I was an ‘oops’ in a couple of teens lives. They both dropped out of school and were married. It was the right thing to do for both of them. This year they will celebrate their 45th wedding anniversary and I turn 45 about about 6 months after. My sister was born a couple years after me. My parents were hard working blue collar workers. My childhood came with its share of dysfunction, as many families do. Being the oldest child, I became a protector of my sister. We have had talks about this later in life and I don’t think she realizes the lengths I went to in order to distract her from some unsightly scenes. It seems I played the Hero role of a dysfunctional family for the beginning part of my life.
Though many cannot cite the source of the Roles of a Dysfunctional Family, they most likely have heard of them. There is the Dependent (the centerpiece; often an addict), the Enabler (often the partner or caretaker of the addict), the Hero (one who seems to distract from the family with accomplishments), the Scapegoat (one in the family who gets negativity and blame), the Lost Child (doesn’t rock the boat), and the Mascot (usually funny; again a distraction from the centerpiece). Only speaking of myself, I was the one who stayed busy, was hardly home, and who excelled socially and academically. I was also a Mascot, in a way, with my sense of humor and antics. I did anything I could to not allow the community spotlight on what was going on at home. Though we never talked about anything negative to outsiders, some people knew. At one point I had a coach that came to me after I couldn’t afford a team jacket (honestly, I was more afraid to ask for the money for fear of the guilt game) and explained to me what I was dealing with in simple terms.
The term alcoholic was one I rejected due to typical stereotypes. No one hung out in bars or lost their job over their alcohol use. No one had been arrested. No way could anyone be an alcoholic. My coach explained that someone who had to drink everyday to the point of passing out was an alcoholic. It was an epiphany for me. More importantly someone saw what I dealt with and understood. On the flip side, someone knew our secret, too. The secret was then held at a higher level of protection. I continued to distract everyone around me in order to not let others know what was going on at home. Of course, that wasn’t all that was going on at home. Where there is one issue other issues are close by. I have often said the alcoholism wasn’t what affected me the deepest and I still harbor resentment for the actions of others in my household.
Being a child that felt like they had to put on a “razzle-dazzle ‘em” show to keep the spotlight off unflattering problems, and later a teen that had to be very active and chose to be away from home as much as possible, I became very independent. I worked as soon as I could and I was at friends’ houses as much as possible. I was always involved in something at the school. I also tried to find the love and affection I was missing from others, often boys. I had to be strong. I had to prove I was ok so no one knew others in my life were not. Even when I was hurting or scared, I put on a facade that proved otherwise.
It is no secret that social workers often had a rough upbringing, which is most likely why I became a social worker. I was going to save others from the unhealthy ways of life. I wanted to make others feel that they were not alone in whatever harsh realities they came from. After 20 years of being in the field and some tragedies in my personal life, I realized I needed to save myself. I had spent so much of my life giving my energy to others that I had a limited supply left for my loved ones and even less for myself. In the midst of my career, through a rocky marriage and a couple kids, I became even more independent. I was the strong woman many turned to professionally and personally. Though my family had been there for a lot of my marriage trials and tribulations my ex-husband took care of everything around the house. I never had to call my parents to ask for help. Once divorced, I still rarely called to ask for help.
I am a prideful woman and to admit I need help is like a punch in the gut to me. I would rather try myself and fail than allow someone else, especially family, to do it for me. I’d rather pay money (I often didn’t have) than ask for free help. If something went wrong in my house I called a professional. The most I really asked of my family was to help me move. Hiring movers is expensive, though I did hire a company to move my large things the last move I made, which was the first house I purchased all on my own.
Now that I own a home I hire everything done professionally. Though long before this I started to realize that my family hardly ever visits me, hardly ever offers help and seems content to not worry if I am alive or dead. My only sibling has a disabled child that my parents help take care of. Both my parents are retired and therefore they have the time to sit with my niece at my sister’s home. I have two kids (one now lives a couple hours away) that I have had primary custody of for over 9 years. My parents rarely offer to see them and rarely offer help with the needs my kids may have, whether a ride to or from school or a doctor’s appointment. I also do not ask for their help often, though my ex-husband has become almost absent from their lives. I am content to do it all myself.
My self-sufficient ways have painted me into a corner. I don’t ask for help therefore help is never offered to me. When I do need help and swallow my pride enough to ask, they are often too busy to help and I am not a priority. A vicious cycle began years ago. When I ask for help and feel rejected, I decide I won’t ask again and the animosity grows. I have pulled away from communicating with them due to this sense of irrelevance to them. I feel as if I am the black sheep of the family. I hear about them doing things together and feel sad that I do not get asked. My sister has a live-in companion for many years. I have lived with just my kids for over nine years and am sometimes alone altogether. Why don’t they want to spend time with me so that I do not feel lonely? Because I am rarely lonely. I have “family” that are chosen friends.
Early in my divorced life I realized that I had a lot in common with other women and needed support from those who understand the struggles. My sister was divorced but her child is not typical so sometimes cannot relate to what I deal with. My parents have always had each other to lean on. I have no one. I do it alone. My friends, who understand the issues, have become my family. We get together a few times a month to commiserate. This, I am guessing, leads my family to feel as if they are not needed. I am either too independent or have the people I need. Again, this perpetuates the distance between us.
I am getting used to feeling like my family is close, sans me. I cannot depend on them and they know I am always busy. I do not need them. Therefore they are not there to be needed. Don’t get me wrong, if there was something major I needed my parents would come through for me. But day-to-day living leaves me feeling like I am alone in life. I recognize the path that put us in this situation has been traveled by all of us and I am to blame just as well, but I also recognize that I am blessed to be a strong woman and to have wonderful people in my life. I have what I need and know I always can count on someone if I need something more serious.
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