The Glass Castle
Though I realize this blog is long in the tooth and probably isn't read much anymore, I still use it as a space to discuss and heal. It is a very personal journey. If I invited you into this space, I hope you realize I did not do so lightly. You may not understand everything I write, but I hope it gives you an accurate picture of my struggles and triumphs.
I used to think we all had weird families. That was my honest belief. The more I looked around, the more I realized, no, we do not all have an odd upbringing. We certainly did not all have abusive childhoods. Then I started to get upset. I started to really dislike those "normal" families and their picture-perfect lives. I used to keep photos of some on my walls. Now that's weird. But, it's true. There was a congressman from a town I lived in years ago. I kept photos of his family on my walls. His wife wasn't very nice to me when I interacted with her at my job. Their children are doubtless grown and beautiful now. Still, I got the feeling things were not so picture-perfect at home. But, I hoped they were.
That's a bit of a long introduction to this movie I recently watched: The Glass Castle. The following is about the book which was the inspiration for the movie.
A tender, moving tale of unconditional love in a family that, despite its profound flaws, gave the author the fiery determination to carve out a successful life on her own terms.
Jeannette Walls grew up with parents whose ideals and stubborn nonconformity were both their curse and their salvation. Rex and Rose Mary Walls had four children. In the beginning, they lived like nomads, moving among Southwest desert towns, camping in the mountains. Rex was a charismatic, brilliant man who, when sober, captured his children's imagination, teaching them physics, geology, and above all, how to embrace life fearlessly. Rose Mary, who painted and wrote and couldn't stand the responsibility of providing for her family, called herself an "excitement addict." Cooking a meal that would be consumed in fifteen minutes had no appeal when she could make a painting that might last forever.
Later, when the money ran out, or the romance of the wandering life faded, the Walls retreated to the dismal West Virginia mining town -- and the family -- Rex Walls had done everything he could to escape. He drank. He stole the grocery money and disappeared for days. As the dysfunction of the family escalated, Jeannette and her brother and sisters had to fend for themselves, supporting one another as they weathered their parents' betrayals and, finally, found the resources and will to leave home.
What is so astonishing about Jeannette Walls is not just that she had the guts and tenacity and intelligence to get out, but that she describes her parents with such deep affection and generosity. Hers is a story of triumph against all odds, but also a tender, moving tale of unconditional love in a family that despite its profound flaws gave her the fiery determination to carve out a successful life on her own terms.
For two decades, Jeannette Walls hid her roots. Now she tells her own story.
The thing that stuck with me about the movie was its honesty. It didn't hide the abuse or alcoholism or negligence. It didn't cover it up and say it didn't happen, and that's how we get through these things. Honesty. We'll never process anything we don't admit happened. My father was an abusive alcoholic, much like one of his sons now. Even after he quit drinking, he continued the abusive alcoholic role, which is common. Change is hard, especially when you don't realize what you're doing (or don't care).
Jeannette got to the place I never could. For one thing, she made something of herself, in spite of her upbringing (or, perhaps, because of it). She also got to a place of peace with her parents. But, she had to kick them out of her life, for the most part. It is an interesting story. The movie is surely a truncated and dramatized portrayal of the book, which is probably a safe-for-public-consumption account of her childhood. It is twice removed from reality but still representative of it. I find true stories are the most compelling (and also the most unbelievable). Have I been as honest as I should have about my upbringing? I still have stories no one would believe, but everyone gets the idea.
My father's mind is quickly failing. He's 75 now. I hope I don't see the decline. It is sad. It's also sad he never once apologized to any of his children (as far as I know) about his abusive behavior or negligence. The youngest bore the brunt of that abuse, but also the middle son, who became much like his father (and grandfather, Harold). The legacy continues. I recall my sister-in-law leaving my brother multiple times and her concern about how he was "disciplining" their children, among other things. He had a paddle for spanking (nothing wrong with that) but spanked one of his kids so hard he peed blood. The buttocks are a good place for spanking because it's mostly fatty tissue with underlying muscle, but also because nothing vital is nearby. It's supposed to hurt, but it doesn't bruise or hurt for long. If a child is peeing blood, then either the spankings are too hard or miss the mark. That, my friends, is abuse. Spanking is not abuse unless it is done improperly. That's just one example of his cruelty. Growing up with him gave me many ugly stories. I recall the time we played bloody knuckles in the backseat of the station wagon. I somehow came away with a bloody nose. Much blood was shed. Many tears were cried. I didn't have just one abuser in my home. I had many. And also many who turned a blind eye. We call those enablers. Abusers always have enablers.
In everyone's lives comes a moment when they realize the people they look up to (parents, siblings, teachers, whoever) are merely people. People just like them. People who are scared and hurt and broken and don't know everything. For people coming to terms with abuse, they have a second realization. Not only do they realize the people they looked up to once were all those things, but they also see they were downright awful. It's an extra burden to process. And it can set a person up for further abuse if they don't realize quickly enough (because they may think it's normal to be treated like garbage). Furthermore, abusive treatment in childhood can make a person abusive. They call it the cycle of abuse. (It's just generational curses and demons that follow the bloodline, just like anything else that gets passed down from generation to generation.)
