so crazy and not realize the effect he is having on everyone in the house.
Amanda also starts to feel that she does not like calling her outings with her father dates. She is sixteen, and dates are for guys, not her father. Even though the name is innocent enough, it makes her feel weird.
We are trying to figure out the best way to tell him this. Eventually we come up with some ways she can stay connected to her father without getting weirded out. Moreover, she has found some ways to learn about him that will help her weather his storms. She is going to observe him, thinking of him as someone to analyze. When he is calm, she will ask him questions about his childhood, his favorite color, why he chose to be a teacher, what it was like growing up in his childhood home. She will ask him, when she feels safe, what he would wish for if he could have three wishes, and what his dream vacation would be. She will never push him for an answer, and she will not ask anything about his relationship with her mom.
If her parents’ relationship ever comes up, she will tell him that if it’s OK with him, she doesn’t want to talk about her mom to her dad, and vice versa. Even if her dad wants to talk about her mom, she will just ask him again if he would please not ask her to do that. She will ask it as casually as possible, saying it the same way she would say, “Pass the butter” or “By the way, I brought in the mail.”
When her father goes into one of his fits, if she can’t get away she’ll think of herself as a reporter. She will notice, as if she were covering the scene for the nightly news, what sensations she is feeling and what thoughts and ideas cross her mind. She will also observe her father, perhaps as if he were a science experiment and she is collecting data.
Doing this, Amanda can both notice and allow her feelings and mentally remove herself, just a bit, from the moment. She can’t veg out altogether, since he is so loud, so the reporter idea works for her.
Observing as though she were an outsider might yield valuable results. Besides giving her a way to step out of the storm mentally, even if she cannot step out physically, she might get to understand more about her father and herself. Sometimes understanding someone else’s pain and/or motives can help lessen your own fear or hate. It can help guide you as to what you can say or do to protect yourself and the relationship. Amanda can take note of when her father is loving and appealing and when he is threatening and distant. She can do this when she is out with him, and she can do this when he is off on one of his rages.
Is it Amanda’s job to help her father stop raging? Nope. But can she help herself by taking care of her relationship with him? Yup. Tall order, but it can be done. Amanda can acknowledge and allow all her feelings as well as the effect her father has on her. She can begin to learn new ways to think about him and to feel and be safe without having to stop eating and shrink away.
Then there’s Amanda’s mom, who is pretty strict about food. They eat meat only once a week and are heavy on the health foods—lots of hummus and whole wheat. Amanda’s mom is freaky about anyone having too much sugar, and she doesn’t approve of too many snacks.
She is also picky about how Amanda dresses, and she never gives an inch. Part of Amanda wants to please her mom, and part of her wants to punish her. Either way, she isn’t eating much. When her father goes on his rages, she finds it hard to eat. Her stomach is really, really tight on those days. She notices that her not eating drives her mother crazy and gets her to pay attention to something other than Amanda’s clothes.
Somewhere in Amanda’s psyche an idea took hold. She thinks that between her mother’s strictness and her father’s yelling she is finding it more and more difficult to eat as time goes by. Only lately, she is glad of it.
We’ve been working together for two years now, and Amanda has started to learn and use new words. She’s picked up some of my language; she speaks Melissa. We laugh when she tells me that she finds herself thinking and even saying some of my old favorites. It’s the language of curiosity, not criticism; of acceptance, not agitation; of self-reflection instead of self-attack; of safety, not fear; and of respect for her own ideas, not what she thinks she is supposed to say. And especially it’s the language of self and not shame.
After two years of hearing me say, “Let’s shine the light on it a bit and see why it feels so intense.” Or “Should we unpack that more?” and “Tell me your ideas about this,” Amanda has started to speak nicely to herself and changed slightly the way she speaks to others. My “What if you had a different idea?” and “Was there something about our conversation that hit the wrong note?” and “Let’s study it a bit” have seeped into her brain. And perhaps my own confessions of imperfection (“Is it OK if I don’t get it right all the time?” “I must’ve missed it, can you tell me again?” and “Yes, I said the wrong thing.”) have helped her feel that neither she nor her parents can or need to be flawless all the time. And that’s fine. That’s human. She catches on to the idea that mistakes and angers can be talked about safely and with interest—lightly even, and with love. And that feelings, while powerful, allowable, and meaningful, are not always facts.
