Family therapy

Family therapy is hard. How hard? Really hard. I feel emotionally drained.

I should give a bit of background about my family.

My father has OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) and it domineered our house when I was a child. My dad was loud and explosive and very particular about having a clean house, which made my mother anxious and therefore very controlling. I grew up in fear of both my parents, constantly being told I was not good enough. Despite excellent grades and a sweet disposition, I was sensitive and never lived up to my parents' expectations.

My eating disorder began when I was 11, but became full blown when I was 14. I was screamed at and hated, told I was the problem, that I was a stupid, selfish brar, that I was worthless. We did Maudsley family therapy (I wrote about this in a previous post) which only made my eating disorder worse. It harmed my sister, it harmed my parents, it harmed me and made me suicidal. I spent age 14 in treatment and in the psychiatric hospital for suicidal ideation. Things were bad and only got worse.

I attended a behavioral school, and became close to a very manipulative and abusive social worker, who drew me in and gained my trust. I'll talk more about this school in a future post. Fast forward... At 16 things were so bad at home and I was so sick with my eating disorder, this social worker decided to pull me out of my parents' home and placed me with another family. For a year I hopped houses, and had pretty much no contact with my parents. I came to accept that I would never have a family who loved me. I legally emancipated and stood in court while my parents gave up on me. They didn't want me anymore. I was beyond devastated.

We got back in contact after I flew to New Orleans to live with my grandma. My grandma had me call, and I didn't think my parents Would answer the phone but they did. My parents payed for eating disorder treatment, but I did not allow them to be involved in my recovery. I moved back to New Orleans and although I was in contact, we rarely spoke.

After many failed treatments and hospital stays I ended up back in San Diego, having been told that I would not be financially supported if I moved back to New Orleans. Being unable to work or stay out of the hospital, I moved back to San Diego and lived with my parents for a year. The year had ups and downs... And ended with a fatal suicide attempt.

Fast forward to the present: we are doing family therapy and I can't believe how much progress we've made. I'm talking about the pain of the past... The fear, the shame, the mistakes, the horrible interactions  and abuse... And the world is not falling apart. My parents still want to see me for lunch Saturday and still want to hug me good bye. I never thought this day would come. Four years ago I believed I would never speak to my parents again, yet here we are healing painful open wounds and patching them up with care.

Healing is possible. I am a very lucky girl to have a family who is looking at the past and is willing to take responsibility for all the pain and all the tears. I was a child... It wasn't my fault and I don't need to carry the shame I've had my entire life. I can hardly believe things are going the way that they are. I'm truly In shock.

I'll say it again. Never give up.