Amber
06-13-2005, 11:17 AM
Where to begin??? This’ll be long but hopefully it will give folks an idea about who I am and where I’m from.
I grew up an only child of two people who brought their own issues into their marriage. My mother suffered from severe depression, which often left her unable to function at all. I remember fearing for her safety and fearing her because she looked so scary to me when she would be in bed for days at a time. To my little girl’s mind, she looked like a vampire. It was difficult for a 7 year old to sort out the conflicting feelings of love for my mother, fear for her safety, and fear of her. I also feared her because she was given to fits of rage that were often unpredictable. Since I was the only one at home with her, I was the one who was on the receiving end of her anger regardless what it was that set her off. I learned early in life to read people because it seemed that my survival depended upon it. Because she was so ill I often had to care for her rather than her caring for me. I also learned (wrongly) that I was responsible for my mother’s happiness, or for her sadness and anger, as the case may have been. Her needs were so intense that mine were often overlooked both because no one was there to meet my needs, and because her needs were so great. I learned to survive by “not upsetting mother”. I became a big time people pleaser trying to get my mother’s approval. It didn’t seem to work.
As I got older and into my teenage years my mother’s rage only seemed to increase. I figured out that I was never going to please my mother no matter what I did, so I gave up trying all together. I got involved with “the wrong crowd” and did a good amount of acting out. People would have said that I was rebelling. Maybe I was, but I was also just plain lost. I think I was depressed but had nowhere to go with my pain so I acted out. On my 17th birthday my mother attempted suicide after an argument with me about the volume of my music as I cleaned my room. That was certainly not the first time she had attempted suicide but it was the first time I was told that it was my fault. I was made to apologize to her and to ask permission to continue to live at home. I think I always felt as if her suicide attempts were my fault but that was the first time someone else confirmed what I already believed.
By the time I was 18 I was engaged to a man I had met in a bar. Yes, I was too young to get into a bar; I always looked older than I was so no one ever questioned it. This man was too good to be true in the beginning. A real danger sign, but what did I know. He became jealous which I thought was kind of cute but the jealously slowly took on a greater intensity. He became more and more controlling as way to sooth his own insecurities. To further control me he would tear me down verbally, telling me that I was a piece of trash and that I was lucky to have him because no one else would ever want me. The verbal and psychological abuse slowly turned into physical abuse. My self-esteem was so low that if anyone questioned why I stayed with him, I defended him. I believed that I deserved his treatment of me and didn’t for a minute think he was wrong. I left after he pushed me down a flight of stairs a week before we were supposed to get married mainly because I was afraid I would either end up divorced or dead.
After that relationship ended I found myself in a place where my life was so totally messed up that I felt like I was losing everything I cared about. My best friend was missing and police were assuming she had been abducted. My mother had cancer. I had dropped out of art school because my boyfriend had insisted that I drop out, and then had lost my job. Not knowing what else to do I ran away. I went back to my old friend’s house in another state. After her and I went out that evening, she was appalled at my behavior and asked me to leave saying that she didn’t know me anymore. As I drove the 4 hours home, I did a lot of thinking about the direction my life was going, or not going. I knew I needed to get back to church because living my life on my own terms was really not working out. I needed somebody bigger and wiser than me to help me out. I went back, got a job in the church daycare and began the slow process of giving my life back into the care of God.
I went from that relationship right into another one. I lived with an alcoholic – another person for me to rescue. Since I had perfected my people-pleasing and rescuing skills with my mother when I was little, this new relationship felt right to me. My newly found faith only increased my desire to “help” but all my “help” was really only my way of living out some old issues. It was in this relationship that I learned to distrust. I really believed this man loved me and I fully trusted him. But he had issues as well … he lied all the time. Probably the only time he didn’t lie was when I asked him if he had been cheating on me. He told the truth that time – he was. I left feeling betrayed and wondering how in the world I had allowed myself to trust this guy and pretty much determined to never trust another one.
A few years later I married my current husband. He was a minister and while I’ve never regretted being a minister’s wife, it has not been easy. In the beginning I felt responsible to be a good little pastor’s wife and not reflect badly on my husband. Since I knew that being myself was not a good idea I immediately began trying to fit into whatever mold I thought people wanted me to fit into. I did draw the line on some things, but I was anything but “real”. I went through some severe depressions during the first 10 years of our marriage, sometimes becoming very suicidal. Basically, I felt out of control as if everyone else was determining what I did and who I was.
