Anniversaries like Mother’s Day and Father’s Day bring up complicated feelings for me. I am an adult child of divorce. My mother, siblings and I were at the mercy of my father’s unpredictable rages. To this day, my nervous system is easily dysregulated. I loathe the sound of shouting, because it brings me right back to being a frightened eight-year-old all over again.
Despite the turbulence of my parents’ marriage, some of the happiest parts of my childhood were the memories I made with my younger siblings. We went to the playground together, played imaginary games, and giggled in our cubby house under the dining table. They were my rapt audience when I made up stories about dragons and girls going on adventures.
Over the years, I’ve apologised to my siblings, especially the ones I hurt the most.
Everything changed when we became teenagers. I always had a controlling streak, but it got a lot worse. I didn’t realise it at the time, but I copied the bossy, controlling behavior modelled to me by my father. I didn’t have the language of emotional regulation. My mother was in survival mode, trying to keep us all afloat. It was never my role to parent. That was up to my parents, but my father was absent, and when he was around, he was abusive. My mother was emotionally shut down, and focused on keeping us alive, fed, and doing well at school.
I look back at my younger self with compassion. In the end, we all did the best we could in a hostile family home. Despite living under the same roof, we were in isolated emotional silos. It wasn’t safe to reach out to each other, so we tried to reach for safety and security from outside. Some of us had secret relationships that were often toxic and abusive too, because that was all we knew.
Over the years, I’ve apologised to my siblings, especially the ones I hurt the most. For a long time, I carried a lot of guilt. In an attempt to control my own anxiety about my siblings and me growing up and changing, I resorted to same toxic communication patterns I learned from my father. I was fluent in coercive control.
I do better now, in my interactions with my family. I’m aware now, that when I get anxious, I can get controlling. I do movement meditation, speak to my therapist and confide in my husband to help me release my anxiety. It’s not easy, but I’m getting better at sitting with uncertainty. I was and still am closer to some of my siblings. We choose to let go of our past difficulties and are willing to build kinder, happier memories in the present.
Siblings who choose to hold onto outdated versions of me and nurse decades-long grudges miss out on the person I am today.
I was a eldest Asian daughter and a first-generation migrant to Australia. Now, I am a loving, flawed, tired mother trying my hardest to parent peacefully precisely because I grew up amidst emotional landmines. My husband’s and children’s whole-hearted love for me never fail to astound me. To them at least, I am more than enough.
After a recent family difficulty, my mother, siblings and me were all triggered, and fell back into old family patterns. Even though I wasn’t to blame – once again, I became the scapegoat. My dad was nowhere to be seen, but his toxic legacy reared its ugly head. One of my siblings made a bad financial decision, and another one of my siblings sent me a heated message, blaming me for contributing to it. I was stunned at how much that message reminded me of my father’s anger at me.
This time, I had someone in my corner – my loving and supportive husband, who stood by me and helped read my many, many draft messages before I settled on a calm boundary. I didn’t get an apology from that sibling. I wasn’t expecting one, but I did make it clear that I didn’t want to receive any more hostile or passive-aggressive messages. I’ve worked hard to protect my peace, and I’ve come to realise the choice to forgive and let go is out of my hands. Siblings who choose to hold onto outdated versions of me and nurse decades-long grudges miss out on the person I am today. I miss out on their present-day selves too. Part of me will always grieve that loss.
I look back at my younger self with compassion. In the end, we all did the best we could in a hostile family home.
On bad days, I wonder if old patterns will repeat forever in my family, no matter how many years pass. On good days, I’m hopeful that things will be better for the next generation. I’m so grateful that my children, nephews and nieces are growing up in safe, loving homes. My brothers are gentle with their wives and children and help out at home. My sisters are empowered and supported by their safe people. We are the cycle-breakers. Maybe if we live in the same country again in the future, it will be easier to keep in touch.
I wonder how much energy it takes for all of us to do things differently to our parents, when our defaults were so destructive. I wish we could see each other more because we’re scattered in different parts of the globe. Our rare family reunions are brief, but always memorable. My children love their cousins, uncles and aunties and look forward to our next reunion.
While part of me grieves my distant siblings, the rest of me focuses on the relationships that are working for me. I’m grateful for the special people who actively do show up in my life – like my husband, children, and my close friends. They are my chosen family, and they love and accept me for exactly who I am.
*Noor Abdul is a pseuodonym.
