Читать книгу The Problem Was Me - Thomas Ph.D. Gagliano - Страница 12

One evening after working late, I had a sexual encounter with a married woman who worked for me. After the encounter, I felt ashamed and disgusted over what I had done. I went home that night and scrubbed my body until my skin was raw. How could I do this? I looked in the mirror and said, “I’m my father’s son.” No matter how hard I tried, I was doing the same thing to my family that my father did to his. I attempted to justify my actions by telling myself that I was different from my father, but my guilt was unbearable. I coached my kids’ teams, always did homework with them, and was there when they needed someone to talk to, yet I betrayed them and my wife in the worst way a man can betray his family. The warden was beating me up with his bat, which made me feel even more worthless.

I was setting up my kids to repeat the same dysfunction passed down to me by my father and by his father before him. Despite the shame, I wasn’t ready to work on my brokenness, and I had sex again with this same woman. Throughout this madness, there was a miracle occurring with my father. I started to see a change in him. My parents came to our house just to be with their grandchildren. The special attention he gave them was something that I had never witnessed before with him. He had such patience with them. Both my parents watched the same movies with the children over and over again. Their favorite was The Land Before Time. I don’t know how many sequels were made, but my children wore out the VHS tapes, watching them with my parents.

In addition to his time, my father gave my children encouragement. The longer he remained sober, the more his goodness came out. Watching the love grow between my children and him was amazing. My father was learning to give and accept unconditional love. The only words my father ever uttered to our children were words of encouragement and love.

Years later, following a checkup at the clinic, his blood work came back abnormal. After a battery of tests, they found a malignant tumor in his stomach. Within just six months, the cancer spread throughout his body. I never felt so helpless. I was so self-sufficient that I felt I could fix anything in life if I worked hard enough at it. With my father’s condition, I was so powerless. All I could do is watch him wilt away. My father said he had one favor to ask me. He did not want to see his grandchildren to see him after he became extremely ill and near death. As much as I disagreed with him, I honored his request. Before he died, he said his biggest regret was not being able to see his grandchildren grow up.

One night at the hospital, a priest came to give him some spiritual support. As the priest left the room he told my mother that my father was more spiritual than anyone he had ever met. I found this amazing because when I was in second grade, he ridiculed me when I told him about Noah’s Ark. He said, “What, are you stupid, how you could believe that stuff?” After hearing the priest’s comment, I discovered that he had found spiritual peace after he stopped drinking. That surprised me as I remember this man as somebody who once only worshiped money.

My parents had been divorced and remarried so many times that nobody knew for sure if they were married at this point in time or not. My father’s will was dependent on them being married. It turned out that they were not married at the time. We held a somber wedding ceremony in the hospital, while my father was on his deathbed. My father was hooked up to a morphine drip as he held my mother’s hands and repeated their vows. All of my brothers and their wives were there.

I visited my father in the hospital every night. One evening he asked me how his dog was doing. We were watching his dog during this time. Every night when the dog went out to do his business, our three-year-old daughter would greet the dog at the door with a wipe in her hand and clean the dog’s bottom. My father laughed so hard that he told me to stop because it was starting to hurt inside.

One particular night in the hospital he felt very weak, and he knew he did not have much time left. Although I felt sadness I didn’t know how to express my feelings to him. As I was about ready to leave, he said with a weak, tired voice, “Son, about twenty years ago my father was in the hospital dying of lung cancer. I was sitting right beside him as you are seated beside me, and I could never find the courage to tell him I loved him.” I was amazed that even in the midst of my father’s physical pain, he was able to recognize my pain. As he tried to reach out to me, the warden would not allow me to let my guard down and hug my father and say, “I love you.” I was paralyzed by fear and was silent.

My father was riddled with cancer, and he was frail and weak, yet he still had the power of a ten-foot giant. The warden told me, “Run out of this room as fast as you can. Don’t be vulnerable in front of him!” I grasped my father’s hand. He pulled me closer and began to weep. The only time I saw my father cry was when he was drunk and seeking forgiveness for being abusive. On the outside, I showed no emotion as he wept. I silently left the room with a horrible lump in my throat. At the time, I didn’t have the strength to say “no” to the warden and tell my father that I loved him.

As I approached the hospital elevator, the door opened and out came a friend from one of the meetings I attended. He was visiting someone else in the hospital that night. I gave him a big hug. I needed to hold someone I could trust, and this guy miraculously appeared. In time, as I grew spiritually, I recognized that divine intervention had taken place that day in my life. That guy in the elevator was sent to comfort me because I didn’t know how to comfort myself. Without him, I might have chosen a very destructive solution to ease my pain. Within the next few days, I told my father that I loved him.

