I was inquisitive, impetuous, talkative, sensitive, and otherwise just full of energy as a young boy. I know I was a handful. But it was communicated to me, in no uncertain terms, that it was my responsibility to be quiet, still, compliant, and attune to my dad’s emotional state – so as not to upset or anger him.

My inability to just comply was a constant source of emotional, mental, and physical distress for me.

In a therapy session a while ago, my therapist shared with me that when it comes to the parent/child dynamic, the only responsibility a young child has is to express their needs, and the only responsibity of a parent is to attune to that child’s needs. That’s it.

I cannot tell you how much relief that has brought me, as a 50-something year old man.

My dad wasn’t parented well. Of this, I am sure. He was born while World War II was winding down – a really difficult time for many. His dad wasn’t in the picture – abandoning him and his mom before my dad has memories. He experienced loss and abandonment again when his mom died while he was still a child. The parenting responsibilities were then transferred to his aunts, uncles, cousins, and his mom’s parents. No doubt he experienced a pretty difficult childhood, and those who were left to care for him probably didn’t feel much attunement towards him. More likely, he was just another mouth to feed, in a time when everything was scarce. It’s no wonder he felt a perceived need for attunement from his children. But to quote a memorable commercial, that’s just not how it works (okay, not how it’s supposed to work)!

I might be getting ahead of myself a bit. Might help to have some sort of working understanding behind that word attunement.

Attunement is knowing what someone needs, without them having to explain it. It’s perception that is led by the right hemisphere of our brains – the creative, intuitive side. Understanding someone requires being “in tune” with ourselves, our own feelings, and then also being connected with them, in tune with their feelings and needs.

This may only be somewhat of a great story example, but it’s what comes to mind so I’m going with it. When my son was to the point of beginning to eat soft (mushy) foods, I enjoyed getting to feed him. A weird thing would happen, though. As I would go to put a spoonful of mush towards his mouth, my mouth would open – and then so would his! As hard as I tried not to, it just kept happening. My body was signaling to his what I needed him to do. My intuitive side was directing me, which was directing him – all without words. And it worked. The same thing happened when I started spoon-feeding our daughter. I couldn’t help it! To me, that’s at least a physical picture of what attunement does between two people.

Hang with me. I’m about to turn a corner, here. Might wanna grab a handle!

Six years into my life, I gained a stepmom. I think I’ve mentioned before, I was only allowed to call her “mom” – from day one. And as a boy who had grown up without a mom to that point, I quickly accepted her as my new mom. But I’d missed out on six years of chances to be attuned with by her. That ship had sailed! My disoraganized attachment style had already formed. I was still inquisitive, impetuous, talkative, sensitive, and otherwise full of energy. I also had six years of feeling shame for not being able to stop being any of those things! She had a son with whom relationship was pretty easy. Now she had me, and my older sister too. My sister was quite compliant. So, that just left me – the problem child. Not long after we became a family, I was formally tested for and diagnosed with ADHD. Then I was placed on a strict diet, with my new mom in charge of keeping me compliant for that diet. She was also in charge of trying to keep me from failing out of school, when all I wanted to do was go outside and play. To say our relationship was pretty rough is more than true.

Then I was handed a porn magazine at age eight, and a whole new level of internal turmoil began.

When I was a preteen, my mom told me that my behavior was just like that of her sister’s, who had been diagnosed as schizophrenic, who was a drug user, who spent her time going between mental institutions and jail, and that I was going to end up just like her. I’m sure she hoped it would be a wake up call and “get me on the straight and narrow”.

It was not a wake up call. It was an insult and it really, really hurt! It showed me that she didn’t understand me, feared me, had no ability to attune with me, and wasn’t capable of really even seeing me. It was another reason, added to my already long list of reasons, not to trust her – or really anyone – with my hurts and feelings. I continued on my path of acting self-righteous while engaging in hidden unwanted behaviors and self-loathing, and doubling-down on porn use and seeking fulfillment in anything sexual, in an effort to make myself feel better. Yeah, I know…a self-defeating shame cycle.

