This is the sixth and last installment in a series of blogs on relationship patterns found in dysfunctional families. We have seen how abusive families put members in roles and the way abusers dodge responsibility by blaming others and forcing children to become adults. The family system is built on lies running over personal boundaries and destroying any healthy sense of self in its members. These relationship patterns work together to form a web of what I call oppression. It is so pervasive, so overwhelming, that leaving the family culture feels impossible.
As I drove up the winding path toward my parent’s house, the old, familiar dread formed in the pit of my stomach. My two small boys chattered in the back seat. What kind of mood will my parents be in today I wondered. I would know as soon as I stepped in the door. Sure enough, the air was oppressive and heavy with anger. My mother stomped around the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner. My father sat scowling in his recliner. Depression crept over me as I tried to think of something I could do to help.
Unsaid expectations
Unsaid expectations are the norm in an oppressive family and we are groomed from an early age to pay attention to them. These expectations lead to feelings of despair as over and over family members make us try to meet impossible needs.
“Do you want me to set the table?” I asked my mother cheerily as my boys ran out to the backyard to play.
“Those boys didn’t even speak to me,” my mother said as she bent over a pot.
“Oh, they’re just excited to be here,” I replied.
Sometimes my mother wanted them to say hello right away. Other times, they annoyed her. Today, I had guessed wrong.
Confusion is another norm found in an oppressive family system. A type of bait and switch occurs and the child or adult/child must continually guess about the situation and what they should do.
People pleasing
I continued trying to figure out a way to make everybody feel better. “Do you want them to eat in the kitchen or at the dining room table with the adults?”
My mother changed the subject. “I don’t know why your father won’t help me. I’ve got all these vegetables coming in the garden and there is no way I can get them all in. It’s just too much work around here.”
Would she be happy if I helped her work the garden? Should I offer to stay so I could hoe a field that was out of control with plants that no one could possibly hope to harvest? Perhaps she could hire somebody. Would that make her happy? My father had a business to run. He couldn’t help. Besides, he was as unhappy with her as she was with him. How could anyone possibly work in that gigantic garden of hers and have any hope of getting one-tenth the work done? It was hopeless. It was always hopeless where my mother and father were concerned. They set it up that way.
Oppressive systems demand people pleasing and blame you for what you cannot control. What I was not able to see at the time was that my mother’s stupid garden had nothing to do with the situation. If it had not been the garden it would have been a thousand other things. She was always unhappy and constantly dissatisfied with her life. All of that had nothing to do with me, but from the time I have any memory, I was the one who was blamed for the deep anger she felt in life.
Covert Abuse
Every visit to my parent’s home was the same. Soon, my father would take me aside and start with his own litany of complaints. What did he want me to do? Agreeing with him wasn’t enough. He wanted me to make him happy….but how? The conversation went something like this:
“I’m really enjoying teaching this year. I’ve got pretty good students overall,” I said as I put on a happy face.
My father rolled his eyes. “Teaching is a terrible career. You’ll never get anywhere with it. Doesn’t pay anything and all you do is deal with problems.” (This after he told me over and over to major in education.)
Okay. He doesn’t like my career choice. Maybe if I talk about the new house. “We’ve finally finished the foundation and the contractors will be putting up the frame pretty soon.”
“We’re supposed to be getting rain the next two weeks. Why did you have them start now? You’re going to ruin the foundation.” Always questioning my competence, my father never came out and said, “You’re a moron.” My parent’s never said, “We hate you,” or “We want you to fix us,” but that was always communicated loud and clear. And over it, all was a healthy dose of fear. I was far too terrified to ever speak up.
For the rest of the evening, I stuck to topics like the weather or asked my father questions about himself. After dinner, the boys played quietly on the floor while I sat on the couch, my mother frowning in silence. As long as my father could lecture about all the mistakes I was making, or veer off into some topic in which he felt himself an expert, he would continue to listen to himself talk and leave me alone. I watched the clock and waited for the first moment I could leave without causing questions. They hated me for being there, they hated me for leaving. They just….hated me.
