Facebook may want to tell me what my year in review was, but I’m
going to go against ‘the man’ and tell you my own review of the most important
events of 2013:
Kevin moved back to FL after a painful breakup. He and I ended
well. I was grateful. Its not easy living with your parents. It’s not easy watching your kids
drive off into the sunset. I am glad he’s back in FL where he’s happy. My back
healed after 6 months and thousands of dollars later. In addition to teaching yoga, couples yoga, I've started a program working with women for 6mo at a time to find mind/body/spirit transformation. It's an invitation to the present moment. It's been the honor of my life to work with women who 'want to heal.' I’ve got 1-year of
menopause under my larger belt and have not hurt anybody. Rich and I had
countless opportunities to connect with our interfaith friends that forever
changed us. Also Rich and I celebrated 25 years of marriage. That’s a big deal.
Angels in heaven lost bets on us. Thank you God for growing us up together and growing us closer! And I turned 50 along with all
of my childhood friends. We partied our way into our 50th decade.
Bring it on! However, nothing was more important to me then the SALT-3 Peace Treaty
that happened between my brother Rich, and I in 2013; we put down our ballistic,
sibling, verbal weapons and really talked—while ratifying a long-term armistice.
If you know me, you know that I hate conflict and peace is my highest
value.
(With my brother’s permission, I’ll share a part of our story.)
At the end of winter of 2013, I reconciled with my little
brother Rich, after 3-1/2 years of not speaking to each other. In May of 2010, I was attending yoga training for 19 days and stayed with my brother. After a week or more, he and I got into the BIGGEST fight
we’ve ever been in (and we were in some doozies when we were kids). This fight was
nuclear! It ended with me packing my bags, calling a cab, and leaving within 30
minutes.
It took me a few years to realize that I’d rather ‘be in
relationship then be right’. And honestly, nobody is ‘right’ when they are in a
fight.
At the time, in 2010, Rich had already been deeply hurt by some
things that were happening in our family of origin. Me too, but I was further
down the road and had a few more tools to cope with the pain. I had better
boundaries. Hurtful things were happening outside of his control. (And In case he
didn’t know what his part was, me, being the self-righteous older sister, took it
upon myself to let him know.) I cut him deeply with my sharp words.
Nobody more then me knows Rich’s familial pain. Nobody more than
me knows how difficult it is to build a bridge over the unsafe raging rapids of
Wayne River (Wayne is my family name).
I triggered Rich in 2010. In the moment, my words came off as disloyalty. I couldn’t hear
him. He couldn’t hear me. We defaulted into old patterns that we learned as
kids: scream the loudest, and then be damned to hell and exiled to the
wasteland of Unforgiveness. I was mad at him because we were in disagreement. I
was reacting to his anger. So like all controlling big sisters, I fired back
with a verbal bomb to shame him into his place. It grew into a hurtful
misunderstanding that only could be repaired by love.
I grieved for 3+ years and wondered if we’d ever reconcile. I
gave Rich space and waited. When either of us is upset, we are both a force to reckon
with. God help anyone in our path if they are on the wrong side of us. (Yes, I
know that is a growth edge.) However, it’s what we learned and it needs to be
unlearned.
We grew up constantly being shamed and blamed and rejected by
our parents (even well into our adult years). That has a incredible impact on your personality, on your soul. Our reaction in 2010 towards each
other was more about the past. I thought it was about what was happening in the
moment, about our disagreement and how we were each seeing things. No, I had a
lot of time to think about it. It was decades of pent up frustration and hurt. We
both wanted something that we would never be gifted. Our fight was not with
each other.
Our parents never valued harmony and love; never showed us how to resolve
conflict. They were always mad at someone (and by someone, I mean us). They
treated us in a way that were unfathomable for little kids to comprehend. However, it’s all they knew. They
never modeled how to heal our ‘crazy angry’ family. We could have forgiven
them, but they never owned or took responsibility for how they made us feel as
kids or adults. We were always on their ‘shit-list’. It was always our fault. My two brothers and I tried to get our parents to hear our hurt or anger. It never worked. It was too scary for them to 'go there' and listen to their adult children call them on their 'shit-list'. Denial and blame was safer. We asked for course correction to drop the mean pettiness. We asked for full acceptance of 'everyone in or married into' the family. They always
opted for a cold war strategy, built impenetrable walls, and gained allies to concur with their justification and reasonable pride for ignoring or rejection us. And as imperfect as my brother and I were, we were good kids. We were good adults. We tried.