What is surprising is I didn't turn out abusive (you can ask my ex). I was a terrible husband but wasn't abusive. I'm not the greatest father, but I truly want to be the best for my son. How I didn't turn abusive is beyond me. I recall working at my old job and one of my coworkers asking me (with great derision), "What's it going to take for you to turn mean?" If I turned mean, lady, then they won. My abusers won. The mean people of the world. I don't want them to win. I won't turn mean. I turned to God instead. That's how I escaped the cycle of abuse. God tells us to return good for evil and pray for those who abuse us. (God actually curses those who return evil for good.) That's the way out. It sounds like an added burden, but it actually lifts our burdens.
That should be the end of the story. It's an ongoing process. It stays with you, to some degree, though lessens with forgiveness. As things return in memory, or when I'm put in similar, troubling situations, forgiveness is necessary. Forgiveness is a constant. Forgiving myself is part of the process. Lest anyone misunderstand, I'll say it again: healing is impossible without forgiveness. And I don't know how people do anything in life without God, which leads me to say the healing process would be nearly impossible without Him.
I recall when I lived in Ohio, we had a family across the street who many would call white trash. (I don't care for it when folks use that term.) They completely destroyed the house they rented. The house had to be gutted. Even the foundation was removed. Imagine a house without a foundation. It was held up with some boards for a while, which was fun to watch. When they left, they took everything, including the furnace and lightbulbs. Anyway, I recall the many fights the couple had. It was ugly. Lots of screaming, crying. I recall feeling bad for the kids (there were, like, four) but wondering if their lives would be better off in foster care or with a relative. I decided kids should be with their families, regardless. My stance on that softened as I went through the subsequent years and processed my own abuse. Though I feel divorce is a rotten thing, sometimes I think it is the only way toward healing. I expected my parents would divorce, but they never did. I actually wished they would so I wouldn't have to cope with my father. My mother turned cruel living with that man, and I thought, rather hopefully, she would return to being a softer person. She never did. She is much the same as him now. Hard. Unfeeling. Somewhat bitter. She was a victim of abuse growing up, and she was a victim of my father, as well. We can't make decisions for anyone else. I prayed for my mother frequently the past few years and always ran into significant unforgiveness, bitterness, and resentment. The amount of hurt in that woman is astounding. All I can do is be faithful to pray for her (or with her) and let God do what He's going to do.
I feel God told me it was time to go, to leave this place, that it wasn't possible to heal as long as I stay. Sometimes God tells His people to go because He can't bless them where they are. I think of the Israelites in Egypt. It was a good place to live, but God told them to leave. They were in bondage. He wanted to walk among them and be their God but couldn't do it in Egypt. He had to set them free. Sometimes God tells us to leave.
A note on healing: anyone who traumatized/controlled/manipulated/abused another person (in my case, my family) becomes their programmer/handler/controller. One must leave the presence of those people to gain freedom and begin healing, though when those people re-enter one's life, they can often re-access those functions (basically control you). I didn't realize this fact until recently, so it makes sense God has me leaving this area where my family (and so many bad memories) live. I will also have limited contact with my ex (eventually). This is common knowledge for those who've been through therapy, but not for me, though it now makes sense.
It's not a matter of not loving someone. I love my parents. I love my brothers. I don't know why they behaved like they did and still do. The reasons are buried somewhere in their various lives. I don't expect anyone to be perfect. At this point in my life, I wisely let God sort things out. If He wants to deal with them, so be it. (So far, He just wants to deal with me.) It's not up to me. All I know is we don't have to let people in our lives who aren't good for us. We can set boundaries. We can sometimes walk away. If God calls us to do something for them, then we do it. But, no one ever said we have to continue to be in their lives. I realize trauma and abuse binds people together in an ungodly way. (Even though they are in a miserable situation, they often find they are stuck.) One thing I found in my walk is there is always a way forward, though we may resist it. I believe in a God who sets people free. (I wouldn't want to continue living if I believed otherwise.) Following Him closely means the end of the EFFECTS of abuse, but not necessarily abuse itself because the world is full of hard hearts, and hard hearts are cold, cruel, and abusive. Offenses will always come, but God provides a path to freedom. I know more pain lies ahead, but I take the lessons learned from childhood and walk with God and will apply them to whatever comes next. That may not sound like a victory, but it is an incredible one. Think of the earthworm that crawls through a mile of mud yet comes out clean. If a lowly earthworm can perform a miracle like that, so can I, with God's help.
It's nearly time to leave this place where, at times, it felt I was living in a John Denver song. But it was also the epicenter of an awful childhood, as well as an awful divorce — the place where I lost hope in so many things. (I know more suffering lays ahead. I also know what I'm looking for doesn't exist. And I know the whole thing looks like a bad idea to some people and my life will likely be much harder for a while. I'm not completely in a fantasy world. Some decisions are just hard to explain. Life is impossible without hope. I'll take hard over impossible.) As I leave, I close a disturbing chapter of my life. None of us can do anything about where we come from. But, we have a say in where we are going. Wherever I go, I won't go alone. And that makes me happy.
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