Ah Man Blog

Healing from Parental Abuse - Part 2

A couple of weeks ago, I shared the first part of my journey of healing from the mental, emotional, physical and sexual abuse I suffered at the hands of my alcoholic parents.   It was not until I started undergoing therapy for my own alcoholism that the healing process began.

Therapy was extremely important for me, because for a very long time I didn’t acknowledge what had happened to me when I was a child.  And deep down inside, I had believed it was my fault.  It’s obvious that I was more than a little mixed up, to say the least!

Finding the right therapist to work with is crucial.  It was important to me to work with a therapist who was familiar with the 12-Step Program.  The Program was a vital part of my journey at that time, so I needed to work with someone who was “in tune” with the steps. 

It took time for me to build trust with my therapist, but I was determined to “fix” myself.  I laugh at myself as I write this, because I now know that it is all part of my journey…part of the Divine Plan.  As we delved deeper into my issues, my therapist did something that felt awkward at first, but it helped me become whole again.  She validated to me that what I experienced was horrifying.  Initially, I had been unable to even acknowledge that the abuse had affected me.  I would talk about it without feeling; with a sense of detachment, even, as if it happened to someone else.  As I told her of the terrible incidents, she would yell out “Those bastards” or “How dare they treat you like that” or “What was wrong with them.”

At first I thought it odd that she was getting all riled up, but it wasn’t long before her acting out started to resonate with me and I began to feel the pain of what had happened to me.  I realized that she was feeling my pain on my behalf, until I could begin feeling it on my own.  I was in the beginning stages of healing from the abuse I had experienced as a child growing up with alcoholic parents. 

As I worked with my therapist, I also worked with psycho drama groups and other such modalities.  Over the next several years, as I went through those healing stages, I was able to separate myself from the abuse most of the time.  I also began taking better care of myself.  Most of all, I began to like myself and acknowledged that I am a smart guy…and a good man.

Next time, I’ll share some of the final steps I took toward healing… in Ireland, of all places!

To learn more about Michael Hoare and Ah-Man, visit here.

Sundays with Dad

[In honor of Father’s Day, I’m taking a break.  Several weeks ago, I invited each of my 3 offspring to give me a day off from the blog by sharing with you a powerful memory associated with me.  Well, to paraphrase the old Meat Loaf song, “One Out of Three Ain’t Bad.”  This week, I happily turn over the writing reins to my beautiful daughter Elaine.  I’ll be back next week.  Michael]

My parents got divorced when I was young, and Dad had visitation with us on Sundays.  I felt like we had to do all this "living" with Dad in a short period of time.  But it forced us (my siblings and I) to cram a lot of fun into this one day: Sunday.

There are so many fun Sundays that spring to mind.  My favorite outings were at the beach.  Even though my Dad would slather us in a SPF “wool sweater,” we always had a blast.  And then there are our numerous trips to Bear Mountain with a bunch of hiking.  And the Mets games where my Dad always had the coolest signs: "Outfielders may come and go but Strawberry Fields are forever."  Or our adventures rock climbing at Central Park.  My Dad always made sure we were outside and had plenty of fun.  By the end of the day, we were exhausted or passed out for the ride home.

To this day, on some Sundays when I wake up and realize what day it is, for a split second I think of Dad.  I am glad Father's Day is always on a Sunday because Sundays have always been "Dad's Day" to us.

To learn more about Michael Hoare and Ah-Man, visit here.

Healing from Parental Abuse - Part 1

Last week, I shared the fact that I have few memories of my father prior to his becoming an active alcoholic.  Years later, when I was in rehab myself, I remember being shown pictures of alcoholics in the latter stages of cirrhosis of the liver.  It was when I saw those pictures that I began the process of healing from the abuse I suffered at the hands of both my parents.

The pictures reminded me so much of how Mom and Dad looked at the end of their lives.  Their skin and eyes were yellow.  They were very skinny, except for their mid-sections, which were very large.  As a child, I didn’t realize that they were bloated and their livers were distended. 

The rehab counselor talked about alcoholism and its different stages.  I had always heard people say that alcoholism is a disease, but it never really clicked until that day.  That’s when I realized that my parents were sick.  It was never a question of choice or morality.   Alcohol had taken over their minds; much like it did to mine prior to coming into the rehab.

