That's not so bad, right? Wife2's journey to understanding - and yes - triggers

[Wife#2]

Yesterday was a blur of dis-regulation brought on by a wonderful phone call from Sis. It was worth it. By the time I got home from work - working disregulated is a <ahem> fun thing - I was more settled into myself. I was able to be present for my family. Mostly.

Below there be triggers - neglect, abandonment by caregiver, etc.

I can't tell my sister's story. She's substantially older than me, so has a complete different set of memories and perspectives regarding our parents.

However, if we were in THAT city when this happened, then I was alive. That means, the next story impacted me as well. And it does! I spoke briefly earlier about the summer Mom ran away. Sis remembers that well. She told me that Mom left a note. And it was in the context of us being concerned about Mom's life. No, I don't know what was in that letter. I just know that she left it for Dad. He found it. He read it to us kids.

Now, the problems I have with this are: This predates my memory, so it's likely before I was 6 years old. Supporting that idea is the fact that Oldest and Sis were still living at home. And Dad read a run-away/possibly suicide note from our mother to HIM - and read it to their children. If the oldest is a teenager and the youngest is pre-school to primary grades, you DON'T read that kind of stuff to your children! Even if you ARE mad at their mother! Even if you secretly wish it was true! You just DON'T!

Gee, kids, I know your Mom and I have been fighting a lot lately, but I had no idea she'd do THIS to you all! She's abandoned you, possibly for a short while, possibly forever. Here's what SHE had to say on the subject.  **** NO, NO, NO AGAIN, NO ****

And, Dad doesn't even see the irony that he may have kept his address with us, but he ran away JUST as effectively and for a longer time (Mom stayed away that summer is all I've been told). Yet, because of that stunt, SHE became labeled the crazy one, the abandoner, the unreliable. While all that may have been true, Dad really wasn't much better in MY experience. Now, the older kids may have a different experience and that's fine. But, this is MY journal and here I get to express MY issues, MY memories and MY growth.

While talking to my sister, and hearing the sadness in her voice as she talked about this incident, I didn't want to push further. I know talking about that was not easy for her. She'd rather try to forget all those tragic things that happened in our youth. Though I'm a lot younger than her, I've faced these realities a lot more than she has, I think. That's why I get frustrated with Sis for not seeing that Mom is currently using her! I've spent a lot more time in therapy, I think. Sis is still one of the healthiest people I know emotionally - especially for being from the same family! That credit I do owe her.

But, that conversation did send me into a floating disregulation. I just kept sliding back to childhood and all the times that I needed a Mom or a Dad, but neither parent was available. There was lots of - you kids watch out for each other. Now, don't get me wrong, I did have great older siblings for the most part. But, they were just kids themselves! I was a needy child, because of the failures to attach between Mom and me.

I don't think she'd admit it right now, but I really do believe that she CHOSE to not attach with me because of my autistic sister. I think she attached to that daughter, then detached. That process was too difficult and I came so close to when that happened, I believe, that she just chose the less painful route - don't attach!

*** TMI, childbearing, nursing ***

It's a little thing, but maybe not. Mom says she breastfed me. She says she breastfed all her children. Well, except for a couple of details, I might believe her.

Wait a minute, thought - logic creeping in and it's bringing up a situation I hadn't even considered before. Mom WAS breastfeeding autistic sis when she became pregnant with me. She even laughed about it at one point, making it clear that the old wives' tale that you can't get pregnant while nursing is a LIE - all caps. So, who was getting the nutrition? Me while gestating or sis while nursing? No WONDER Mom suffered after I was born. Her body was being depleted from inside and out - literally. Still not my fault, I didn't choose to be born, let alone into this family.

Mom was kept in the hospital longer than me. I was at my godparent's home. They wouldn't have had the time to carry me up to the hospital every two hours for breast-feedings. AND, given her condition, they wouldn't have wanted her interrupted so regularly, anyway.

Though I may have got breast milk, I don't see breast-feeding happening.

Once I was home, autistic sis was still just past infancy herself. I don't see Mom having the time or energy to nurse me the way she did all her other children. Maybe give me a bottle, but not breastfeed. Then, there's this little factoid I remember from having a child myself. When it was time to decide, the nurses were very clear that nursing was best and that it's easier to give up nursing and give a bottle than the other way around. They told me that babies who start on a bottle always want a bottle because it's easier to get milk out than from a nipple. I tried, it hurt, we went with bottles.

Looking back on that time that I did ask her, and the aghast (love that word) look she gave me as if I'd just called her an ugly name all make sense. Of COURSE she wouldn't want to be revealed having dropped the ball as a mother to a small infant! What could be more horrible! After all, she'd not long before told the that the reason they had so many kids was that Dad was a good Catholic and she liked being pregnant.

Oh, the therapy that could come out of that one sentence. She didn't like motherhood, she didn't like having babies, she didn't like RAISING kids, she liked being pregnant. I've never really heard that phrase for what it is! I've heard it bunches.

I'm going to quit writing for a bit. I keep getting distracted by the things I know are real - and how I've been lied to my whole life to make Mom look better to herself, to me and to the world. Yes. It's getting easier to say uBPD/Narc than it used to be.

