Abuse’s Impact On Disorder?

 

Recovery is probably an overused word in my vocabulary- and not just concerning my disordered eating issues.

In fact, I’ve spent much prayer, exploration and therapy living my recovery from both disorder and that of my family’s abuse. And that’s led me to question the impact of one on the other. Did I already possess hard wiring for eating disorder mindsets and behaviors before I was in my abusive environment? Or, did the violence I experienced light a fuse which would have otherwise been nonexistent had I lived a non-abusive family dynamic?

My childhood consisted of isolation and verbal assaults. Complicating this pain further was my family’s public perception. In our small rural community, my dad, a classic manipulator, was only known as a great guy, a joker and a “go to” person in case of emergency. Our family, financially prosperous as well, appeared to be happy and perfect. But behind closed doors, reality was harsh.

In my adult life, through help from both my faith and therapy, I’ve learned about the abusive cycle. There is much information concerning its destructive phases. And yes, a lot of the emphasis is on the physicality of abuse. However, more subtle forms also exist. Its verbal aspects contain threatening and disparaging insults. Likewise, the emotional/mental components focus on an ominous undercurrent of control, power inequity and isolation. But all forms of abuse possess the same phases: tension building, acute explosion and “the honeymoon” in their terror-filled arsenals.

For years, my mother and I didn’t know what to call them, other than business as usual. My dad’s stifling tactics created and sustained an environment of fear, dread and danger.

Mom and I not only walked on eggshells, we lived on them as well.

And, years later, I’ve seen how strongly my disordered tendencies were often my chosen coping mechanism responses to that reality.

Tension Building:

This phase lists characteristics like moodiness, yelling, putdowns and threats. Yes, all of those things were present. My dad specialized in tossing insults, littered with expletives, to both my mother and myself:

“You’ll never amount to anything!”

“You do nothing all day! You’re useless!”

“Just look at (he mentions another wife or daughter in the rural community)! Look at her! Why can’t you be like her and do what she does?

This was daily life. Mom and I expected constant his disapproval. Never satisfied, he determined if things were okay or even good, that was to be expected. No positive attention was required. However, if things weren’t great (according to only his subjective perspective), then he could unleash his punishment to teach us a lesson or simply vent his anger.

And so, the verbal and emotional abuse intensified. And with it, the tension building phase’s attribute, “destroys property” was how he demonstrated his physicality.

I believe he chose this means of physical expression because he could wield fear by threatening to discard our meaningful possessions. He did it often. My mother had difficulty keeping a clean house. And so, he used this as his excuse to rage. To make his demanding point, he’d hold up one of my favorite dolls, strewn on the living room floor and declare he was going to “take it to the garbage and burn it.” After all, I wasn’t worthy of possessing it; Mom and I certainly should not have wasted his money buying it. We got what was coming to us.

This sentiment was repeated, using many of my possessions. And he went after Mom’s things as well. It’s why she doesn’t have her original birth certificate; it was tossed and burned during one of his rampages.

Therefore, in an effort to cope, my disordered thinking prompted hyper-vigilance; I wanted to be as perfect and pleasing as possible.

During childhood, I had constant anxiety with my every effort. If I could just be “good enough...” My dad erected impossible and vague requirements as the mandatory perfectionistic standard. Therefore, we were set up to fail.

However, years later, I recognize that’s part of the abuser’s mindset. He operates from a perspective in which spouse and children are created to perfectly cater to his every whim. At the same time, conveniently, he has also freed himself from accepting all personal responsibility. Therefore, if there was there was anyone responsible for falling short, the blame rests on spouse and child, never him.

Still, as a child, I could only internalize the blame and fear. It was my fault. And since neither parent was available to comfort me (my dad was in unsympathetic punishing mode; my mother was trying to keep peace), I turned to food for comfort instead. Mom initially modeled this behavior for me, having her own food/weight issues. However, as we both ate and subsequently, gained weight, this further exacerbated the abuse. My dad hurled jokes, insults and criticisms at us. Again, according to the family “rules,” wife and child were the problem. We brought the trouble on ourselves.

This viewpoint impacted my disordered eating as an adolescent when my rage kicked in. Seeing the unjust discrepancies operating in our home, I viewed my body as the vehicle to express my frustration, need for control and ultimately, revenge against my parents for their dysfunction. My attitude was “I’ll show them!” I would become emaciated and even die, just to punish them both for their roles in subjecting me to this hell. I was crying for help and validation. None came. Instead, it was peace and conflict keeping, image- prized importance trumping truth and family healing.

And this torture flared into the next phase.

Acute Explosion:

According to most abuse cycle charts, humiliation and verbal abuse are two characteristic signs of the “Acute Explosion” phase. Mom and I already experienced these elements within the tension building phase, our family status quo.

But, like any good abusive dynamic, inevitably, there was a dramatic explosion. Something enraged my dad. Whomever or whatever it was, he, nevertheless, determined it was our fault.

Once, when I was eleven, he was upset at my cousin (he never gave a reason why). He never confronted her; he didn’t believe he needed to. After all, Mom and I were conveniently in his cross hairs. So, he erupted, threatening us with his “or else” statements. Most of the time, his punishments involved our imprisonment in the house. 