I had reached a point where alcohol was telling me what to do and when to do it.  I completely lost the ability to make my own choices.  At some point long ago, the same thing had happened to my parents.  

I found this new insight somewhat comforting, but very confusing.  If my parents lacked the ability to make rational choices, were they not at fault for the physical, mental and sexual abuse I endured?  The rehab counselor clarified that they were indeed accountable for their actions.  That moment of comprehension was quickly followed by a harsh realization.   If my parents were accountable for their actions while in the grip of alcoholism, then so was I. 

But my heart was beginning to open.  I was able to open a door that had been closed for a very long time.  And the light that seeped in dispersed some of my old thinking, and allowed some room for compassion.  My parents were sick people, not bad people. And so my healing began.

To learn more about Michael Hoare and Ah-Man, visit here.

A Healing Memory of Dad

I began healing from the painful memories of my Dad some 35 years after his death, and it was an incredibly powerful experience, in more ways than you can possibly imagine.  I’m going to continue a story that I began in my June newsletter.  But first, you need to know that, unlike my older siblings, I have no memories of my Dad before he became an active alcoholic – or so I thought.  However…

Several years ago, I was staying in my childhood friend’s log cabin up in Woodstock, New York.  It’s a beautiful cabin in the woods.  I was meditating in silence on the porch early that morning, feeling God all around me.  I heard Her in the singing of the birds, felt Him in the breeze through the trees and smelled God’s pine scent.  God was everywhere and I was truly witnessing all of it, without being a part of it.

Suddenly, a memory popped into my head out of nowhere. 

I am seeing my Dad and me at the beach.  I’m only about 18 months old and my little hands are holding on to each of his index fingers as he swings and rocks me over the breaking waves on a summer morning in Rockaway Beach, Queens, where we spent our summers up until a few years before my parents died.

I hear my Dad saying “Wheeeee!” as he lifts me.  I look back and he’s grinning ear to ear, and I see all of his big teeth in his mouth.  He has hair on his head.  (The earliest memories I had of him were when I was around six years old and by then he had lost most his hair).  He’s having such a ball with me and he’s all mine; none of my other siblings were around and I never felt so much joy while with my Dad before.

I’m screaming with delight as he picks me up over the waves.  I keep looking back and seeing how much fun he’s having with me and I can feel how much fun I was having with him.

Then as the next wave come.  He doesn’t pick me up and the cold water of the wave breaks right on me.  I’m stunned by the wet, cold water!  I look back to see why Dad didn’t pick me up, and there he is laughing.  (My confused and shocked look must have been hysterically funny.)  But when I see him laughing, I know it is ok and I start to scream and laugh at the same time.

He picks me up and cradles me in his big arms and hugs me and comforts me, saying “It’s alright, nothing to be afraid of” and I laugh and he laughs.

Just then, I hear my mother calling him.  “Bill, bring Michael up so I can put some lotion on him.”  And so he does.  He carries me up the beach, back to the blanket my Mom is on and hands me off to her.

While my mother slathered on the Coppertone® suntan lotion, the feeling of love I experienced from my parents was truly a gift.  My mother was protecting me with the lotion and my Dad was having fun with me.

Years later, when I took my kids to Rockaway Beach, I too would smother them in suntan lotion and it became a running joke with them.  My kids would always squirm and ask, “Dad why do you put so much suntan lotion on us?” or “Oh no, Dad’s got the suntan lotion out, look out!”I didn’t realize the connection at the time, of course, because the memory of my parents and the suntan lotion didn’t surface until my kids were fully grown. 

What a memory to recapture!  Then, on the day that the memory came flooding back, I suddenly realized that it was Fathers Day, as well!  Tears of joy washed down my face.  Since Mom and Dad passed away many years ago, I didn’t think of them a lot on Mother’s Day or Fathers Day.  But that day, I was blessed with a gift from the both of them and God.  The healing that happened then still lasts to this day.  When I think of my Dad or my Mom (and I now do think of them on Mothers and Fathers Day), I don’t think of the painful memories any more.  Instead, I think about the wonderful memories that returned to me that day, as well as the others that have come back to me since.

In the end, I truly believe the healing had to come from God.  Yes, I had to do my part, which I did.  But, ultimately it is up to God.  A friend of mine says “Work as if everything depends on you, pray as if everything depends of God.”

To learn more about Michael Hoare and Ah-Man, visit here.