[Wife#2]

*** Trigger, mistreatment of an animal through neglect ***

This journal was started so that I could tease out memories of my childhood and put them together to see the mosaic that is me. In regard to recovering memories, it has been a HUGE success. What is surprising me is that my perspective is changing. Even times that should have been GOOD memories are tainted. There are still good memories, but the more I talk to my sister and refresh myself on how day-to-day life really was, I become more and more sad.

There is a picture that my mother has treasured for many years. It was in THAT city and I was a child. The home had a fancy formal living room. That room had a fireplace. One year, when the mantle was all decorated for Christmas, Mom and me and GC Bro pose for this photo. We are each lying on the floor on our bellies before the fire in the fireplace. We are smiling, looking (per direction) expectantly at the chimney opening in the fireplace. It's a very Norman Rockwell style photo. Now that I look back on that photo in my mind, it no longer brings back the smile it used to. See, as a child, I was so grateful for the photographic evidence that I was part of the family that I LOVED that photo. Years ago, she used to bring it out and put it on the mantle (when she still had one) each Christmas season.

My perspective changed. She was proud of that photo. Not because it was a good picture of two of her children. Not because we were in it. She loved it BECAUSE it looked very Norman Rockwell. As long as that was true, she could interpret her life as being beautiful. Oh, and her photographic talent as being excellent as well! Forget that it was heavily posed. Forget that it's probably good that you can't see our eyes in it. The things you can't really tell about that picture (and that I was reminded while talking to Sis the other night) was that the living room stank. The rug we were laying on was covered in dog piss stains. The sofa behind us (not in the photo) had been an antique from Dad's mother and was ruined by the same little dog. Mom's poodle.

See, I'd almost forgot about that poor dog. I don't know what inspired her to want a poodle, but she HAD to have it. We kids, being kids, thought that was GREAT. Except, we didn't know or understand that Mom is uBPD and uNarc. She wasn't actually going to take care of the dog, walk it, house train it, no none of that. IT was just supposed to magically happen! And, since magic isn't real, the dog never was house trained. She wasn't walked often enough. Desperate to be a good dog, she found the one room almost nobody used - the formal living room. With the oriental rug and the antique sofa and the hardwood floors. The dog was 'spanked'. No follow through and certainly nobody with a regular schedule to actually tend to the poor thing.

It was because of this dog that I decided that I hated all toy poodles. I would actually cringe if I saw one. Not in fear, but in dread. PLEASE don't make me responsible for THAT dog!!!! When we moved from THAT city, Mom had to give up her dog. God love the maid (yes, Mom had convinced Dad she'd be better if she had a maid to help around the house) for taking that dog. From then on, Mom didn't have dogs. She could have a cat, no more than one and that under protest of very allergic Dad.

Fast forward 25 years. Mom has a boarder. The boarder is a nice enough man. Ok, he was crazy and cranky and belligerent, but he helped Mom pay the bills, so there was that. Anyway, he had a dog. A toy poodle to be precise. That dog was his, make no mistake. She was devoted to her owner. Now, this toy poodle was a joy to be around. She hardly ever barked, was perfectly house trained and loved to cuddle in the evenings. Mom also had two cats at this time. The dog was well behaved around Mom's cats. There was really nothing to dislike about this poodle. Still, I didn't like it at first (can anyone say triggered?). Well, over the year that this fellow boarded (sub-let, whatever) with Mom, I grew attached to the dog. And the fellow was losing his battle with cancer. He knew it. One day, he asked me to please take his dog when the time came. I promised I would.

The day came when this fellow died. Mom, I and a few others went to clean out his assisted living apartment. The dog, who had got to know me, ran to me. I knew I had to honor this man's wishes. I brought the dog home.

She was a great dog. I loved her, though she did frustrate me a great deal sometimes. See, she'd always had retired owners (I was her fourth owner). That I left every day to go to work was too much for her! Separation anxiety led to destroyed curtains, sofa cushion, blinds and a couple of shoes. Not wanting to crate her while I was gone, I confined her to the bathroom - figuring it was at least more space than a crate. Well, she hated that, even with her favorite blanket laid down. She could only hear outside things and it was making her crazy. So, I got the crate. I set it up in the living room facing the front door. I put her in on my way to work. I went home at lunch and let her out. Then, back in until work was over. This was a routine she and I could live with. My house wasn't destroyed and she learned to count on the routine. She LOVED weekends when I didn't go away.

I still had this sweet dog when I met my now husband. He WAS retired and home all day. We hatched a plan where I'd bring her to his house before work. He'd 'dog-sit' for me all day. I'd go to his house for dinner and time with him and the family. Then, I'd bring my dog home with me each evening. My dog loved my boyfriend. My boyfriend loved my dog! She had a paw in moving our relationship further and faster. It's all good in retrospect.

When, after having her as part of my family for 4 years, she had to be put down, it was one of the saddest days of my life. The breed had been redeemed in my heart by this little pet. She was as unlike Mom's poodle as it was possible to be. And all the dogs we've had since have been house trained. For THEIR happiness as well as our own.

Having had my poodle as a part of my life had allowed me to forget all the bad memories of Mom's poodle. And how the living room stank. And how Dad was so disgusted by the stains and smell and damage to that room created by Mom's dog. And how that photo, the one Mom treasured, was as fake as most everything else I saw as good in my childhood.