In 2010, Rich had an automatic reaction to me as he was blamed
for the One-Thousandth time (again by someone he trusted); I was trying to fix
him and get him to see my way. (I know, it's a bad habit.) I became my mother and my father in one-fell-swoop. The pain is deep and when it comes out, it isn't pretty. I know why more than anyone!
In the past, Rich and I have had to choose to love each other
and ourselves when there is conflict between us. In my adult, sisterly mind,
when it comes to family, Rich and I need to work extra hard to offer acceptance
and understanding when we are offended. We know we are not always right. We
know better. And we do not want to repeat history (but we have at times).
I know the good in Rich and vice versa. I have not wrote about this yet in detail, but the time is now to share 'a piece' of the most private part of my life story. In fact, my brother Rich was really
the only one I felt I could truly sort out the family history with. Back in
June of 2008, just after being released from the hospital because of suicidal
ideation and a nervous breakdown, ‘my’ husband, Rich, asked me what I wanted to
do that weekend as we ate our burgers at Red Robin. I said, “I want to go see my brother, Rich. I want to
drive to Arizona now. Nobody more than my brother knows how much pain I’m in.
Nobody more than him knows the abuse, and insults we’ve been through—the
insanity. Nobody knows how much rejection and unkindness that’s been heaped on
us. I need to process some of this shit with someone who was there, someone who
knows me.” One hour later, we packed up that car and drove 33 hours
straight to Arizona.
My brother and I have a long history of trying to make sense of
our childhood—our sadness and loss. When are parents were fighting or not speaking to each other, Rich and I would fight. We picked up the energy in the house. My other younger brother, Mike, he’s not
like us. Rich and I are wildly expressive and emotional. Mike is the quiet one; internalizes
it all, He's like my dad. My youngest sister, Becky, who is 17-years younger than I, has a
different relationship with my parents. (I’m happy for her.) She wasn’t around
growing up so she has no idea what happen or the patterns that were in
place for decades for my brothers and me. She was spared. Rich and I have been purging our pain
together for years. Both my brothers were there for me in my darkest hours. In 2010, when Rich was going through a hard time, I was not in his corner. I went into fix it mode; my way of coping when their is family conflict.
Sidebar: I don't like writing about my parents. God knows I wish I could be writing about cheerful, loving experiences about my parents and lifting them up on a pedestal. It's not the life I've been given. I've always been envious of close families. Every time I (pause) see mothers and daughters shopping, there is a ting of sadness. Every time I (pause) see a loving father with his daughter, I wish mine would have be that way to me. I've always struggled between telling my story, (how I experienced them and how they impacted me) and being real and authentic when writing. Plus, how would it make them feel to know I put it out there? Do they care? My intention is never to hurt others. If I only wrote about happy things, my writing would be fluffy. In fact, I spare most of the unpleasant details. I struggle to let my parents be flawed human beings who (may) have no clue about how much damage they inflicted on 3 of their children and a few of their grandchildren. My friend Steve McNitt told me, "Hurt people, hurt people." I've always expected them to be the loving adults. My parents have never sincerely apologized to us. I am not angry with them any more. I wish them peace and God's best. I just can't be in their lives without love and harmony. But I can't keep them out of chapters of my life any more than I could keep Rich or Kevin out of my story. Life is life. I also am not the hero or the victim. I've made lots of mistakes as a parent do (some of my best parental screw ups end up in blogs). And as hard as it is to embrace the hurt my parents have cause me, it's made me who I am today. My love for peace (between men, women, nations, faiths, families, dogs and cats). My loyalty to my friends. My willingness to own my crap because they
In our many hours of conversation, my brother Rich and I decided that we didn’t
want to have the same kind of family legacy that our parents and grandparents (even great-grandparents) had. We choose: No blaming and cutting each other off forever.
