I just wanted to take a brief pause to stop and celebrate the reach of the Parents Who Hoard guided workbook that I released in May. To date, more than 100 individuals have downloaded the free workbook. That means that 100 people have gained access to a practical resource that can help them pre-plan a future intervention with a parent who hoards (PWH). This is something to celebrate!
Why celebrate this? For many reasons.
For those who grow up in a household where a parent’s hoarding is a mitigating factor, there are often unique cultures that exist invisibly. Cultural norms such as birthday parties, holiday celebrations, and such may not have found room in these households. (We once had a Christmas tree on display for a decade…talk about falling outside of cultural norms!)
So learning to celebrate things that seem obvious to others is new for us. I hosted my very first birthday party this summer. I was celebrating my 46th birthday. Yet the idea of throwing my own party and having people choose to come to celebrate with me was new. It was a great experience.
So today, won’t you pause and find a way to celebrate?
I’m excited that the workbook reaches those who need help and hope. So I’m celebrating that.
What are you going to celebrate today? I’d love to hear about your growth and healing!
When I was a kid, I was taught that wrongs should be righted. If someone hit you on the playground, the expectation was that the other child would approach you, apologize for their behavior, and that a responsible adult would further punish the child for their crime. At times, this is the way life is scripted and carried out. When someone does something wrong, others see, and we work to correct the offense. We take care of the hurt one even while we punish the offender.
But what happens when no one sees the offense?
Photo by Hossein Ezzatkhah at Unsplash
The sense of injustice when someone hurts you and the offense is unseen, never recognized, and justice is not served is crushing.
Who tends to the wound if no one has seen the cut, or bruise, or verbal lashing out?
Who punishes the offender when no one else has witnessed the harm done?
How does the child trust that they are safe, that they will be protected, or that justice will be done when unseen offenses occur?
Yet this is just what happens for many children who are wounded by those who are expected to be their protectors: their parents. Although physical abuse and neglect may become apparent to outsiders, the number of children who are abused or neglected yet remain undetected remains unknown. Those children who endure verbal, emotional, or psychological abuse and neglect may only be revealed years later.
The Walking Wounded
The walking wounded, these children whose abuse has remained undetected, carry around pain, shame, guilt, and blame. They grow into adulthood with skewed views of themselves, struggling to develop healthy interpersonal relationships, and experiencing long-term depression, anxiety, or addictive behaviors. The world has proven to them to be the same as their abusers: undependable, fickle, and distant.
What if the wounded one is you? How can you right the wrong, find justice, begin healing?
The process begins by exploring and telling your story. The traumatic experiences of childhood abuse and neglect, or parentification for others, robs the child of her story and voice. The emotions of this little one were not considered, given space to be expressed and tended to openly. Telling the story requires a hearer, someone that we can safely tell what happened.
Healing often looks different than we hope, and often occurs apart from those who wounded us.
Finding a Safe Helper
Finding someone who can be trusted is difficult for adults who grew up in abusive, neglectful homes, or whose role was to care exclusively for their parent. Their inner compass doesn’t point north the way it should. Although not all therapists are safe people, it’s often a great place to start.
How can you know if someone is safe? Trust your gut. Clinically, we call this congruence (incongruence). We’ve been told to ignore or stuff these warnings by many people. Let’s be clear, the unsafe people force us to quiet or ignore our gut because it’s only when we do that they can gain power and maintain control.
This can be challenging because the child of abuse, neglect, or parentification has had to quiet their intuition to survive. Some questions to ask yourself when meeting with a therapist for the first time include:
How do I feel around this person? Though we’ve often been told to ignore our “gut” (clinically we call this congruence/incongruence) in childhood, listen to it here.
What is their demeanor when I talk? Do they lean in to listen, or are they buried in notetaking?
Whose side are they on? (A safe therapist should be on your side, yet able to challenge unhealthy habits. There’s a difference between being able to challenge a client’s actions and being able to embrace their experiences as real and valid.)
What type of experience/specialized training do they have? Does it align with family systems issues or trauma? If not, it’s okay to ask for a referral.
How much will this cost me? Not every provider is contracted with insurance, or possibly not with your insurance. If you can’t afford to see the provider regularly, it will be challenging to make progress. Not impossible but challenging. Not sure how to find out who might be contracted with your insurance? Call the member services number on the back of your insurance card and ask for a list of contracted mental health providers.
Consider looking for a counselor via Psychology Today, Therapist.com, or TherapyDen. If you’re an adult child, look for counselors who specialize in trauma and family therapy even if you plan to do individual counseling sessions. And of course, if you are open to telehealth and reside in Washington State, send me a message to schedule a free 15-minute phone consultation at ceci@cecigarrett.com!
