A quote from Ellen Waterston’s book Then There Was No Mountain: A Parallel Odyssey of a Mother and Daughter Through Addiction:
“…maintaining facades to protect us from our own truth, prevents us from healing, distorts our sense of our own reality. Whatever the secret is, it should be told. As soon as it is, it loses its power, becomes a story, even a song. If we protect the enemy, individually or as a family, we cannot heal, can’t help others heal.
The secrets we keep stake their claim, keep part of us hostage, prevent that part of us from being in life, in love. Once the boulder is rolled away from the entrance to the cave, light can shine in. Resurrection truly takes place. Our children’s task is to survive their parents, but they have to know all they can about them in order to survive them. It is about claiming a right to life. If we don’t as parents tell our truth, and if, as Fay says, “children express what we suppress”…fill in the blank. We reap what we don’t sow.”
First, the word sin. I’m not comfortable with classifying behavior, as I believe that behavior is a form of communication. I also believe that language evolves and the same word can hold different meaning throughout time. That said, from age 8 to 18, I grew up in a very religious house. I could not help but absorb many of the teachings, some which instilled fear, but many that provided some food for thought through the years. I have come back to this phrase from the 2nd Commandment, ‘The sins of the father shall be born upon the children to the third and fourth generation…’ (Deuteronomy 5:9) To me, this verse speaks to traumas suffered by parents and how those traumas impact the generations that come after.
Renowned addiction and trauma expert, Dr. Gabor Mate, draws correlations between childhood trauma and addiction which point to addiction being a temporary relief from emotional pain that is repeated over and over without regard to negative consequences. Research has shown that we can suffer trauma through the traumas that those before us suffered. The results of this are evident among various groups who have been marginalized, oppressed, and victims of violence throughout history and today. This is not my opinion. This is proven through the study of epigenetics. I am not going to provide links to resources in this blog, as my purpose today is not to write a research paper, but to add words to my story, my family’s story.
I read the book containing the above quote eight years ago. Throughout Blake’s addiction, I constantly sought information through reading and Internet research. Nearly every mother who has a child who is sick becomes very educated about the disease that afflicts their child. This quote about secrets may not initially bring addiction to mind, but it is a huge part of our story.
I am a secret, although I have become less and less of a secret throughout my life. This has forced my children to also be secrets. I didn’t ask for this, and neither did they. If/when my youngest son, Lucas, has children, they will also be secrets, although I imagine the impact will begin to soften to the third and fourth generation. I have lived in defiance of this burden since Blake was born, but my defiance never was and cannot be an eraser. Real work remains.
As the secret, I am also the secret keeper. I came to be the secret through the choices of my biological mother. Her choices came from her experiences, which shaped her perspective. I know that she understood that her choice, in regard to me, would hurt me; however, she believed that the sacrifice was necessary. Over the years, I have gone through an array of feelings in regard to this, from sadness, anger, and apathy, to acceptance of what is.
And then this quote came up in my Facebook memories the other day. Combined with the recent passing of my youngest brother from my biological mother, and knowing that my nephew was struggling, a nephew that I’ve never met or talked with, I felt compelled to reach out to him. Thursday night, I sent him a DM:
Hey Christopher ~ I know Curtis talked to you about me. My family has always been super important to me, especially family that I have little access to because of decisions that were made about my life before I had any say. Unfortunately, the adults in my toddler life didn’t consider the loss that I would feel and how their decisions would affect so many. I held you when I met your mom. You were about 5 months old. I never spoke to her again after that day. I don’t know why. I’m your mom’s younger sister and your aunt, and for some reason I’ll likely never understand, I don’t exist. But believe me, that stops with your mom and grandma. I live life on my terms. I don’t hold any grudges, but I’m tired of being a secret. This is about me showing up after my little brother’s passing, knowing you’re hurting, and saying, “Hey Christopher!”
Thank you, Ellen Waterston, for the encouragement. That’s the power of the story, to encourage others. This is also why I tell my story.
In the story of me becoming or being a secret, I had to maintain a facade that I didn’t belong to my family. I had to toss aside my birthright, as if that is even possible. And then I had to put that expectation on my children, that they too should toss aside their birthright. I had to stay away from, and deny my children, experiences of family celebration and mourning and accept the void of absence in our own celebrations and times of mourning. I existed as authentically as possible, while simultaneously existing in a vacuum, being held hostage. I can hope that my resilience acted to nourish the souls of my children, but the realist in me knows that my strength could also be interpreted as a facade, a denial of what has been.
Throughout Friday and Saturday, much truth has been shared. I recognize that this is hard. I understand that I have had 50 years to comprehend and accept this bucket of truths. This truth was shared with Blake and Lucas throughout their lives. My niece also knows this truth, and has also been burdened with the weight of keeping the secret, living within the confines of the expectation that the secret is kept. There is no real padlock on this cage, only the padlock of fear of pain, when really, the pain is remaining in the cage and not walking wholeheartedly into the storm, because I expect there will be some storms.
I am only responsible for myself. I am a lover and a believer that the Universe reflects back to me what I project into the world. In hiding, the Universe keeps things hidden. In revealing myself, in loving, I get to know another, and to receive love. I get to live and love more fully. I get to heal. Others get to heal when they may not have even understood the wound. If I don’t kick open the cage door, I am not claiming what belongs to me – my life. My why? Of course, it’s for all of this, but it’s also for my children, and for my siblings’ children. As Ellen says when quoting a teacher in her memoir, “children express what we suppress…”
With each layer of the secret exposed, each person involved is terrified no more. The storms will not be without damage to repair, to rebuild. The work will be hard, but just like communities that come together and rebuild after a hurricane or wildfire, the efforts of those willing to do the heavy lifting will be rewarded. The next generation will reap the reward of today’s courage instead of the weight of the trauma.
Finally, I can’t know what would have been had I found the strength to go down this road before Blake passed. I believe that there is a time for everything, and I will not be burdened by the what ifs. They come, surely, and I let them go, like the tide. Blake wouldn’t want me to be bogged down. After yesterday’s FaceTime call with my nephew, Blake’s piano composition started playing on my computer, an ‘I love you’ from the Otherside. I love you too Blake, to infinity and beyond.
