When my father arrived home, I noticed that even he was scared that my mother was about to do something crazy. I kept my eyes glued to the knife in my mother’s hands, saying to myself, Please put the knife down. Instead of yelling or screaming like he often did, my father tried to calm her down. As he tried to talk her out of committing suicide, I heard him saying, “What about the children? Who will take care of them?” My mother replied, “I don’t care about the kids. I only want you.” Eventually, my mother put down the knife. It would take me another twenty-five years to acknowledge that on that night I also become a victim. Something inside me died when I heard those hurtful words of hers. Those words, like an earthquake, cracked the very foundation of my belief system.
That traumatic night set off a chain reaction of events in my life. The deep emotional scars would imprison me in self-destructive thoughts from adolescence through my adult and married life. In fairness to Mother, my father broke her heart. She was on medication at the time and was not in a great state of mind. Unfortunately, this information does not make a difference to a young child. Whatever the reasons, the message was clear. From that day forward, I felt like damaged goods. If my own mother did not love me, then something was definitely wrong with me.
Deep and painful childhood wounds can tie us to a lifetime of isolation and loneliness. As a result of our childhood, we may not have physical wounds visible on the outside. However, our emotional wounds might be more difficult to detect and heal. All of the harmful messages we receive in our lives and the resulting painful wounds wreak havoc in our adult lives. They affect our thoughts, judgment, and behavior. They block our path to peace and happiness. We develop a false belief system based on these early wounds about the world and ourselves. From these beliefs spring the voice of someone I call the warden or the damaging little voice inside our heads. Any time happiness approaches, the warden uses his power to push others away and keep us playing the damaging roles that he tells us to play.
As a child, I learned that needing and depending on others was a sign of weakness. Like a wounded animal, I was afraid to let anyone get close. I felt inadequate, unloved, rejected, defective, and shut down in shame. I behaved irrationally to avoid the pain. Until I became aware of my wounds and found the courage to heal them, it was impossible to experience intimacy or have a relationship with a Higher Power. I learned early on that it was unsafe to trust anyone.
Destructive behaviors helped to relieve the pain and to medicate my discomfort. My distorted outlook on life was further obscured by a belief system contaminated with faulty and unhealthy messages. The core of that belief system was responsible for my victim thinking. On one hand, this corrupted belief system cultivated feelings of self-pity and a destructive entitlement to act out. On the other hand, it failed to point out the consequences of self-destructive thoughts and behavior. The truth is, I was a victim as a child. Terrible things happened to me as a child. While I was not accountable for what occurred during childhood, I was responsible for allowing this victim mentality to continue into my adult life. The little voice inside my head kept telling me that the world owed me something, thereby creating unrealistic expectations and a sense of entitlement.
When I began to recognize what was going on inside, I focused on positive changes to improve my overall attitude. I needed to delete the old messages that fueled my destructive behaviors. I surrounded myself with the right people. These are people who hold me accountable and bring me back when my ego gets in the way. They encourage me when I lose hope and urge me to live without false pretenses. In addition, these people accept me for who I am even when I cannot accept myself. These people comprise my support group today. The messages I received as a child distorted my thinking, so I needed to develop a solution and new belief system to counter my negative way of thinking. It was not until I began to participate in meetings and therapist-led support groups that my growth and healing would begin. These experiences galvanized a new way of thinking about life, and motivated me to work through childhood traumas and destructive behaviors that had been holding me back. Much of the credit for my internal growth comes from several therapists who guided me through some of the most difficult times in my life. I supplemented this personal healing by attending couples’ meetings, which gave me additional strength and hope in healing difficult family wounds.
Although I was a successful businessman, husband, and father, I needed to wear a mask. I was never comfortable in the company of others and masked feelings of inadequacy, defectiveness, and loneliness. No material wealth could fill this void. My emptiness drove me into destructive behaviors, even at the risk of losing everything and everyone I love. I began to listen to this voice inside my head instead of trusting people. I felt insane, out of control, and scared. The warden’s condemning voice was loud, malicious, and repetitive. It told me over and over again that I was unworthy, unlovable, and never good enough. No amount of money or love from my beautiful family could comfort me from the pain. When alone, the negative voice would dominate my thinking. As much as I tried to ignore the pain from early childhood, I could not. I had a void deep within me, preventing me from experiencing any true sense of fulfillment. Eventually, I realized that my insanity would continue until I accepted the truth about my life.
I had to start at the beginning to fully understand the origin of my pain that had a stranglehold on my life. Once I acknowledged my difficult childhood, I began to see myself as a discouraged person who needed help, not the evil man who deserved to be punished. When I took off my mask, I discovered that most of my fears were of my own making.
Chapter Two: I Am the Problem
If I managed my business like I managed my life, I would have gone bankrupt. I may even have fired myself.
Sometimes we need to revisit the past before we can move beyond our current struggles. Going back allows us to revisit those early childhood traumas and discover the origin of the pain, which we continue to drag along with us. We go through this process so we can grow in self-awareness, self-compassion, and self-acceptance. The goal is not to blame others, but to experience forgiveness and healing.
As a child, I put my parents on a pedestal, certain that they would protect and provide for me and my brothers. I was the oldest of four boys. To the outside world, my mother appeared warm and kind. Many people admired my father because he was charming and successful; he had a great sense of humor and was confident. It was a different story behind closed doors. Chaos and drama ensued at home as my parents fought loudly. They never said anything nice to each other. These fights usually ended with my father leaving with his suitcase while my mother stayed behind crying. My mother continually told me what a horrible person my father was. How I felt became dependent on how well I could please her. If she was happy, I was happy too. But, most of the time, she was very sad. It seemed like my mother wanted me to fix something inside of her that I didn’t have the power to fix. My father’s vices included alcohol, gambling, and womanizing.
My brothers and I were just added baggage for my father. He said to my mother, “Do you realize how much money I would have if I didn’t have to feed these kids?” These words affected my self-esteem greatly. I blamed myself for everything. I truly believed that something was wrong with me. My inner voice suggested that none of this would have happened if I had been a better person and son. I was defective and damaged.
At an early age, my father would bring my brothers and me to the racetrack. We cheered for the horses he placed bets on as if they meant everything to us. At home, my father would bet money on football, baseball, and basketball games. We would then cheer those teams with the same intensity. He enjoyed the way we rallied for his teams while we enjoyed the attention he gave us. Gambling was his world. Sometimes he gave us a few dollars each to gamble with. That enabled us to get even closer to his world.
I hated my father and yearned for his acceptance at the same time. I craved his attention and wanted him to be proud of me—or at least show me that I mattered in some way. I decided if I wanted him to notice me, I would need to become