James Ballantyne

Category: Trauma

  • Feeling grief; for the mothers day cards I could never send

    I really have toyed with this one all week, I didn’t want to continue the series on surviving a psychopath parent, because what I needed to do this week was to take stock a bit, and be kind on myself, given that this weekend is Mothers day.

    And it started to bite in the middle of the week.

    Feelings.

    Now that I’m aware of them, I hate them too. Gave myself a headache.

    Every year I used to go through the life triggering, upsetting event of trying to find a suitable mothers day card for an abusive mother. Pretend, lie, or send a blank one.

    The same routine for as long as I can remember. Since being an early teen, easily that long.

    I mean they are all sickening.

    Why?

    Because it was the done thing. Because also I would be used to hearing…

    You’ll upset her if you dont

    Yes, because I would be the rescuer wounding the victim.

    I had already decided that I wouldn’t be sending a card this year, unless Clintons cards advertised that they had broadened their range to include honest sentiments like

    ‘On mothers day, here’s a card because it avoids drama’

    ‘To an emotionally immature parent, Happy Mothers day’

    ‘Im sending this because its tradition and not much more’

    That was the beginning of the week. Passive aggressive suggestions for the mothers day card that Im not going to send.

    Then I realised that, as per the Drama triangle, her emotions are her responsibility, and not mine.

    But that doesn’t take away from the 40 years of hearing those words.

    You’ll upset your mother

    Lindsay C Gibson writes:

    Do you remember a time when they used fear, guilt, shame or self doubt to make you do what they wanted? What worked best on you? What type of emotional coercions are you most vulnerable to? What physical sensations do you get when someone is trying to make you feel bad for their benefit?  (Gibson 2019, Recovering from Emotionally Immature Parents)

    So I clocked it. Realised it. Felt it with a headache.

    Gave myself time.

    Realised what was going on.

    Resisting the urge to buy a mothers day card.

    But then.

    Mothers day.

    The week before.

    I may avoid going through the motions in a feat of honesty to myself. But…

    Then I felt something else.

    Good grief.

    Grief.

    Grief, because I can’t send a Clintons sickening Mothers day card?

    Grief, beyond the passive aggression?

    I mean is it possible to miss the mother you never had?

    but you should be grateful James, at least…..

    Please do not suggest how I might be grateful on this one.

    I am allowed to feel…I should feel what I actually feel…

    I mean does anyone actually have the kind of relationship with their parents depicted in Clintons cards? oh you do.. oh..

    grief because whilst you’ve spent your life on eggshells everyone else has been having picnics?

    dont be so sensitive James…everyone has ‘issues’ with their parents… 

    you shouldn’t compare James…

    Realising that you even have to talk your way out of the truth of the situation, the truth of the feelings.

    Being aware that this time of the year is mixed with many emotions, and im not grieving a relationship thats broken down, because it was a relationship that never was, and feeling grief for the parents I never had.

    Grieving what you never had, at the same time realising how you survived the parents that you actually did have. Grief for the time wasted, and the emotions damaged and the trauma invoked.

    Grief for the mothers day cards I could never send.

     

    All the resources referred to, and links, can be found above in the Menu.

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 6) : Taking on the rescuing role

    Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 6) : Taking on the rescuing role

     

    Dont you start playing victim!

    (because that’s the role I have in mind for myself)

    I cant cope with… what youve just said, what youve just done….

    (you’re expected to alleviate me, not challenge me, you’re supposed to soothe things…)

    You just need to take more responsibility

    (thats interesting, because ultimately, I’m taking all the responsibility, and I’m the child in the house) 

     

    Since I published the last part of my survival story, I was reflecting on the drama triangle on my other blog, Learning from the Streets,  which I wrote *obviously for youthworkers, like myself who can get stuck in that cycle.  Maybe it took the penny to drop a little bit.  To realise the extend to which the drama triangle was being played out in my childhood home, and also in more recent situations.  When I think about my own issues with codependency, they go back to the role I was expected to play as a child.

    Because, if the roles of Persecutor and Victim have already been taken, in the one psychopathic parent, and they control who assumes the other roles.

    I became the grown up child, like I said in my part 5, who took on the emotionally rescuing role, the ‘grown up’ , was told that I was the person that ‘could alleviate’ the emotional pain of the psychopath parent, and so, along with the eggshells to be aware of, I also became attuned to the moments where I had to step in and perform the rescuing duties.