In 2010, we didn't have the strength under pressure because what we were dealing with was 'bigger than us'. History was about to repeat itself. There were too many players and our parents were involved. We couldn't fix all the problems by ourselves. By not speaking to each other, we lost our way. However, I never wrote off my brother or stopped loving him. I was just mad. OMG, I was so tried of being at war. Each prayer I prayed for 3 1/2 years was one of love and hope for peace. Rich and I just didn't know how to reconnect. Our family history is so complicated and disappointing. To protect ourselves, we stayed away so we wouldn't eventually hurt each other by reminding each other what is wrong in our family and how we can't fix it.
Then finally in 2013, I reached out through a casual text. The
first few dozen back and forth texts didn’t go well. Rich was being defensive
and protective. I understood and hung in there. Miraculously, my brother heard
me. He knew I was sincere. He knew I was on his side. He knew I never wanted
war between us.
In order to heal our relationship, I owed my part of the blowup
and admit that I was triggered by his body language and tone of voice. I have a
low tolerance for anger and defensiveness with my brother. I was unable to bear
his differing opinion and I pounced. I forgot that anger is a cover for hurt.
So in trying to shut his opinion down, I activated world war 3 between us.
Honestly, I understand Rich so well; it didn’t matter if he
owned his part. I didn’t know if he was able or ready to do that. Yet, I needed
to be crystal clear about my part. Because we made this pact to ‘change our
legacy about getting along’, he reminded me of that when we talked. I know Rich
isn’t perfect. Both he and I have lots of growing still to do. Besides, he
couldn’t live without me…I’m a great sister.
And even though I suck at being the ‘family diplomat’ and self
appointed fixer of ‘all things’ broken, all I ever wanted was peace. If I
couldn’t have it with my parents, at least I’d have it with Rich. He knew that.
However, I could not resolve our dispute by myself. It takes one person to
forgive. It takes two people to reconcile. Within an hour of texting back and
forth, we were on the phone. After a few hours on the phone, all was well.
Thankfully, whatever damage there was between us, it wasn’t so high we couldn’t
build a bride over our sibling pride or hurt.
In October of 2013, my brother and I had a reunion in Maui. (I
know, great place to have a reunion, huh?) He was renewing his wedding vows and
we were celebrating our 25th Anniversary. From the moment we saw each other I
was at home in my heart.
Even though Rich drove me crazy as a kid, I’m very protective of
him. I know what he didn't get as a kid. He knows what I didn't receive that would have helped me be more mature.
I have long let go of all need to repair our unending family dysfunctions.
In fact, we no longer spend hours talking about our mother or father's unwillingness to be
loving parents; we’ve moved on. I’ve also come to my senses about correcting my
brother’s faults. Rich never told me what I’m doing wrong or how I was screwing
up. He just wants to be loved and accepted. I’m to bring understanding to the
sibling table—nothing more (unless he asks for my feedback). It took me this
long to know my purpose as his older sister.
There were times that weekend on the beaches of Maui that I got
choked up as I watched my brother. In a way, I’m like a mom. I ‘see’ him for
who he is and love him unconditionally. I know his long history. I know why he does what he does. I know he
tries.
Rich lives in Oahu now—a thousand miles away from his pain in AZ
(where my parents live). He looked different: older, content, a tad calmer, but
much happier then I had ever seen him. I never saw him so happy and in love, so
affectionate to everyone around him. We laughed and joked. There wasn’t any
tension between us. It dawned on me that he was beginning to heal from
the deep ache of rejection in his heart as a son. I understand that rejection. I also know it's possible to find healing. I felt like God was allowing
me to see a special moment into his heart. Rich is my little ‘big’ brother (he
acts like the oldest even though he’s not). I am his big ‘little’ sis (I’m okay
with that when were not fighting). We had a great time together in Maui.
I don’t know when I’ll see Rich again; Hawaii is a long way away. I shed some tears just thinking he's so far away. What if I never see him again? I can’t just get in the car and drive 33 hours to see him. When we said
goodbye, I hugged him and whispered in his ear, “I’m glad you are starting to
heal. We are both healing.” Only he could know what that meant. He kissed me on
the cheek and said, “Love you, Sis.”
That was the best thing that happen in 2013 (and there were a lot of great things that happen.) My brother and I, we’re good! Lord only knows how much we’re good despite what any
one else thinks of us. :-D
