Overcoming Dysfunctional Family Patterns: My Personal Story

Hey friend, 

It’s me again. I know it’s been a while, but I’ve been, how do I put this? I’ve been navigating through some caca! How do you navigate healthy boundaries while also showing up for your loved ones? If you have the secret sauce, please do share! The last week was rough, with a capital R. My Grandma (aka my favorite person in the whole wide world) fell ill. I’ll spare you all of the boring details, but ultimately, she got a blood infection that landed her in the hospital. She was in sepsis and on the brink of septic shock. So, I stayed overnight for the first three nights so that my favorite person in the world wasn’t alone. And I do not regret it, not even for a second. But that might also be the unhealed portions of me talking. 

I only came home to run some errands and get a few changes of clothes. But, thankfully, I had an apt with Dr. M before I was planning to return. (I think portions of me knew that I needed to see her. Shoutout to the healthier portions of me! I see you!) Honestly, I am so glad that I did because I was planning to head straight to my Grandma’s from her office, and in hindsight, I think that in meeting with her, I was subconsciously trying to save myself. As I revisit the conversation I had with Dr. M, I am incredibly grateful.

“I don’t want to be around him,” I said. “I want to scream ‘pedophile!’ when he walks into the room.” Instead, I get up and hug him to acknowledge his presence (as trained by my mother, and against my body and mind screaming at me not to.) And by he, I mean my uncle, the pedophile one that recently had his known victim count go from not just one but to two of his sisters. (God only knows how many more victims he has.) So, there I was, swallowing my discomfort down and then again when my mom walked in. Albeit, not for the same reasons. And all because I needed to be there for my Grandma. Oh, how quickly we fall right back into dysfunctional family systems. 

Do you think this all sounds counterproductive? I would say that it does. I am doing all of this work to help regulate my nervous system, get it unstuck, out of a state of perpetual hyper-vigilance, and learn how to recognize and trust the internal sirens that go off when danger is near, yet there I was actively forcing myself to override it again. Dr. M’s voice grounded me as she said, “I don’t want you to have a setback.” And Dr. M was more than qualified to say f u c k t h a t when I told her one of his victims (my aunt) proclaimed, “let it go” to the other when she shared how she was struggling with her abuser being present. I can only imagine that my eyes grew wide at Dr. M’s response. I’m sure she saw my eyes searching hers for validation and approval that not being okay with him being there really was okay. 

She understands that I’ve been conditioning myself to go numb and disassociate as a means of surviving environments that my mother put me in for a really long time. So, she leaned in instead of letting go, and her voice broke through, and for the first time in my life, I heard a voice louder than my mom’s. It took me aback so suddenly that it seemed to yank me awake. I refocused on her face as she explained, “I will say it again to make sure you can hear me. F U C K T H A T.” Dr. M said it, this time her eyes searching mine as though searching for some sort of validation that I understood, that I recognized the imminent danger, that I would take her hand and run with her because I was the only one that could save myself. Her voice was filled with, “The house is on fire, we have to go! We have to go now!” I saw the relief wash across her face as she realized I was coming with her, away from the flames of the dilapidated home, suddenly at the brink of collapse. 

Do you remember the “Pick your ending” books? Well, this was that for me. I realized that I could pick a different path. I wanted to jump out of my seat and hug her. But then, I probably wouldn’t have caught her explanation that “Let it go” comes from a place of brokenness. It comes from a place of surviving, not from a place of strength. I could really decide for myself to not be present in an environment that makes me uncomfortable. And when I shared the news of the decision that I made with Dr. M not to go back because neither of us wanted me to have a setback with the man that I love, his “me too” gave me even more space to breathe. That makes three. And so it was settled. 

F U C K T H A T. I needed to hear that. It was the equivalent of jumpstarting a dead battery, and slowly, yet suddenly, I felt the sputter like that of an engine sputtering as it struggled to come back to life. “I don’t want to be near my mom. I don’t want to be near my pedophile uncle. I don’t want to watch my Grandma die.” And in all of her wisdom, Dr. M said, “Notice that! You don’t want to be there. You’re saying, I don’t want to go, I don’t want to. I don’t want to. But you’re being pulled. So, what’s pulling you?” And clear as day, I said, “my mom.” 

The toothpaste was out of the tube, and there was no putting it back. My mom is still in control. And now Dr. M knows it, and I know it too. We then navigated how I could have boundaries that kept me safe and prevented me from having a setback, and so we settled on lots of phone calls and daily FaceTimes with Grandma so that she could still feel my presence without me needing to be in theirs. 

I get to decide my environment now. And as that reality starts to sink in past my brain and into my body and spirit, I’m even more grateful for the incredible support system that lends me their strength as I work to develop my own. Sorry, Mom, but there’s a new Sheriff in town. 

And now, true healing can begin, hopefully, for both of us.

Because, like she said… 

F u c k T h a t, 
iK