This month, the advice columnist answers a question about multigenerational families, mental health, and lasting traumas.
Q: I’m bipolar. My daughter, 33 years old, has told me she was traumatized when she was a child by seeing me fall apart 3 times. I babysat my granddaughter for 1.5 years with no pay. We recently had a discussion where she said she didn’t trust me, had to set boundaries and that we have nothing in common.
A: Hi there, anonymous friend,
When I read your message, what stood out to me was that there isn’t actually a question here at all: What you’ve sent me is a series of statements that seem (to me) to have some pretty big unspoken expectations built in.
I’d like to see if we can’t bring those out into the light.
Your daughter told you that, as a child, she was traumatized by seeing you fall apart three times.
Now, I want to be very clear about this: It’s not your fault that you’re bipolar, or that your symptoms weren’t perfectly under control when your daughter was young. Sometimes people are ill, injured and/or disabled, and that’s just the way Humans Sometimes Are (and always have been, and always will be).
But it’s also not your daughter’s fault that she — like all children — was depending on the adults in her family and immediate circle to be a steady, safe and reliable presence in her life.
As the Cleveland Clinic puts it: “A child’s brain is like a sponge. They learn from their experiences and absorb knowledge from the world around them — for example, they learn how to hold a spoon or ride a bicycle. If a negative experience happens, like falling off a bicycle, a child will learn from that experience. They may go slower or take safety precautions. (But) sometimes, negative experiences are out of a child’s control and they’re unable to slow down or protect themselves from mental or physical harm.”
I notice, when you talk about your daughter’s feelings and beliefs about your relationship, you qualify her perspective: She “has told you” she was traumatized; “she said” she doesn’t trust you.
And that might just be a quirk of how you’ve phrased your thoughts here, but it did make me wonder — when she tells you about how she felt and is still feeling, do you believe her?
What happens when, even if only in your own mind, you change “my daughter has told me she was traumatized” to “my daughter was traumatized”?
That this is not about assigning fault or blame or judgment.
I say this as someone who was told (by my now-estranged mother) that I was traumatic to raise: And, so, anything she said to me and anything she did was something I had to accept and forgive, because all of this was coming from a place of trauma that I was responsible for — since I was the cause of it, she said, I had to live with the effects and had no right to object or defend myself.
In the years since then, I have come to believe that she was partially right.
I could plant my flag and argue that she wasn’t really traumatized, because I ‘couldn’t’ or ‘shouldn’t’ have been traumatic to raise: Overall, I was a pretty ordinary kid (I did lie to my folks more than I should have, my mental health was a very frayed patchwork of severe anxiety and then-undiagnosed ADHD, I was and remain extremely stubborn. But I also did a pretty good job of staying out of trouble, did exceptionally well in school, and was committed to community service). Most people who knew me when I was young have said that I was not traumatic to know or to care for. I do not find it traumatic to be around kids (or adults) who share my own worst qualities.
And all of that matters to me, in terms of how I see myself and understand the ways I move through the world.
But in terms of my (now-former) relationship with my mother? These arguments don’t matter to me one bit — because who cares if she ‘should’ have been traumatized? Who cares if the way she feels is justified by some objective measure? She told me she was, and I believe her, because I’m not in the business of litigating other people’s emotions.
So let’s say, intentionally or not, that we have hurt — traumatized — another person. What does that mean now? If that person comes to you with their ‘list’ of what they want and need to go forward, how do you know what is reasonable? Or even possible? What are your obligations to them and to yourself?
Here’s how I’ve come to think about it:
1. You are not* required** to have a relationship with any specific person, nor they with you.
(*If you are in a position of significant power over that other person, where you are the conduit through which they access any of their fundamental human rights — i.e., you are their caregiver and they are depending on you for essential medical care; you own the house where they live and they don’t have another place to go; you regularly provide them with food that they would otherwise not be able to afford … I’d say you have some obligation to make sure that some other person, structure or organization will be in a position to step into that role before you go, if your own immediate safety is not at risk. That doesn’t mean you have to stay forever. That doesn’t mean you ever have to put yourself in danger. But if somebody needs to be responsible and it isn’t going to be you, then you should do your best to pass the baton.)
(** I understand this is a much more complicated question if you are a minor, or under guardianship, or in a place where divorce is illegal/partially legal, etc., etc. etc. I strongly believe that nobody should ever be forced to have a relationship with any specific person. But that doesn’t mean, in practical and legal terms, that people can’t be made to stay against their will.)
2. If you are hurting somebody, or have been hurting them, then you should — to the best of your ability — stop doing that, and take steps to avoid hurting them again in the future.
3. ‘To the best of your ability’ does not include harming yourself.
Inconvenience? Discomfort? Change? Adaptation? Making sacrifices? Sure, yes, absolutely, all of these can be part of the process of repair and making right.
But self-destruction? No.
4. No person has the right to abuse any other person. Ever.
5. Not all people are compatible participants in a healthy relationship.
And here’s how this played out in my situation.
My mother told me (specifically, in words — this was not me reading subtext into the situation) that my very presence was triggering to her, because I had been traumatic to raise.
She told me that my presence was hurting her. I could (and did) apologize for the ways I had behaved in the past, I could make sure I didn’t continue lying to her going forward, but I couldn’t make my presence un-traumatic.
I was not obliged to let her lash out and say unkind things to me, with no objection or defense, for the rest of time. I was not obliged (though she did ask for this, too) to take back my coming out and re-closet myself because that would make her more comfortable.
What she was asking of me was, because I had traumatized her, to agree to a relationship where she could respond to her pain by hurting me and I’d have to let her.
