Speaking Out: Why Hiding Your Struggles Makes it Worse

Posted on by stilllearning2b
hiding

At this point, the only real regret I have about my first marriage was that I didn’t know.

Not about the financial and sexual infidelity (although it would have been nice to have had some insider information!). And not even about his plan to leave and secure another wife.

I regret that I didn’t know about his struggles with addiction and depression.

Because when it comes down to it, that is the real tragedy.

And unlike the bizarre secret life and the bigamy, hiding battles with addiction and depression* is exceedingly common.

And the consequences of trying to conceal these struggles are far-reaching and often devastating.

*I limit my emphasis here to addiction and depression partly because I believe those are the struggles my ex faced and because those are the two areas that I still witness the most stigma around. These same ideas hold true for most struggles – from weight loss to divorce, from anxiety to dealing with loss. These are the hard parts of the human journey. And they share a common language that we all speak if we’re willing to listen.

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—–

At this point, I can only guess at what happened. At what demons my ex was wrestling with behind closed doors and only witnessed with closed eyes.

I know that he was taught from a young age the skill of hiding. He covered for his father when he was drunk at his son’s birthday party. He created stories to keep classmates away from his house and its concealed secrets. He learned to keep his tears in and his shoulders up.

I knew these things. I saw these things. But I also thought he was different with me. That he could open up. Feel safe. He showed me some secrets. I mistakenly thought he revealed them all.

I learned otherwise when I opened the cupboard doors in the basement after he left. The clutter of empty bottles spoke of another side of my husband. A darker side. A struggling side.

A side he never let me see.

Part of me wonders if is some strange way, by living this other life in secret and then leaving suddenly, he was trying to protect me. Shield me from his shadow-self. He had always seen himself as my guardian.

Or maybe he was too ashamed to reveal his internal conflicts and fears. His concern with his outward appearance and perception increased while his downward spiral accelerated. Ever afraid as being seen as less-than, something he perceived in his own father.

Perhaps he was afraid at the repercussions of speaking out about his problems. I have to admit, I would not have taken it well, especially if it had been hidden for some time. He may have been fearful of my anger. My disappointment. And my own fear.

Or maybe it was more about the fear of being judged by his family. His friends and coworkers. The world. At being distilled down to a single word – “depressed”. Or “addict”. Instead of a singularly complex man.

Conceivably, his depression or addiction had him feeling spun out of control. And so orchestrating his own magic show of misdirection and misinformation became his way of exerting control. Of making the pain somehow a little more bearable. I’m no stranger to that trick.

Of course, he may not even have possessed that level of self-awareness, simply seeking refuge from his pain wherever it could be found. Doubtful that true help could ever be obtained. And instead of seeing himself as struggling in the moment, he may have seen himself as permanently broken. Or maybe he couldn’t even bear to face himself at all.

And that’s the part that breaks my heart.

For him. And for all the others like him that are too stoic or too afraid or too ashamed to speak out.

Because no matter what his reasons were for not speaking out, not reaching out,

Keeping it in only made it worse.

—–

I Don’t Want to Hurt Them

It’s natural to want to shield those we love from excessive pain or ugliness. We care for them. We want the best for them. Even when it’s at the expense of ourselves.

There’s a magical thinking that can occur – if I can only keep this hidden from them, I’ll fix it on my own and everything will be the same. Yet upon reaching that point, things have already changed. For one, it’s impossible to be fully present when you’re presenting with a facade. You’re playacting. And that’s not fair to you or to them. Also, one of the strongest human drives is to be seen and accepted for who we are. And by wearing a mask, you’re isolating yourself.

We all need a human connection. We wither away without affection, attention and connection just as easily as we do without without food. When you make a decision to keep it in out of a sense of obligation, you’re starving yourself of the very sustenance you need to get better.

Furthermore, although you may believe you’re holding this in out of altruism, it’s ultimately a selfish act. You’ve decided that you are the one in control of their reality and you’re guiding it along based on your script alone.And when they find out – and they will eventually find out – the fact that you have kept the truth hidden from them will prompt anger, frustration, sadness and self-doubt.

Truly acting in their best interest occurs when you present them with the facts and allow them to reach their own decisions.

It is not your responsibility to ensure that others never feel pain. It is your responsibility to not willingly inflict needless suffering. And trying too hard to protect somebody often results in the pain magnifying needlessly.