One week later, my father suffered a stroke, and the doctors induced a coma. My mother asked me to come to the hospital as the doctors did not think my father would make it through the night. He took his final breath the instant my brother and I walked into his room. My mother explained to us that he didn’t want to die until all his kids were there.

The wake was two days later. At the funeral home, I recognized more than thirty men and women from the groups and Twelve Step meetings I attended. Once they heard about my father’s death from my wife, word spread quickly to the other group members. I was touched by their kindness. For the first time I had a sense of belonging and connection that I had been searching for my entire life. The message I received from their presence told me I was important, that I mattered. No amount of money, expensive cars, or houses gave me the feeling of warmth I felt that day from these people.

I was beginning to grow. I had the willingness to seek help, but now I acquired a willingness to take direction and do what others suggested I do. I was ready to trust others enough to let my guard down and let them see the parts of me that I had covered up for so long because of my shame. I realized that I subconsciously chose to be unhappy because that was familiar to me, especially when faced with frightening changes. I didn’t like to own my character defects, especially when I was exposed to challenges. Eventually I learned that when I own my defects, I can respond to challenges in a much healthier way.

I became willing to take direction and do what I was told to do, regardless of how I felt. I began to surrender control which resulted in huge changes in my life. I began to practice humility and swallow my pride. My priorities changed. My businesses were not as important anymore. I eventually sold the businesses that required me to be there and helped the long-time employees who were faithful to me find employment in the industry. I kept my real estate business enterprises that were run by others. I had the luxury of retiring young.

I needed to learn why I kept going from one false solution to the next. To accomplish this, I spent years going to retreats, workshops, groups, meetings, and therapy. During this time, I stayed away from all of my destructive behaviors and did what I was told to do. I listened to the healers in my life that consisted of my therapist, sponsors in the Twelve Step fellowships, and many of the people I met in groups and meetings. I also listened to the stories of other recovering people who were trying to find hope and peace in their lives.

As I began to better understand myself, I started helping others with similar destructive behaviors. Eventually, I held support groups in my home for a diverse group of people, including rabbis, priests, doctors, lawyers, plumbers, and the unemployed. These groups helped people work directly on healing and growth. Some group members spun off to create their own sub-groups. Over time, the group itself became a valuable tool in the healing process for all. These were not just people with addictions, but others who wanted to explore the reasons they acted in ways that sabotaged their happiness. Some of the group members were mystified why they kept choosing relationships that only brought destruction to their lives.

I learned I would never recover until I accepted and embraced the emotional scars of the past. I needed to face the real problem, instead of smashing someone in the mouth whenever provoked. I was only able to realize the real problem when I finally confessed to feeling broken inside. My problems were never gambling, working, or womanizing. These were poor solutions to my real problem. My real problem was my victim thinking. My childhood wounds created a distorted view of life. The warden’s voice kept giving me the faulty information that was fed to me as a child. I finally discovered I could not afford to be imprisoned by the warden for the rest of my life. I became more comfortable trusting other people. As my self-esteem improved, I no longer needed the validation from others to feel worthy. I started to listen to the people who directed my growth, rather than fight them.

If I managed my business like I managed my life, I would have gone bankrupt. I may even have fired myself. When I stepped down from the position of managing my life and took direction from others, my growth accelerated.

As my father found peace during the last ten years of his life, baking became his hobby. He taught my young children how to bake. His specialty was cream puffs, which were so heavy they required a shovel rather than a spoon. He compiled a cookbook consisting of his best calorie-laden desserts.

My mother gave the cookbook to my wife after my father died. One afternoon as I began to look through the cookbook, I discovered that it included more than just recipes. In fact, every other page contained my father’s journaling. He wrote down all of his fears, pains, and feelings each day. Since I was struggling with my feelings at the time, I was overcome with emotion. I always viewed my father as a ten-foot giant who could handle anything. I never saw him show fear. He took charge of every situation. For the first time, my father appeared the same size as others. He was not the indestructible and heartless person I knew as a child, but rather someone in pain and in need of help. He was just a flawed human being like all the rest of us. My father reminded me of myself. His journal and mine were similar in that we both disclosed the pain that we hid behind a mask. Like father, like son. We lived with shame and the fear of God and others. Like me, my father had learned to trust others, and this helped heal his pain.

After I read the journal entries, I made an appointment with my therapist. When I arrived, I uncharacteristically burst into tears. What I read in those journal entries had touched something deep inside of me. For the first time, I saw my father with no mask, no toughness, and no perfection. He had stripped himself down to bare skin and bones. He was human, after all. Only then, when reading my father’s innermost thoughts and feelings, did I permit myself to find a deeper forgiveness for myself and for him.