But I didn’t have to agree to that. If my presence is a trigger and I’m not able to stop hurting her in that way, then we are not compatible participants in a healthy relationship. And the best way to stop hurting her and for me to stop being hurt was for me to walk away.
(That was six years ago this month. I don’t regret it — not one choice, not one second, not one step down this path. And I’ve had the great good fortune to become part of a chosen family where my I am embraced as ‘daughter’ and ‘granddaughter’ and ‘sister,’ and I get to embrace them as ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’ and ‘Grandma’ and ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ and ‘big, goofy, ridiculous dog.’ And our home is loud and busy and a little bit chaotic and the most peaceful place I’ve ever lived, and we drive each other twelve kinds of crazy, and being safe and cared-for here is never in doubt, and we’ve all got our idiosyncrasies and can step on each other’s metaphorical toes, and nobody’s presence is inherently traumatic, and walking through the front door is a joyful thing. My dad and I just spent the afternoon shoveling all the spring-melt snow in the backyard. My grandma is teaching me a few words in her first language. My sister loves taking selfies on my phone. Just because I was a supremely terrible fit with my family-of-origin doesn’t mean that I was doomed to never belong anywhere. I just didn’t belong there.)
What does this mean for you?
Your daughter is traumatized by having seen you “fall apart” with the symptoms of your bipolar disorder when she was young.
You’ve been babysitting your granddaughter for a year and a half — but now your granddaughter is getting a bit older, and your daughter has some reservations that she’s starting to say out loud.
(I also did note your mention that part of this babysitting arrangement was that you were looking after your granddaughter unpaid. What I wonder is: How was that agreement reached? Was there a discussion about it? Did your daughter ask? Did you offer? If it’s not money, is there something else here you feel you are owed? If you feel that way, have you said so to your daughter, and does she agree? If you are no longer okay with an arrangement where you look after your granddaughter and don’t get paid for your time and caregiving, you and your daughter are free to renegotiate the terms going forward. But what you have given your daughter and granddaughter up until this point was a generous gift; not a down payment on their future behaviour).
So, when we turn our focus from the past to the present, how is your illness management going these days? Do you have the relevant mental health care you need, and supportive people in your life? Do you have a sense that your symptoms are likely to change significantly from where they are right now, or have you found a fairly constant equilibrium? If you haven’t had a mental health-focused check-up in a little while, would it be worth getting one on the calendar?
Of course, health is not a promise: Even a well-managed chronic condition can flare up unexpectedly, and a previously-healthy person can become ill at any time.
But can you say to your daughter: “I understand that, when you were young, seeing me fall apart when I was responsible for you was traumatic. But since then, I’ve [had counseling/started medication/found more reliable ways of managing my symptoms]. I also [make sure I’m tracking my symptoms carefully/have other people in my life who can tell me if they think I need a mental health check-in/understand my bipolar disorder well enough now that I can see if it is starting to get worse]. I can’t promise that I don’t have a chronic mental health condition. But here is why it is different now than it was when you were a child, and why I think [granddaughter] won’t have the same experiences that you did.”
And, while I’m sure that recent discussion with your daughter where she put these thoughts into the open was difficult for you to hear, I’d also encourage you to see it — in some ways — as a good sign:
She’s not keeping these thoughts a secret and plastering on a smile to keep the peace: She’s giving you her honesty; and maybe, also, a path toward a future relationship that you could walk towards together. She has even pointed you toward the first three trail markers:
Boundaries
This is a great first step — boundaries, when cared for and respected, can be incredibly healthy and relationship-sustaining things.
What would happen if you asked her more about this?
What kinds of boundaries does she want and need to set right now? What boundaries do you want and need? Are there any potentially conflicting boundaries that you might need to work out? Between your boundaries and hers, can you start to see the ‘shape’ of a relationship that might work for you both?
Trust
Trust can often be built or rebuilt. Do you know why your daughter doesn’t trust you right now? Is there information she doesn’t have, or something you could do to give her more confidence in you? Does she have a sense of what it would take to restore her trust? Is that feasible?
Commonality
Beyond the years you have spent in and around each others’ lives, what do you and your daughter have in common? When she said “nothing,” do you think she was right about that? Or are there hobbies, beliefs, interests and activities that you genuinely do share?
If the two of you were total strangers, and you happened to sit next to her at the bus stop, what would you be able to make conversation about?
Whatever comes to mind, that could be something to lean into right now: Whether that’s talking to her about the shows and music you both like, or making note of a story you heard on the radio that might interest her, or sharing a bit about what you have been up to in an area you know she cares about.
Relationships between people aren’t owed and they aren’t guaranteed, but they can be found, built, restored and strengthened. And you might just have a way forward here that could be constructive, not destructive, for everyone involved.
Wishing you, your daughter and your granddaughter all the best of luck finding your own way(s) down this path,
Hila.
Hila (any pronouns) is the Advice Columnist for the Together Estranged Newsletter. They have been happily estranged for a number of years, and now live with their chosen family and beloved, silly dog in rural Canada. They have a background in mental health, peer support, writing and journalism. Outside of work, Hila can be found recreating desserts from The Great British Bake Off, running on the beautiful trails near their home, singing show tunes, and learning to knit.
Please Note: The peer to peer Advice Columnist is not a licensed mental health professional; this is not medical advice. If you are in crisis or you think you may have an emergency, please go to your local urgent care center to talk to a professional counselor.
The views and opinions expressed by Advice Columnists are those of the Advice Columnists and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of Together Estranged.
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