I also doubled down on my efforts at appearing to have it all together. I don’t think there’s any coincidence that it was around this same time that I “felt called to ministry” and declared publicly that I was going to be a minister when I grew up. After all, I loved to sing, and at the time the only other thing I thought I needed to know was how to wave my hand in front of a pulpit – then I could be a “music minister”.

It’s actually a wonder I didn’t become schizophrenic. But then again, I was an addict. And I did hear a lot of voices – criticizing, condemning, and harsh – telling me I would never amount to anything. So, what’s really the difference? I’m not entirely sure.

Sticks and stones: Bring them on.

Words hurt.

(the deep end, part 2)

Have you ever been skinny dipping? No…don’t answer that. Well, unless you just want to.

A few months ago, I found myself in a situation where I thought I’d been invited to a skinny dipping party. When I arrived at the location, I was the first one to show up. The gate was unlocked, and the water looked inviting. Feeling fairly confident, I went ahead, undressed, and got in the pool.

Not long after, the owner of the pool showed up – fully dressed in his business casual attire. He immediately started yelling at me. What the hell are you doing in my pool!? Who invited you!? Nobody ever said anything about a party, and certainly not a skinny dipping party!! Get out! Get out!!

I was so confused and not a little humiliated! So, of course, after I regained my composure, I got out, grabbed my clothes, and ran!

Later, when I was processing what happened from the safety of my couch, I felt pretty confident that it was, in fact, the owner himself who invited me! I mean, that’s sure the way I remembered it! My wife was there, too, when he gave the invite. I checked with her. Yup. He did invite me! It was clearly an invite. And there were a lot of other people there at the time too!

This all took place several months ago. I decided the best thing I could do was to just move on. Clearly, there was some sort of really poor miscommunication. Better to not dwell on it. I tried to just forget it.

Just last week, I learned that the owner of that pool decided he needed to warn others about me. He took it upon himself to tell someone I interact with frequently that I was unsafe. He said it was for the other person’s best interest – and also others’ best interest as well. People should approach me with caution – in case I decide to go jumping in other people’s pools all willy-nilly in my birthday suit with no invitation.

All of this really happened. I just left out one word. It’s an important word.

Emotional.

In a large group setting, someone of prominence and power – a leader of leaders – invited the entire group to go emotional skinny dipping with him. This guy gave a presentation and asked for feedback. Everyone is welcome, he said. I look forward to receiving your honest responses, he said. I believed him, and gave what I thought he was asking for.

My dad was not terribly approachable during my formative years. I couldn’t just ask him “how would you suggest I handle this situation?” Especially when it had to do with relational issues. He didn’t have the tools for handling relationships in a healthy manner. So he simply could not impart what he didn’t have. He was not safe.

As a result, I didn’t learn how distinguish safe people from unsafe people. Based on the abuse and emotional abandonment I endured, one might think I would become extremely frightened by intimacy and connection. As I wrote on my previous blog, the deep end,

“I’m passionate about connecting with people in authenticity. Shared experience. Vulnerability and transparency. Real life. Not the highlight reel stuff seen on the socials. The deep end.”

I’ve done this my whole life. I tend to trust quickly. Sometimes, too quickly, or based on my perception alone. A lot of my recovery journey has focused on learning to be vulnerable and transparent – within healthy boundaries. I felt pretty certain, this time. This guy had all the appearance and credentials to be credible, to be believable. Trustworthy. Safe.

He. Was. Not.

The irony is that he is now throwing shade at me, saying I’m the one who is unsafe. And, I guess in some ways, what this experience is teaching me is that I’m not always safe – to myself. This intimacy disorder doesn’t just affect how I relate to women, it also messes up how I experience connection and community with other men. It’s still the deep end effect, and I’m still learning to swim.

Yesterday, after learning what was happening, I reached out to a couple of guys from my recovery group. I shared what happened, and asked for their brutal feedback. They helped me understand where I went wrong, and also helped me to feel seen, soothed, safe, and secure. I know it would’ve been better to reach out to them first – months ago – before I made the mistake of trusting this guy just based on his perceived qualifications and abilities.

