September 21, 2024

The Generational Curse(s)

An Introspection

“Все счастливые семьи похожи друг на друга, каждая несчастливая семья несчастлива по-своему Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina”

Author’s Note: This piece is not meant to be victimization or sanctification of myself. Not at all. Just an attempt at an honest introspection. This one is not really written for you, the reader, but rather for me as it is the necessary next step on this journey of self discovery, healing and finally having a chance at a normal human life. Whatever that may mean.

***

The other day I saw the viral video of kids celebrating scoring a goal and felt a deep wound open up. I don’t know the full context here and the kids, even the one being used as a jump rope, seems to be very happy…

The problem for me is that I had to pretend to be happy when older kids in school did the exact same thing in one of their competitions on the craziest human pretzel one could make. I had to act happy and upbeat so that they would get bored quicker and it would be over sooner. I acted happy while they bullied, degraded and dehumanized me. It is a very deep wound that I am now learning to properly treat, years decades too late.

A few weeks ago I wrote that “a year ago, I would have felt sadness and sorrow and maybe a little anger toward the bullies, but more than likely, I would have quickly forgotten about the story and moved on with my life. A lot has changed since.” In the essay I started to open about my struggle with my mental health over the past year. I’ve changed doctors, meds, went through an intensive outpatient program dealing with the recent episode of PTSD that practically derailed my life.

Looking back and working with a group of outstanding physicians and therapist I now know that I likely spent a significant part of my almost five decades on this earth living with severe PTSD:

What followed was five years of on and off again torture whenever I would actually attend school. My nickname at the time became “гутаперчивый мальчик” loosely translated as “rubber boy” but really implying the superpowers of the Elastigirl. It became a challenge, a competition to see what kind of a human pretzel I could be twisted into and held, who would be most creative and how long they can keep it up in dark corners under the staircases or behind the rows of winter coats in the communal lockers. All of that accompanied by verbal abuse of course. I think the worst part of that experience was that I had to pretend to actually enjoy it, because then they would lose interest more quickly as opposed to when I would try to fight back or struggle or cry out.

For many years I’ve thought of myself as having a neurodevelopmental condition that caused a range of symptoms, specifically my difficulty with social communication, repetitive behaviors, and sensitivity to sensory experiences. I still might as I have not been tested but I also now know that my lack of social skills and ability to communicate are largely due to the fact that essentially I skipped the social development almost entirely - between three years in elementary school and then two years of high school, I’ve basically been in almost complete isolation, lacking the necessary experiences to develop and built even the most basic social intelligence and skills.

I remember how different the two years of high school were compared to the torturous, quite literally at times in middle school. I think it was the only time where I felt content and even rarely happy before I became an adult. Alas, the nostalgic idealia did not last long as I was whisked away to a foreign country and another period of almost complete isolation due to the culture and language barriers. When I first got to college, I was quite literally a stranger in a strange land.

***

The other week I woke up with a crack of dawn, trying to get over yet another panic attack which has become almost a daily routine recently. Trying to distract myself I went outside to water the plants and try to “center” my emotional level. Floating in the pool, among the first yellow leaves, I noticed two footballs and a basketball. The remains of my teenage son’s hanging out with friends the night before. Once I was done with both the garden and stabilizing my emotional state, I saw down to drink tea and sent the following text to my son:

“I don’t think footballs and basketballs were designed to be flotation devices.”

As a quite stereotypical GenZ kid, my son absolutely correctly ignored my passive-aggressive bullshit. Good for him and also good for my spouse who quite accurately pointed out to me that while I may have had good intentions, e.g. parenting, I went around it in one of the worst ways possible and that I inherited the all encompassing passive-aggressive approach from my parents, specifically my mom. Although I tried to argue, initially, I knew that my spouse was right and my argument quickly lost passion and logic, whereas I got completely deflated by this realization. In a sense, my argument was out of shame…

***

There is a concept of “generational curse.” A generational curse is defined as a habit or behavior that has been passed from one generation to the next. Parents strive to make sure that the life they lead will help their children live a better one but in the process akin to the “road to hell is paved with good intentions,” they still pass on all of the behaviors and attitudes that they possess. A generational curse in some ways is the idea that a person's current challenges are the result of their ancestors' past actions, beliefs, or practices. These challenges can be physical, emotional, or spiritual. It's a concept that goes back millenia, being referenced in the Bible but we are not here to discuss or debate religion.

For many years I thought, no, I knew, that I grew up a happy, albeit spoiled, child in a stable, happy, and often sanguine family that was very much normal by the standards of Soviet technical intelligentsia. I went to prestigious schools, spent almost every summer in the idyllic Latvian village next to the sea, I even got to experience the taste of the decadent West with candy, gum and at times cool clothes. My parents never laid a hand on me and often promoted and encouraged my interests in reading, history, writing - even though I did shock them completely by quitting a STEM school after the 8th grade to go to an experimental one focusing on humanities. 