In my early 30’s I was struggling with a weight issue for the first time in my life. My second pregnancy weight just never really came off. When I was a kid my whole family put a great deal of importance on women looking good. Fat was not tolerated in my family. When I would go home for a visit, all I heard was how fat I had become. In reality I was only about 10 pounds overweight but to my family that was unforgivable. I hated myself too because I had long since adopted my family’s way of looking at women without even realizing it. It was just simply ingrained in me that if I were fat, I would not be lovable. Those beliefs, the depression, and the fact that I felt the need to please everyone finally came together and I developed an eating disorder.
That was one of the worst things that has happened to me but it has also been one of the best because it forced me into recovery. As my weight dropped to dangerous levels, I was left with two choices – recovery or death. After fighting my therapist for a year, I chose recovery.
It hasn’t been easy. I had as much to learn as to unlearn. I went to therapy. I went to recovery groups – even one’s that I felt I didn’t belong in such as AA. I went to doctors. I took meds. I learned to tell the truth about myself and let my church in on the secret that I was not perfect. They were not surprised. I slowly learned to hear the truth about myself – something that was not easy to do at all. I’m not finished yet – probably never will be, but I am a completely different person today than I was 10 years ago. I still want people to like me, but if they don’t it doesn’t’ change who I am. I still struggle with self-image. I still struggle with trust. I’m married to a man who I know loves me unconditionally and would do anything to support me yet even after 21 years of marriage I’m not sure I really trust that he loves me. It’s no refection at all on him. It’s those old tapes as they call them, that tell me I’m not lovable and that he’s just a good man who is sticking with me because he’s committed to do so, not because he wants to. Of course I now recognize the sound of those old tapes and have to follow what I KNOW is true rather than what I FEEL is true.
That is probably the biggest change in me. My feelings no longer rule my life. I still hurt, but I know it’s not the end of the world if I feel pain. I don’t ignore my feelings like I did when I was a kid, but neither do I allow them to control me.
Well, this has been way too long as it is. I hope this gives some of the new people a better idea of who I am. The one’s who’ve been here for a long time have already been exposed to me at my worst.
I grew up an only child of two people who brought their own issues into their marriage. My mother suffered from severe depression, which often left her unable to function at all. I remember fearing for her safety and fearing her because she looked so scary to me when she would be in bed for days at a time. To my little girl’s mind, she looked like a vampire. It was difficult for a 7 year old to sort out the conflicting feelings of love for my mother, fear for her safety, and fear of her. I also feared her because she was given to fits of rage that were often unpredictable. Since I was the only one at home with her, I was the one who was on the receiving end of her anger regardless what it was that set her off. I learned early in life to read people because it seemed that my survival depended upon it. Because she was so ill I often had to care for her rather than her caring for me. I also learned (wrongly) that I was responsible for my mother’s happiness, or for her sadness and anger, as the case may have been. Her needs were so intense that mine were often overlooked both because no one was there to meet my needs, and because her needs were so great. I learned to survive by “not upsetting mother”. I became a big time people pleaser trying to get my mother’s approval. It didn’t seem to work.
As I got older and into my teenage years my mother’s rage only seemed to increase. I figured out that I was never going to please my mother no matter what I did, so I gave up trying all together. I got involved with “the wrong crowd” and did a good amount of acting out. People would have said that I was rebelling. Maybe I was, but I was also just plain lost. I think I was depressed but had nowhere to go with my pain so I acted out. On my 17th birthday my mother attempted suicide after an argument with me about the volume of my music as I cleaned my room. That was certainly not the first time she had attempted suicide but it was the first time I was told that it was my fault. I was made to apologize to her and to ask permission to continue to live at home. I think I always felt as if her suicide attempts were my fault but that was the first time someone else confirmed what I already believed.
By the time I was 18 I was engaged to a man I had met in a bar. Yes, I was too young to get into a bar; I always looked older than I was so no one ever questioned it. This man was too good to be true in the beginning. A real danger sign, but what did I know. He became jealous which I thought was kind of cute but the jealously slowly took on a greater intensity. He became more and more controlling as way to sooth his own insecurities. To further control me he would tear me down verbally, telling me that I was a piece of trash and that I was lucky to have him because no one else would ever want me. The verbal and psychological abuse slowly turned into physical abuse. My self-esteem was so low that if anyone questioned why I stayed with him, I defended him. I believed that I deserved his treatment of me and didn’t for a minute think he was wrong. I left after he pushed me down a flight of stairs a week before we were supposed to get married mainly because I was afraid I would either end up divorced or dead.