So, as a 50-something year old trauma and abuse survivor, I’m not only learning to swim, but I’m also learning it’s pretty important to keep my shorts on! However, I also know how important it is to extend a lot of grace and compassion to myself, and ask for help when I find myself over my head or notice my shorts are slipping!

Are you familiar with the Who Wants to be a Millionaire TV show? I knew it had been around a while, but had to look it up to find out it has been running since 1999. Hosted originally by Regis Philbin, it has been going in some format for quite a long time now! I mean, not nearly as long as Wheel of Fortune, but still…a long time!

I haven’t watched that show in a good while – probably not since Regis stopped hosting. But, there’s an aspect of the show that I have used in conversation and in daily life since then.

The lifelines.

The game is pretty simple. The host asks a question, with a monetary value attached to it. There are four multiple choice answers from which to choose. The contestant selects an answer. If the contestant gets the answer right, they move on to the next question – which has a higher monetary value. If I recall correctly, there are certain values that, once they get the question correct, became “locked in” – so these were guaranteed amounts. Eventually, the highest amount that could be achieved would be one million dollars. The questions asked by the host start out pretty easy, but continue to get harder as the monetary value increases. And when the contestant selects an answer, the host would ask “Final Answer?”. The contestant would reply “Final Answer”, and then they would find out if they’d chosen correctly or not – often with a lot of suspenseful waiting and holding their breath. Heck, I can remember holding my breath, just watching!

I would probably hope to become a “thousandaire”, were I to be a contestant. Those questions get really difficult, and quite obscure! Like, if I walked away with over 20 grand, that would feel like a pretty big win.

But back to the lifelines…these were a way for a contestant who was unsure of an answer to increase their chances of being able to keep going further in the show. As I recall, the three original lifelines included “phone a friend”, “ask the audience”, and “50/50” (take away two wrong answers, giving them a 50/50 chance to get it right). When used strategically, the contestant could often advance quite a bit further into the game. If used poorly, well…that usually ended up with “game over”.

Yesterday, (as I wrote about), I started out on what felt like less than firm footing. Journaling and writing about it helped. I felt better, more centered. And then I didn’t. It was like playing Who Wants to Be Sober. Throughout the day, the challenge became increasingly difficult. I employed every tactic and resource I could to combat it, and still, the struggle just got harder!

I really felt like I used all my lifelines! I journaled, I blogged, I changed my location. I exercised. I practiced mindfulness. I prayed. I read scripture. I texted a friend. I phoned a friend. I occupied my mind on positive things. I stayed busy. I listened to calming and uplifting music. And yet still, I was absolutely jonesing for a fix – something awful! And for me, that fix can be had through just opening a web browser, typing in a word, or phrase. I know that fix comes with a really heavy down side. Cognitively I knew there was no part of me that would truly be happy or satisfied with that “fix”. But emotionally, I just didn’t care. I wanted it! And I can’t “fix” my emotional instability with cognitive reasoning. It just doesn’t work like that! Towards the end of the day, I absolutely just white-knuckeled it. And that is a really poor strategy, especially long-term. But when I know if I can just hold on another half hour and relief will be coming via the presence of and communication with my wife, white knuckling as a last resort sometimes is just enough. And, gratefully, it was.

You might think I feel like a millionaire today, having withstood that challenge. I don’t. I feel humbled, small, weak, and still tired. I also feel safe, today. And grateful. But wow…this addiction stuff really sucks. I’m reminded of a song by Rich Mullins, We Are Not As Strong As We Think We Are.

There’s a term for this: Addiction Recovery Fatigue. I’m very much feeling just tired today – on the verge of tears, very aware that I could easily snap if provoked. Feeling a need to stay small, stay within myself. How can I get more lifelines? I know I need to keep doing the work of recover. I don’t have the option of game over. This is not a game, it’s my life – my legacy!

Right now I just want to rest.

Today, I was met with frustration and disillusionment the moment I awoke. Physically, it was this knot in the middle of my chest. It was also this desire to run away, but with no idea where! Not really knowing why I felt that way, and realizing it put me in a disregulated, and disintegrated position, I didn’t want to talk about it just yet, either. If I had just started sharing my feelings with my wife, it would’ve likely passed along the disconnectedness to her, but also between us. Then I’d not just end up feeling worse, but I would’ve had reparative work to do with her as well.