I wonder if that meant that I'd moved on and healed from that? Maybe so. I do know it's probably a good thing that my oldest brother had already passed when all this went on. He had NOT forgot a THING about Mom's poodle and would likely have harped on it in the face of my dog. But, I think she would have won him over as well.

I don't miss THAT house anymore. I don't miss that dog. I don't miss a lot of things about my childhood. But, I do miss my poodle today. And that's ok.

[sanmagic7]

i can totally relate about memories that i once thought were ok coming to light as tainted.  and eventually as even traumatic.  things i used to shrug off now have a whole new meaning in light of what i'm now experiencing.   and i don't like it one bit.  funny how that can happen, just switch like that.  sucks.  altho i'd rather be hurt by the truth than a lie, i never realized the truth could hurt this much.  sucks even more.

i'm sorry/glad about your realizations.  i believe that we can only clear up and clean out all our gunk by seeing and knowing the truth.  it's just so much dang work!!!  but, you keep chipping away at it, wife2, and for that i give you a lot of credit.  women warriors all!

[Wife#2]

*** Triggers ***


Ok, I ran across an article yesterday. I've been pondering it all night. I printed it out to read it at home. I've read it here at work online. I want to read it a few more times before I consider it in my head.

I tried to do the link thing, but failed. Anyway, it's at a website called Harpyschild. It's an article on 25 ways a Narcissistic mother damages her child(ren), called Characteristics of a Narcissistic Mother. If you have one, or suspect you have one (Narc Mom that is), read this article.

I felt so validated, over and over and over again. I had memories, flashbacks, dissociation. I'm currently in total overload, but in a great way.

I have really hesitated calling my mother a narc. It seemed so harsh. BPD seemed so much kinder, so I went with that. But, being kind instead of being real is what has my head so messed up right now, anyway. I think she's a covert narc with less than the usual amount of malice - it's there and it's awful, but some of the traits were more than I remember her doing. At least to me.

I already recognized that I may have fleas from Mom. Dear God in Heaven, please let it be your will for me to find and weed out any Narc traits I may have picked up! And please let me find the way to make it up to my husband for how I've treated him during this marriage. He's paid debts he didn't owe because of my parents. And he stuck by me. Even after I hurt him again and again. He was just confused. When he confronted me, he said my treatment was because of a * boss who sexually harassed me for years. Nope, though that * didn't help things any, hubby was paying because of my parents! Especially Narc Mom!  And, if I'm really, really honest.... I don't like thinking this, but refusal to acknowledge truth makes it no less true .... Dad may be a Narc as well.

Breathing, because I know I must. Over and over. Calm down. It isn't happening right this minute. I can feel my blood pressure shooting up. I can feel that my skin is red from that. I can feel my ears burning. I have to calm down before I can think straight. Breathe. Slowly, in and out. Breathe.

And this is from an article I read yesterday! Ok, I only could handle a few of the traits at a time. I couldn't read the whole thing through in one go. I still can't just yet. Wow. I haven't been this triggered in a long time.

So much of my childhood makes better sense now. So much of my adult life also makes better sense. Some of the bad decisions. Some of the ways I allowed bad things that left me victimized. How I got in over my head so many times and why I thought I deserved the bad stuff.

:: Bows head::: I'm overwhelmed right now. I'll come back and talk more when I feel stronger.  Dang it's hard to hold down a job AND do the work of healing! Clearing head. Forcing myself into the present and the reality of the job I have to do. Breathing again.

[Three Roses]

Breathing with you

[sanmagic7]

ditto what 3 roses said.  warrior woman spirit, wife2, is right with you, helping you, holding onto you.  what a courageous thing you've done, looking the truth squarely in the face even tho it wasn't very pleasant.  like you said, tho, the truth allowed you to see things more clearly, and that is a huge step forward.

and, please don't beat yourself up over past mistakes, errors, etc.  remember, always, you did what you did because it's all you knew to do.  that isn't your fault.  yeah, those things happened, and maybe they weren't very pretty, but, to me, the best way to make up for them is to begin doing things differently with the different knowledge you now possess.  your hub still loves you, he's still with you, and you can begin differently from now on.  that's the gift you've been given by being brave enough to look at, acknowledge, and accept the truth. 

kind and real aren't necessarily opposites, either.  we can always be kind and real at the same time.  honesty doesn't have to be brutal or  harsh, but it does have to be in order that we can make the changes necessary for our growth, health, and well-being.  kudos to you, wife2.  yah!!!

[Wife#2]

Thank you, ladies!

I'm honestly not beating myself up, I'm trying to make sure I've got the honesty mirror up in front of me. The mistakes I've made, I've made. I apologized to those effected. I've made things right when I was able.

I just want to get any narc tendencies OUT OF ME! Hubby has called me on some entitlement behavior I have. Oh, how I burned when he said that! But, it's true. If I look at it for what it is, I do. I was ugly in my denial to him. I did apologize for my ugly words. And, quietly, I've begun working on those behaviors. I have more to overcome than I realized when I started. My current challenge is not allowing myself to wallow in being overwhelmed and thus stop doing ANY good new work.

DS8 is watching, too. I owed him an apology this weekend. He got it. He thanked me for apologizing. I got busy showing with actions that I meant it. He told me later that THAT meant a lot to him. He surprised me, I forget that at 8 years old he's already mature enough to see the disconnect between words and actions when they don't line up. I'm going to encourage that awareness, and to validate him if he calls me out when he finds one in me.

