CHILDHOODI read somewhere that all of us, no matter what our age, are who we were at age 7. The rest of our lives are living in reaction to the narrative we created for ourselves during those formative years.
My father neglected his children as we were growing up, spending most of his time with his much younger Austrian mistress, occasionally returning "home" to drink, yell, beat up my mother and then to disappear. After he divorced I'd see him two weeks a year (he lived overseas). His new wife was, from my perspective, insanely jealous of his kids receiving any attention and throughout the visit she would moan on and on about her tragic childhood of deprivation. My father would listen transfixed, completely ignoring his kids during their yearly visit.
What is interesting to me as an adult is that most of my memories of my father's interaction are of him telling me that I was stupid, "retarded" or spoiled. I understand now that he was projecting unresolved childhood issues onto me and onto his mistress in a counter-intuitive manner.
The absorption with his mistress reflected attention he craved. He was unconsciously projecting himself onto the mistress and giving her the attention he lacked as a child (he too was severely emotionally neglected and abused as a child). As his child I was part of him and because he loathed himself, he loathed me.
I tried at many points to broach these insights with him but he would always respond that I was naive or just didn't get it (a defensive mechanism on his part). His starkest trait was that he completely lacked the capacity for empathy.
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It is fascinating to me that years later the woman who I fell deeply in love with is one who has difficulty expressing empathy. My experience with her reflected the emotional experience of my childhood; her telling me that she loved me (even moving in with me) but keeping me off balance emotionally in a number of ways. Whenever I tried to create emotional intimacy with her she simply responded by giving me the silent treatment, eventually cutting off all contact and telling her friends to never talk to me either. My persistence in trying to communicate with her reflected the pattern I had become accustomed to as a child. In other words, I was reacting to my narrative developed as a seven year old boy.
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A college friend got divorced after his wife accused him of emotional abuse. I suggested to him that we both had areas where we could improve and that we could give each other advice on our weak areas. His response was to yell at me and accuse me of thinking I'm better than him. He then sent me a list of bible verses such as "he who throws the first stone should look at himself," and such. I told him to forget it and dropped contact.
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The most painful episode of my life dealt with that former girlfriend I mentioned above. Three years after she cut off contact I wrote her an email taking responsibility for my shortcomings, explaining how I had grown as a person and reaching out to her to offer her support and friendship and love (typical of abuse survivors constantly blaming themselves for the abuse of others). She responded with anger.
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All of the above responses are reflections of those damaged seven year-old children still within each of the adults. They haven't confronted their wounds and so are acting out in the best way children know how: temper and anger. It is tragic.
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My goal is to not focus on others or to blame them but to heal wounds I carry so that I can be a source of support for others. There are those who teach a way forward, like the Dalai Lama. And I shall try to live as one who is a trustworthy, reliable, supportive and compassionate person, to reach a life of value to others.