    When the psychopath shifted from persecutor, to persecuted, the role of rescuer needed to be filled, and significant guilt/expectation was made, its not like I was able to say no.

    Seen through a drama triangle, the Emotionally immature parents distorted narrative of relationships is one of endless conflict; the strong exploit the innocent, who then suffer and deserve to be rescued by someone else.  (Lindsay C Gibson, 2019)

    What this meant, as I said in the previous part of this story, was surviving emotionally alone. Though I will say, that I was rarely cast as victim in the cycle, the persons who bore this weight, was my younger sister, and also, any other female in the family too, who my psychopathic parent had to continually be superior over. If my sister was victim, or even persecutor when she kept boundaries herself, then I was tasked with playing rescuer.

    When I was about 10 or 11 I remember a time when my parent, who maintained a level of control by being a primary school dinner lady (that’s what they were called in the 1980’s)  was hit by a football in the playground, or fell over and damaged her arm, it ended up in a sling. I remember the incident, because of the level of upset I felt about it. I remember my teachers trying to reassure me, that my mums arm would be ok. What I remember is that my over reaction to this incident emotionally was that I felt guilty for not protecting her, I, as a 10 year old, hadn’t stopped the ball, or the fall, or whatever it was. That was the reason for my reaction, I hadn’t fulfilled my role as rescuer. Was I about to get into trouble from the over emotional parent for not protecting them?

    In an emotionally toxic family upbringing, where strong persecutor and victim roles are taken, then rescuer was the only ‘safe’ place for me to be, not that I realised it at the time. But what that meant was having all the emotional responsibility, though that wouldn’t be admitted to (that would require a level of self reflection from someone incapable of it) .

    What I didn’t realise at the time (well who would as a child) was the extent which this drama was played out, neither did I realise that having to take on this responsibility as a child was emotionally abusive, and done behind closed doors.  It shouldn’t have happened, but thats what psychopathic parenting does.

    Surviving meant rescuing, but then what I did was shut down. When I began to realise how draining and destructive this was, I stated to shut down, so that my psychopathic parent did then receive any emotion from me. I went rigid and gave her no emotion, whether anger, or joy. Detaching from my emotions in that unsafe space was what I had to do to survive. I know now, my core self was protecting itself. Putting up an internal boundary to protect the inner child in me that had barely been seen or nurtured.

    Part 6 of my survival story is about me recognising how I developed into the role of child healer and rescuer. Part of my survival story, was about trying to make things better in the family, doing the emotional heavy duty lifting, and ‘trying to make things better’ when actually there weren’t adults in it taking any emotional responsibility for themselves. Surviving meant being responsible for others in a drama triangle that they were creating.  Part of my healing now, is to stop myself taking on responsibility, becoming aware of codependency, constructing boundaries and practicing emotional health.

     

    (A client remarked) he’d spent his adulthood trying to let go of his past, and he remarked how ironic it was that he had to get closer to it in order to let it go. (Kolk , The Body keeps the Score, 2014)

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 4) – Asbestos feet; From Eggshells to Empathy.

    Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 4) – Asbestos feet; From Eggshells to Empathy.

    Thank you for reading, this is part 4 of my survival story, do check out parts 1-3 in the menu to the right, though each part can be read separately. This one may contain details that could trigger. 

    Growing up with psychopathic emotionally immature parents allowed me to develop asbestos feet, with all the walking on eggshells that I had to do.

    Now I know, if God had desired that we were to find asbestos feet useful maybe we would have been created with them, so maybe they are more a product of how the human child adapts to survive in such unnurturing circumstances.

    Using eggshells to remove toxic water pollutants | News | Chemistry World

    I had soft feet. Eggshells hurt. Like they would do if they are stood on.

    Apparently I had to toughen up, and develop proverbial asbestos feet, by the very person who was relaying the floor with a layer of eggshells to walk on.

    Sometimes there’d be a bomb in and amongst the eggshell too, or a place of glass, just to cut deeper, all just to ‘help’ me to develop ‘thicker’ skin.

    Given that I had no choice as a child, its loyalty or punishment, then, I learned to pretend, to fake agreeing, agreeing to being the role that was compliant, and trying to navigate a pathway full of emotional eggshells and explosives, that sometimes went off, other times just the fear of them was enough.