I know nobody is perfect and that my surviving an undiagnosed covert narcissistic mother is nothing special, really. There are too many of us out there, it sadly seems.

I do still have compassion for my mother. Her mother seems to have been an overt narc and an alcoholic. It is understandable HOW my mother turned out as she did. But, to me, the biggest difference is that I chose to get help and to keep getting help until I was in a better place. She chose a different path. For that reason, I will continue my very limited contact with her.

Because sis has chosen to become an enabling flying monkey, I will limit my contact with her as well.

I will, only if asked, make the point that my husband hasn't tied up their hands, they could call me as easily as I could call them. He's not tying my hands up, I just have nothing to discuss with them, so I don't call. Don't blame my lack of contact on him.

I think I will mourn the relationship that could have been, one more time. I can't hold Mom accountable for who she can not be. I don't have to condone it, but I don't have the right to expect it. She is who she is. Dealing in reality is so much better than deluding myself with wishful thinking.

[sanmagic7]

number one, i applaud you, wife2.  wow!  what a leap forward from where you were just a couple of months ago.  fabulous!

number two, may i respectfully disagree with you on surviving any of this.  while it's true that there are quite a few survivors, there are so many who literally haven't survived it.  i believe surviving this crapola is something very special and deserves to be celebrated.  even as i write this, i've realized that i haven't celebrated myself enough.  we've been through * and have made it out.  they may have brought us to our knees, but they didn't kill us.  and not everyone can lay claim to that.  that is, indeed, something special.

so, here's to surviving moms, dads, sisters, brothers, families, ex's, children, friends and whoever else has traumatized us along the way.  while i don't wish them harm, per se, if they're not happy in their lives, i'm not sad about that.  as you pointed out, everyone has the option to change.  whoever doesn't want to, well, that's on them.  i don't have time or energy anymore to think too much on them.   that may be my own bitterness about all this leaking out, angry that i've had to continue to go through this pain and suffering because of what i was taught and what i believed was ok to allow others to do to me, but so be it.  it's where i am right now, imperfect as all get out!  maybe someday i'll feel different.

in the meantime, we here are choosing to move forward with honesty and truth, as painful as that may be at times.  but, it's also freeing, no?  applause applause, wife2.  you deserve it.  big hug!

[Wife#2]

Big hug back at you, San! You only have to go to last week's posts to see my bitterness isn't very long relaxed. I've begun to notice it comes and goes in waves. Those waves are timed to intentional or unintentional contact with the Narcs, PD's, Flying monkeys from whom I am currently not hiding. I know, when I mix with the PD and enabling crowd, I'll get drawn back in and back down. I'm NOW trying to learn to heal myself after each occasion and to preemptively strengthen myself when the contact is allowed or initiated by me.

I'm also beginning to recognize that my anger, bitterness and hurt all have never had any helpful effect on those who incited those emotions in me.

I am learning to claim my responsibility on things that I now know I can refuse, deny, correct and or avoid. Like Thanksgiving dinner. 10 years ago, I'd have caved and told my family they were going to Mom's house and they'd better NOT make a scene if they saw bugs. Now, I can refuse to go, love my family enough to not put them in that position and reject the guilt Mom tried to dole out. That last was the hardest, but I did it.

To be truthful, I believe we MUST go through the negative emotions before we heal. THAT is what was usually denied us as children. Our own emotions, authentic and immediate. Yes, if we're angry, we should be allowed to say, 'I'm angry. I'll talk calmly later. If you don't like that I'm angry, that's YOUR right, but don't tell me how to feel or when to feel it!' This is what we owe ourselves as grownups. Not in a self-indulgent, destructive way, though. I believe that is why so many of us need therapists, counselors, psychologists. Because we don't even know HOW to express positive or negative emotions in a healthy way.

So, long paragraphs to say, show me your bitterness, if that is what you are feeling right now. It's healthy and logical. And, I'm strong enough to withstand your expression of your bitterness. So, let it out! It doesn't offend me, it's not directed AT me. If it does scare me a little (because bitterness was reserved for the uNPD mother), I'm sure enough to stay standing, arms around you, letting you know YOUR opinion matters and YOUR emotions ARE valid. Right now. As you're feeling them. No apology needed among friends, though it is appreciated!

You've done that for me so many times in the past, and it's been a Godsend every time. Sincerely. I know we don't even know the faces of our friends on here, and that's as it should be. Still, I feel so connected and so like a sister/friend to you and others on this website. Thank you so much for being here for me. I'll keep being here for you, too. 

BIG, SINCERE, FRIENDSHIP LOVING HUG to you!!!!

[sanmagic7]

right back atcha.  lots of stuff going on today.  will explain later.  in the meantime, keep being the amazing you that's continuing to shine out of your darkness.  you're beautiful!

[Wife#2]

*** TRIGGERS - MEMORIES OF A BELOVED RELATIVE WHO HAS DIED ***

Today would have been my brother's 57th birthday. I still miss him so much! He was the one who probably suffered the most as a result of the FOO dysfunction, but through his adult years learned to call everyone out on our stuff. He could take what he dished, too. It was so refreshing!