My dad often helped me when it was needed (for example the “A” I’ve received in art was solely based on my father’s talents rather than mine) but at the same time, recently I realized that in 50 years I do not remember him saying “I am proud of you” or “I love you.” Without a doubt, I am certain that he is and he does, but he can’t say it or really show any display of these emotions. He is stuck in the belief that emotions are a weakness and only women tend to demonstrate them, publicly or privately. For many years I fully bought into this bullshit and lived it every day. No matter what would happen, with only a handful of exceptions, I would bottle up any emotion I would experience and ignore it. 

That is precisely why I have always made a point to tell my son that I am proud of him and his accomplishments, that I do love him and he means the world to me. It was more than just a delayed rebellion against my parents, it was a conscious decision to break away from this particular generational curse. But now I know that it is a much bigger and deeper issue than the toxic masculinity stoicism.

Ostensibly the decision to immigrate was based on my health as I’ve spent more than ⅔ of the middle school years either studying from home or hospital. Even though I likely had every possible test and exam performed, my condition at the time lacked a diagnosis. My mom, in her ever present passive aggressive routine has regularly reminded me over the years, decades even, how much my parents had to sacrifice to save my life. I’ve lost count of the number of times my mom mentioned this to me and practically anyone and everyone whenever an apt opportunity presented itself. The ingrained lifelong guilt trip is actually worse than the constant reminder of a sacrifice for your well being and ultimately your life. Similarly I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard that my mother was forced to get multiple abortions because of how poor my health was and how challenging it was to raise me. Yes, it is incredible cringy and also quite impactful once you hear this your entire life, starting early enough that at some point you end up sanitized to the story so much that you no longer cringe or shudder hearing it.

I do not want to take anything away from the care, attention, effort, and time my mom invested into my health. One could even call it hypervigilance. She always had only the best intentions in her mind and actions but we know about where the road of good intentions could lead to and in my case it was often overly suffocating, constraining and felt like being trapped. In retrospect there is no way to know whether our move to the United States actually saved my life, at least from the physical perspective, but it most certainly opened the wounds and added more scars to an already fragile, underdeveloped and traumatized psyche. Years later when I finally was diagnosed it turned out that my treatment plan at the time of our immigration, which was essentially high dosage of anti-inflammatory medications, really was the only definitive way and most optimal way to deal with my auto-immune syndrome. While steroids or chemo were both more effective, the side effects were entirely too much and looking back I wonder what would have happened to me if we stayed in Russia and my treatment would only have been anti-inflammatory. 

Granted, on the moral and psychological level, I do not regret leaving that cursed country. Yet it did add a significant layer of complications in terms of my ability to know who I am, to understand my identity. Once I have acclimated and started to assimilate to my new home, “my twenties were in retrospect a desperate search for a national identity, for a homeland.”

***

Recently, I saw a clickbait type of a headline while browsing news, but still decided to click on the link and read about seven behaviors that people who grow up in dysfunctional families exhibit as adults. It was indeed clickbait but it also contained a kernel of truth, truth that I was too blind to understand and accept. No matter how much my parents tried to provide me with a perfect childhood, I happened to have grown up in a dysfunctional family. Mental Health America defines a dysfunctional family as “A dysfunctional family is characterized by “conflict, misbehavior, or abuse. Relationships between family members are tense and can be filled with neglect, yelling, and screaming. You might feel forced to happily accept negative treatment. There’s no open space to express your thoughts and feelings freely. You aren’t able to thrive and feel safe within your own family… And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

There was no abuse, at least from a physical perspective, there was little conflict within the family as my parents shielded me from any (larger) family discord. There was no addiction or neglect, there was almost no fear or conditions on love and empathy (if those were displayed - see above). However, there was a lack of boundaries, especially with my parents making all life decisions for me while ignoring my opinions and actively discouraging me from asserting myself or even just speaking my mind. There was clear focus on perfectionism where even a B in school was not just a disappointment, but a disaster. There was a lack of intimacy and clear positive communication. I am pretty sure that the only time my parents quite begrudgingly allowed me to make a decision was the switch of schools after 8th grade; even the decision to move across the ocean was done without my opinion or input.

Quite often I wondered why throughout my life I seeked out and ended up friends with people older, at times considerably older than me. It was and often still is a paradox that I need to distill and understand, but while I leaned toward older kids and eventually people in my relationships, romantic or otherwise, in my mind I constantly felt like a teenager who has to answer to an adult, regardless of the person and situation. This is something I only realized when I felt it when speaking to my son's teenage friends - somewhere deep inside there was a deep trepidation that my facade will vanish and these 14-15 year olds will see my real nature not of an adult but of a frightened and distressed kid.

Similarly, I have habitually wondered “why do I desperately wish to be Rick and always end up being Victor…” why “I could never escape the weight of uncompromising duty to promote justice, to protect the innocent and to support those in desperate need of help, no matter the cost, no matter the means or the sacrifices.” The clickbait article gave me some insights as the seven behaviors that people who grow up in dysfunctional families exhibit as adults mentioned in the article was entirely too spot on in my case. 