Often, in these episodes, I’d try to hide. But he’d storm from room to room, hunting me. I’d hear Mom bargaining with him, doing whatever he demanded. Eventually, he’d find me and the danger would escalate. Sometimes, to make his point, he’d try to harm my beloved cats. And that’s where I was especially terrorized. It was one thing to threaten an inanimate object. But target a living being whom I loved? Was Mom next? Or what if I was? Those unanswered questions tormented me; I had to make this better. I just wanted his screaming, threats and severe consequences to stop.

These explosions would last two or three hours. Then, he’d leave, sometimes to do farm work; sometimes, he’d drive into town.  It was a temporary relief. Mom and I would clean up his wreckage. We’d brace for his return.

I had years of these memories. This violent phase also guided my disordered eating mindset: “I am not safe.” As a child, that belief drove my overeating, searching for comfort. I’d binge on cakes, ice cream and cookies. I wanted to feel love and safety I couldn’t get from my home.

And, as an adolescent and a young adult, anorexia and bulimia became my more complicated safety mechanisms. I medicated stressful feelings and experiences with restrictive and extreme behaviors. I weighed, measured and counted everything. I attempted to control my body, ergo, myself.

And, like abuse’s acute explosion phase, I also translated the harsh mentality to my disordered eating/image issues. Whenever I failed to stick to a caloric daily total, lose weight or maintain some drastically low number, I punished myself. I needed to make myself pay; I invented my own “or else” threats. I’d exercise for six hours. I’d throw away food. Sometimes I’d hit or scratch myself for being the horrible human being I believed I was.

Abuse experts discuss the how we, the abused individuals, often take on the abuser role in how we treat ourselves. It seems to stem from some violent personal assessment, “I’m worthless; I need to be punished severely.”

Eating disorders became my punishing “acute explosion.” Since any anger, apart my dad’s, was forbidden, this was how I raged. The explosion happened inside my body and mind, hidden from view until my drastic weight changes captured everyone’s attention.

And, in the years since, I’ve come to accept anger for what it is. It’s an human emotion, requiring healthy attention, not self-destruction. Abuse obscured that truth. Now, I have an opportunity to heal.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned has been the forbidden component in the acute explosion dynamic; it’s usually attached to something “off limits.” With abuse, it was anger, feelings and individual rights. With my eating disorders, it had more to do with being imperfect. No matter what, my staunch belief was “I deserve punishment; I have this coming.”

That’s what I needed to tear down, rather than be torn down by it. It’s particularly challenging to accomplish that. Simply stated, self-acceptance is ongoing and difficult.

Honeymoon:

And, equally challenging is the honeymoon phase of abuse. It’s often when the abuser apologizes and gives gifts; it’s that calm period between storms.

In our case, we’d endure my dad’s angry storms for three or four days. Then, we’d return to our version of normal. He wasn’t yelling and threatening us; there were even moments of joking or generosity on his part. He’d “pay” Mom for her housework; he’d take us out to a restaurant.

But mostly, our experience, according to many abuse cycle charts, featured this honeymoon trait: “Acts like nothing has happened.”

And that was what was so unhealthy. Mom and I were so relieved to get through his explosions, we’d take whatever calm we could get.

This honeymoon phase also impacted my disordered eating/image mindsets, as I tried to “make things better.” Whether it was anorexia, or bulimia, in my acutely explosive eating disorder actions, I would often engage in “bad behaviors.”

Then, complete with extreme counter behaviors, I would strive to become normal again. The honeymoon phase concerning my disorder was my calm successful stasis. I had starved, purged and exercised enough to be okay again. Things were as they “should be.”

However, just like the abuse’s honeymoon phase, my disorder’s reality was also constantly uneasy, no matter how good things seemed. Soon, the tension would build and explode again.

Disorder and abuse are both complex, mysterious realities. I’m not here to solely blame my eating disorder struggles on that abuse.

But, as I’ve sought help for both, I have certainly seen connection between the two. Both have oppression at their core; both are about punishment and pain, in the guise of keeping order, peace and status quo.

Perhaps, I do, in fact, have the “eating disorder brain.” Perhaps, eating disorders would have occurred, regardless of my family’s home life.

One thing I have come away with, however, has been the revelation that I became my own abusing punisher. I made that choice to internalize oppression through self-destructive thoughts and actions. I did that. I need to accept my ownership of that reality. I may not have been able to control my potential “eating disorder brain,” much less, my dad’s choices to abuse my mother and me.

But, here and now, I can make another choice. I can choose life, healing and freedom. Forgiveness is intrinsic to that choice in matters of both disorder and abuse. I had to forgive others and myself. And doing that is not a one- time perfect event; it’s an ongoing process.

Therefore, I keep embracing help, health, support and information. I choose imperfect recovery. I resolve to not live that oppression as much as my finite self can allow.

I now endeavor to answer the following question:

How will I live healthy and empowered, recovering from what is known as “my life?”

May each of us, even in spite of our abuse and/or disorder experiences, live that answer!

Copyright © 2016 by Sheryle Cruse