After that relationship ended I found myself in a place where my life was so totally messed up that I felt like I was losing everything I cared about. My best friend was missing and police were assuming she had been abducted. My mother had cancer. I had dropped out of art school because my boyfriend had insisted that I drop out, and then had lost my job. Not knowing what else to do I ran away. I went back to my old friend’s house in another state. After her and I went out that evening, she was appalled at my behavior and asked me to leave saying that she didn’t know me anymore. As I drove the 4 hours home, I did a lot of thinking about the direction my life was going, or not going. I knew I needed to get back to church because living my life on my own terms was really not working out. I needed somebody bigger and wiser than me to help me out. I went back, got a job in the church daycare and began the slow process of giving my life back into the care of God.
I went from that relationship right into another one. I lived with an alcoholic – another person for me to rescue. Since I had perfected my people-pleasing and rescuing skills with my mother when I was little, this new relationship felt right to me. My newly found faith only increased my desire to “help” but all my “help” was really only my way of living out some old issues. It was in this relationship that I learned to distrust. I really believed this man loved me and I fully trusted him. But he had issues as well … he lied all the time. Probably the only time he didn’t lie was when I asked him if he had been cheating on me. He told the truth that time – he was. I left feeling betrayed and wondering how in the world I had allowed myself to trust this guy and pretty much determined to never trust another one.
A few years later I married my current husband. He was a minister and while I’ve never regretted being a minister’s wife, it has not been easy. In the beginning I felt responsible to be a good little pastor’s wife and not reflect badly on my husband. Since I knew that being myself was not a good idea I immediately began trying to fit into whatever mold I thought people wanted me to fit into. I did draw the line on some things, but I was anything but “real”. I went through some severe depressions during the first 10 years of our marriage, sometimes becoming very suicidal. Basically, I felt out of control as if everyone else was determining what I did and who I was.
In my early 30’s I was struggling with a weight issue for the first time in my life. My second pregnancy weight just never really came off. When I was a kid my whole family put a great deal of importance on women looking good. Fat was not tolerated in my family. When I would go home for a visit, all I heard was how fat I had become. In reality I was only about 10 pounds overweight but to my family that was unforgivable. I hated myself too because I had long since adopted my family’s way of looking at women without even realizing it. It was just simply ingrained in me that if I were fat, I would not be lovable. Those beliefs, the depression, and the fact that I felt the need to please everyone finally came together and I developed an eating disorder.
That was one of the worst things that has happened to me but it has also been one of the best because it forced me into recovery. As my weight dropped to dangerous levels, I was left with two choices – recovery or death. After fighting my therapist for a year, I chose recovery.
It hasn’t been easy. I had as much to learn as to unlearn. I went to therapy. I went to recovery groups – even one’s that I felt I didn’t belong in such as AA. I went to doctors. I took meds. I learned to tell the truth about myself and let my church in on the secret that I was not perfect. They were not surprised. I slowly learned to hear the truth about myself – something that was not easy to do at all. I’m not finished yet – probably never will be, but I am a completely different person today than I was 10 years ago. I still want people to like me, but if they don’t it doesn’t’ change who I am. I still struggle with self-image. I still struggle with trust. I’m married to a man who I know loves me unconditionally and would do anything to support me yet even after 21 years of marriage I’m not sure I really trust that he loves me. It’s no refection at all on him. It’s those old tapes as they call them, that tell me I’m not lovable and that he’s just a good man who is sticking with me because he’s committed to do so, not because he wants to. Of course I now recognize the sound of those old tapes and have to follow what I KNOW is true rather than what I FEEL is true.
That is probably the biggest change in me. My feelings no longer rule my life. I still hurt, but I know it’s not the end of the world if I feel pain. I don’t ignore my feelings like I did when I was a kid, but neither do I allow them to control me.
Well, this has been way too long as it is. I hope this gives some of the new people a better idea of who I am. The one’s who’ve been here for a long time have already been exposed to me at my worst.