I cherish the years we shared a house. I cherish the years he gave me someone to talk to besides Mom, someone who would tell me the truth. I cherish the laughter, the tears, the silences that were keeping secrets out of kindness. I even cherish the memories of his cat.

He's been gone 15 years. It still hurts, not to have him to bounce ideas off of, to laugh with, to cook, eat and clean with, to listen to, to know he's not in the world anymore.

As close as my sister and I were, I think I miss my brother even more. He was there when I began therapy after our sister died. He was there, calling me on my junk and laughing if I got irked. He showed me how adults are supposed to live (clutter free and honest with each other). He showed me ways of coping with our mother - they worked for him, some worked for me but not as well without him.

I remember him irritating the neighbor across the street because that guy loved country and bro was tired of listening to it INSIDE our house. So, he set up his club-quality sound system and in true fashion (making the point that he was gay - he thought it was funnier that way) played Barbara Streisand at top volume. Neighbors three blocks away could understand the lyrics! It was over a year after bro died that the neighbor parked in the front yard with his truck stereo blaring again.  We laughed so hard about that!

I remember the look of 'Oh, *, did Mom really just do that' and barely holding the belly-busting laughter in when Mom snorted right in the middle of our sister's wedding vows. The look of almost pain from trying to not laugh when she did it again. The running out of the room so we could all explode in laughter, then checking with Sis that she wasn't too ticked. She said she was more like tickled - it helped her relieve the strain and say her vows easily.

I remember the silly face he would give me when Mom would say something outrageous. It was half-way between a smirk and a sly grin. We could often communicate like that. No words, just expressions. Later, when Mom wasn't around, we'd roll with laughter and talk about what had been said.

He would tease me about how much I'd let Mom get away with towards me. That helped me know that I was allowing too much and that I needed to stop it. He strengthened me.

Our friendship was a major reason I was able to keep things together after our sister died. I helped him find the humor, he helped me see that the humor had been there all along. We encouraged each other in whatever the other was attempting.

I consider the two years my big brother shared my house the best years of my life in many respects. There were things going on that he knew little of, or didn't know at all, because I wanted it that way. He had his things going on about which I knew little or nothing. That was us respecting each others' boundaries. Still, we were there for each other as I'd never had anyone there for me in my life. I like to think I helped him as well.

So, on this day, to celebrate his birth, I will remember my brother. I loved him. I still love him. I miss him.

But, to be able to reminisce and keep my memories happy, I must avoid calling my mother or father. Mom will make it about her and Dad won't want to remember at all. So, I will write here about my brother. My friend. And smile as I remember him.

[sanmagic7]

i'm smiling with you.  he sounds like a wonderful brother, friend, and support person.  how refreshing.  i'm glad you had him in your life.  barbra streisand!  love it!!!

[Wife#2]

I've been in an interesting place lately. I've been focusing a little less on me and trying to reach out and help others. It saddens me that there are so many hurting people in this big old world. I keep hearing of more people from friends, coworkers, family members (when I do talk with them) and it makes me want to weep. Even more than the sad ASPCA commercials.

During this holiday season, I've had very little 'Christmas' spirit, but I've nurtured what was there and it's growing into a love of humanity as a whole. THIS is the person I was mean to be. Looking outward, wanting to help, console or encourage others. That is who I am. Yes, I will be hurt in this process. Even when it's not on purpose or directed at me, opening up my heart to others will leave me open to hurt for or with others. That is, to me, a deeper part of what it means to be human.

Anyone who reads this journal, or sees my posts for others, may have already picked up on the fact that I believe strongly in authentic appreciation of others' feelings. And encouraging those brave enough to face whatever challenges have landed in front of (or on top of) them.

My home life is getting better for the most part. Though my husband does almost assuredly have unDX CPTSD as well, he is currently pushing through and trying to push through to open up to me. That's not easy. He never was as open a person as I used to be and am becoming again. This is hard work for him. The risk is tremendous. I am learning to honor that risk and to make sure he knows that I respect him for who he is right now. I am learning to honor him for his desire to be a good man. He sees that and is learning to show me respect as a person, as his wife, as mother to his youngest child (he would say a better mother to all three).

He is taking his queues from me about how to talk to our son. Their relationship is getting better. I am taking my queues from him about how to stay firm and be the parent. My relationship with our son is getting better.

Last night was a very good night in my home. Even when DSS24 got mouthy with me. I had barely got into the house when it happened. I didn't know he'd come in with a chip on his shoulder about something outside the home and mouthed off with his father already. My husband took over the situation when I called DSS24 on his attitude. H almost made it about months of frustration with the young man. DSS called him on it and H checked himself and kept the discussion ABOUT THE attitude only. DSS apologized to me and to his father.

After that, we were able to all sit down and have a good meal together. That 20 minutes at the table were the best of the whole day for me. I didn't act all meek and ticked off. H didn't re-hash the attitude, the conversation or any old, resolved stuff. DSS and DS teased each other a little, but it was in fun and not mean-spirited as has happened in the past.

I feel like a superhero - not because I did anything in particular to make that evening go well. I just feel like a superhero because I was allowed to be a part of a good, normal time with my family.

Tonight may not be so nice. That's ok. I still have yesterday to remember. I can't expect perfection, that's not fair. I'll take a good evening, even if it's the last one until Christmas. It happened. I will rejoice.