“Stay out of my food!” is not going to go as far in the long run as “Mom, can I tell you how it affects me when you get into my food?” or “Dad, would you be open to hearing how I feel when you comment on how I look?” And what should be her tone? Same as “Please pass the butter. Thanks.”
Words and tone both send messages. It is so much better to be asked if you would like a suggestion than to have one shoved down your throat. It is so much better to use words than to use a pocketknife. It is better to allow yourself mistakes—even the spectacular ones—than to pummel yourself into the ground for them. And we all make those mistakes, don’t we?
What you want from your parents can seem impossible, unattainable, or downright silly sometimes, but you are allowed to want what you want. (You might not get it always, but you are allowed to want it.) I know that you should not have to do this, but sometimes you have to lead the way in order to get what you want; sometimes you have to teach them; sometimes you have to show them the way. And this can take time. It should take time, actually—lots of time and patience and a dozen mess-ups and flops. But some successes will be mixed in, and the few rays of light make it worth your effort.
That’s assuming that you want things to get better. I know plenty of people who are content, on some level, with torturing their parents. If that’s where you are, then that’s where you are. And if you will get harmed or hurt, then you might not be able to give these strategies much of a try. You cannot control the outcome of your effort, but making the effort can help things along to a better place. So if you can, despite your own frustrations and pain, put some new words out, perhaps you can get some new results. Here’s how:
Show gratitude. You can never go wrong expressing sincere gratitude. Try some well-placed thank-you statements such as “Thank you for washing my jeans” or “I know you had a long day at work; thanks for picking me up so late.”
Give information about yourself. In moments of calm, you can offer, “I really like it when you ask me instead of telling me” or “Is it OK to ask you to knock before you come into my room? I know it’s your house, but I really like it when you knock.” Try “It means a lot to me when I can just tell you how I feel” or “I get too frustrated when we shop together. It would help me if I could go with a friend.” Say it all in that “Please pass the butter” tone.
Notice and check. “It seems that when I tell you I am having a bad day you get upset, right?” or “I know you mind it when I want to stay home. What if I really feel bad when I go?”
Consult. Get their opinion—but only when you really want it. And be prepared to hear (their idea of) the truth. Don’t invite trouble. Asking, “Does this make my tush look fat?” is most likely not going to yield you anything good. You probably won’t believe them if they say no, and if they say yes you will want to shrink into a genie bottle. So try, “Do you think green or blue looks better on me?” or “What do you think is the best way to write this essay?” or “Which of my friends should I trust the most?” It’s best not to ask something like whether they think your friend Julie is a user if you don’t really want their opinion on Julie.
Apologize. Even if you don’t get good results at first, and even if your parents never say they are sorry, they can learn from you. This is not about putting yourself down, fessing up to things you did not do, or expressing anger with sarcasm (“Soooo sorry I didn’t wash the stupid dishes”). I’m talking real apologies when you really mess up, such as “I’m sorry that I didn’t call when I said I would.” And though it may be hard, you can even say, “I’m sorry I lost it and called you an idiot.” No need to go into fancy explanations of your character or your reasons or why they deserved it. Just admit you messed up and apologize. Keep it direct and simple.
