Monsters, Myths, Men

As children, we can create mythical beings that feel as real as the physical ones in our presence. We can see shadows as monsters that creep around at night scaring us into panic and despair. These childhood imaginings typically leave us as we mature into the understanding of space, time and matter. But do they always leave us? Or do some beliefs travel with us into adulthood creating a need for revisiting and reassessment?

As I have described, there have been 2 father figures that impacted my understanding of what men are and are not. My earliest memory is of my step father and then there is my biological father. I've done much revisiting and reassessing my beliefs around each of them and I'd like to share what I have learned.

My biological father was more of the mythical creature to me growing up than anything. I always knew he existed, I don't have any memory of being "told" about him. But I don't remember ever being with him until I "met" him when I was in the 4th grade. My mom would tell me she didn't remember much about him because they didn't spend a lot of time together and leave me with more questions than answers. Occasionally, I could get some details from my Aunt when I got the nerve to ask her about him. So information about him was limited. Once in a while, my brother and I would receive a birthday card which would just create more questions. One year for Christmas there were more gifts under the tree than usual and my mom told me to say that they were from our biological dad, but that they were really from her. She wanted dad to think someone else had paid for them, as we knew he hated it when she spent money on things he felt were not necessary. "If your dad asks about this, tell him Russell sent them". I agreed and moved on as I completely understood the reason for the lie.

I can't remember when I first saw what he looked like. I can't say if it was when I saw him in 4th grade or if I knew what he looked like from any photo's my aunts might have had. I believe it was from 4th grade, but I could be mistaken. I remember wondering how far away he lived. I remember wondering if he knew of the cruelty of my step dad, would he rescue us? Was he nice? Was he rich? Did he have a big house? I kept the questions to myself mostly, as I knew answers would not come. The only choice I had was my imagination. Maybe I got my dark brown hair from him, since no one else in my family had the same hair. Maybe my brother looked like him. Maybe if we ran away, we could go to his house, if we could figure out where it was.

When he arrived at my house for the first visit, I was extremely nervous but also excited. All my questions would be answered. To match my expectation, he would have ridden in on a white horse, trumpets blaring like the opening credits to the cartoon, Dudley Do-Right and someone singing the theme song to the cartoon, Mighty Mouse, "here I come to save the day!" Needless to day, that wasn't the scene. Instead, an old white car pulled in, some model I had only seen in older movies. We went out and there sitting in the passenger seat was his pregnant wife. My brother and I got in the back and sat in total silence as they chatted away. There were no warm, fuzzy feelings. There were no feelings of relief. There were only feelings of discomfort and the growing urge to run back into the house to what at least felt familiar. I don't recall the conversation as we traveled the 30 minutes or so to the nearest Kentucky Fried Chicken. While my biological father went into the establishment to purchase us a bucket, my new step mother turned to us and asked us "what are you going to call him? Dad, Daddy Russ?" My brother and I looked at each other and my brother said in a distinct tone "Russell". She turned back around and we sat in silence for what felt like hours.

We went to the park and listened to him talk about his life as if we knew each person in the story. We sat as we ate our chicken and I kept thinking, how does he not know we don't know who he is talking about? Our aunt? Who the crap is she? We finished up after listening to stories of him trying to buy us shoes when we were babies and we got into his car and drove back to our home. No rescue was in store. I didn't want to be rescued by these 2. They were strangers and it felt strange being with them. There was no secret bond that we shared, no connection felt by me and as I walked into the house, I felt empty and disappointed.

We would have a couple more visits and that Christmas we actually received gifts from him and his sister. They sat under the tree and we opened them with a mixture of excitement and fear because my dad had nothing good to say about any of it. He was extremely against the visits and the attention given to my brother and me. Shortly after that, we were made aware that there would be no more visits. Dad was too uncomfortable with it all. It would be at my wedding that I would see him again.

The monster in my room wasn't the figment of my imagination, but the real man I called dad. Early in my therapy, the therapist asked me of my earliest childhood memory. The first thing that came to my mind at that time was sitting in our new kitchen in our new home in Brigham City. We had moved from our home in Moab with our grandparents and were now living with our new dad. My brother and I sat with my mom at the new kitchen table as she explained our new life. We had a new dad and a new baby on the way. The therapist asked me to describe the room. I could picture it clearly, as I can still today. It was dark, no sunlight. It was scary and I wasn't excited to be there. I didn't feel excited, I only felt fear. The dark house, the dark bedroom, the dark, late night visits started quickly after we moved. The monster made his way into my safe space and nothing was safe any longer.

The monster was also loud, violent and unrelenting. There would be outbursts of anger with my brother, with me, with my mother. There would be constant criticism of each task we were assigned. What money was spent, what chore wasn't completed with perfection, what tone in our voices were not in alignment with his expectations. I started to understand when to relax and when to get ready for impact. Relaxation came when we were far from him, when we visited our grandparents or our aunts. I geared up at all other times as he could come at me at the slightest provocation. Even if I was safe from his wrath, my mother and brother were targets as well, so there really wasn't any time to relax when he was near.

In that therapy appointment, the therapist explained that we create our vision of the world from our earliest childhood experiences. I had 2 visions: the one from my earliest memories which were scattered here and there of Moab, sunshine and love, and the other one from the more vivid memories of darkness and monsters. For decades, the monster view ruled me. We know why we have the "fight or flight" response, so we can run or fight the danger. Getting stuck in it is unhealthy and finding our way to regulate ourselves is important. If not, the monster's rule continues long after they are no longer a clear and present danger.

