when hard feelings prevail

The Italian elderly man wore the face of an ancient patriarch as he marched out orders in his broken English. He urgently needed to renew something he no longer really needed. Carefully, he monitored every move as his middle-aged son drove him to his destination.

“Turn right. Not that way. Bend the wheel further or you'll hit that car.
Stop in front of the yellow post.
No. Not there… closer to the entrance.”

Caught in this hail storm of directives, the son felt more like teenager than a veteran driver in his fifties. When things didn’t go his way, the elderly man broke out into something part way between a tantrum and a panic attack. That day was no exception. When asked respectfully to calm down, he got hot and defensive and sulked silently in resentment the rest of the way home.

When they returned the ordeal apparently had only begun. The elderly man wanted to justify his behavior while his son wanted to hear no more. Both men exchanged harsh words that resulted in some out-of-control behavior. Finally, as if entering a temporary state of insanity, the elderly man broke out into a torrent of verbal abuse and curses as one pours acid into a fish tank.

The days that followed ticked away painfully slow as everyone retreated to their corner. Heaviness mingled with restless thoughts. Father muttering something to himself; son trying to block out his father's despair. The rest of the family were ineptly caught between the two opposing forces.

When it comes to family conflicts, the redemptive lessons hide themselves like insects of the night. You can't distinguish the guilty from the innocent; the abuser from the injured. It's tempting to sweep it under the carpet. It’s easier to focus on the irrational and combative behavior while forgetting the destructive inner brooding that can wear out the physical and emotional self. The concept of forgiveness can become insurmountable because it’s often muddled up with religious clichés. What remains clear, is that no one can win while hard feelings prevail.

My Father's Aloofness Part II

Photo Credit: "I always felt that I needed to work much harder than other people did in order to feel and be loved." -- Christine Anne Platel

Connecting feeling to the past is painful because my father didn't know how to connect with me. Men of his generation (and before) had to be tough and just bear the hardships without complaining. No one had any right to enjoy anything for very long without a dark long shadow looming large. Now, as an adult survivor I have a hard time believing anyone wants me around. I never acknowledged this state-of affairs. How would you called it? The loss of...?

The best title I can offer is the "the loss of feeling wanted" Perhaps it's not a loss, because I don't know if I ever had the feeling in the first place. Now, my wounded inner child screams for attention, seeking ways to compensate for the love deficit of my childhood -- hypervigilantly looking for signs of rejection: long pauses in conversations, bored looks, short replies or smiles that are meant to create distance.

Unavailable Parents

Photo Credit:

As a child I remember my father's dark and stormy character with his unpredictable outbursts of rage. He only made eye contact when shouting at me. 

My mother on the other hand strained under the weight of many internal and external conflicts. Her disastrous marriage undermined her health in the form of migraines, ulcers, anxiety and bouts of depression, so that no matter how much she loved her us (her two children), we became a small wedge when it came to receiving her attention and love.

Fortunately, my relationship with my mother did blossom later in life and we still enjoy each other’s company greatly. She continues to be a source of support and inspiration to me especially in times of need. My father continues to be aloof and violent in temper and although I try to have conversations with him, they are more like monologues. 

Intuitive Feeling

Codependent or Not...

I wish I could distinguish the difference between those serious emotional impairments of life from those invented by the self-help industry for personal or commercial gain. For example, there are authors who assign denial, confusion and self-doubt under the umbrella of codependent behavior. Is it true? On the other hand, others believe "codependency" is a myth and does not need treatment, but is viewed as a healthy personality trait taken to an excess (Wikipedia). So, are we talking about a psychological disorder/handicap that requires life long help, or rather a condition requiring some guidance and reorientation about setting boundaries? This controversy continues to elude and sometimes torment me. What's worse is that my dilemma doesn't end with codependency, for I have just about as many questions about other areas of life such as spouse-related abuse (narcissism), divorce, starting over after divorce and personality traits (HSP).

-- TR

The Rescuer Archetype

“ Expect nothing, live frugally on surprise.” -- Alice Walker

For most of my life I was a reluctant social drifter, accepting my role as a quiet observer, yet somehow internally passionate at the same time. Without knowing why I found myself following a rescuer archetype, which I will designate, the "Littlest Hobo". This will require digging up some dusty archive TV knowledge: Some of you might remember the intriguing old ¨Littlest Hobo¨ series from the 70s. It focused around a stray German shepherd that wandered from town to town rescuing people in need. It was similar to Lassie, but the Littlest Hobo never had an owner and though many people sought to adopt him, he preferred to be on his own and would head off by himself at the end of each episode. The faces of the actors always changed so that the only constant was the dog.

The dismystification process unfolded as my eyes opened to personality disorders. Although the poem below belongs to another writer under different circumstances, I still identify with the idea of being outside the door of my father's life and how it resulted in a pattern of moving from place to place without forming roots. Of course, there is something noble about rescuing strangers without asking anything in return, without belonging ... moving on as that little superhero figure. Perhaps it was safer to acquire admiration from a distance than risk intimacy with who kNows who … rescuing gets the job done, but without the ties that eventually could wound or shatter one's fragile idealistic world.

© TR 2008

"Underneath The Door"

My father was a doctor

Who would come home late at night

With a soul so bruised and bleeding

From his unending, faithful fight

To keep a hold of kindness

In a world that isn't kind

To hold out the hope of healing

To his hurting humankind.
Then he'd flee back to his study

To his bookish, quiet place

With notes and books and journals

To wall in his special space

And then he'd lock the door

From things that cannot be locked out

And his youngest son would starve for what

He'd always do without
But it was meant to make me who I am

And for all these many years

Still the little boy down on his knees

Full of hope and full of fear

Calling underneath the door

"This is me, it's who I am."

Cause we love the best by listening

When we try to understand
Desperate stubby fingers

Pushing pictures 'neath the door

Longing to be listened to

By the man that I adored

Inside someone who needed me

As much as I did him

Unable to unlock the door

That stayed closed inside of him
It's strange the way we tend to flee

From what we need the most

That a father would lock out a son

When his heart would hold him close

But our wounds are part of who we are

And there is nothing left to chance

And pain's the pen that writes the songs

That call us forth to dance.

Lyrics/Credits:P 2002 Covenant Artists, LLC©

2001 Mole End Music/Administered by Word Music Michael Card