Respect. You might not have it for them. You might not think they deserve it. But they do. And you do. How you treat them shapes you. Even anger and the worst pain can be dealt with respectfully. In truth, this is hard stuff for everyone. When you fight, emotions take over. Your brain goes into flood mode, with neurons firing up, heart racing, and all those bad feelings rushing at you at a hundred miles an hour. You can still be respectful. It takes practice, but you can do it. It is not easy in the heat of the moment or in a sea of bad feelings to use new words, but you can create the possibility of it in your mind and decide to practice when the opportunity arises. You can practice, too, in calmer moments when your mind is not on rev. Even in the heat of an argument there should be no name-calling, no cursing, and no trying to embarrass anyone. Save it for your letters, for your shrink, for your best friend. Don’t hurl the worst of it at them. You can say how angry you are without being disrespectful. I give you full permission to feel like a raving lunatic and to want to punish them, hurt them, inflict pain and suffering on them, and let them know what they’ve done or how awful they are. Give yourself permission to have all your feelings. But whenever possible save the full force of the storm for a calmer moment and/or different ears—ears that will coach you through it and not throw you down. Sometimes when you are in the thick of it just deciding to pause and be quiet can cool things down. You can also drop a bomb diffuser in by saying something loving like “You know, I don’t like it when we go at it like this. I respect you and I really want to work it out.” Most people react defensively and protectively when rage or criticism comes flying at them, so if you can keep your words in respectful boundaries, everyone will fare better.
You and your parents might have different ideas about what those boundaries are. Some parents can tolerate more unhappiness and frustration and expression of emotion coming from their kid than others. Whatever their boundaries are, if you can respect them (even if you disagree) you will get better results. Even as you deal with the push and pull over how much closeness you have, how much you rely on them, and how much you value what they think, it’s always somewhat easier on everyone if you muster up some respect.
See what’s good. Find what is positive, alive, interesting, inspiring, and supportive, and acknowledge that, too. Even parents who are caught in their own addictions or problems love their children and wish to protect them. They might hurt their children because they do not have the knowledge, experience, or ability to be good parents. As far as you are concerned, you’re better off fostering good, healthy connections with them rather than viewing them as totally flawed, disappointing human beings. Remember that culture is a potent force in shaping families today. Like you, your folks live in a confusing world.
If you can find and highlight all the ways that your parents support you—the times when they are loving and kind, generous and thoughtful, protective and helpful—and tell this story as well, you will find relief there, too. Even Kate, who calls her alcoholic mom Satan, visibly relaxes when I suggest that while we are acknowledging her struggle with her mom we should also acknowledge her mom’s good qualities. Like most of the young women I work with, Kate feels both guilty and gratified when trashing her mom but still yearns for the connection to be fixed and the mothering to be restored (or the relationship to be healed and healthy).
There is one more very compelling reason to find and focus on the things our parents do well and their positive traits: We inherit much of who they are, both through DNA and osmosis. We are like them in many ways, yet often we don’t even recognize that until later in life, or after much therapy. We suspect we are like them. Sometimes we fear it. Sometimes we rebel against it. Sometimes we appreciate it. The process of accepting, tolerating, appreciating, and forgiving our parents for who they are is a lifelong one. But it’s important because it parallels our own journey to know ourselves and give ourselves some slack.
The truth, then? It is not about changing your parents; it’s about forging new pathways. Being the leader in good communication is rarely wrong. There is a wide range of emotional responses you can get from your parents when you use new words. There are no guarantees that new words will yield new feelings or different results, but it’s worth a try. New words will certainly yield you dignity. And they will yield you the knowledge that you are trying and can, in fact, do something different. They show that you have options, choices, and some tricks up your sleeve.
You can be angry, hurt, and right, and still use new words—better words. You can feel hatred, frustration, anger, and fear; let them breathe; and then come back around to the other side of the street where support and love still live in some form. Good intentions can and do count in your parents’ favor, and effort matters, too. You and your parents know that your own biology and being young come with age-appropriate wacky moods. Sometimes this is just the stuff of growing up, even if you are well into your twenties.
Sometimes parents remain stuck and stubborn in spite of new words and a calmer tone. They are not likely to readily drop their defenses, own their own mistakes, respond compassionately and appropriately but not provocatively, and swaddle you with understanding; new words often need a lot of repetition over time. But they might. They might yield a little. Even if part of you wants to continue the battle, if you are willing to give some new words a chance to take effect, you might get a better kind of attention than you ever dreamed possible.