The Process of Recovery

The second process I had been able to tap into the little boy that had been abused at

the age of ten and since angered at my father for not protecting and being with me and the

abuser whom I had a fist full of rage for. It’s simply the trust that I had in [the group leader]

to not abandon me and be with me in my rage. The non-judgmental love and acceptance for

what I had gone through and the trust; I knew he would hold me in my vulnerability keeping

me from harm’s way as I summonsed my innermost fears and expressions that I knew I needed

and wanted to regurgitate. My soul broke as the tears started and I was asked to come down

into the ocean to ground level and safety. To journey inside with [group leader] as my holder

and helper to exert my pain and expression. I was in and out of feeling with what seemed to be

an automatic shut off valve of my emotions. I was prompted to love and hold acceptance and

patience for the process. The time came that I was to experience the wave of emotion that with

an angry pounce of my fist followed by [group leader] mirroring of my action the flood gates

collapsed as I

pounded, cried, screamed and cursed as an expression of pain compounded over the years. I

repetitively and fiercely pounded a pillow with my fist until I was exhausted and sobbing.

Those around me watched with sadness and joy no doubt of my cathartic experience. The

conclusion found myself surrounded by men with intentions of love and support and I

cuddled myself into the arms of [group member] and [group member], an experience so

memorable that a photograph was taken to hold that moment visually forever.

After I did this healing work I went back to see my dad and my grandmother who was

dying and I was a different person. I had started my training to be a counsellor and had some

good skills. All I wanted from my dad was for him to see me and say he was sorry but I didn’t

get that. He just wanted me to be the child and give me advice – which I was not really into.

My grandmother died then and my father and I were standing there at the open casket. I just

stood there with him waiting. You know all I ever really wanted as a child was just to be

loved. I still get chocked up whenever I see a child loved and I just look and want to be that

child. So I am standing there waiting and finally the moment came. My dad and I finally

hugged each other there at the casket of his mother. I just held on to him. When he tried to let

go I wouldn’t let him. I just hugged him. For just that moment I had my dad back. That was

very healing for me. I was back where I came from. I came from this “don’t fuck with me”

tough, hard background. I was there but I was not like that anymore.

I now live a life of transparency. I don’t feel stuck but so many members of my

family are still stuck. I still don’t have the relationship I want with my dad and I might never

have that. It is better than it has ever been. He is starting to be more honest but part of me still

feels like “you bastard you”. You fucked me up and fucked up our family. All I just wanted

was that

love. I have to work my skills and know that if I do that I can talk to him. Still, I get angry

that I have to work harder than he does to make this relationship work.

I want to include an extremely short synapse of my family history because learning it

has helped me to understand the way the transgenerational effects have contributed to my

father’s and my injuries. My father was one of six children, I believe the second youngest. I

realize that my injury didn’t start with me but started with my grandfather. My dad told me his

father fought in the Second World War and eventually returned home suffering heart

conditions as a result of pneumatic fever and never fully recovered. Knowing about my

grandfather’s struggles helps me feel compassion and understanding for my dad. I would say

that I resent him less after learning about it. My grandmother was left to raise all the children

and even gave the one born while my grandpa was away at war up for adoption. My grandpa

as a prideful man who was humiliated in the prison camps and returned home at 100 lbs which

was 50 lbs below his original weight. My father reports that his dad drank alcohol on the

weekends, would binge drink for three days straight with his army buddies, although my dad

says his father was not an alcoholic. I realize that use of alcohol was learned as an acceptable

behaviour and this is how my dad allowed it to play an “it’s not such a big deal” attitude in his

mind. Again this creates more understanding and lessens the resentment factor I have.

Other stories include a layer of fear that penetrated through the household from his

personality and anger. My dad’s family was chaotic. I still hear my relatives talk about the

abuse, manipulations and threats that were regular occurrences for my dad growing up in that

family.

My father’s older brother and best friend died from a gunshot wound and it is unknown if this

was accident or suicide. I now feel love and sadness for my father and now have the sense that

his harm towards me is not in the forefront of my thoughts but rather I am more concerned

for his well-being.

Being a part of this project by telling my story to the research group and seeing the

experiences of other men who have recovered from injuries from their fathers has provided

me with the opportunity to identify myself in their experiences. This gives me a sense of

normalcy, belonging, inclusion and relief. After all, these men seemed very well adjusted. I

thought one guy was a facilitator but I came to find out they all have problems like mine and

they weren’t different or odd men. The biggest part of my experience the is normal feeling I

got listening to their stories. I was normal and didn’t feel defective. By listening to them I

grew in confidence, simply by engaging and socializing while connected to our emotions.

So I know from this that I need more. I need more sessions and relationship building

with men to really reveal and know myself. Now, I wish I would have cried more and allowed

my emotions to really expose themselves. These men were accepting and were unlike typical

“socializing by sarcasm” or just plain banter I get with many men. I did not get the healing

and connection I needed and wanted from the men around me while I was growing up. The

men in the group were accepting. I saw that these guys were different from each other in

outward appearances both in how they were dressed and in the kind of cars they were driving.

