Any safe way to duck the "what was your childhood like" question?

[woodsgnome]

As a self-described "sociable hermit", I don't fare that badly in conversations. Perhaps it helps that my vocational life always involved a variety of necessary social contacts. 

Sometimes I catch certain comments, such as "you seem like you're thinking"; oh, yeah—what they don't realize is that my every interaction with people comes with hyper-vigilant thoughts attached.  It's a drag on my energy that I've never fully mastered—truly in a crowd but never really "in" it, I guess. Or perhaps I just "numb out" of feelings altogether, relying on intuitive instincts to get me through.

I'm also noted for a quirky, almost wild, sense of humour. There again, what people (mostly) don't know is the intense grief from where that funny-side originated; and yes, I know there are times when I hide behind it. Being funny can nicely deflect scrutiny, and I learned to be pretty good at using humour as a sort of safety valve (as an adult; when young I had it, but had to stifle it or risk retribution from some very serious dudes called adults).

There's one social interaction that truly strikes terror in my entire being. It's when someone hits me with this zinger: "So, what was your childhood like?". I want the floor to swallow me, be swept out to sea, or just vanish into thin air when I hear it. No social skills I ever acquired can fully mask my discomfort when someone poses that heart-stopper.

Of course my reticence is tied to all the cptsd crud we talk about here. But try to throw that into a social chat!     I can forget to breathe in the panic of that moment, and my cool "sociable hermit" demeanour easily morphs into "shy misfit".

Reactions can range from "what's wrong?" to "you can tell us—we're friends." Umm...I've learned not to trust that one, 'cause being totally frank carries huge risks—it can draw unwanted overbearing "poor you" sympathy or hostility for being weak or abnormal or...who knows? Soon I'm in my familiar freeze/dissociation mode, living in a "can't win" scenario for my already fragile state of mind.

My anxious response is often just an unsatisfactory "I'd rather not go there", or something like it. Except then it really seems like I'm hiding something, and can quash the simplest conversation. The chat can fizzle awkwardly, and for someone like me where it's so difficult to engage anyway, it can ruin the day, turn up my inner critic, and I seem lost in the swamp of self-loathing again. So tiring, so normal.

Anybody here have similar experiences? If so, how do you fare when THE QUESTION YOU NEVER WANT TO HEAR has just been asked?

[stillhere]

Good question, Woodsgnome, and one that raises all kinds of related questions (about stigma, validation, etc.).  I'm guessing lots of people on this site have shied away from honest answers to "what was your childhood like?" If most of the world were validating, we wouldn't need to or want to converse on line from all over the globe. 

For many years, I longed to find an answer that would promote a supportive response.  I tried telling a few stories, but too often, people would withdraw or tell me I must be exaggerating.  The point was driven home during my uNPDM's last visit, now decades ago, when two close friends stopped by.  They were shocked.  One of them still tells me that he never quite believed me until he witnessed a terrorist in action. 

So like you, I usually deflect the question.  I don't really see myself as a "sociable hermit," though I can see that others might think so.  But like you, I can't find a way to say "my childhood had some good moments, but overall, it was a nightmare from which I'm still learning to recover." 

I don't want to be asked the question, but at the same time, I crave understanding.  I want people in my life to "get it."  And if I can't talk about it, I can't expect anyone to understand.

So I sometimes let be known some general outlines or snippets of information.  And I wait for responses, which often never come in any way I can recognize.  I think even well-intentioned people trying to understand have difficulty knowing what to say.

[Widdiful Falling]

I usually either lie, and tell people it was fine (I've had a lot of practice...  ), or I tell people I don't want to talk about it, and change the subject so that no one looks too hard at my response (again, A LOT of practice). I think it's just one of those things that gets easier with time and practice.

I try to focus on the positive or neutral aspects of my childhood. Sometimes, all I have to say is that I've lived in Florida for people to provide the rest of the conversation, and change topics for me. I have a mental list of things that are safe to talk about. Probably borne out of necessity in my childhood.

[stillhere]

Yes, you're deflecting, kind of the way I do.  Pick a point that might be interesting, respond to the question, and move on.  I too am well practiced.

But the inability to answer more honestly separates us from others.  Even without become a kind of hermit, the past becomes a source of isolation.  I can be in crowd or in a room full of familiar people, and no one really knows who I am or what's shaped the life I have.  I wish I could overcome that condition somehow.  I don't seek sympathy, just recognition and maybe a little understanding.

[gidget]

I agree that the inability to discuss this is one of the causes of our social isolation, even if we don't want it to be, and do our best to work around it. There's just no way for people to really get to know me if I can't answer honestly about the abuse, neglect, and abandonment that I experienced for so many years. I can offer the superficial information of towns and schools and sports and aptitudes, but the information rings hollow, and we both know there's a wall between us.