    Its one thing advising people how not to walk on eggshells when you’re at work, but what if thats your entire home existence, you might as well have been born with asbestos feet, because they get to be needed pretty early on.

    My Psychopath parent was of the emotionally fragile and unpredictable variety, in this post I share the 12 common features of emotionally immature parents, taken from Lindsay Gibsons book.

    If other people are getting more attention, they find ways to draw attention back to themselves, such as interrupting, firing off zingers that get everyones attention, or changing the subject. If all else fails they may pointedly withdraw, look bored or otherwise communicate that they are disengaged – behaviours that ensure that the focus stays on them. (Lindsey C Gibson, Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents, 2016)

    What you get to realise is that the eggshells appear when they are not centre of attention. When you have to ask for something, when you might want to disagree, when you try to put your needs first

    I learned not to bother. Any time I did was met with emotional outburst.

    Survival just meant growing asbestos feet, and wearing bomb proof clothing.

    Emotional shielding from the impending storm. Fear. Terror. Because you just know that a bomb had gone off, and one will go off again.  So dont dare upset them, just keep the peace, dont rock the boat, tip toe around them. Comply or hide.

    When emotional parents disintegrate, they take their children with them into their personal meltdown. Their children experience their despair, rage or hatred in all its intensity. Its no wonder everyone in the family feels like they are walking on eggshells. These parents emotional instability is the most predictable thing about them. (Gibson, 2016)

    And as the following indicates, it may not be in the workplace that some of you saw this in my parents. Though, I am pretty sure they didnt hide it very well. They left a trailblazer of shocking behaviour everywhere, and when challenged would not be able to see it as shocking. In which case it wouldn’t really matter if they were in a professional role in which character was important, like being a vicar for example, as long as in their job they could hide it…

    Their fluctuating moods and reactivity make them unreliable and intimidating. And while they may act helpless and usually see themselves as victims, family life always revolves around their moods. Although they often control themselves outside the family, where they can follow a structured role (not always I might add) within the crucible of intimate family relationships they display their full impulsivity, especially if intoxicated. It can be shocking to see ow no-holds-barred they get. (Gibson, 2016)

    However, my survival story is about me.

    As a result of this, I learned to put other people first, and my needs firmly second, or third. Though, that doesn’t stop emotionally immature people of accusing me of being selfish (when I might dare to put my needs first).  Learning how to navigate eggshells is about attuning to the needs of the other, attuning to the emotional cues of the most emotionally fragile in the room, responding to the needy. It’s codependancy. But thats what I had to do to survive, forgo myself. Because even though I should stand up to other people when they bully, the full force of victimhood, shame and loyalty would emerge if they were stood up to.

    Being overly attentive to other peoples feelings and emotions is no bad thing.

    Actually yes it is. That could end in empathy enmeshment.

    Being attentive is no bad thing, its about having empathy that seeks to understand, and compassion that enables that person to make their own decisions in the actions to alleviate their situation.

    Telling our story is about putting me as the main character of this, not the other person. From Eggshells to empathy, how I learned to be who I am, in the way I am from the start I was given.  It has taken me a very long time to actually put me first. Part of surviving trauma is to narrate the story of and see it for what it is and was, and becoming aware of how I survived and what resources I used to be able to. Developing rubber feet to walk on eggshells, when there was no sledgehammer to crush them smooth, a new layer would be put down.

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (part 3): Trainspotting (at Clapham Junction)

    Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (part 3): Trainspotting (at Clapham Junction)

    One way of surviving psychopathic parents was to become immersed in the world of trainspotting.

    The drugs, alcohol and destruction, and why I resonate with this 1996 film

    Trainspotting ver2.jpg

    Though I joke somewhat, reacting to emotional abuse can easily easily end in a life that is filled with the destructive elements, that this film was renowned for.

    Trainspotting – IFC Center

    It is not the trainspotting I mean.

    The trainspotting that helped me survive psychopathic parenting was more of this variety:

    What Southern Region EMU class is this? - Southern Electrics - RMweb

    When I was staying at my grandparent house in the south of England, going to railway stations and watching these and others speed through the cacophony of busy commuter stations like Clapham junction or Redhill, or ones like this from my own home in the midlands, the class 47s around the curves of the midland main line

    47474 BNS 1987 Steve Jones.jpg

    as they sped past the line at the bottom of my street and from my outside window, and more latterly in the mid 1980s, the Intercity HSTs..

