I find myself reflecting today on a recent phone call from my sister. The backdrop to this call is the several other interactions I have had with my sister this year. The upshot of the first two interactions was that I got honest with her about the things that happened in our family. I detailed for her a list of things she has done that have hurt me over the years. I asked her not to response as she is always full of excuses, rationalizations, justifications and judgments. These were my exact words to her.
Then I wrote the book. The Second Child is not a very flattering representation of her, and it was accurate. I send her the Amazon link when I self-published the book out there. I would like to say I did that because it’s only fair that she know about it, but that’s not exactly true. I wanted her to say to her, much sooner than real publishing, “Eff you.”
My sister did read the book. A normal person would have a reaction to things I said about them in the book. They might be mad, they might be sad, they might deny it, they might say they are sorry. When my sister called, I was afraid to even answer, not knowing what her reaction would be. I was afraid to even listen to the message at first, but eventually, I did.
What she said was this, “Just wanted to call and see how you are doing. I’m doing fine, considering a career change, but doing okay, and hope you are, too.”
I had that old familiar feeling. Am I living in an alternate reality? This is not how a normal person would react, acting like nothing has happened.
Bottom line – my sister’s reaction was not authentic. I did not call her back. I don’t want to play that “everything is fine and nothing has happened” game with her. I also don’t want her to feel sorry for me. I don’t want to deal with any anger from her. But probably she has indeed put me in the “pity category”.
You can’t have healthy relationships with people who are not authentic. It’s gaslighting. It’s completely unnerving.
I can understand why many people do not embrace authenticity. It’s not pretty a lot of the time. When my sister’s husband got sick 2 years ago, my first thought was, “I hope he dies.” That was literally my first thought. I knew in my heart that wasn't really my wish for him, but then I understood consciously just how angry I was at my sister.
Thinking “I hope he dies” is not a socially acceptable thought. It’s not kind, it’s not nice, it’s not pretty. But that’s the thing about authenticity. If you don’t start there, you never get anywhere. Being authentic gives you room to outgrow it. Maybe not to get to the socially acceptable place, although that usually follows eventually, but to a place where you can make peace with it.
I've had much the same experience with my children. I spent one day last week literally thinking about how much I hate them. Really, really hate them. I was thinking about all the things I wish they would be – successful or at least self-supporting, hard-working, well-adjusted. Like my friends’ kids. Like my sister’s kids. Then I felt guilty about thinking that.
I struggled with that for a while. I realized that some of that comes from my identity being dependent on them to some degree. That’s a narcissistic thing, and while I do not have narcissistic personality per se, like my mother did, my son has observed that I do have “narcissistic style”. And of course I do, why wouldn’t I? I was raised by a narcissist.
Then I felt guilty for how I felt, this time about my children. Trouble is, whatever the cause, it was an authentic feeling that day, and often many other days as well. I can deny it or I can deal with.
What gave me some relief? I could hear Diane saying in my mind, “Well, of course you feel like that.” It's logical given the circumstances. Diane would accept me, and she would completely accept that feeling, just as it is. And then I was okay. It’s just simple math, like 1 + 1 = 2.
The problem with not acknowledging our authentic feelings, however ugly they may be, is without that, we have no real foundation to build our lives on. I can remember early on in sobriety a picture I had in my mind. Having started to get honest, I found I had a little piece of truly solid ground to stand on for the very first time in my life. Like there was a circle of beautiful marble floor beneath my feet.
At first this solid ground was just a small circle I was standing on. Then, as I continued to be honest, I added pieces on and on to it. As time went on, sometimes very slowly, sometimes very quickly, I added enough solid pieces to my little rock solid circle that I actually had enough room to walk.
I’m still angry at my sister, and I don’t know when I won’t be. Her phone call and the confusing, self-doubt-inducing feeling of being gaslighted again has done nothing to relieve that.
The long family history of gaslighting doesn’t work for me.
I need solid ground beneath my feet. That only happens when you embrace honesty.
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