My gift to myself was realizing that I did have a part in this going well. My other gift to myself was being OK with not being in control of anyone outside myself. My gift to my husband was showing him the respect to be head of our household. My gift to my sons was, without a word needed, showing my husband that keeping the thing about the thing makes the thing easier to resolve.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

[Wife#2]

**Triggers - bullies and their bat** bulling ways.

Ok, so I was/am triggered by another journal. That's fine! I'm not upset about being triggered. I'm looking at it as a chance to examine the trigger and what I'm feeling about it all.

I'm typing fast to get this on 'paper' so-to-speak. So, please forgive grammar errors (Sorry 10th Grade English teacher!).

So, bullies. I didn't experience the standard bullies. That would have been too obvious and thus too easily stopped. No. Mine were far more subtle and sophisticated. I was also an easy target.

I was a girl. I looked goofy, not bad, just goofy. My vision wasn't good. By 2nd grade, I was wearing glasses. I was smart, not average at all - except I was too dumb to know I should cover that fact up. I was soooo, veeeery thin -scrawny in fact. I had greasy, long hair that was un-brushed more often then it was brushed. I didn't brush my teeth regularly (Mom bailed on all the personal hygiene lessons). My clothes didn't fit right as I was last in line for the hand-me-downs. Despite being from a large family, in a neighborhood of large families, I had little to no social skills. I was awkward and revealed WAY too much (TMI was a lifestyle) at all the wrong times.

Oh, and the GC of my family - my brother only 2 years older than me, he was the biggest bully I faced. He wasn't teasing. He genuinely didn't like me. The parents thought he was teasing and let him - thinking they were making me tougher. Nope, they were allowing the verbal abuse to continue and convincing me that I deserved every last word of it. They only stepped in if we started hitting each other.

Flashback (this stinks, I'm at work and really need to do my job). I'm kindergarten age. I'm walking to school with both brothers and heart sister. She wasn't always close to me, though she tried harder than any of the rest. She and oldest bro are talking and walking ahead. GC bro is walking beside me, pretending to be talking like the older sibs ahead of us. What he's really doing is telling me how bad I smell and how he can't stand to walk near me anymore. He breaks off and runs up to the other siblings. It's about to the cut-off where I cross the street (usually with an older sib) to my kindergarten school. They'll keep on to the elementary just up the street. I'm not even crying. That was normal - he always did stuff like that. I ask oldest bro - who is my crossing-guard that day - if I smell bad. Who knows if I do or not, bro loves me and doesn't want me upset THAT close to school, so he says I'm fine.  I go into kindergarten class, but I hide on my mat. I check myself to see if I stink. I'm only 5, so I have no idea that you can't really smell yourself. All day, I am afraid that nobody will be my friend because I smell bad. I'm afraid to ask anybody. I stay by myself and feel shame washing over me. It's a hot shame, I can feel the sweat. Still, no tears.

Up a few years. I'm in 3rd grade, GC bro is in 5th grade. Sis and older bro are now in high school and don't walk with us anymore. GC bro HATES walking to school with his sister. We're going to the same place, but he's too good for that. He has convinced one of his friend's mother to drive him also. The only rule, he has to be there before she leaves. One day, I decide to follow him, that seems way more fun than walking. He gets there early and sits on the porch. I know if he sees me, he'll tell me to go away, these are HIS friends. The friend and his Mom come outside. SHE spots me and says to bro - so, is this your little sister? Would you like us to give her a ride, too? I'm out of hiding and nodding and thanking her. He's looking at me like he could kill me. His friend is laughing. I see the shame, angry look pass over my brother's face.

When we get home later that day is when GC bro explains the rule that HIS friends are HIS friends and I better NEVER follow him or embarrass him like that again. I can walk to school or find my OWN friends if I want a ride. What HE does is NONE OF MY BUSINESS and I'd better stay out of it and away from him.

Note, we're walking over 10 city blocks in a very large city. We're in private school, so I'm in a uniform that the pattern identifies the school. I am maybe 40 pounds of 3rd grader, female and walking a city street to school by myself because my big brother, the GC, can't stand to be seen with me. He doesn't see that this is a problem. But, on those few days when he can't find a ride, he mocks me because I've begun saying hello to regulars along the way. The newspaper guy, the guy who hangs out in front of the movie theater, the ladies who are usually crossing the same street as me and are always so nice. He tells me to stop talking to strangers, am I stupid or what? Again with attitude letting me know I'm not worth hanging around. He walks ahead. If I try to catch up, he walks faster. I stop before he ends up running. I can take a hint.

I gave it a few weeks, but one day when it was raining, I followed him again. A ride sure sounded better than walking. I couldn't hide from him so well this time, though. He saw me a turned around and pushed me away, telling me to go walk or get my own ride. I couldn't come with him and his friend. I turned around. I walked slowly, though, hoping the Mom would see me and take pity on me. She did, but bro told her that I had changed my mind and didn't want a ride that day. That afternoon, bro was really ticked with me. When he got home, he shoved me again, telling me to stop following him in the mornings or else.

In school things weren't much better.

1st grade, the teacher had humiliated me already, so the students thought it was fine to pick on me. I've told this story before, but I'm back there in a way, so let me tell it again.

