Is it genetic inheritance or the circumstances of our lives that makes us who we are? Before becoming a mother I held strong views that environment was more fundamental in forming character than genetic inheritance. Later, as I observed our children grow in their totally different and often contradictory ways, I started to see that what they brought with them at birth was more important than anything I did (or didn’t do) for them or with them. This belief was confirmed even later by my observation of our eleven grandchildren, who carry a varied array of physical genetic similarities, although they are complete individuals – so utterly different from each other it’s laughable.
Yet I do acknowledge that major life events can hugely alter the development and behaviour of individuals. My parents, for example, were profoundly influenced by the First World War followed by the Great Depression. It informed them socially and politically, and they carried the beliefs they formed during these monumental world events to their graves.
David’s childhood was disrupted by the Second World War and its aftermath. His father was an attractive but volatile man; his mother beautiful, intelligent but emotionally fragile. They were both creatives working in theatre and radio and David carried all of these inherited genes and inclinations. He could be explosive but was also highly sensitive. He was compassionate, very loyal but also very anxious. Mostly about money and failure. Decades ago, David was persuaded to enrol in a slightly wacky ‘self-realisation’ workshop suggested by a colleague. He had always described himself as an ‘angry man’, which he ascribed to his father’s rejection of him when he returned from the war a damaged individual. David came home after this two-day intensive brainwashing session minus his beard and long hair, wearing a suit and tie. I was bemused. He suddenly described himself as ‘powerful and loving’ which to me was just a load of silly psychobabble. He was indeed powerful and very loving and always had been. As well as being angry and anxious, yet kind and genuinely interested in and supportive of people he worked with. He was far too complex to label in just one quirky catchphrase.
I’m sure that back when I was going through high school there must have been kids with dyslexia or Asperger’s syndrome or attention deficit disorder or insipient bipolar disorder. They were never given a diagnosis or a label. Some of my schoolmates were exuberant extroverts; some withdrawn introverts. Some naturally cheerful and optimistic; some gloomy and negative.
When we had our one and only school reunion twenty years after finishing high school – when we were in our late thirties – it was fascinating how everyone seemed basically the same as they had been in their teens. The happy ones seemed bubbly; the cheerless ones still gloomy. Regardless of the circumstances of their lives – married, single, divorced, gay, career successful, with or without children – they appeared to me to have sustained their inborn personalities. Was it innate? Or had these deep-seated character traits been formed in early childhood, before I had known them?
I have gradually understood that some of my adult behaviours are learned responses to my childhood environment. As the daughter of an argumentative, alcoholic couple, very early in my life I developed strategies that I hoped might help soften the situation, that would make day-to-day life smoother, more tolerable. I was very helpful around the house, picking up on some of the chores my mother would have done before she went back to work when I was seven. Setting and clearing the table; putting away the groceries that were delivered in cardboard boxes by the back door; peeling the vegetables for dinner. Mum would be tired and irritable when she got home and so my getting these chores done brightened her mood considerably. I also felt needed. Valued.
My first boyfriend was a bit of a mess when I met him. Expelled from a private school, he landed at our public high school with long hair, a dope-smoking habit and a negative attitude. When I got my first job and a reasonable salary we moved in together in a share house. I earned the money for the rent, did the shopping, the cooking, the cleaning. I’m not sure what he did all day, but he never found work. I was rescuing him, and again it made me feel needed.
When I met David he was in a state of flux. Separated from his pregnant wife, he had recently broken up with his girlfriend and was heartbroken and depressed. From my perspective he was a much safer option than boyfriend number one. He had a good job in television, a smart car and a groovy little apartment. I thought he was rescuing me, but the reverse was to happen. All his friends said I’d turned his life around. That they’d never seen him so happy. I felt needed.
When David’s show got cancelled, I had to wean our baby at six weeks and get my old job back. I certainly felt very needed indeed.
This pattern has continued through my adult life. At various times I’ve rescued my mother, one of my brothers, in some senses my sister and also one of my sons. I’m not convinced being a rescuer is the healthiest option for me, or anyone really, but I figure it’s so ingrained in my psyche now that I’ll be repeating this pattern until the day I die.