I’m Afraid of Disappointing People

It’s not unusual for those stricken with depression or addiction to be people-pleasers. To want to be liked and often to find their own validation through that of others. And so when depression or addiction, with its inevitable impact on daily life and productivity, rears its ugly head, it can be easy to try to keep it under the covers for fear of letting down those around you.

You don’t want to go from being seen as “the smart one” to “the sad one.” From “the person who is always there for me” to “the person who never shows up.” Or “the responsible one” to “the don’t-trust-them-with-anything one.” And so you keep quiet. Keep the illusion.

Yet, just like you are not responsible for making sure that nobody ever feels pain, you are also not responsible for making others happy. For pleasing them. You do you and don’t worry so much about them.

Witnessing disappointment in the eyes of another is like a reflection of yourself that you have been avoiding. And maybe that’s exactly what you need to face.

I’m Afraid of Being Judged

And sadly, you will be.

By people who don’t understand, who believe that it can never happen to them and that you are somehow “less than” for letting it happen to you. By people that refuse to see you as a person with an illness rather than simply a walking label. By people who believe that strength is found in silence and that you are weak by speaking out. When in reality, their judgment is only because they’re cowardly with facing uncomfortable truths. By people that see depression and addiction as character flaws instead of character-builders. By people that have narrow minds because they are threatened by the inclusion of the unknown. By people that believe that they can control everything in their lives and are not willing to concede otherwise.

You will be judged.

Not because of who you are. But because of who the adjudicators are.

Don’t let them define your life for you. Be stronger than their fears and more forthcoming than their views.

Let them judge. And seek to prove them wrong.

I’m Ashamed of Who I Am

One of the most important things to realize about the illnesses of addiction and depression is that they lie to you. They devise reasons why it’s  imperative that you remain secretive. Not because it’s better for you. But because it’s better for the illness. They grow stronger in the dark, unchecked by outside influence.

They tell you that because you have failed at something, you are a failure. They whisper that you’re hopeless and then feed upon your despair. They convince you that you’re broken, unlovable and that anyone would recoil upon seeing your true nature.

Shame is perhaps the most malignant of human emotions. It is the root of so many bad choices and behaviors as it tries to distract from its own misery while inadvertently feeding it. It is the wound that screams at the sight of the sun, when light is the very thing that will bring healing.

And here’s the thing with shame – it tells you that you are alone in your feelings. When in reality, they are feelings we have all shared. And it’s only upon sharing them that this truth becomes evident.

—–

If you are suffering with addiction or depression currently, speak up and get the support and help you need. There is no shame in asking for help. In fact, recognizing your need for help and being brave enough to ask for it shows your strength. You are not your illness. You are so much more. Begin by refusing to listen to your illness’s orders to keep it hidden. Because that only makes it worse.

If you have suffered from addiction or depression in the past, speak out about your story. Do your part to help remove the stigma and assumptions about mental illness. Silence implies complacency with the status quo. So refuse to be silent. Allow your story to become one of understanding for those with a tendency to judge and one of inspiration for those further behind you. You don’t have to be perfect. In fact, it’s better if you show that you’re not.

If you love someone who is suffering from addiction or depression, speak with compassion. Facing a loved one’s struggles is hard. Accepting that you cannot control their decisions is scary. And setting and maintaining healthy boundaries is an on-going cycle of hope and heartbreak. Understand that they are not doing this to hurt you, they are doing this because they are hurting. So be kind. Both to them and to you. After all, we’re all in this thing together.

For all of you who have spoken out, I respect you and your courage. I hope my former husband has joined your ranks.

Related:

Hurt People Hurt People and the 7 Keys of Conscious Compassion

It’s Nice to be Important

 

Three Way Conversation

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Do you remember three way calling? Where you pushed a button after connecting with one person to allow you to dial out to a third?

Three way calling dominated my middle school years. I spent countless hours curled in the corner of my waterbed atop my zebra-striped comforter (hey now, it was the early 90s!) with my ear pressed to my corded phone (I didn’t have a cordless model for a few more years). Much of time, one of two of my two closest friends were on the other line. We could spend hours talking about everything and nothing. But mostly, the talk centered around boys. Hmmm…would they be classified as everything or nothing?

The legendary zebra bed and my infamous chubby cheeks of childhood:)
The legendary zebra bed and my infamous chubby cheeks of childhood:)

And then the topic of a three way call would come up. Who should we call? Is there anything we need to discuss before they are on the phone? Any bit on intel to which they are not privy? It was so deliberate, that addition of a third to the conversation. The new voice could entirely change the tone or course of an exchange. New topics may be broached or old ones discarded due to their proclivities and knowledge.