Break time came. I didn't have to pee, so I stayed in my seat. These were those BIG clunkers with the space for books metal encased under the wood seat, metal arm holding up a wood desk surface. Time passes, maybe 10 minutes. I raise my hand. Nun acknowledges me. I ask politely, 'Sister, may I please go to the lavatory?', just as I'd been taught. She frowns and snorts and refuses. 'Break time was 10 minutes ago. No you may not.'

I'm only 5 years old (will turn six later that semester)! I sit miserably. Finally, I can hold it no more. Once again, I raise my hand. By the look of desperation on my face, the Nun can see that I'm serious, I have to go pee! But, she'd taken her stand and would not budge. She doesn't acknowledge me. Hand still raised, I feel the nightmare begin. I lower my hand, then lower my head. The evidence is now all over the seat and noisily forming a puddle below my desk. The other students begin to laugh at me. Nun, being the sort who should have retired decades before, is NOT amused at my disruption. Her course of action is to drag me to the front of the room, verbally punish me for disrupting her class and having so little control over my 5-year-old bladder. Then, she decides that a spanking is in order. Wet skirt lifted, she inflicts 5 licks on my wet bottom. She did not go gentle. Having decided I needed this correction, she gives her full strength.

Now, the other students aren't laughing out loud anymore. I am mortified, crying and hurting. She calls the janitor to bring cleaning supplies. I am told to clean my mess, with the class, Nun and the janitor watching. I clean my mess. I'm 5, though, and I do a 5-year-old's 'good job'. The janitor kindly mops up the small area under the desk that I missed and leaves before Nun can say anything to him about helping. She then sends me to the principal's office.

When I get to the principal's office (alone, walk of shame), I'm afraid to step inside. The secretary sees me outside and gently guides me into the office. The why is fragrantly obvious. I've begun crying, the secretary's kindness has overwhelmed me. She gets in touch with my sister (a 6th grader) and has her come to comfort me. She calls my mother (at work, Mom is irritated by the interruption). Mom leaves work, goes home, gets me clean underwear and a clean-ish uniform, brings them to the school and raises a big fuss. The Nun is called to the office. Mom blesses her out. At the time, I think it's because I've been so deeply wronged. I am so thankful for my mother for standing up for me like that!

The whole time, sis is soothing me, taking me to the bathroom to clean up and change, telling me I'm ok and that everything will be ok. Because it's her, I believe her.

Only recently have I realized that Mom wasn't so angry because her young daughter had been so wronged. She was angry because she had been embarrassed, having to tell her boss WHY she had to leave work, and having to leave work, and appearing to not have done her mothering job correctly by teaching me better control over my bladder. SHE was mortified, so she was angry and took it out on that Nun. The Nun was scared of Mom after that, and treated me better for the rest of the year.

But, the damage had already been done. I was pissy-pants on top of already being nerd, greasy-hair-girl, twiggy, geek, stink-mouth and klutz. Children have long memories when they get a reason to tease another child. This gave my brother, the GC, even more reason to want to disown relationship with me.

While my sister still attended the same school, she did what she could to help me. But, being 5 years older and getting ready to skip a grade due to her own great intelligence, she didn't have much opportunity. Her classes were on another floor and she couldn't be in the lunch room or the playground at the same time as me.

The whole school heard about the incident. It was a smallish elementary school anyway. No matter how hard the staff tried to make my time easier, and many did after that, I hated school. Those who tried to be my friends were made fun of for their association with me. The reputation was so stuck on me that two years later, sitting in class, the girl behind me, who hadn't even attended when it happened, leaned forward in her desk to whisper in my hair, 'You better not pee near me, pissy-pants, that's just gross.' What I wanted to do was turn around and tell her she was one to talk, her body odor was awful! But, I just sat there and took it. Because I'd already learned the futility of fighting back.

That was my first experience with mean girls. I found out girls rarely physically fight. What they do is form cliques or clubs and make it plain to the unqualified or uninvited JUST what their status is. Or, rarely, they'll do the most cruel thing. They'll pretend to befriend you, only to gain your confidence, then learn things about you that you'd only entrust to a friend. When they have enough ammunition, they dump you and then spill your beans to everyone who'll listen. At six years old, these girls already knew how to really hurt another girl. After that, I only had one female friend at that school, the rest of my friends were my fellow 'geeks', two really smart boys.

This was what elementary school was like for me. Home was GC brother treating me badly and the parents only noting, 'Would you two stop bickering?!' School was no better with the taunts that didn't stop, sometimes fed by GC bro so he could prove his distance from me socially.

When we left private school and began public school, things seemed to improve a bit. First of all, I was older and more capable of being on my own. I'd grown accustomed to not even acknowledging that I was related to GC brother. It just made life easier. Of course, the shared uncommon last name WAS a give-away, but he could tell his buddies whatever he wanted. I'd learned my lesson to keep my distance.

We moved a couple of times and I found that I could reinvent myself somewhat. Also, I learned that if I poked fun at myself FIRST, it took their desire to sting me with insults away, or at least lessened it. I became a bit of a class clown. That helped for a while. I was still socially awkward, with very few friends and fewer that lasted a long time. I just didn't know how to relate to other kids very well.

