The Dismissed Parent

The word “toxic” has been thrown around so liberally that it is now a cultural mainstream expression for anyone considered “difficult” or “demanding.” But dealing with difficult people and relationships is a part of life, and the grace and control we exhibit when we employ tolerance, acceptance, and forgiveness in awkward or stressed situations is how we mature and learn to love unconditionally.   

I am shocked at how many young people claim their parents are “toxic,” which is a blanket excuse for validating one’s own harsh judgment and impulsive reactiveness towards a parent who dares to ask for respect, accountability, or gratitude. Empathy, support or understanding would be nice too.

This statement makes me sound like I want my children, even as adults, to be seen and not heard and deal with anything a parent dishes out, but that is not what I’m saying. What I am trying to say is that there will always be generational gaps between parents and their adult children, and an adult child’s memories are often murky at best because everything they saw, heard, and experienced (and now pass judgment on) was witnessed through a child’s perspective. There were likely circumstances and explanations about decisions made and actions taken that a child didn’t need to know or couldn’t understand, not to mention that memory is a flexible thing and rarely accurate.  Much of the story of a person’s past is fabricated in the mind, rather than documented truth.  That is the case for all of us, parents and children alike. Rather than point fingers, perhaps a child should give a parent latitude if for nothing more than the years and years of sacrifice and devotion the parent channeled towards their survival and well-being.

Intentions count, and so often, young people complain and justify their decision to blow off their parents, totally ignoring factors such as the cultural differences between generations, the limits of a parent’s emotional or financial capability, or the love that motivated so many choices, even if those choices could have been better.  Young adults today feel vindicated as they set boundaries simply because they were not parented in the way they wanted to be parented. But do you know many children (from the average family) who really have a better handle on what they need than the adult in charge?  Respect goes two ways, and setting boundaries can at times be avoidance of the uncomfortable task of working through issues.        

I will use my own parents as an example. Products of the 1950s and members of “the greatest generation,” my dad was a conservative banker, and my mother a housewife who deferred to his decisions because that is what a good wife does. I was an artistic type, a Baby Boomer listening to the Beetles and drinking Boone’s Farm strawberry wine in the back of my boyfriend’s car at the drive-in while watching Flashdance and fantasizing about my own desired career as a dancer. My dad paid for my brother to go to college and did all he could to boost my brother’s potential so he would prosper in business, sports, or dating. He was delighted when my brother married a nice, wholesome girl and had kids. He even helped them buy a house.

I wanted to go to college for journalism or dance, two careers that don’t have a guaranteed return on investment.  But education was considered an unnecessary indulgence for me, because the smart thing for a woman in 1977 was to learn secretarial skills and work just until she got married and could raise a family. They wouldn’t (or couldn’t) pay tuition for me to attend college and were intolerant of my non-traditional hopes, dreams, and plans. So, despite their better judgment, I moved to New York to pursue a dance career.  For the next dozen years, I was made to feel foolish and irresponsible for my whimsical dreams. Every family gathering became an opportunity to point out my lack of measurable life achievements. My parents had no respect for my “artsy-fartsy” friends, and while they loved me, they hated my unconservative persona. They didn’t like my manner of dress, who I married, my liberal political bent, my lack of financial stability, and my general attitude about everything. They didn’t recognize or support any of my small achievements, achievements I was quite proud of, even though there was rarely a dollar sign to establish the value of what I accomplished. Approval was not expected or given, though I craved acknowledgment as all children do. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I often felt hurt and misunderstood. To their dying day, my parents tried to make me see the light so I would change and align with their vision of who I should be. They were convinced my life would be better and more successful if I only did things “their way.” To their great disappointment, I never even tried.

Their rampant judgment and badgering caused constant stress for all three of their children, but our generation was taught to respect their elders, so we just took whatever was dished out and complained to friends later.  Despite how unappealing it sometimes was, we showed up for family gatherings, made our weekly calls, and didn’t make a huge deal out of disagreements (or at least not in front of them). Our relationship with our parents wasn’t perfect, but it was consistent and loving. The fact is unconditional love does not mean unconditional approval. Unconditional love is sticking by someone and not doing or saying anything that can’t be taken back, even when the person annoys you. I demonstrated my respect and love for my parents by accepting the imperfection of our dynamic and remaining a part of their lives despite it.

You may say such a one-sided relationship is out of balance or unfair to the child, but there were outcomes from that dynamic that I cherish today. Because while my parents were not perfect, I have remained a devoted and loving daughter despite not being raised the way I wanted to be raised. I learned to be grateful for their misplaced efforts in guiding me. It wasn’t easy, but I taught myself to hear and feel love even in criticism because at the root of every badgering comment or testy suggestion was earnest intention to teach me the steps necessary to build a good life. Of course, I knew then and now that living their version of success would have killed my soul and brought me misery rather than happiness, but they didn’t recognize that. They sincerely believed that my life would be easier if I dressed, voted, and lived conservatively. Who knows, they may have been right. My life COULD have been easier . . .  but not better. Or at least, not better for me.

