BOUNDARIED
Psychological Baggage From My Father Affects Me
A dysfunctional parent-child relationship rests at my core
I have difficult memories of my father. Getting along. I was always combative with him, resisting his gestures in all directions. He made me uncomfortable. And I lived in my own little world wrapped around my discomfort.
We could not talk. I was hiding my anger and unease and never wanted him to come near me. He tried hard to be close, desiring us to be an intimate father and daughter — or something or other — and I feared his directness and need. I worried I came off as rude and gave myself the reputation of “the bad guy.” I believed that is what he was feeling about me, so I was a reflection in the eyes I could not meet.
His.
For as long as he was alive — he passed in 1991, at 55, when I was 27 — I stayed in my cocoon around him, never feeling safe to enter a normal interaction. For two years before he died (not knowing that would be his fate) I cut off ties altogether. I had to see him a few times during that period, but I kept a strict distance and a mystifying boundary. I had stated my departure in a letter, but I do not believe he ever understood why.
I had explained some things before making such a bold move. Much had to do with feeling he was obsessed with our relationship, that he pursued me as a lover would. I never felt a sexual threat from him, but an intensity for closeness beyond what was appropriate from a father. I tried to explain some of this but it went over his head. He became defensive and was committed to his stance that all he wanted was love.
Declaring that is what he deserved from me.
He had a difficult life and my heart went out to him. Nevertheless, I needed to keep healthy space in order to maintain sanity and emotional safety. I never knew where his push would have taken him, if I had opened my arms to his overtures. I smelled danger from a young age. I never suspected it would lead him to something overt, but the diagnoses from my first therapist was covert incest.
That made total sense, from the moment those words exited her mouth.
I was grateful for a known “thing” that made me feel less alone and weird with my secret. It always felt like I could have my father — whatever that meant to a young girl and later teen and adult. It was too much longing, desperation, and eagerness I received from his end. Once telling me I was the only one he could talk to — he treated me like a spouse and it was intolerable.
It was a horrible thing to have to reject my father.
Nevertheless, I welcomed my boundary and was lucky I was able to set it. Truly. Otherwise, I would have been consumed by his deep hole which would have sucked the life out of me. It was bad enough I was as preoccupied with him as I was. In the end I expressed in a journal entry that it was either him, or me. I had to choose. I could not have both.
The psychological baggage kept me on guard with relationships throughout the following decades. I am currently 60 and still writing about it. Although he passed when I was in my 20s, the subject matter shaped my ability to relax in certain ways when confronted with relational dynamics that remind me of that one.
Sometimes it does not take much.
I anticipate an onslaught of pressure or a bottomless pit of need from the other party. I put up a wall of distance to protect myself from feeling overwhelmed. Fortunately, I can express this well, warning the person to not take my barriers personally (if it is someone I know well). Rejection is not the point. It is a type of flashback I experience to an old pattern that triggers me.
I react to protect myself.
I have been married and divorced, and it was a grave issue in that union. Although other things disabled the continuity of our marriage, it was a key component.
I knew it would affect that relationship from the onset because it had disturbed my prior one of four years. I was at least pleased I could give my husband a heads up early on, however, he could not fathom the type of push-pull exchange I would stage.
I tried hard to convince him it was never personal. But not everyone can handle such dramatic boundaries, at the most surprising of times. It makes sense to me that marriage would have provoked flashbacks, yet it was frustrating for us both to deal with the repercussions.
I feel for the little girl who struggled with being mean to her father. I was journaling about this at a young age. And even though I was aware it wasn’t my fault, I felt guilty and ashamed. I knew he could tell how much I avoided contact, and it was a heavy burden to ride the line of keeping polite while staying away.
I felt mean, and that is a trait that has lasted with me when I need to take space from anyone — depending on their reaction to it. If I can be honest and it has been outwardly stated, I feel clear and relaxed. But it can emerge at odd times with folks who don’t know me as well.
Thankfully, I forgive myself since I understand the place from where it came. It is a hypervigilance that remains central to my core. I anticipate people need me more intensely than they often do, because of how I was conditioned by that original dynamic.
I assume a desperation for my attention that might be displaced. I am programmed to sniff this out. I angle to protect myself from complete consumption if I don’t maintain a steady boundary.
This can leave me avoiding socialization and isolating to ward off unwanted pressure. On the other hand, I can be very social, and enjoy people greatly.
As I have gotten older, I have developed other reasons for withdrawing unrelated to that situation. But, compounded with that one, I can be quite the hermit!
Fortunately, I enjoy my own company and love spending time alone.
Happily, with the right individuals I can talk up a storm and dive into deep exchanges of physical and emotional intimacy.