It made me realize that any man anywhere may have had an experience like mine. The

awareness I got from listening to them speak about their father and their life experience helped

me become more whole and integrated on the inside. I realized that I have learned to love men

and more fully accept that not all men are abusive. I can trust some men. I can trust some men

and “some” is the key word, because I don’t know if I will ever become fully trusting of men I

don’t know.

Hearing other men helps me accept that what I have lived through and accept that it has affected

me and rather than saying, “It’s no big deal,” “I should just get over it” and ignore the adverse

effects. Instead seeing the recovery process of other men helps strengthen the realization that

it did affect me and I can see a way towards fuller healing.

I think that the main themes I see in my story are resiliency, transformation through

therapy, transformation through emotional expression, acceptance and forgiveness, changing

perceptions, and the support and presence others. I see my own inner resiliency in my story

and I think that comes from my own family history and strengths. I know that I was able to

experience inner transformation through the therapy by trusting others and expressing my

emotions. This helped me accept the limitations of my dad, his own painful history and helped

me forgive him even though in many ways he has not changed. I have changed but I know that

I couldn’t have done that without the love and support of others. The genuineness of my

therapists and the other group members helped me discover that I can trust some people and

get the love I long for from others.

My story is filled with emotions of sadness anger, confusion, disgust, wonder, awe,

amazement, success, rage, fear, love, gratitude, confidence, sorrow, sadness, and grief. I see

myself as an amazing man who has been through many psychologically, emotionally, and

physically demanding experiences and yet I am still perseverant. This is a story of triumph and

the person in the story is a hero because he is used his injuries as a spring board to help

himself and others in a meaningful way.

In my story I see a boy who is powerless, susceptible to injury, abuse, and neglect,

but I also I see a boy who is resilient flexible and adaptive. The story tells us that being a

man is not about meeting popular social expectations. Being a man doesn’t fit what society

and media depicts and what I was taught when I was young. Instead it shows that men are

emotional, they

need nurturing, they need love, they need support and they need acceptance. If they don’t get

that their past hurts will keep on effecting their present functioning. The rough and tough

Marlborough man is actually not ideal and really hurts men. It keeps them from being human

and keeps them from healing. The big thing is, my story shows that men can change. That is

the word where I live today. Men can change! As a result of that, even though I don’t know

what the future holds, I have an inner knowing that it is going to be great!

DEAN

The Injury

I was pre-school age, 4-5, when my father first significantly injured me. I had a

problem not wanting to go to the bathroom so I consistently messed my diapers /underpants.

One day my father got so frustrated that he yelled, “If you like it so much, eat it” and he

shoved my own shit into my mouth. 60 years later I still relive the experience, feel the shit in

my mouth, taste it, smell it, and see the bathroom, the toilet bowl I was kneeling at. I still do

not like going into bathrooms, have a hard time cleaning toilet bowls or picking up the dog’s

crap in the back yard.

That was the only time that occurred, but over the years there was a gulf between us.

He could never say anything supportive of me. He was supportive in that he drove me to

athletic practices through high school but his comments, when he made any, as he did not talk

much, were negative. “Why did I do this or do that?” Complicating things was my mother

who also abused me and tried to control my dad, my brother, and I. Maybe her abuse when I

was young was why I kept messing my pants. She was very abusive and she emotionally

castrated my father. She used her voice to dominate everything and that was like the shadow

that made his lack of support more evident. I lived in a dark place. I lived in the fear of her

and his inability to help.

Although the shit in the mouth was very significant looking back on my life, his lack

of positive, affirming support and lack of a father son relationship was also very

damaging. But his wife, my mother, was instrumental in not letting that happen. It hurts to

remember this and now makes me cry. My desire to have a positive relationship with him has

been so strong and it is hard to accept that is forever lost now. I have regained some of that

now with my own son but I can never regain that with my father. I have come to realize the

pressures he was under from an ultra-controlling wife, and his own insecurities and emotional

make up. I believe that the shit in the mouth episode was a one off. Before he died, we were

able to talk about it and he was genuinely sorry. That helps, but it still hurts so much that he

hurt me and did not support me. It hurts more that he did not protect me from my mother and

my mother did not protect me from my father. Life has been very unsafe for me. Every day

my mind dwells on all the bad things that could happen.

As a result, I have been a very lonely person with few friends, hiding behind a friendly,

outgoing façade. I am afraid to get close to anyone, as they will most likely hurt me so my

marriage has not been great; I have deeply hurt my wife. I have fought against insecurities and

fears every day and night of my life and I am very tired. I believe that I am not good, it is

always my fault, and I turtle. Often I did not/could not fight back as a man. I worry that I will

not stand up to others who may try to hurt my family or me now. Part of my fear is that I am

afraid of the pent up anger that exists in me. I can laps into violent daydreams where I beat the

crap out of three or more people at once. I have daydreams where I take an axe and chop my

mother up into pieces and stuff her down a hole. I have to be in control. I have to control the

rage and keep my sense of self together. If I don’t I hold me together I will fly apart, hurt

others and cease to be.