Luckily, I did not throw out the baby with the bathwater and label my parents as “toxic”. They were insensitive sometimes, yes, but even in their misplaced efforts, there was devotion. Love.   

My parents eventually aged and became vulnerable. They needed me, and I was there for them. I never dreamed of standing up to announce, “You weren’t here for me in the way I needed, so why should I be here for you now!”

They were imperfect parents, to be sure, but never would I call them “toxic” for ‘toxic’ implies poisoning. My parents may have disagreed with my choices and did a number on my self-esteem, but they didn’t poison me. They nourished and loved me. They fed and clothed me, cared for me when I was sick, played cards with me, looked under the bed when I was afraid of monsters, allowed me to go trick or treating (never checking the candy), and baked cookies for the holidays. They gave me advice and counsel, looked crosswise at any date they wanted to intimidate so there would be no funny business, made me do chores, and grounded me when I did anything they perceived as dangerous. They taught me to brush my teeth, take responsibility for my mistakes, and put oil in my car once in a while.  

Once or twice in life, I have tried to express my true feelings. Several times I had a “Come to Jesus meeting” with them where I complained that they didn’t know me, didn’t even try to know me, and didn’t appreciate who I was and what I stood for. They didn’t get me, I cried, convinced that if they truly loved me, they would accept me for who I was and love me as is.  Nothing changed. I got a lecture on how kids today expect unconditional approval when what they need is to be less self-indulgent and learn to get over themselves.

My attempts to be recognized and accepted in all my liberal glory were always a fruitless dream, I suppose. So, in the end, I gave up trying to change them and accepted that these were the parents assigned to me by the universe, so I might as well learn whatever lessons the universe had in mind for me by this weird pairing.  I did plenty of eye-rolling, but I didn’t go ‘no-contact.’    

In their final years, my 95-year-old parents softened in their judgment, and I received an unexpected outpouring of love and appreciation for the kind of daughter I’ve always been. I was proud that, throughout all those years, I loved them and treated them with respect, even though it was hard to do sometimes.   

When they died, I was devastated. I would have given a king’s ransom for one more day of their judgment, their criticism, and their totally off-base advice because that crazy, annoying dynamic was just a part of who they were, parents that loved their children in the best way they knew how.    

By enduring their presence and learning to let their annoying comments roll off my back, I learned to love my parents as they were.  Treating them with tolerance and respect was the ultimate expression of my love. I honored all the things they did for me rather than focus on what I didn’t get from them, and I chose not to hurt them despite any justification that I could or should to make a point.  

By today’s standards, you might say my parents were toxic. But never would I use their being difficult as an excuse to sever our relationship or go non-contact. Honestly, to do so would have been my loss.  I’m grateful I didn’t miss months, years, or even a moment that could have been spent with them. Time spent together was often difficult, but it did eventually come to an end. When they left this world, what I felt was not relief as one might guess, but poignant loss. In losing them, I lost a part of myself. There in the void, watching my mother take her last breath, it hit me. No one will ever love me the way my parents did. Spouses, friends, and lovers come and go. Our children grow up and dismiss us. But our parents’ love is enduring and pure, regardless of its imperfection.

I learned so much from my parents—how to be a better parent myself, for one thing. My estranged daughter may disagree, but in my effort to not be them, I went out of my way to support the individuality of my children, encouraged them to follow their dreams, whatever form those dreams take, and held my tongue about how they dress when I wanted to make a comment. I try not to judge their choices, even when I believe they are making mistakes. But I also emulated what was good in my parents’ parenting. My children brush their teeth, put gas in the car, and have memories of trick-or-treating. (I’m not so sure I did as well in the “take responsibility for your mistakes” department.)    

Was I a more effective parent than my own because I tried to do things differently? Of course not. None of us hit the nail on the head despite trying to aim true. We are only human, stumbling through parenting challenges without a guidebook, after all. Every generation is better in some ways and worse in others. Are our children going to be perfect parents to their own offspring as they self-righteously decide to do things differently than we did? I very much doubt it. Like all of us, they will do their best, and my fondest hope is that they will be treated with kindness and respect for the effort.  I pray their children will show them tolerance for whatever perceived slights they take exception to when they are adults and that they don’t dismiss them, choosing distance over kinship.  

If it is true that we teach by example, today’s adult children who proudly enact the “no contact for mental health” ritual (actually, 27% of all Americans state they have gone no-contact with family members!) are not just setting personal boundaries, they are setting a foundation for their own future. Their kids are being taught that disengaging from an annoying parent is not only acceptable but applaudable.   Of course, our children can’t imagine their own children will ever behave thus. After all, THEY aren’t like us. THEY are such good parents, loving, tolerant, and supportive. All they want is what’s best for their child, right?   

Ha. Me too.