During this time, I stayed away from all of my destructive behaviors and did what I was told to do. I listened to the healers in my life that consisted of my therapist, sponsors in the Twelve Step fellowships, and many of the people I met in groups and meetings. I also listened to the stories of other recovering people who were trying to find hope and peace in their lives.
As I began to better understand myself, I started helping others with similar destructive behaviors. Eventually, I held support groups in my home for a diverse group of people, including rabbis, priests, doctors, lawyers, plumbers, and the unemployed. These groups helped people work directly on healing and growth. Some group members spun off to create their own sub-groups. Over time, the group itself became a valuable tool in the healing process for all. These were not just people with addictions, but others who wanted to explore the reasons they acted in ways that sabotaged their happiness. Some of the group members were mystified why they kept choosing relationships that only brought destruction to their lives.
I learned I would never recover until I accepted and embraced the emotional scars of the past. I needed to face the real problem, instead of smashing someone in the mouth whenever provoked. I was only able to realize the real problem when I finally confessed to feeling broken inside. My problems were never gambling, working, or womanizing. These were poor solutions to my real problem. My real problem was my victim thinking. My childhood wounds created a distorted view of life. The warden’s voice kept giving me the faulty information that was fed to me as a child. I finally discovered I could not afford to be imprisoned by the warden for the rest of my life. I became more comfortable trusting other people. As my self-esteem improved, I no longer needed the validation from others to feel worthy. I started to listen to the people who directed my growth, rather than fight them.
If I managed my business like I managed my life, I would have gone bankrupt. I may even have fired myself. When I stepped down from the position of managing my life and took direction from others, my growth accelerated.
As my father found peace during the last ten years of his life, baking became his hobby. He taught my young children how to bake. His specialty was cream puffs, which were so heavy they required a shovel rather than a spoon. He compiled a cookbook consisting of his best calorie-laden desserts.
My mother gave the cookbook to my wife after my father died. One afternoon as I began to look through the cookbook, I discovered that it included more than just recipes. In fact, every other page contained my father’s journaling. He wrote down all of his fears, pains, and feelings each day. Since I was struggling with my feelings at the time, I was overcome with emotion. I always viewed my father as a ten-foot giant who could handle anything. I never saw him show fear. He took charge of every situation. For the first time, my father appeared the same size as others. He was not the indestructible and heartless person I knew as a child, but rather someone in pain and in need of help. He was just a flawed human being like all the rest of us. My father reminded me of myself. His journal and mine were similar in that we both disclosed the pain that we hid behind a mask. Like father, like son. We lived with shame and the fear of God and others. Like me, my father had learned to trust others, and this helped heal his pain.
After I read the journal entries, I made an appointment with my therapist. When I arrived, I uncharacteristically burst into tears. What I read in those journal entries had touched something deep inside of me. For the first time, I saw my father with no mask, no toughness, and no perfection. He had stripped himself down to bare skin and bones. He was human, after all. Only then, when reading my father’s innermost thoughts and feelings, did I permit myself to find a deeper forgiveness for myself and for him.
The Power of an Inner Voice
That inner voice, the warden, knew my vulnerability. Through my written inventories I discovered one of the many false messages he told me was that asking for help was a sign of weakness. He kept me away from the help I needed to heal. I struggled so long to find forgiveness and a spiritual connection. When I got down on my knees to pray, I felt paralyzed with shame and fear. The warden made it clear that I didn’t deserve the love of anyone, including God.
My mother was imprisoned by her warden as well. She regrets her actions just as I did mine. My father’s insanity created some of the insanity within my mother. Raising four children while dealing with my father’s behaviors was not easy. My mother lived in constant fear, never knowing my father’s whereabouts or when the next bomb would go off. Even with this chaos, my mother tried to hold things together as best as she could. She also made holidays and birthdays as special as possible. These are the memories that bring warmth to me, memories I’m happy to share with my children. My mother was nineteen when I was born, so in many ways she was a child herself. She, too, was hurting inside and looked for me to give her what she could not get from my father. Her fear of losing him sent her into self-survival. She was like a drowning person who would pull anyone down in her need to get air.
My mother’s father was a very kind and gentle man, but he was also an alcoholic, and alcoholism leaves emotional scars on loved ones. All of us from discouraged childhoods have our own warden, just as my mother did. If my mother could have found a support group, she might have allowed others to carry her through those difficult times when she felt so alone. She didn’t understand how her actions affected others. I also find it difficult, at times, to believe I was capable of doing what I did to those I loved the most. Today my mother is still a wonderful source of love and support for our children.
I Am My Father’s Son
I remember the night I looked in the mirror, with rage, and said, “I am my father’s son.” All of the hatred I felt spewed out toward my father. I also recall hating myself for bringing the same wreckage into my home that my father brought into his. Today, my feelings for my father emanate from the loving messages he gave my children and the love he received from people he helped. I am proud to be my father’s son. Today when I watch a movie or television show about a father and son relationship, it brings up deep feelings of emotion. As a boy, I so desperately wanted to feel loved and special.
By the time my father found peace, I was still dealing with my own demons. Because he died at age fifty-seven, we missed having quality time together. His death motivated me to make certain that my own children know how much I love them. With my self-acceptance came empathy and compassion for my father. None of this would have been possible had I not taken the steps to heal my internal wounds first.
Complete forgiveness is an ongoing process, beginning with the willingness to take the action of forgiveness rather than choosing the path of victimhood. My father did not hurt me because of something I did. Instead, his actions were a result of his internal demons. He never meant to hurt me, just as I never intended to hurt the people who mattered most to me.
Gratitude and Acceptance
I feel the most grateful at the end of the day when I crawl into bed. There was a time when I dreaded waking up because of how shameful I felt. Today, I finally have peace and appreciate the gift of life. My wife and I enjoy newfound intimacy and I revel in the joys of family life. I feel great joy listening to my youngest son tell me and my wife stories about the world from a perspective of a nine-year-old child. My children share stories about their lives with my wife and I that neither of us could imagine sharing with our parents. This brings us comfort in the knowledge that they trust us this much. Life has its imperfections just as people have their flaws. Most of the time my faith outweighs my fears, but every now and then I slip up and allow the warden’s voice to get a little too loud. Usually this happens when I feel entitled or expect the entire world to revolve around me. This is exemplified in my overbearing moments when I tell my wife what she should or should not do, even though she just needs me to be there for her and to listen.
Today, when I hear the warden’s voice, I thank him for sharing his opinion, then I redirect my thinking toward healthy actions. These actions may only consist of making a phone call and sharing my thoughts and feelings with those whom I most trust. They continue to hold my hand until I accept myself and remove the mask that shields me from the outside world. Today, I proudly stand as a man without a mask, allowing the world to view me