When I've let people have a glimpse of the truth, they've either become morbidly and rudely curious and asked many, many inappropriate questions in follow-up -- as though they have lost track of the fact that this is truth, not fiction, and that they are speaking to a real person -- or they have quickly changed the subject and never brought it up again, so it is clear that it makes them too uncomfortable. After a while, if I maintain regular contact with someone who does not know my history, it seems too difficult and perhaps just too big to talk about. I am silenced no matter how I try to approach it.

[Trees]

I have to agree with all of you.  I am mostly a hermit because of this.  So this site is such a relief.  It doesn't cure the problem in my life, but it does offer a bit of relief from the isolation.

In real life, I hang out with dogs, and trees. 

[stillhere]

More than social isolation generally, I think this question (or rather its answer) is an impediment to intimacy, generally applied.  It's certainly been an impediment to romantic relationships.  Anyone coming close enough to witness the dynamics of my family has been pretty horrified. 

So what to say when asked?  When I try to answer, I usually prefer the response with lots of easy outs for the listener (for example, "I'm not seeking a therapist," "You don't have to respond in any way," "The story isn't a happy one, so maybe you'd rather not hear it.").  My message is that I'm not secretive, but neither do I need to go into detail.  The effect, though, is often establish some distance. 

I'm fortunate in that I have a small group of very close friends who know my story well.  But in meeting new people, which I usually like to do, my "story" hangs there.

Since I joined this site, only recently, I've occasionally wondered what a meeting of members in real life would be like.  Knowing that someone "gets it" makes a difference.

[Dutch Uncle]

If this question comes up, which is not often, I usually tell them, truthfully, that I grew up in a boring and restrictive village in the bible-belt. That it was OK as a child, but horrible once puberty set in, and that I spend most of my time in puberty making sure I could get out of there.
That usually kills any further interest.

In a similar vein: when the subject of parents is raised, which at my age usually takes the form of "are your parents still alive and well?",and I answer "yes, but they divorced 10 years ago and I was happy about that", that usually kills off all further interest as well.

I guess for most people, and certainly the ones who ask such questions, these questions are meant to 'break the ice'. They have happy memories of their childhood innocence, when things were taken care for, and their life's struggles only started when they reached adulthood, got a job, moved out, married, had kids... They haven't got a clue that for others, like us, those happy times are much further back in memory, and the struggles already were well established before we got to live 'on our own'.

Do any of you here ever ask other people about their childhood? I mean, as a conversation starter?
I certainly don't.

[stillhere]

I never ask new acquaintances such questions.  To do so would risk hearing the question turned on me.  The question isn't usually "conversation starter," but it does get asked, often when I've been getting to know someone over a little time. 

I can usually deflect the question in some way, saying something like "I'm from an obscure part of the U. S.  It seems like another world."  All true.  But if a relationship is deepening (I don't mean romantically) and I'm interested in a close connection, then the "story" hangs out there.  I've managed to tell the story (or part of it), but the telling always seems like a risk.  And I can recount a few instances of recoiling or invalidation ("That just can't be true.").   I find that response very hard to take.

A very close friend, who knows but does not share my story, likes to put it this way:  we meet two kinds of people, those who've been to * and back and those who haven't, and those of us who have can often spot others like us.  She reminds me occasionally that there are other sources of distress that I might try to understand.

[Trees]

A very close friend, who knows but does not share my story, likes to put it this way:  we meet two kinds of people, those who've been to * and back and those who haven't, and those of us who have can often spot others like us.  She reminds me occasionally that there are other sources of distress that I might try to understand.

Stillhere, what your friend says is really interesting.  Does she mention any of the other sources of distress that she might be thinking of?

This possibility of being able to connect with people with different sources of distress is something that has occurred to me.  I have thought it might involve sort of offering a sympathetic willingness to just listen without cringing.   It's usually people who have been to * and back who are able to do that.

[Widdiful Falling]

Trees, woodsgnome, stillhere,

What an interesting, and thought-provoking conversation. I'm glad I checked back. I have quite a few thoughts, not all of them as well-formed as the others, but I would like to give them all time here.

I have thought it might involve sort of offering a sympathetic willingness to just listen without cringing.

This strikes a chord in me. I tend to more deeply connect with people who are older than I am. I have a friend who is almost 50. Today, I was talking with her, and she asked about the scars on my arms. I told her I used to cut, and that I tried to kill myself. She said that everyone reaches a low point at some time in their life, and it made me feel like it was nothing to be ashamed of. She said that it's fine for me to have had dark times in life, and to not be happy all the time, because it makes me seem more real in her eyes.

Perhaps I have been very lucky in my life to find a couple people who have seen the darker side of life. I come from an impoverished area. Although the people I connect with might not understand completely, we can share our pain. It reminds me of a song lyric:

"Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone."

I don't think anyone, even here, will ever completely understand me, nor do I expect them to. I feel that I am the only one who will ever completely understand me, or my story. Even when I make a strong connection with someone, I don't try to connect my whole being with their whole being. We share bits and pieces, and help each other when we can.

