I had a conversation with a friend today about the role of a father in a child's life. As she was telling about a story with her daughter, I found myself wanting to cry. It was my old, shitty friend abandonment surfacing within. First, he starts by my by taking me back to little league games. Then we travel to basketball season my junior year of high-school and graduation from high-school. Finally, we reach what I call hell, otherwise known as major depressive disorder coupled generalized anxiety disorder. The common denominator happens to be the lack of emotional, spiritual, and physical involvment of my father in my life. I truly wanted to ignore the feelings of abandonment I experienced today, mostly because I am going to start seeing clients next week. My inner thought process tells me I need to have it together for my clients. Reflecting back on how I got to where I am, I determined that repression is no longer an adaptive tool for my tool belt. As I was laying down reading The Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen, I closed the book, and allowed myself to feel the feelings of emotional hurt and sadness. Now, I will be on extra close watchout for Mr. Abandonment when he tries to invade during a counseling session.
There is a really well thought out metaphor by John Eldridge:
It basically states that a person such as a son's father is standing in the front of the line to carryout his fatherly roles such as providing emotional, physical, and spiritual support. If the father steps out of the line for some reason (abandonment, abuse, neglect, or poor choices like not putting his children first) his spot in the line remains empty. Empty in the sense that it can only be filled by that one person. Some would say others can fill the role, but from my own experience the longing is for the person who is or should be in the front of the line. My friend and I both agreed after the conversation was over that most of our baggage from life can be linked to our attachments to our parents or lack there of. So I guess I have some emotional work to do this weekend.
3 comments:
"If the father steps out of the line for some reason (abandonment, abuse, neglect, or poor choices like not putting his children first) his spot in the line remains empty. Empty in the sense that it can only be filled by that one person. Some would say others can fill the role, but from my own experience the longing is for the person who is or should be in the front of the line."
I recently ended a, ahem, conversation with my own dad with the words being shoved in my face "what is it that I don't do for you?" And immediately all the answers came to mind...you chose 34 football players over me when I was seven every day and left me and the rest of your family sitting in a Sizzler, you buy me things instead of spending your time on me, you think that being around is the same as being there for me. I think the other super-emotionally-in-touch friend of ours said it really well last week when he said his parents don't fight at all, his mom runs at the first sign of conflict. Am I adapting the same fighting stance: am I more willing to overlook the issue, to say "well, I can't do anything about it now, so I might as well not try?" And how do I get past that part so that I can fight fair still, without letting it damage me so much that I am no longer a constantly damaged person, and also not a repressed, hardened heart? Is it that the question that everyone really faces? Not whether or not there is an eternal fountain of youth, but if they can make it to death in this way?
Interesting... I also had a similar reaction from reading Henri Nouwen this morning... only mine was with my mother. The root of all my neediness for approval can be linked to her appeared lack of interest in me growing up. So much, in fact, that I've become extremely hurt and upset over her unspoken choice to miss my dance competition because it's more important to be at my sister's pageant. It's so stupid that it's such a huge issue in my life. What am I 12? I am trying to do some "emotional work" today also.
Good blogs both Mitch... very open... very honest... very brave of you really... I'm very (a lot of 'very' going on here ;-) ) proud of you...
Post a Comment