These days, I am in a place with my Recovery where I rarely complain. It's too easy for me to recognize that everyone has difficulties. I am well-practiced in being grateful for what I do have, and in remembering how there are so many others who have so much less. But this, too, has its dangerous side; if I ignore what I'm feeling, then I am practicing denial and taking the path back to active addiction. So the challenge becomes to recognize what I'm going through, to feel my feelings fully, and then to keep them in proper perspective. This can be a real challenge when dealing with my family of origin.For those who don't know the term, it refers to the family we were raised in. Usually it's our birth relatives, the people in the same house as us when we were growing up, but not always. More often than not, it's the source of a lot of anger and resentment that we carry as adults. Often times, the things we experienced by growing up in that environment have played a significant part in why we first picked up. I tend to think of the phrase as a polite way to say, 'those insane people I share blood with'.
No one in my birth family is a practicing addict or alcoholic, but their thinking and behavior is often similar to what those of us with this disease experience. I’ve heard drug & alcohol counselors describe those with severe codependency as nothing less than people who have our disease, but without the addiction.
My sister got married a few months back. When I was visiting my mom this morning, I saw that one of the pictures had been framed and was on display. The picture was of my sister, her new husband, our folks, and myself. It looked nice and I said so to my mom. She agreed, then went on to say that she wished they'd gotten a picture of just the four of them. I made a slightly snarky comment to her and she realized pretty quick what she had said.
I'm going to take a brief minute here to cover my ass: as someone with this disease, I am notoriously self-centered. So when my mom, when talking about a family picture, says she wishes she had one that I wasn't in, that's how I hear it--regardless of how the comment was actually phrased. But, going back to my point, it never occurred to her that she had said she wished she had a picture that I wasn't in. Little comments like this, little side jabs and lack of thought about others, has built up years of difficulty in communicating with my family. The way they tell it, though, is they have to walk on eggshells around me.
Some time in recovery and some work done on developing my own boundaries has helped me to learn that I don't make them walk on eggshells. I am not responsible for how the behave, the way they think, or things they say or do. They are responsible for themselves. I am responsible for myself, for standing up for my thoughts and my feelings. Today, that meant pointing out to my mom that she had said she wished for a picture without me. I know that wasn't her intent, and maybe I didn't have to say anything. I choose my battles with my family, sometimes wisely, but not always so much. This comment today might seem like a little thing, but I think most people can relate to how loaded our interactions with our families are (pun unintentional).
This example with my mom is a really minor one, of course, but it’s good for my larger point: my family isn't really safe for me to open up to. Every difficulty is a problem they have to solve. Many things I share about my thoughts or my feelings are 'wrong' to them, and they've corrected me many times, told me what I should be thinking, should be feeling. I'm not really allowed to just think what I think or feel how I feel around them. Such are their issues, that they think less of themselves if they don't fix my problems or 'correct' me.
My friends in the program aren't like that. This is why I am so grateful to the program and for having people in my life now who can and do provide the love and support a family of origin is supposed to. They respect and love me for who I am, just as I am. They help me when I need help, when I ask for it. They listen to me without passing judgment or imposing their perspective. With them, I’m allowed to just be who I really am.
Like others in the program who share my experience, I call these friends my Family of Choice. They’ve been where I’ve been; they’ve felt how I feel. I don’t have to explain myself to them, they understand. It’s not a coincidence that so many people in the NA rooms start their shares with, “Hello, family…” We give each other the love and support that our blood family was supposed to give us, but didn’t.
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