     

    InterCity 125 - Wikipedia

     

    If researching the history of 1980’s EMU (electric multiple units) and class 47 and 43’s is not your thing, which I dont expect it to be, then thats ok, aside from the noise, the speed and the energy of these metallic beasts, the thing that trainspotting channelled in me, and also helped to create, was my  sense of observation and perception.  I discovered I was able to read the numbers pretty quick, I could see from a distance the train on approach, I could hear the rails vibrating (they’re nearly always vibrating at Clapham) , but, you just know when the train is approaching, as well as this, the ‘OFF’ light comes on at a station, the staff get out onto the platform, passengers swell it too.

    I was as enthralled by the process of the trains, as the numbers on them. The journeys, the routes, why some stopped at what station… and beyond attuning my sense of perception, trains were safe. Busy railway stations were safe, quiet ones were safe, trains were safe, they still are.

    So not only did I like to know how things worked (see Part 2) I became naturally observant, vigilant even. I joined in the ‘grown up’ spaces, often quietly with a book, so that I could keep an eye on what my PP (psychopath parent) was up to, or played toys near to the dining table, waiting for an inevitable family bust up that she initiated, and then would need me to cry victim into my shoulder. Because this was expected, I would stay close to the action, knowing that it was about to happen.

    There were other occasions too, staying alert, and working out whose footsteps were walking towards my bedroom door (though they had to, my room was next to the bathroom),  though more than often my Psychopath Parent would be announcing herself with constantly making noise, humming, singing, dominating.

    Developing a higher than usual sense of danger awareness, or hyper vigilance, is common in those who have to deal with emotionally immature parents, from an early age I clearly knew that I needed to be on my guard, aware and preparing myself for the next blow.

    Doesn’t everyone have to be vigilant of their parents behaviour? is this just normal?

    I dont think I stopped to ask this question at the age of 8, but thats part of what I did and had to do to survive.  It was never possible to stop their next move, or intercept it, though I do remember trying to on some occasions, theres only so much an 8 year old can do, when cast in the role emotional rescuer in my parents drama, best to be around to know when the role needs to be fulfilled.

    I used to wonder why it was that I was good at the parts of detached Youthwork that involved having an awareness of safety, their movements and vigilance, and why I am good with knowing where I am, directions, and place, and now its no surprise that I can detect the movement of birds out in the fields or river banks.


    In ‘The Body keeps the Score’, (Kolk, 2014) outlines the processes in the brain that occur during this vigilance phase, the heightening of emotion, heart beat and arousal. It is like the proverbial train arriving at the station at speed, being on the platform waiting for that moment. And then it subsides at the intercity train leaves view and heads to London or Leicester. Then it is calm for a while, the platform empties.

    And that’s the difference, Clapham Junction was like living with a Psychopath, the trains were constant, I remember going a few times and it was extraordinarily tiring, yet it was the station I wanted to go to, it was too busy, 3 trains in less than a minute at times, too much for a child to process, was there such a thing as too many trains.. yes.

    Oh God, here comes another one, get ready..

    Surviving psychopathic parents is like being on Clapham Junction station, being on guard all the time, being alert all the time, and theres trains arriving from all directions, when its difficult to get onto the right platform to get a good view of everything thats going on. (This is also why I like to sit in the corner seat in a coffee shop, and its that I like to know what’s going on, I’m not frightened by other people, I always knew that none of them posed the same threat).  At least on Clapham junction the worst that could happen to me was missing a few numbers, whilst I could be vigilant for the next emotional reaction from my Psychopath parent, I didnt, and wouldn’t have expected to, have the emotional awareness or skills to deal with it, ultimately, though, the problem that they were likely to create, was about to become a problem that everyone else would have to fix.  (Gibson, Lindsay C, 2019, p71)

    In their presence is like Clapham Junction Railway station.

    Whats one thing that I needed to survive? That sense of vigilance, being on guard. What I realise, and now know, from the book, is that its only when you can stop being on guard that you can heal. I was so used to being on guard, vigilant, that its only been in the last few years and in a safe place, that I could stop, and take a break. There was no incoming anger, emotion, unpredictability, or eggshells (see the next part) or mine fields to navigate.

    What I didnt realise, until very recently is that I could operate in life without  needing that switch on.  