So, I remained silent for the most part.

And I started writing. I use a password protected app on my phone as my journal. I identified the initial feelings of disillusionment and immediately thought “if you are disillusioned, then that means you have illusions”. So then I chased down what my illusions are and where they come from. Unrealistic expectations – mostly of myself. And then I chased down the sources for those, and the feelings behind them. In doing so, I began to experience the feelings unravel themselves, began to notice a settling within myself.

Writing has become a crucial component for my wellbeing. Like, honestly, for the longest time I felt as though running was my primary (possibly only) way of making it through difficult emotions. And while being physically active definitely helps me in countless ways, I think running can also have the affect of disconnecting me further from my emotions through getting that “runner’s high” and just not having to deal with the hard stuff. I’ve also had the experience of being able to better think through the hard stuff while out for a run. And then, I came home and – you guessed it – wrote it all out!

Sometimes, I don’t think I have much to say or write about. These are likely the times when I’m losing touch with myself – dissociating to some degree. But once I start writing, I find that the initial thoughts and feelings are usually covering other, deeper emotions. And if I don’t chase the spiral down, I’ll just follow it blindly – in the wrong direction.

A while back I saw a TED Talk from James Clear, writer of Atomic Habits. I don’t think this is the same talk. But in it he shares many of the same big take-aways I remember. One idea I remember is that he made the conscious decision to write – every day. And then he planned for it. It became a non-negotiable for him. He says “shut up and put your reps in”. So, that’s what I’ve been doing for a while now. I write. Pretty much every day. Sometimes it’s journaling, sometimes it’s micro-journaling. Most days, I blog. I don’t post every day on this site, but almost every day I will at least answer the daily prompt, on my other site.

It helps.

Like, a lot! My addiction has lost its grip. I have better things to do, better ways of dealing with stuff. I’m not going to say that writing alone has been the “fix”, but it had definitely created some healthier habits. And, as James Clear states so well,

“Habits are not only the method through which we achieve external measures of success…
…they are also the path through which we achieve internal change.“

Yesterday, I walked into “the guest room” – as I’ve done for many Sunday mornings, in preparation to spend an hour online with a group of guys who are walking a similar path towards recovery. These are guys I’ve come to really appreciate and respect, doing the hard stuff to move away from their unwanted behaviors and towards a healther way of living.

We pick a topic to discuss each meeting. Yesterday’s was going to be an interesting one, for sure. We couldn’t even decide exactly what to call it, but the working thought was something like sitting with and processing uncomfortable feelings.

As I walked into the room, however, something unexpected happened to me. The invisible weight of something unidentified hit me square in the chest. I immediately had trouble breathing. I started coughing, as though to clear my lungs. Asthma. Or at least the symptoms of asthma.

I’m learning that this scenario is my body’s advance warning system.

Something is off.

It was the part of me I call my protector taking over and coming to my aid. The instinctive and reflexive “fast brain” part of my mind that perceives when something is out of place and alerts my body to react before I have time for conscious thought. We all have this part. I’d guess not everyone would label theirs the protector. But for me, it was definitely my protector stepping up and wanting to take over!

But why??

There was nothing immediately perceptible as dangerous. Everything up to that point that I had done was usual and customary. I wanted to just move on, but then I also started experiencing a heavy-headed feeling, and noticed a ringing in my ears. Not only was my protector stepping up, but now I could feel myself moving toward dissociation. But I didn’t want that! I just wanted to meet with the guys! My chest is tightening a bit even as I write this.

Oh, and to keep the timing of this in perspective, all of it happened within seconds!

I proceeded with logging into the meeting portal, and went through the motions of being present. But honestly, I just wasn’t engaged. I sat through the entire meeting without contributing anything other than an initial quick introduction and “hello” to the rest of the guys.

I was literally sitting with and processing my uncomfortable feelings. Doing the work to identify what had rattled me about walking into the room, and why.

