Make A Family Where You Are

In recent months, I have alienated members of my family through both harsh words and standing up for what I know is my own truth. I own the harsh words. There are ways to communicate what I need to say without being angry, and I fell into anger as easily as I pick up a handful of Cheez-its. Knee-jerk reactions to what others say and do. I'm good at that. Too good. Despite my knowing better, family inevitably brings out the worst in me. I always say that if you want to feel thirteen years old again---attend a family reunion.

I had a friend whose family was mostly drug addicts and drunks. She, too, struggled with her addictions. Despite the fact that her family members consistently enabled each other and her, and used her for money and other handouts, she continued to be around them. They were toxic, and they poisoned her over and over again. It was her choice. No matter how many times her siblings shit on her, she always let them back in. The fact that she couldn't stay sober seemed par for the course. I loved her, and she helped me tremendously over the years, but I finally had to detach myself from her and move on.

My own family became toxic to me. It's only been recently that I came to the realization just how toxic they are. Unfortunately, I didn't allow the lessons I've picked up over the years to kick in when it came time for me to voice some of my unhappiness. I pulled a Mt. St. Helens and erupted at them, spewing years of frustration and anger. Consequently, they aren't speaking to me.

At first, I was okay with that. A sense of relief that I no longer had to pretend to like them buoyed me along for a bit. Now, I'm feeling blue. Memories drift back of their kindness and love. Things they did for me. Support they gave me. Guilt set in. I miss them.

I've been away from them for years. Not just in the physical sense, but emotionally and mentally. They remember me one way, and I've gone another. Politically, socially, and spiritually---we're just not at the same place. I have less in common with them than I do with co-workers. Friends I've had for years know me better than my own flesh and blood.

A former wise head in my life advised me once to "Make a family where you are...". She meant that I should adopt those I loved around me and consider them my family. I do so now. My partner-in-life, Donald, is my family. My daughter and grandson are my family. My friends are my family. Those in recovery are my family. Even my Facebook friends are my family. I have a huge family.

Not that this makes losing my siblings' love and respect and contact any easier. I mourn my mistakes. I mourn their sickness. We were raised in an alcoholic household. Our parents failed us terribly. There was evil in our family that remained secret for years. We've been poisoned, and it's still affecting us.

I say this without any sense of superiority, but I've had help digging out of the hole that I grew up in. It came from outside my family. Much of what I've grasped about living well was learned through others who crawled out of their own personal hells and became strong, confident, loving people---what I always wanted for myself. This doesn't put me above the troubled members of my family. It puts me ahead of them on the road. And, as the scout, I should have been a guide---not an angry, self-righteous toad. I failed them more than they failed me.

However, the adopted family continues to embrace me and lead me onward. I pray that somewhere and sometime along the way, I'll find a way to make the breach between my sisters and brother disappear. This will be amended. My faith comes from experience.

Back to trudging...