In which Jane and Lizzie learn about the similarities of their dysfunctional families growing up, and regret not having this information back in the day…  An early morning chat is lost to the ether, but the gist of this remains pretty clear…

Lizzie

Wow–what a lot to cover on a sleepy Sunday morning. For years I wouldn’t talk about any of this stuff, because I would just get so damned mad. The floodgates opened in ‘06 when I got entirely sick of my own ACOA behaviors. Taking responsibility for everything, allowing myself to become embroiled in toxic friendships, trying to make everything okay for everyone else around me and avoid all unpleasant conflict, feeling guilt over not meeting my kids’ every need, the list goes on and on.

Long story short, I made some big changes in my life and began getting better at setting boundaries in all of my relationships. I also went back to school to try things I’d always been afraid I’d fail at. (Because, after all, everything depends on my being perfect at all times and avoiding criticism!)

I also had long talks with my siblings that finally went beyond joke-fests. We walked through some of the horror stories and corrected (or added to) one another’s memories. It was good.

So much more I could say, but one poignant thing about our discussion this morning is that I remember how lonely and odd I felt in high school and wish I’d known back then that I wasn’t really so odd. (Or at least that I was in good, odd company).

I also think back with renewed affection on those English teachers at MHS. What an extraordinary bunch–learned, wise, funny, and compassionate.

Wish I’d known you better back then.

Well, time to be a mom again–

Lizzie

Jane

God, if only ANY of us had known how similar our situations were. We could have had our own support group, ha ha ha.

You are so fortunate that you had the kind of relationships with your siblings that you could delve into this stuff. My brother and I… do not. He never made his peace with my dad before he died and honestly I’m not sure if he even realized there was a need to do so. It is far better for me not to open that up with him.

Perhaps finding each other, now, is exactly as it was meant to be. Something tells me that friendship is a more valuable commodity at this point in life than it was back then.

I am still odd. Or at least feel that way. Only, over time I turned it into one of my good features… Craziness, humor, creativity, being odd and different, all of it is part and parcel of the same thing.

You are braver than I have become yet. WIth the back to school thing and demanding change in relationships, specifically. I’m kinda still treading water with parenting little kids, 10 year marriage that has seen way too many losses, and generally trying to get the meds right.

More later.

Lizzie

It would have been quite a support group….all of us proto-Gen-X-ers navigating the turbid waters of alcoholism and mental illness in our poor lost, silent-generation parents. The closest I got to “Gen-X Anonymous” was my times hanging out at Michelle’s house after school. But mostly I just felt brittle and confused.

Like you, I’ve always been–and still am–odd. And (also like you) I’ve come to enjoy a lot of the stuff that goes with an oddball package. I like the creativity and the nonstop flow of words, and I’ve made friends with the edgy, anxious part that is never at rest. I like being different and love surrounding myself with friends who do and say the unexpected. People who use humor in heroic ways.

Friendship is a more valuable commodity now than it has ever been. And I’m glad to have found you and to know a bit of what you were going through too during those volatile, lonely teen years. Parallel suffering–is that a bit like parallel play? A developmental stage that must be entered and passed before progressing on to the joys of shared suffering?

I am indeed fortunate to have my brothers and sisters to talk to. I can’t imagine not having them–we raised one another in a home where the rules were always changing and the punishments for infractions ranged from being physically attacked from behind to weeks of silent treatment. And somehow we all came through the nightmare of Martha intact (well, mostly). Which, as my therapist reminded me often, was no small feat.

I’m not brave–at least, I really don’t think of myself as brave. But I have my limits–and they were reached (gradually, like the proverbial frog in the kettle) between 2004 and 2006. In a series of mini-epiphanies, I kept asking myself the question, “How did I get to this place?”  And, over many months, I began to find some answers–many of which pointed to my own willingness to bury my needs and desires and play the role of victim.

(And, for the record, I only had the time and freedom to ask the questions and make the changes because my youngest children were both in school.)

Having preschoolers at home pre-empts that kind of self-centeredness. You are doing the hardest work of all right now–and, I’ll add, the most worthwhile. Though I have many regrets, staying home with my kids isn’t one of them.