Dealing with Abusive Parents as an Adult

One of PCAMN's volunteer speakers talked with me yesterday about a visit she had to her parents in Colorado. She said she might like to blog. I told her to go ahead and send me the piece she writes and I will put it in our blog. Lo and behold, I received her writing early this morning. After reading it and connecting with the challenge of dealing with parents who were abusive to us as children, I decided to share it with all of you. Thanks IdaLee.

Upon entering the Southwest Airline terminal at the Denver International Airport, three phrases came to mind: “Time to get tough,” “time to get smart,” and “time to go.” I have adopted this mantra since leaving my parents’ house. People often suggest that one should leave an abusive relationship. It takes courage and self confidence to gather the energy and strength to leave one’s abusive relationship.
Recently, I returned to my parents’ home to help them out by clearing the garage. In early August, my father had open quintuple heart bypass surgery to correct his blood circulation. My mother has dementia and is unable to care for herself. The fire marshal said their house was a fire trap and that they needed to remove all of the boxes of papers, old paint, varnish, and charcoal lighter fluids. It is not an exaggeration when I say there were so many boxes stacked -- three on top of each other -- that one had to walk sideways to put something in the trash cans. Their cars have been parked outside for at least 15 years, unprotected from the Colorado weather.

My psychologist has told me many times not to go back to Colorado to see my parents. She once said that if I go back and want to see her after a visit she will kick me out of her office. That is pretty strong advice. Although I did not heed it, I keep it in the back of my mind. My endocrinologist knew I was going to Colorado and he said just be hard-nosed and to leave if my father became abusive. Once my gynecologist said, “You do not choose your parents; but, you can choose how you will live with or without them.”

Armed with many years of counseling and the support of my husband and a few best friends, I journeyed to Colorado. I rented a car and had hotel accommodations for the visit. I felt in control of my situation.

My father had been released from the hospital and we were together for three days. The evening of the second day he was home, he started in on me. He cursed, but it was in hushed tones. His throat was sore from the oxygen tube.
On the third day of my visit, I took the opportunity to clean out the garage. A neighbor couple and their teenage children helped me go through boxes of papers and we threw away practically everything in the boxes which had not been looked at in 15 years.

We flattened boxes and filled at least 64 Hefty three-mil strength lawn bags. A fellow was called to pick-up and haul away the stuff all in the same day. The neighbors and I felt great about our massive cleanup efforts. My father seemed somewhat pleased with the empty garage. That evening, he became upset because I was not spending the night with them to care for my mother. I told him a personal care attendant would be there to care for her. He once again became verbally aggressive and used a mean tone toward me. I left after doing what he ordered me to do for him.
On the fourth day, I slept in and decided to go swimming before visiting my folks. When I went to the house the personal care attendant was there and said my father was taking a nap. He was in the family room, resting on the couch with his feet in my mother’s lap. The personal care attendant said she would tidy the garage once she was finished with the laundry. I planned to finish organizing the leftover odds and ends. Entering the garage from the family room, I began working. In less than five minutes, my father came storming into the garage, asking me about the paint cans. I told him they were in the hazardous waste dump. He exploded like a volcano with verbal attacks. I wilted. I went through the family room to the kitchen, picked up my rental car keys, and said I was leaving -- “Good bye.”

Driving back to the hotel I was shaking uncontrollably. I had had enough of being bullied by my father. My life in this family has been nothing but physical and verbal abuse. While clearing out the garage, I came across my old diary. The first entry was written when we lived in France. I was either 12 or 13 years old at the time.
“Three families and ours saw a wonderful ice show. When we got home, Mom and Dad got into a big argument. Mom hit dad with the brass handle on the arm.”
“Time to get tough,” “time to get smart,” and “time to go.” No longer will I stand and listen to verbal abuse. No one physically abuses me anymore. I live with a wonderful husband who protects me whenever he can. The experience in Colorado this August was one I had to deal with alone. I have broken away from my parents’ verbal and physical abuse towards me. No one has the right to batter another person – EVEN IF THEY ARE YOUR PARENTS!

Ida Lee Hurvitz