In my adulthood, I didn't know how to manage my relationship with either the myth or the monster. When my biological father was turning 40, his wife called my brother and me to invite us to his birthday party. My brother wanted to attend and I was not sure what I should do. I was conflicted. Luckily, I was in therapy and could ask my therapist. He told me that I needed more experiences with men that were supportive, loving and safe. The last thing I needed was experiences with men that reinforced any negative thoughts or beliefs I already needed to deal with. Based on the past, he felt going to the party was opening me up to some negative experiences I didn't really need at this point in my life. I considered his recommendation, then thought of my brother and decided we would go. I wanted to know this man and maybe, just maybe, it would be a good experience. The birthday party was held at a restaurant. His wife, 3 other children (2 boys and the youngest a daughter) were there along with a few other friends and/or family. We ate dinner in an awkward friendliness. After everyone had finished dinner, his wife started instructing the attendees and a photographer to get pictures of the happy event. First there was a photo of his family, the 5 of them. Then my brother and I were added to the picture. Then there was a picture of the "boys" which was him and his 2 young sons, excluding my brother. Then the request for "one with daddy and his little girl". I froze in place and watched him and his young daughter, in her pretty, frilly dress, with darling styled hair, hug each other, laugh and take the picture. She was relaxed, she was at ease. He wasn't the monster to her. It sank inside me like a lead balloon and as the tears welled up, I couldn't stop them. I took myself to the bathroom and sobbed at the sight. It was my myth, the story in my head that would never be mine. I got my husband and we left. I cried many tears as I realized there was no way I could bring that image into my reality. It wasn't mine to have. He could have it, she could have it, but not me. I should have listened to my therapist.

Life with my step dad was a different story. My sisters were actively engaging in a relationship with him and I too, wanted to figure out a way to be a part of that family dynamic. After all, he had raised me. There were some good things we had experienced as a family. There were the cousins and the memories of childhood that I didn't want to throw away. I wanted to keep the good and forget the bad. I wanted a "dad" too. He was known in our small town, as was his family, so belonging to that was a good thing. Belonging meant a great deal to me. I didn't fully realize all the ways not belonging had sat in the dark too. I knew my legal last name was different than my sister's, my mother's and my dad's. I remember the conversation in the car about not wanting to legally adopt my brother and me because "what if something happened, then he'd be responsible for us". At the time I wasn't sure what that meant, just that it seemed to be a bad thing in his eyes. I wanted to be normal, have a mom and a dad, have grandma and grandpa for my boys and maybe it would be ok if I too, pretended our childhood wasn't as bad as I had thought it was.

We look "normal" right? Normal father/daughter image. I hope to convey that toxic relationships can look like healthy ones. Most of the time, we are trying to create the image of normal because we were taught it was our job. Plus, we want what we perceive normal to be. I was trying here to be what I thought I should be. It wasn't healthy for me and the stress it put on me was unsustainable. I would find the right thing for me eventually. It took longer than I'd ever want for anyone else.

The years between getting married and starting therapy were a rollercoaster of ups and downs with him. I would go see him, invite him to my home and try to normalize what he was to me. But those visits always sparked anger, resentment, fear and/or nagging pain within me. I didn't realize what triggers were, what trauma was or any other mental health issue. I was blindly trying to figure it out myself and not doing a great job at managing it at all. I have pictures of this time and it appears that we are loving each other like all the other "normal" families. But it was a façade of what I wanted it to be, not what it actually was. I would get angry at something he said, or the way he tried to manage me and it would lead to me wanting to lash out at him. Eventually, I would confront him, set proper boundaries for my interactions with him, but it would take many years and lots of therapy discussions to help me understand the complexities. I'm not sure I ever truly reached a space where things made sense to me, but it became easier than it was during this period of my life and for that I am grateful.

Neither men were all bad, nor were they all good. Both men let me down. Both men served their own needs before they served mine. Both men would waltz in and out of my life as if they left no wake behind them. Both men acted as if I was there to fill a role in their stories, versus them filling the father role in mine. When I didn't fill the role they were expecting me to play, I was rejected, punished or abandoned. One would go so far as to have me fill the role of intimate partner to him, robbing me of my innocence and peace. The other would rob me of any sense of belonging that a father offers. Neither would keep me safe from the unkind elements of the world, in fact, one of them was the unkind element I would be forced to face over and over again.

One of them taught me about driving: "turning on a dime with a nickle change", "always look in your review mirror before hitting your breaks because a big rig can't stop like a normal car can, especially if they're pulling a load". He taught me about the blessings of social connections: "it's not what you know, it's who you know" "who's his dad? is his grand father so and so"? He taught me how to make a bed "so a coin could bounce off of it", that you "should never wash a coffee thermos with soap, just hot water so the coffee didn't taste funny". One of them taught me nothing. I found that while the pain was intense from the one, it was also he that attempted to teach me, guide me and give to me. Although extremely painful, there were gifts along the way too. That is more than the other one did and I am able to gather gratitude in the gifts, now, while I fully know the pain too. Both things can be true and they were.

Coming to terms with my history has allowed me to understand that neither of these men were the creations of my childhood imaginations. There were men, simply put. And while their behaviors and choices have left lasting impacts on me and my family, they are not the monster or myth I thought they were. Remembering they are merely men, allows me to take them out of the dark and into the light where the whole truth can be seen and understood. I am grateful for the light, the truth and the ability we all have to dispel the monsters and myths that live in the dark rooms in our minds. If you have any monsters or myths lingering in the dark places in your mind, reach out for assistance in bringing them into the light. Light is a disinfectant and will eradicate the mold, mildew and bacteria that is infecting the joy of your life.

Sometimes we need help in navigating these spaces. Getting help is a great gift you can give yourself, as it is often heavy lifting. Do like the heavy boxes in the store state - require a 2 person lift for these heavy issues.