Letters.

When I was thirteen my parents separated.  I remember that is was summertime, and I was at the top of the stairs. I could hear them talk (they didn't know I was listening).  I vividly remember my mom saying, "This just isn't working."  I knew at that moment that everything was about to change.

Lots of kids are sad when they find out that their parents are getting divorced, but not me.  I remember thinking finally.   Escape, safety, possible happiness. 

That summer my sister and I spent three weeks in Minnesota visiting my grandparents and my aunts.  We did a lot of fun things like boat rides on Lake Minnetonka, shopping with my grandmother, going to the old logging camp near my cabin for breakfast with my aunt.  We stayed with my other aunt at her house in St. Paul, which to my sister and I was a mansion.  These weeks were like living with the real world on pause.  You knew it would end eventually, but you didn't really want it to. 

When I was a child, visiting Minnesota was always like a dream.  I had only experienced Kenwood and Lake Minnetonka, so I thought all of Minneapolis was like that.  Growing up I remember swimming at Minnekahda Club, drinking ginger ales, visiting the Science Museum, and going downtown.  Compared to South Dakota, everyone seemed happier, their cars seemed shinier, the billboards were more clever, and even the sounds of airplanes overhead made me feel like I was in this magical place.  I never wanted to leave.

It was August, and I knew we were basically hiding out from my father until we absolutely had to go back home to South Dakota when the school year would start.  When we did return, we spent the first night at a friends house because my mom was afraid to go home. 

Eventually, we did go back home, for a few weeks, until my mom could move us into our new house.  The old house was on a beautiful 25 acre farm outside of town.  Although the farm was a wonderful place to be, it was also secluded.  No one could see what our family was truly like, could know if we were in trouble or needed help.  This was convenient for my dad, who liked to show the world one side of him, hiding his demons for us to see only at home. 

I remember that those days home with both parents were scary.  My father was always a mean drunk, but it was worse now.  He talked to me like I was his peer, not his daughter.  He would make me listen to this Reba McIntyre song, "The Greatest Man I Never Knew," and would tell me how sad and depressed he was.  Dad told me all the inappropriate jokes I would hear references to but had never understood ("Cleanliness is next to Godliness," he would always say).  He would drink and play music so loudly that I could never escape him, no matter where I was in the house.  My mom would disappear for hours with her friends from church or to Al-Anon meetings.  It was lonely.  I was constantly on guard, trying to keep my little sister safe, trying to be sure we could hide if we had too. 

I remember it was fall when my mom somehow managed to buy a house in town.  Both my aunts came to town to help us move out of the farmhouse and into our new place.  They had a room at the Holiday Inn.

My dad and my aunts had never gotten along as far as I could remember.  I remember many blow out arguments at our family cabin and at Christmas time.  Everything he did made them angry, and vice versa.  Every argument was confusing to me.  I knew my dad was doing things "wrong" (drinking, smoking cigars, etc.; there are many unspoken rules in my mom's side of the family) but I also knew that I loved my dad.  My aunts were defending my mother, but also could be tough to please no matter what you did.  (That remains true).  I can understand why they didn't like my dad, but I can also understand why my dad didn't like them.

You have to choose your battles with a mean drunk.  Is it worth it to criticize their drinking?  No.  It only causes arguments and it certainly won't stop the alcohol consumption.  Quite frankly, I think it only encourages the drinking.  My aunts did not understand this, and they did not understand that their responses to my dad only escalated his behavior, which in turn lead to me feeling shameful and embarrassed.  You also have to choose your battles with judgmental rich white ladies.  Is it worth smoking a cigarette right now?  No.   It only will encourage them to lecture you about what you "ought" to be doing.  Which leads to feeling that you aren't good enough and more shame.

When my aunts came to South Dakota to help my mom move, I remember my dad drinking heavily.  The music in our house was so loud that you had to shout over it to communicate.  I can't remember what I did during those days very clearly.  I do remember having to comfort my dad. 

What I do remember vividly is my mom leaving.  The last night we were to spend at the farmhouse, before we could move into and sleep at the house in town, she slept at the Holiday Inn with my aunts.  She left my sister and I alone with my dad that night.  I was terrified.  She said she wanted us to have one last night with him, even though I begged her not to leave us.  I did not understand why she thought that was a good idea.

Now that I am older, I have no understanding of why she or my aunts would think that this was an acceptable thing to do.  Clearly my father had been drunk all day.  He was obviously angry and unstable.  And yet they left me there.  Alone.  If my mom was so afraid to stay with him, why would she leave my sister and I there?  Granted, my mom was really struggling at the time, but should not my aunts have known better?  I would never leave my kids in a situation like that, nor would I leave my nieces, or any child in that position.

I remember hiding upstairs with my sister, trying to keep safe and away from my dad.  He was so angry.  He spent the night yelling and raving about how terrible my mom and my aunts were.  Beyond that, all I remember the feeling of fear.  The rest of the night is blank.

Yesterday during my appointment at RSAC my therapist, Shannon, suggested that I write letters to my mom and to my aunts.  I was telling her about the last night with my dad and how angry and fearful it made me; about how it still makes me feel.  When something happens today that slightly reminds me of that feeling of abandonment, I slide right back to how I felt when I was 13.  Shannon said that I could write these letters and express the feelings, because they are valid.  At least than I would have spoken my truth.

I find my aunts to be two of the most difficult people to talk to in the world.  I have never felt that I measure up to them or to my cousins, for that matter.  It seems that no matter what I do, it is never good enough.  When I was a teenager, they treated me as if I was crazy.  The reality was, I was a kid who was horribly abused and they never knew, never helped me.  When I found out I was pregnant with my son, I was young and alone.  They didn't talk to me for months and tried to talk me into an abortion.  While my cousins have gotten to go to college, grad school, had opportunities to travel, I have had none of that gifted to me. I have worked hard for everything I have in the world and asked them for nothing.  While I have tried to be a part of their lives, it feels like they don't even know me.

This last Christmas, my husband and I tried to host Christmas Eve at our new house.  I have always spent Christmas Eve with my aunts and I remember it being the best day of the year growing up. I still look forward to it every year.  I wanted to give that to my kids, and to have the chance to host my aunts the way they had hosted me in the past.  At first, they planned to come and everyone was really excited.  Then they backed out at the last minute.  The hurt I felt at the moment I found out they weren't coming brought me right back to age 13.  Since Christmas I have talked to one aunt 3 times and the other once. I don't know what to say and I am honestly still really hurt. 

I tell myself that all of this is stuff that I know better than to feel.  I recognize that we all have our limitations, that my aunts do the best they can with what they have, and that I can create my own Christmas memories with my kids.  But you know what?  Some of that thinking is total bullshit.  My aunts failed me and my sister by leaving us behind that last night with my dad.  They should have protected us.  And it is okay for me to be angry and sad about that.

Whether it is my defiant nature, my need to prove myself, or simply my need to make everything seem okay, I have risen above a lot.  Children who grow up in alcoholic families so often marry alcoholics or become alcoholics.  Girls who are molested and abused so often grow up to be abused.  Girls who have kids young so often have highly mobile lives with little stability.  Women who experience domestic violence so rarely get out.  Yet, I have overcome all of this.  As a matter of fact, I have more than overcome.  Yet, I never feel that  I measure up.  My insides feel so different than my outsides: I feel like often things are so out of control and that I am a total mess.

I am so angry.  I wish I did not have the feelings I have, because it makes being present in the moment and simply enjoying life really hard sometimes.  Some days it seems so unfair.  And then I am mad at myself for feeling that way because self pity is so unattractive and really pretty gross.

How do I learn to give myself a break?