Many adult children have been forced to take the blame and responsibility for things that their PWH did (or didn’t do) unfairly. We’ve been told that it’s our fault that things are the way they are. Sometimes this is clearly spoken, other times it is inferred. Although as children we didn’t have a choice or say in these things, once we begin to recognize that things aren’t right, we are responsible for what we continue to allow to happen in our relationships and lives. This is especially true in our relationships with our PWH. Setting boundaries is foreign to us! We weren’t allowed to do this growing up. So where do we begin? Whose fault is it? How are we going to start setting boundaries? How will we know if a boundary is right for us?
Musings about taking responsibility when it’s not our fault.
I always felt out of place, Like I didn’t belong here.The ones who were supposed to love and protect me— Didn’t. Instead, I was told how far I came from measuring up To their expectations. How taking care of me Was simply too much for them. The accusation was heavy: If it weren’t for you… This, And this, And even this… Wouldn’t be like this.
So, I apologized for breathing, For existing and having needs Until I stopped expressing them. I fixed my mind on fixing them, On making them happy And slowly I lost me.
I dreamed that one day I would matter, That I would have a voice, A right to personal happiness. But first, I must find a way to fix them. Before I could truly live, I should find a way— To change them. If only they would change– I would matter, Have a right to dream and play, To laugh or to cry for shattered dreams.
I had changed. I’d become like them. I couldn’t bear the realization— I was now breathing their poison, hoping others would change.
Instead, I decided to rebel the best way I knew: I changed me. And stopped looking to them to change, Or to validate, Love, Accept, Approve, Or even see the real me.
That girl is worth the hard work Of digging out from beneath the wreckage, Trash and “treasures” of their illness, Abuse, neglect, and ignorance.
She is prized. I set her carefully as the focus. I made choices to make her my center, To love and cherish, To build up and protect, To care for and adore. If only you would change, they said.
I did. And now their opinions no longer matter to me.
Despite some initial fear and trepidation, I launched my professional website and the free workbook I created on Monday. The result? Eight downloads! On Monday alone, eight individuals took advantage of this free workbook. Eight people found a resource to help them consider the choice to take on the various issues that may arise as they help a parent who hoards (PWH).
Why Eight Matters
For those who’ve grown up with a PWH, there are currently very few resources that consider our experiences and needs. Few studies have focused specifically on the children who grew up with a PWH. Frustratingly, little professional focus has turned to acknowledge what our experiences may have been like. We feel invisible.
Yet, there are a lot of us here.
If hoarding disorder impacts 3-5% of the population, or approximately 15 million Americans, the number of children who’ve grown up amidst the clutter piles created by a PWH is likely very large also. Consequently, the number of adults anxiously awaiting the day when their PWH goes into crisis is much larger than eight. Much, much larger.
Since change typically starts small, let’s celebrate EIGHT. Ultimately, the eight folks that were helped by downloading the free workbook on Monday are on the verge of something new.
They are beginning to feel heard, to have their challenges seen and addressed.
What a win!?! Eight downloads of the workbook means that eight people now have a tool in their hands to help them find a voice and make better decisions.
Some of you have asked about my mom from time to time, and since our story is very public, I like to share occasionally. Stopped by Mom’s apartment in the assisted living facility she lives at these days to drop off a few necessities for her. It turns out she had been planning for my birthday.
Her apartment continues to remain spacious and sparsely decorated. She spends most of her time in her room, watching TV and tatting or reading. She’s given up many other crafts and social activities. I think dementia, caused by her bipolar disorder, makes social activities hard for her. She can’t maintain her focus on so many different people in large groups. She’s aware that her memory is going.
But dementia means that she forgets things. Like her only child’s birthday. Or, it means that she remembers calling me two years ago on my birthday, and well, that is the same as calling me on my birthday this year in her mind. So my birthday came and went unnoticed by Mom.
Or so I thought. Tonight, she handed me a neatly wrapped and tied medicine cup. “Happy Birthday!” she exclaimed.
Many times these handmade presents have been useless to me. I’ve been frustrated by her plethora of unfinished projects and often felt like her crafts took precedence over my needs and time as a child.
But when I opened this neatly tied upcycled gift wrapping, I found inside these dainty little beaded and tatted earrings. I don’t wear much jewelry, but these are beautiful.
One day she won’t remember me anymore. Those days are rapidly approaching. And I will remember for many more decades the pain of growing up in a home where I had no space to call my own and where I often felt I was an afterthought.
But I will also remember this year when the woman whose edges have softened as her memory failed gave me a gift I’ll protect for the rest of my days. Because it is proof of what she thought she was giving me all these 42 years of my life…
…the best she had to give.
My deepest wish is that each of you, no matter how deeply you’ve been wounded by a loved one’s mental illness and hoarding behaviors, find a way to forgive and accept each other just as you are. I wasn’t the easiest child to raise at times, I know. But we give the best we have and hope that it will be enough.
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