Sorry, for rambling. Just one last thought:

Could it be that, every time someone asks this question, that you want them to understand you completely because you don't understand completely yourself?

[arpy1]

i am finding, after first thinking 'woah, don't want to go there!', that this thread is actually incredibly moving. and i think it reveals a deeper question to do with being able to find a sense of belonging, in a culture that is mostly geared to not looking at those great 'elephants in the room', abuse and mental illness.

i think that often for people who've suffered in those ways, the primary aim in life necessarily ends up being emotional survival and recovery. they learn to be incredibly strong - and incredibly empathic, mostly. but doesn't that kind of life-struggle also make you part of a social minority just as surely as if you are deaf, or in a wheelchair?   

personally, when i think about answering q's about my childhood, i realise i have certain stock phrases and comments that basically keep people away from it. and that has never been a problem, i am a master in the art of dissembling.

She reminds me occasionally that there are other sources of distress that I might try to understand.

(stillhere)

that's interesting. becos what has driven me into total social isolation is the whole cult experience of my adult years.   even the dicey childhood and my abusive marriage might be at least slightly socially acceptable to some sympathetic souls. but to say you spent a significant portion of your adult life as a celibate in a christian cult?... well to be honest, i don't, i feel too ashamed, too different, too stupid.

so, like those of you who have posted here,  there is a huge part of my life that is also 'out of bounds' . until i cracked up last autumn and couldn't work, i was too embarrassed to even admit it to my doctor...someone i don't know? no way.

i have searched for support online for people like me, without much success, plus it is simply not the kind of abuse that most people in the therapeutic community are geared to. the first T i tried just wouldn't even go there with me. wouldn't talk about it, as it if was unimportant and irrelevant to the complete emotional breakdown she was supposed to be treating me for.

this site is the nearest i have come to finding actual people who actually 'get' it and who are able, becos of their own journey, to empathise and support even if they don't share the precise experiences. i honestly can say it has been a life saver for me. but even here, i am hesitant and ashamed about it.

[Laynelove]

Sorry I didn't read through all the replies but in response to the original post:

Depending on how well I know the person I'm talking to, if it's just an aquaintance I keep it really impersonal. If someone says 'so what was your childhood like'? I might respond with 'oh yeah I grew up in [insert town name], great place to grow up but the winters were freezing' and then gently manoeuvre it away from the subject eg. 'Thats why I moved some place warmer...I can't wait to head to the beach this weekend what are your plans?'. Something like that. Then I might drop more info as I get to know the person more and feel comfortable. But I find saying 'oh I don't want to talk about it' straight up leaves an awkwardness afterwards that can be avoided if I fill the question with materialistic kind of things like describing what the town looked like or what your favourite show was or what bands were famous at the time etc. Other people are more intuitive then we think, usually someone can sense u are uncomfortable and if you are uncomfortable then it makes them uncomfortable and if the other person has any kind of empathy they won't push it. If you come across someone super pushy and nosy then you might just have to pull out the 'I don't wanna talk about it' card. I try to only use it when I have to. But It happens.

You should never feel like you have to tell anyone any kind of personal information you aren't comfortable with.

That's just how I avoid letting out personal information I'm not comfortable with telling people anyways and most the time it works pretty well 😊

[Trees]

No one has actually asked me the question that Woodsgnome posed here: "What was your childhood like?"  But I am sure it would leave me stuttering and changing the subject. 

There are other similar questions that I deflect, such as "Where are you from?", and "What did you do before you retired?", and "Why did you never have children?", and "Why did you move so often?".  And so many more.

I agree with arpy1 that this does make me "part of a social minority just as surely as if you are deaf, or in a wheelchair."  I do feel a sort of affinity with people who are coping with the challenges and isolation of a physical disability.  But I still fear that they would not feel an affinity with people like me.

I also feel an affinity with people recovering from cult experiences.  The whole concept of the damaging narcissist really resonates for me!  It does sound remarkably like my FOO.

A lifetime of being the FOO scapegoat has made me sympathetic with civil rights issues, too.  During many of my darkest times I found inspiration reading about the struggles of Jewish people in the Nazi era and about the * survived by slaves in America.  Also emigrants from unrest and poverty in Central America, and refugees from war in Syria, and Sudan, and so many other places.  Not to even mention the many people with issues like mine who are struggling to stay alive on the street.

Perhaps an excess of empathy is a disorder.  Maybe it is a neediness for acceptance, I tell myself sometimes.

I do sort of think of people as being divided into two main categories, those who have been through * (or are still there) and those who are blissfully clueless.  As stillhere's friend said.

Yet my shame for who I have been still persists.  So this site really helps me because we remind each other that we do not deserve shame, that we deserve to stand upright, that we are lovable even while we are in this pain.

[arpy1]

here here, Trees.

and  thank you for your empathy and no, it isn't disordered, it is just, well, kind, and it makes a person feel understood.