    What I didnt realise, is that it wasn’t normal to not need to be vigilant. 

    When I moved into my flat 18 months ago, actually when I walked into it, empty with the agent 3 weeks prior, I felt safe, home, relaxed. It was from that point onwards that I knew I could heal, because I could switch off the vigilance valve, enjoy looking at the birds, the sea and the odd train that now goes by my window.  Healing is more likely when in a place of safety, when the vigilance valve can be switched off. I just thought I was being perceptive, aware and observant..and I was, but what I now know is that that was part of how I survived.

  • Surviving Psychopathic Parenting (Part 2) Why I broke my grandmothers clock.

    ‘Working with trauma is as much about remembering how we survived as it is about what is broken’ (Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score, 2014)

    I broke my grandmothers bedside clock.

    I didn’t kick it, throw it, sit on it, drop it or smash it with a hammer.

    At age 4 or 5, over the course of a few nights/mornings whilst staying in my grans front bedroom, I took it apart, prizing open the backing, and then discovering a world of cogs, levers and springs, I think it was a wind up one, but that part of my memory fails me, and that’s not a surprise, though I don’t remember that it had a battery, and it kept time. It was one that looked a bit like this: Safari travel alarm clock, 1960s

    Sort of circa 1960’s travel clock.  Gradually, and without tools I think, unless I found a small screw driver around (and that was likely given what my grandad hoarded and that my dad had tools in his van) I prized open the back of the mechanism and then began to watch at first, then piece by piece remove the springs, cogs and everything else that was inside. If you’ve ever seen the film HUGO…

    And yes of course I couldn’t put the clock back together again, and I probably also left springs and cogs out on the bedside table, with the intention of at least trying to fix it.

    I think I was smacked for breaking the clock. I was also smacked for not being able to say sorry for breaking the clock.

    But I wasn’t sorry for breaking the clock. I hadn’t broken it, well, I may have broken it, but I was trying to work out how it worked.

    At age 4, I was already in curiosity, perceptive, brain engaging mode.

    Repeatedly told off for acting spoiled and strong willed as a toddler, I used to hold my breath until I went blue, when my brain kicked into gear, I sought about trying to find out how things worked, and not only that, I realised by then that I had to stay alert.

    Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. (1 Peter 5)

    If part of recovering from trauma is telling the story of how I survived, then this part is about realising that I survived because of my brain. If, as was the case, that there was not going to be any emotional connection with my psychopathic parents, nature or support, which I clearly knew by this age, then my survival was going to rely on my own resources, my own brain to work things out, and to be alert.

    My curious mind grew. And so, even though I was then discipled for being ‘smart’ at later occasions (they do find the strong parts in you to reduce/minimalise, and the weak parts to humiliate often dont they?)  I set set out trying to discover how the world worked.

    Also, what I realise now, is that I was golden child. That part was obvious. So, laden in any discipline I received was a sense of shame that I brought to my parents, and the effect it had on them, their golden child, that they showed off (to my grandparents, and aunties) , was also the breaker of the clock.

    From then on I wasn’t allowed to touch anything electronic…

    ‘You might break it’

    Ironically, It took a lot of care and attention to detail to break that grandmothers clock, it wasn’t heavy hands or clumsiness, probably at least 4-5 hours of work some evenings and mornings while everyone else was sleeping.

    So, it was so unlikely that I would break something else, but from then on I wasn’t allowed to touch something.

    Not even the remote control on my other grandparents new VHS, just in case. Ironically I was the one that my parents actually had to ask to work out things, like our own VHS, Microwave (when I was allowed to touch it)..

    Dont touch you might break it.

    The problem is that you need to know how things work so that you can see them for what they are. Its no wonder that survivors of traumatic parenting go into care work, psychology or similar professions (and everyone in my family has), their skills have had to be honed, naturally by the emotionally abusive. They, like I, have spent hours trying to work out why and how things worked.

    That started for me when I broke my grandmothers clock.

    Part of surviving psychopathy, was, and is, about trying to find out how they operate, how they work, what is it that makes them do what they do, what the patterns are. Part of their game is to stop you from from working them out.

    How I survived my psychopathic parenting, involved attuning my practical and intellectual brain into gear, whilst my emotional brain shut itself down. I had already at this point realised that being emotional wasnt worth it, might as well work out how the world works instead.

    If you missed Part 1, it is here.