Pseudotherapy

This began as part of a comment on this post of Hilly’s …

Bret and I had a conversation recently about how having a fucked-up childhood affects people. Some people never learn *how* to love. Other people grow up needing someone to lavish it on who won’t hurt them.?It makes you wonder, doesn’t it, how similar circumstances can turn different people in different directions?

Despite my dysfunctional family and the ugliness I witnessed as a kid, I am an exceedingly loving person. I love just about everybody, and it’s very easy to worm your way into my heart. Basically, if you’re kind to me I fall in love with you (and there are many different ways to be “in love” with people).? I’ve never been one of those girls who’s drawn to the jerks. I only like bad boys if they’ve got a tender heart.

Probably what made the difference for me was my mother, who doted on me. I had severe asthma as a young child, and nearly died more than once. Plus, I was the baby of the family, the “accident” after my parents had their desired two boys-two girls offspring configuration. My mother wasn’t thrilled to find herself pregnant again, but when a terrible auto accident in her seventh month didn’t kill me, Mom decided I was a Very Special Baby. Every close call I survived strengthened her opinion, and she felt that way about me until the day she died. Growing up, there was never a moment when I didn’t feel absolutely loved. Oddly, my siblings never resented me. They all doted on me, too. My father was the lone exception, and I’m sure jealousy was a factor. I was his main rival for my mother’s attention.

Bret was the baby in his family, too. But his parents were both alcoholics who divorced when he was small, and he was constantly shuffled between them. His two older brothers were his security, but one or the other of them (sometimes both) would often take off on some adventure, leaving Bret behind with a neglectful parent. His life was chaotic, and he became an adult who sought unfailing love and security above all. It took him a few tries, but he finally found that very thing with me.

And yet, a guy I used to know had had a childhood quite similar to Bret’s ? the youngest child of alcoholic parents,?basically raised?by his older brothers because his mom was always drunk. Unlike Bret, he grew up reckless, wild and increasingly violent. After he nearly killed his first wife, she took their child and ran away. His family has avoided contact with him, out of fear, for many years (as do I). He is a mean, mean man who freely admits that he hates the world.

What makes the difference? Something in the home environment, or something inside the individual? Why do some people triumph over horrific childhoods while others descend into the depths of despair? I think it must be an inherent strength that not everyone is blessed with. Some of us are more resilient at our core and simply refuse to be beaten, while others have?a tough time bouncing back from a blow. And that’s got to be an inborn trait, because there’s no rhyme or reason to who possesses it. Sometimes you find that resilience in places where it logically should not exist.

Like is just a big old card game, isn’t it? You never know what you’ll get dealt?? or how you’ll play it.

This entry was posted on Friday, April 11th, 2008 at 1:50 pm and is filed under Friends and Family. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.