WHERE WERE YOU?

Those of us who were raised in abusive households usually point the finger at the obvious problem, be it an alcoholic father, a borderline mother, an abusive grandparent.  But it’s often the parental figure hiding in the next room that deserves as much culpability as the obvious culprit. Why do I say that? Because being the only sane adult in the household, it was incumbent upon them to protect us...even from their spouse, their relative, or whomever was hurting us. And, no matter what they claim, they knew about the abuse.  On some level, they knew. 

I remember starting my second round of serious psychotherapy with a lovely man. My first dream (often significant) was of my new therapist in an elevator in a blonde wig. Boy, was I confused.  I had spent most of my first therapeutic endeavor focusing on my nutty, explosive father finally finding acceptance, understanding, and forgiveness. But I knew there was more to the story.

“Who did the blonde figure in the dream remind you of?” My therapist asked me. “My mother? Yes, my mother.”

My mother was a very creative, dean’s list, phi betta kappa (she always reminded us!) graduate.  But where was this very competent woman when my father’s rants started? When my brother or I were called downstairs to be harangued by my unstable dad?  We lived in a small house, my father was loud, she must have heard. And she must have known. After the screaming ended, and we were sent upstairs to our bedrooms, she’d follow us up and tell us to apologize to our father who now felt badly for yelling at us. Yup, we were confused too. And we were incredibly quiet, well-behaved (scared) children. Didn’t matter. The yelling was inevitable. 

I have learned, through my years of experience as a therapist, that the phenomenon of the “absent abuser” was not at all unusual.  When my patients began realizing and confronting their absent abuser, the excuses they received were pretty pathetic. “I didn’t know.” “I was at work.” “It wasn’t so bad; you should see what I had to go through.” “Your father/mother was under a lot of stress.” “You have to understand.........” *. Fill in the blank.

Our tormentor might have been lost in addiction, mental illness, self-hate, never having addressed their own physical or sexual abuse as children.  But our other parent knew better, was therefore responsible for protecting us. And didn’t. We were abandoned and betrayed.

Why did they fail to protect us? Fear is a big one. What might have been the repercussions of acknowledging the craziness/the abuse?  Havoc? Unwanted change? Having the abuser turn on them?  Might be better, safer, to minimize or deny, or blame the victim. Anything not to have to face the crushing truth.  Another reason might be that, because of their own unresolved emotional issues, they were drawn to, and partnered with, a person with significant psychological problems. 

When you finally realize and accept that the abuse you received (in whatever form) was not your fault, that the people who should have protect you turned a blind eye, inadvertently colluding with abuser, it makes sense that your reactions would be hurt, anger, disappointment, and confusion. 

Perhaps you idolized your saner parent and don’t want to let go of this fantasy? Or accepting the reality that you were truly defenseless and alone is too painful.  Perhaps daddy couldn’t help hitting/yelling/touching, but where was Mommy? Perhaps mommy couldn’t help screaming/hitting/belittling, but where was Daddy? Could they not have known? Doubt it. So, which was the greatest betrayal? The hurt/addicted/mentally ill abuser or the observer who could, but didn’t, save you? Run interference between you and the hand, the belt, the screaming, the shaming? You might well have been told the abuse was your fault.  After a while, you might come to believe it. What evidence was there otherwise?  How could you make sense of the punishment if you didn’t deserve it?

But it’s now years later. The relationship you have with your parent as a grown adult is not the same as it was when you were little. The dynamics have shifted. You are no longer a dependent, scared, trapped child, not knowing what to believe, including your own perceptions.  

Now that you are aware, does it help to confront your Absent Abuser? Ask why they didn’t protect you? Weren’t you worth it? If your reality and pain were minimized or totally denied when you were a child, there’s a great probability the absent abuser will, once again, fall back on minimization and denial.   And you can now add in guilt. “How could you suggest such a thing about your devoted (Fill in the blank)?” Prepare for it. 

I did confront my mother when I realized the depth of her abandonment.  She looked befuddled and, upon reflection, she never gave me a clear answer.  To her credit, she didn’t deny it happened either. I clearly remember drafting divorce decrees for her to give my father when my brother and I were little. We were desperate. She had the power to make the fear stop. She chose not to. 

The hurt was compounded by the fact that for so many years, my father had been our favorite parent. Fun-loving and playful, he would sing and dance with us, engage with us, be gentle and loving.  We couldn’t wait for him to come home after work. That changed. Too much heartbreak, too many personal losses, finally broke him.  The sadness and powerlessness ate up the good Dad leaving us with the angry one.  We were abandoned first by my father, and then by my mother who didn’t notice, or felt helpless to fix, our broken father.

Mom said something about having to understand how hard it would have been for a single mother in the suburbs. She was right. Over the years her savvy, her sharpness, her life skills dimmed with the numbness, safety and comfort of suburban life and marriage. I hope that if I ever faced that situation, my outrage would be so all consuming that I would brave heaven and hell to protect my children. 

My adult relationship with my mother was wonderful. She was fun, supportive, and encouraging. I never laughed as much as I did with her. But she was also the mother who knowingly abandoned us to a hurt, unstable father. Did she ever apologize or even acknowledge her abandonment? No. I think that was beyond her emotional skill set. She wasn’t evil, just weak.  Of course, I wish she had been braver, used her creativity to find a way out for the sake of her children. But I also cherish the nourishing, playful adult relationship we did have. This was her strength. She was a great friend, but a wounded mother. 

So, if you have completed dealing with your anger and grief at your abuser, it might be time to complete the story.  Acknowledge the profound abandonment of the absent abuser.  Not to blame. But to heal.

A simple question: “Where were you?” starts the exploration. 

Invite yourself to become aware and available to what you need to feel safe.  Be gentle with yourself. This is a tough process. But know, it’s never too late to learn to trust again.