There is more, but this is already a manifesto it's so long. It's all spilling around my mind, standing in that elementary school yard, having my own brother throw a rock at me, standing in line to go inside and having kids push me to the back of the line so they wouldn't have to stand behind pissy-pants. Mean girls smiling at me, then sticking out their tongues at me. When a friend did hug me, hearing someone yell, 'Don't squeeze her too hard, she might pee on you!' So many more memories. They hurt and I'm tired and I want to close my eyes and forget for a while.

I'm trying to do my job. I'm trying to smile and be my usual upbeat self, but it just isn't there today. Hubby called, he's having a bad day for his own reasons, then apologized for dumping about his lousy day. So, I brightened my voice and pretended all is well to let him know I wasn't taking it personally. This isn't about him. He's actually been trying to be great lately.

Let me get off here before I just keep going too long. I've got to dig out of this long enough to do my job. I'll worry about home when it's closer to time to get there.

[Wife#2]

Still deeply triggered. Still flashing back. Still angry and ready to cry. Still want to lash out at those kids who were mean to me. Still want to cuss my brother for being so faithless a big brother - putting his own popularity ahead of his sister's heart.

To his credit, he spent about 3 months trying to be a good big brother. But, then, life was calling and he had more important things to do. Besides, I didn't learn basketball easily and thus wasn't very fun to play with, so -whatever. Later, sis. There are times I HATE him. Really HATE him. But, when I try to explain it to anyone, which hasn't been often, they think I'm exaggerating.

I can't talk to my husband about this because he's met my brother and thinks him a fine man. That day in New York? That day he blessed you out because our sister raised her voice to you in our hotel room - 'defending' his <gonna say this at last> REAL sister as family - forgetting that he's still as much MY brother as HER brother and it was MY husband he was yelling at - THAT is the real brother. THAT is the real state of things.

My shame regarding that New York trip is this: My family came to spend time in our hotel room. They doted on our son. They talked nice to me and husband. But, the elephant in the room was that I am not their family like everyone else. I am the outsider. So, later, when I was at the elevator with all but sis, I didn't hear what happened. I could hear her shouting. Brother bolted into the room and began shouting at you. I was in the hallway, completely conflicted about what to do next. I was angry at husband for starting something. I knew then and know now that you didn't really MEAN to start something, but I told you that our family is totally stupid about manners, even in the face of ridiculousness. Then, there's the complex situation with my brother. I can't fight him. I can't. I feel that I'm already so close to being exiled from the family forever that any misstep against the golden child will render me banished forever. So, once he enters the room, I cannot. I know I will defend my husband against my family. Bro is already there defending 'family' against my husband. Cussing my husband. And he didn't even know what had started it. I didn't either, which is why I stayed out. I had to choose between my husband and my birth family and I froze. Not really wanting to support my birth family, but having had enough trouble with husband to fear I may need them in the future. So, I froze.

Later, there was no apology deep enough to make that right. I didn't have my husband's back when it mattered most. The battle lasted nearly 20 minutes. When bro and sis stormed out of the hotel room, they all left the hotel. The air was thick with my family's hatred of my husband. When I went in, I half expected him to have sprouted horns and a forked tongue, knowing that was silly. Still, he had remained calm throughout it all. He was deeply disappointed in me for bailing on him. I couldn't explain it. I couldn't explain how a lifetime of cowering in the face of any sibling anger equipped me to bail on him. How our marriage challenges made me fear their displeasure more than his.

And all he had said was that sis had been a poor planner and that he would have planned things better. And he was right. And, before giving his opinion, he asked her TWICE if she was sure she wanted his opinion that she might not like it. She shouted and cussed. Bro shouted and cussed. Hubby sat there, took it and waited for them to get it out of their systems and leave.

I'm sitting here, re-feeling all that shame in abandoning my husband when my family attacked him. Shame in the why. Shame in the fact that my mother, the narc who emotionally crippled me this way, witnessed it all, including my inability to rise up against my birth family even when they were WRONG. I wasn't good enough. I dare not. In no situation could I foresee myself being right and any, let alone two, siblings agreeing that they were wrong.

It took almost a year for my brother to apologize to my husband. He never did apologize to me, he couldn't see how he wronged me (we always stick up for each other in THIS family - oh, do we?). My sister has not and will not apologize to my husband. She's had a couple of conversations where she at least admitted that she contributed to the badness of the situation, but no apology to husband or me. The closest she's come to an apology was to make a joke about not asking for my husband's opinion unless you really, really want it.

Even my husband doesn't understand why I was paralyzed in that situation. I can't explain it without painting myself a victim and my family as horrible people. But, sometimes, especially to me, they ARE horrible people! For some reason I have never understood, it seems to be acceptable to many in my family to be horrible towards me and mine. But, they do it with such good manners that it's even harder to call them on it. They have plausible deniability - I was just too sensitive and read too much into it. Bull *, I did not. You (Mom, brother, sister) DID say that and you DID mean that and no amount of 'you took it wrong' will change it! Almost 50 years in this family and I'm not so easy to trick with word games anymore.

Wow, another rant. Unprocessed emotions will spout like a pressured volcano, won't they? Breathing. Remembering I'm not still in New York. I don't have to hear bro or sis and their uppity, superior ways. I don't have to watch Dad glow with pride at GC bro's children and look with confused delight and concern at mine. We seem to be entertaining, not pride-inspiring. Whatever. I'm going to quit while I'm breathing, or I'll get going again. Good night, all.