It was always a balancing act, those three way conversations. Especially with middle school girls involved. We usually had alliances; the affections were not spread equally between the three. It was always a dance between inclusion and exclusion, always wondering your place in the mix.

Three way conversations have again appeared in my life. Not via phone (do iPhones even have that capability or has it gone the way of the floppy disk?) but in my relationship.

I am acutely aware that every conversation between Brock and I also includes our pasts, the ghosts from before dialing in to voice their feelings and opinions.

Now obviously every conversation between two people pulls from their respective pasts. It’s impossible for two adults of any age to speak without their pasts whispering their ears. Our experiences shape or beliefs and our perceptions. We filter the world through this netting woven from days gone by.

With my ex, I was not as aware of the past. We were together from such a young age, perhaps I assumed my past was his past.

But that’s not accurate. Even though we lived parallel lives for many years, we had different perspectives born from our childhoods. I neglected to listen to the specters whispering of the trauma caused by his alcoholic family and I didn’t pay attention to my fear of abandonment on the other line. I acted as though we were in on a private conversation when, in reality, it was a three way conversation with our pasts.

I’ve returned to the state of my youth. I am more deliberate about those three way conversations. I listen to the voice that is speaking – past or present – and try to respond appropriately. It’s easier now to tease out the utterances of former lives, as we each bring years of unshared experiences to the table. I am more aware of their effect on our views and responses, the latter of which are often anchored more in yesterday than today. We cannot hang up on our pasts; we must learn how to engage them in the conversation.

The zebra-topped water bed has long since been retired and I no longer have a corded phone. However, the three way conversations continue. Only now we don’t spend hours giggling about boys.

To those impacted by Boston: Marathoners train to endure pain. But there is no training that can prepare you for this kind of torment. My heart goes out to the runners, their supporters and the thousands of people who are taking care of the affected.

The Secret Keepers

Posted on by stilllearning2b

secrets

My ex husband came from an alcoholic family. And if there is one thing alcoholic families excel at, it’s keeping secrets.

My ex learned his role from a young age. He didn’t discuss his parents with others. He didn’t invite his friends over to his house. He learned how to keep a low profile and stay out of the line of fire. He learned not to have expectations of his parents and how to survive on his own. He learned to shut his door and shut his mouth.

I thought he could overcome his family.

I was brought into the inner folds of the family within a few short months of dating. He told me the stories of his dad passed out on the couch or drunk at his birthday party. I received a call when his dad was taken by ambulance to the emergency room due to excessive alcohol consumption. He relayed the tales of his mom, weeping and emotional, turning to her son for support in the middle of the night. I saw the endless rum and cokes. I witnessed the change in his parents as they drank to hide their pain. I perceived the unsaid behind the silences.

I still thought he could overcome his family.

When I helped his mom rearrange the living room, she showed me his baby pictures which we had unearthed. I learned some of the family secrets. I discovered that his father had been married before and had technically committed bigamy, since the divorce from wife number one was not yet final. I learned of his father’s disgraceful exit from the military and equally disgraceful exit from what was a very prestigious career. I heard about the mismanagement of money and how they went from earning six figures to living in a crumbling house in a undesirable area.

I still thought he could overcome his family.

My ex husband strove to separate himself from his parents. He was determined not to make their mistakes. He looked to the Boy Scouts to be his surrogate parents. He made friends and joined their families. He was driven to succeed and to escape his lineage. He lived in fear of turning into his father.

I still thought he could overcome his family.

He may not have kept the family secrets from me, but he still applied those lessons to other areas. There was an incident at scout camp shortly before we started dating. An incident that left several long ropey parallel scars across his lower back. He never did reveal what happened. I actually looked for familiar names and locations on the recently released list of scout leaders that had been convicted of sexual crimes. Nothing stood out. But I wonder…

I still thought he could overcome his family.

But apparently those lessons of silence and secrets were too embedded. The skill set just waiting in the wings until the right moment came along. When he began to struggle during our marriage (with money, alcohol, depression, employment…who knows?), his reflexes kicked in and he covered it up. He kept silent and he kept secrets. And through those secrets, he turned his biggest fear into reality. He became his father.

I wish that he had been able to overcome his family. And I hope that it is not too late for him. I hope that he is able to see the truth and no longer be compelled to keep it a secret.