This was the room that my stepmom occupied for several years of her life. The room that became her hospital ward for the last year or so. The bedside where I sat, almost a year ago, in total silence except for occasional sobs, with tears running down my face – where I told her “thank you for being my mom. I know you did your best”. The bed where, only days later, she drew her last breath.

There was a teddy bear missing from where it had customarily sat atop the bed.

You have to understand, the house I’m living in is filled with craft projects made by my stepmom. So why had the instinctive “fast brain” part of me felt so on alert?? This particular bear was not just any craft project. This was the bear she crafted with care from my brother‘s robe that he wore for a long time as a kid, until he just grew out it it! And then it became my robe for a while. Because, yeah. I was the hand-me-down kid.

My protector was angry that my dad would dare remove that bear! It had history! But on a deeper level, it wasn’t even about the bear. Due to the configuration of the room changing even as slightly as a missing bear, my protector felt a sense of emotional violation – from the man who should have been my emotional protector as a child. I know now, on a cognitive level, my dad was not able to care for his own emotions much less mine, because he was never taught how. But the instinctive part of me, in my 50-something year old body, was linking something about that missing bear all the way back to feelings of being unsafe and insecure as a small child. And not just my own, but also my brother’s experiences and feelings as well.

I can write these things now, because I took time to process them. I literally sat there in my feels for the entire hour. I didn’t run from them. In a sense, I thanked my protector for making me aware that something was missing. But then I welcomed him to stand down and allow me to stay present and work through what he had, so spectacularly, alerted me about. After the meeting was over, I took time to journal and start to organize what had happened. And then, today, I presented a fairly jumbled version of this story to my therapist, and she helped me turn them into a more organized arrangement. I was hoping to continue with my EMDR work today, but this experience put me on a different trajectory. And it started with just enough mindfulness and self-awareness that I could stay within my window of tolerance and start making sense of what seemed, in the moment, so senseless. And you know, I’m pretty grateful for it!

Oh! And I found the teddy bear. My dad put it inside a chest that is right beside the bed. When I get up the courage, and feel I have appropriate non-accusatory language, I’ll ask him about his decision to remove it. I wonder what feelings it might bring up in him.

Yesterday, I was truthful with someone I care about. They did something that made me feel “less than” in their eyes. I told them, and then I also told them that I was only letting them know so the pain of it wouldn’t have a place to fester in me – not because I need or expect any kind of response from them.

Not long ago, I wouldn’t have wanted to risk rejection or retaliation. I would’ve kept it to myself. This would bring about internal discord, a sense of shame and resentment towards myself and this person. I would then start feeling disconnected from myself – disregulated and dis-integrated. From there, I would start feeling a sense of entitlement, and that would lead to “needing a fix”.

Also yesterday, I felt like a business was taking advantage of me through poor policy implementation. I shared this with them, stating my concerns in a gentle but firm manner. Through several emails back and forth, the employee I spoke with said she took my concerns to her supervisor, but their decision was not going to change.

I wrote a Google review about my experience. The review was not malicious, even giving them credit for the positive ways they had served my needs. But I was also truthful about how I perceived their business practices to be inconsistent and unfair. Not ten minutes after I posted it, the supervisor called me, offering to “hear me out” about my concerns. The supervisor did not mention the review, but her timing was more than coincidental. She then took ownership of their decision and offered to reverse it, which I accepted. I mentioned the review and asked if she had seen it by chance, and she dodged my question. This communicated to me that she was mostly concerned about the public image of the business, not their actual business practices. I went on to tell her I would change my review after getting confirmation their decision has been corrected.

Self care can take many forms. Ultimately, I think it’s doing the things I need to do in order to live with myself. But that requires self awareness, first. As an addict, self care and self awareness are non-negotiable, so that I remain integrated and regulated, and can remain inside my window of tolerance. In both instances yesterday, I felt the need to stand up for myself, but also didn’t want to do so in an overly aggressive or harsh manner. Those were the rails that I needed to keep me on track. Stand up for myself, but don’t be a jerk about it! The outcomes were less important than the actions taken – and doing them in a way that left me feeling at peace with me.

I’m learning, of course, that there’s more to self care. But I feel good about how I handled myself and these two situations. I

can live with that.