Brene Brown says that a midlife crisis is the point at which we realize that all of the shutting down that we did in order to survive when we were children is no longer helpful now that we are adults and have more control over how we want to be in the world. We get to dismantle those barricades, and we have to in order to be grown-ups.

control

My mom wants so badly to save me from the pain of struggling and failing. I experience that as controlling. I can't learn without failing. But I'm trying to save S from pain too, and that is controlling. I'm not trusting her to survive. She deserves better than that from me. I can survive this. I can survive recognizing that I've done a really bad thing, I can see it and recognize it, and know that I will fall down a bunch more, but I'm capable of confronting this. I can survive this. I will survive more falls and they will be horrifying crappy too, and I'll learn from them.

In South Africa we believe that the spirits of our ancestors stay in the world after their bodies have died. They communicate with us if we know how to hear them, and they also communicate with God and interact with the world in ways that are just a little more powerful than people. Frequently we think of them as guiding or assisting us or throwing things into disorder to let us know that we need to fix something.

I've always been comforted by the idea of the ancestral spirits sticking around, even though I carry some skepticism. I like the idea of being able to collaborate with those who came before to bring the world into some sort of order.

But as I come to terms with the ways that my mother's boarderline personality disorder continues to impact my life, and the ways that her parents and their parents impacted her life, I'm starting to think a little differently about how the ancestors interact with us. I'm feeling a very strong impact of some very damaged people on my life, and I'm feeling an enormous amount of pressure to continue their legacy. I don't really know how to change it, even though I'm starting to see just how damaging it's been in so many ways. It feels as though saying how negative my mother's impact on me has been invalidates all the good and loving and kind things that she did. It feels as though I'm rejecting the human reality of us all struggling by saying that I want to do something different.

When I was about 13, I said to my mother that I appreciated what she had done by being a stay at home mother to my brother and I, but I didn't want to do the same thing. I was trying to say that I wanted a career too, and that I was grateful that she had raised me to believe that was something I could do. She was so angry. She said that she felt rejected and disrespected. And I can understand why she said that. But I wasn't wrong for wanting something different, or for telling her that. And it wasn't my responsibility to do the work around making that an okay thing. Her response to me was invalidating and frightening, and its legacy is one of my ancestral spirits. There's also another ancestor that tells me that it is my responsibility to protect others' feelings at all costs, and certainly over telling the truth about my needs and desires and preferences. And there's another ancestor that tells me that the pain of the people I love is my fault, and that I'm capable of and responsible for saving them from pain.

Why has it been easier for me to see the dangers of ancestral racism and sexism than ancestral codependence and erasure of the self?

Letter from my self-compassion

Dear Choirgirl,

This has been a hell of a hard few years, hasn't it? It's so difficult to take care of yourself when you're surrounded by so many seemingly urgent things asking you to pretend that you can do them perfectly. Even just taking the time to discover what you need to change is courageous and a huge victory, and I'm really impressed by how much time and effort you've put into reflecting on what isn't working for you. So few people can do that. I also think that it's wonderful that you're so open to love. Love always brings heartache, and you take the heartache and still stay open to love and connection. That is courageous. If it weren't for your openness, you would have had a much harder time figuring out that you are sustaining old habits that don't really serve connection. You survived difficulties that you didn't know you were experiencing, and you came out of that with intelligence, motivation, and compassion. But I think your humanity will deeped if you can learn not to numb away those feelings, or try to fix things, and I think that you'll feel more fully alive and more your better self if you recognize and really learn to listen to the complexities that drive life. It isn't simple, and that isn't something that should be fixed. But without these depths, the heights don't feel as joyful or as high.

You've made some pretty sucky mistakes. I think they have to do with you wanting to fix things instead of holding space in the complex uncertainty. That is understandable. Uncertainty is so deeply uncomfortable, and so disparaged that I understand why you thought that trying to fix it and make everyone feel good was the best thing to do. But I think that this opportunity to experience and live with complexity will be a gift to you. Hang in there. You're being courageous. I also think that you're being brave by staying open to her even though she has told you that she can't deal with this complexity right now. She might want to run all the way away, and I think that you have the courage to let her go, but keep her place warm. It's going to hurt so much, but it's worth it anyway. And you'll be fine and more compassionate and more joyful when the warm places you sustain are inhabited, even if only briefly. Those brief moments are worth the pain. And I'm going to help you through the pain. Because I know that you are worth it. I don't want to miss out on the wonderful with you.

I know the issue of boundaries is really confusing to you right now. But I think you already have some in place. It's really hard to believe that you are worth it even when people around you tell you that you aren't worth it to them. But not taking on their beliefs is an indication of a good boundary. That is a good place to start. I don't know what more you will discover about boundaries, but I think believing in hope and love and not being destroyed by the things about yourself that have a negative impact in the world, even when you want to change them, indicates that you have some good boundaries. I also have confidence that you will learn more, and that no one can ever know everything about this. Hang in there. I'm here with you.

heartbreak

And she did leave. All of the complications and challenges are too much. She didn't want to walk this path with me. I hope to goodness we get to walk another path together someday. Right now I'm going to ask this hole in my heart to help me find the light.

looking back

I didn't tell her about the things that were actually wrong, like the day that I cried until I couldn't see and showed up at work with my eyes nearly swollen shut because she had raged at me for hours. She was raging because my attempts at helping someone who needed it caused her discomfort. I told a lie because I didn't feel like I could be that upset over what had actually happened. It felt too small to justify my abjection. I needed to be acknowledged for hurting, but I felt like I had brought the hurt on myself, or like I was hurting unreasonably, and so I needed the story to be much worse so that my reality could match the one I thought everyone else subscribed to.

She hurts too. She fears not being able to control her world, and she fears being abandoned. I learned to submit to overwhelming, scary physical affection that entirely obliterated my physical boundaries. And then I felt like I couldn't say no later. I was trained by a parent to be compliant for my abuser. She didn't think she was doing that, but she made it so hard for me to see my body as my own. And she co-opted my father by making him punish me, sometimes with justification, and sometimes because she was upset. When he wasn't around she co-opted my first girlfriend who punished me by leaving. The thing was, she wasn't unjustified. I'd lied to her because I didn't know how to explain why I was so angry.

But now I effectively set the people I love up to punish me in the same way, by asking them to talk to one another. I knew they would find the inconsistencies I didn't know how to handle, even if I was hoping they wouldn't. I flooded people inappropriately by asking for intimacy and empathy without being able to open up about what was actually making me feel so isolated. I'm really scared that I've been doing the same thing again. And yes, she asked, and this time I didn't need to make it seem worse than it was. Now I'm afraid that I've flooded her, and I'm afraid that she'll leave just like L did.

Borderline personality disorder. I'm putting a stop to it here.