Setting My Boundaries
by Elouise
Okay…sometimes it’s a bit more complicated than this.
Ready or not
Time creeps up
On closed doors
Never to be opened
Without weeping
And gnashing of
Teeth set on edge
Since my childhood
I review notes
From two years of
My life as the
Prodigal daughter
Or so it seemed to
My parents who
Never walked
In my shoes
Plus notes from
Conversations with
Sisters suddenly
Part of the picture
Even though they
Didn’t ask to be part
Of this drama unfolding
According to my script
Not theirs
Bit by bit I clarified what I needed and wanted to do. My psychotherapist didn’t tell me what to do. She listened, asked questions, and sent me home to keep working on one of the most life-changing events of my life.
In an earlier post I included the letter I sent my parents, telling them not to call or write to me. I would call or write when I was ready. My letter was not well received. My father wrote back to me. Nothing in his long, single-spaced, typed “Dear Daughter” letter was encouraging. I decided to return, unopened, any further letters from him.
The planning phase for this meeting took one and a half years. During that time, Mother became the good parent who remembered us on holidays and birthdays. Seeing her determination to be the good parent, I gave up thinking this was about my father and me. It was about all three of us.
Also, through conversations with my three sisters, I learned who might sit beside me as a witness at a meeting with my parents. My husband David would be there. So would Sister #3, Diane, who lived in Texas.
Finally, I asked a trusted pastor friend who lived in Savannah to host the meeting. We would meet in a conference room at the church he served. He also agreed to stay in touch with my parents after the meeting.
All of this took time and multiple conversations.
As for the meeting itself, that’s another post. It took time to work through what I wanted to say, how I would say it, and what I wanted from each of my parents. Slowly, from May 1992 to November 1993, I clarified how to structure the meeting. I also clarified the roles David and Diane were to fill. In a nutshell: keep your mouths closed and listen!
Yes, the meeting itself was a bit of a drama. Stay tuned.
Thank you for your visits and encouragement! Sometimes it seems this meeting was the most important thing I ever did for myself–even more important than marrying D, though not nearly as much fun!
Elouise♥
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 November 2021
Boundary image found at pinterest.com
Your vulnerability and honesty makes me want to be likewise. I love your writing. I’m a big fan!@
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Thank you, Janet. I love your comment! 🙂
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This is amazing. To make such planning and bolster the confidence to express things so many of us would have let fester unspoken. I’m intrigued to know what happened next, and most of all, what happened AFTER.
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Thank you, Gwen! I never planned to write ‘all’ about this. Which, of course, is part of my communication pattern–stay on the right side of the most powerful people possible, for as long as possible. But right now, in the USA and elsewhere, young children and youth are being marked for life, and we seem unable to stay focused on this. Your own story is pulling me along–in a good, healthy way. Secrets can be poison! Especially when they’re being kept for the wrong reasons. Today I’m taking a deep breath. I’m finding it both instructive and more than a bit discouraging to read through my files, though I’m also astonished to see (from this side of my life) the extent of our disfunction as a family. Cheers! 🙂
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Your words put me in mind of a piece I wrote a few years ago but did not use in my current manuscript. It was a “letter” to my brother, and begins: “There are things we should have talked about before you died. All those things from our childhood that we pretended were normal. They were not normal. We both knew that. And yet we continued to pretend. Why did we do that? Did you think I was too young to understand? Did you think I was too young to be affected?”
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Conversations we never had….such a tough reality. I wonder how many children grew up as you did, unable to communicate safely or truly with their siblings. That was part of my family’s strange distancing. We girls knew what was happening to each of us, but never once talked about it together until we were adults. Your story is painful and (strangely) full of hope for children caught in similar situations, provided they can find safe conversation partners. Even so, there’s plenty of mucky stuff we’ll never understand. I’d like to think it’s part of what makes each of us ‘special’ — one of a kind. 🙂
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I feel as if I have had several lives in the one body (although that darn thing keeps changing too! LOL). Anyone meeting me now would think I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. So yes, it has made me one a kind 🙂
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My hat is off to you for continuing to push forward. I think you doing the work of Jesus, giving others a chance for healing by the stripes you have suffered. Thank you.
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You’re welcome, dw. It’s tempting to let the past sit there, without examining it. Especially when it comes to the way we were disciplined and treated as children and young people. My observation is that many (not all) church leaders and members often tend to look the other way, or fail to see signs that are right there in front of them.
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