It’s been a long time since I engaged with that family system, but it has had an impact on my entire life. Unsaid expectations, insults, and impossible situations set the stage for heavy oppression making all my relationships and indeed my place in the world difficult.
The oppressive nature of an abusive family system leads to one place—hopelessness. Dread, fear, confusion, and depression are its companions. You never feel safe. You can never be yourself. You can never tell the truth, and you can never work through conflict.
It is like carrying a huge leather suitcase filled with cinder blocks in each hand. I carried those oppressive suitcases for years until I could not take another step. I set them down out of desperation. I think most of us stay as long as we can in the hope that things might change. Sometimes they do, but most of the time, an oppressive narcissistic system by its very nature resists change of any kind. You do not have to live under it, however. The false narrative, false roles, lack of personal responsibility, no-talk rule, and the complete and utter lack of self-awareness do not have to be yours anymore.
You have a right to be at peace. You have a right to exist. You have a right to be who you truly are. Step out from under oppression and defy trauma, embrace joy. It isn’t easy, but it sure is worth it.
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Rebekah Brown, a native of the south, now resides in the Great American West. Surviving a complicated and abusive family system makes her unique writing style insightful as well as uplifting. Rebekah is the proud mother of two and grandmother of four.
Rebekah…Well said, and you make very cogent points that a lot of us with CPTSD can echo and identify with. There comes a point when you simply need to worry about the success of your happiness, and the happiness of your family who derserve it even more. I’ve found, in my experience, that the abuse was passed on from my parent’s generation/childhood, and therefore given to me without consent. So much, to the parents even, almost bragging about the severity of their received abuse, that I should feel so lucky mine wasn’t as bad as theirs was. Keep writing, we’ll keep listening! Be well . . .
Your home story had me rapt with attention. I was hanging on every word curious to know how you handled it. Thanks for writing and sharing. Im not alone I see!
I appreciate this blog and conversation, which is why I read it.
But I have to admit I am having a hard time reading it.
You have two beautiful kids. You went on and lived your life. You actually started your own life. So your parents needing some support back and needing to vent as adults to adult. It’s not covert abuse. And the fact that you went on already, and had two kids and had your own life. Just simply lets me know that they did not actually oppress you or take control of you. They let you go off and have your own life.
This article only questions whether you were the one doing the oppressing
I understand what you mean. I have a severely dysfunctional family. I imagine the author probably has darker moments she is just trying to make the story more relatable. Kind of like how the Christian movie channel waters down various themes as to not offend God or something.
I need to clarify that I validate and more importantly, commend you for writing a true statement, so succinctly and effectively. Just that in itself tells me that you have actually truly experienced oppression.
It’s just hard reading that it was over a Garden., where to eat, and the financial benefit of being a teacher.
It’s just so far from actual oppression, that it makes me feel more alone, reading it.
Hi Rebekah, Thanks for this post. It was like looking in the mirror almost word for word by your parents! Mine were exactly the same but I don’t refer to them as parents – not anymore.
I can relate to this as my bio family was exactly like your parents. They were self obsessed and only focused on their interests and ideas. No one else mattered. I had the incessant questioning of life choices and strong opposing comments to every step forwards that I made as a child. If I tried to experiment with a new dish in the kitchen, it was belittled and thrown in the trash when I wasn’t looking. If I researched an article on a topic that interested me, it was just wrong because I wasn’t focusing on what they wanted me to do.
Every effort I made to find my own feet in this world was frowned upon and I felt stifled in that environment.
I voted with my feet and left all of them. I am much happier now and my kids are growing up free from being restrained mentally and physically.
We came from abusive families and they have no place in our lives if we want to thrive as people. We know better if we are true to ourselves and that is my gift to our future generation. Never be held back in your beliefs. You matter!