***

• Hypervigilance

Growing up while facing significant challenges tends to make one adapt quickly, and often unconsciously, to their surroundings. For those who grew up in a dysfunctional family, one typical behavior is hypervigilance. This is the constant alertness or watchfulness for potential danger or difficulty. Think about it. As a child  you develop a keen sense for detecting shifts in mood, tone of voice, or body language. It’s a survival mechanism, really. Detecting these shifts and reacting to them quickly could mean avoiding conflict or ensuring your basic needs are met. As an adult, this hypervigilance often continues, even when the threat is no longer present. You may find yourself constantly scanning your environment for potential problems and feeling constantly on edge.

I never thought of it this way, but I have been exhibiting this my entire adult life. In public places I need to have my back to the wall at all times. When we sit down for a meal at a restaurant my family automatically makes sure that I can have the seat near the wall. Similarly, I must sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door and until I had to adjust due to having a small child I could not sleep with the door open. Looking back at my behaviors, I am always in the state of constant alertness or watchfulness for potential danger or difficulty. 

Going for a walk in the park, I could take my time and leisurely walk, but on a busy city street or airport terminal? I walk so briskly that it could easily seem that I am running from something or someone. Over the years I have adjusted my life to get over my claustrophobia - at some point it was so bad that I could not get on a plane without Xanax. Yet I could never pinpoint the reasons behind my fear of closed spaces. Now I have two theories, one is more obvious where many of the human-pretzel events took place in tight, closed spaces. However, the other one may be more applicable - as a child whenever I felt any negative emotions I would sneak in and hide inside of a wardrobe, needing the quiet closed up space to “protect” me from whatever was triggering the negative feelings. Is it possible that through that I formed a subconscious association of closed up spaces as a trigger for anxiety and danger, essentially equating being in a small, closed off space as the same as the feeling of danger? I am not sure, but my therapist always says that our brains were not designed to keep us happy, rather to keep us safe. So this makes sense.

***

• Difficulty in forming and maintaining relationships

When you’ve grown up in a dysfunctional family, relationships can be a confusing labyrinth. You are constantly on guard, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It is hard to trust, to let go, and simply enjoy the relationship for what it was as you are always prepared for disaster, for betrayal, for abandonment. This behavior is common amongst those of us who grew up in unstable environments. We might find it difficult to trust others or fear getting too close to someone because we’ve been let down before.We may push people away out of fear, or cling too tightly out of insecurity. It’s a constant struggle to find balance.

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An apt reader that you are would mention right about now “but you said your family was stable and loving…” Yes and I stand by those words as it was true in many ways. Yet there was plenty of rivalries between my parents and their siblings and even though I was shielded and protected as a child from all of the family drama, I did hear the arguments, I did hear the complaints and I did notice things. I also got so used to the passive aggressive way of dealing with people, issues and really anything that I no longer realize how ingrained it is in me and how easily my responses and comments are made in the same vein as my mother’s expert level of passive aggressive bullshit.

There was plenty of hypocrisy and doublespeak and when something was actually truthful and authentic there was a pretty good chance that it would be “Shut up trap or I’ll tear your mouth apart” from my uncle. My uncle deserves a proper story of his own but let’s just say that he was always described as a down-to-earth, simple but good and decent person while he was a textbook definition of Russian toxic masculinity. 

There was also plenty of “what are you dumb?”  from various members of the family. This was fairly common since the expectation was to be a perfect straight A student and anything less was considered a failure. Which leads me to…

***

• Inclination towards perfectionism

Perfectionism can lead to extreme self-criticism and stress.The pursuit of perfection is often a coping mechanism. As a child, you may have felt that if you were perfect, if you didn’t make mistakes, then the chaos or conflict at home would lessen. Psychological studies indicate that children who grow up in unstable environments are more likely to develop perfectionist tendencies. This is because they often feel an increased need to control their environment and please those around them.

I’ve always had the tendency for perfectionism which was perfectly coupled with a win-at-all-cost attitude. Failure in school was not just unacceptable, it was a disaster, a literal end of the world - mind you the only times I did not get an A in elementary school were the situations where either my sense of justice or pride would take over and I’d “act up” in class. 

More importantly, because I was small, short and scrawny, my parents weren’t well-off being your run of the mill members of Soviet technical intelligentsia1, I was not popular or good-looking or anything that a kid or teenager could leverage to develop self-esteem and pride in themselves, the only option was to do better than anyone academically. It was crucial to not only get the best grade but do so in the fastest time on a test. Thus anything that would question or undermine my intellectual abilities - “what are you, stupid?” - became by far the worst possible criticism and forced me to seek perfectionism and/or winning in everything2. 

Even now, when I am no longer constrained by the ridiculous expectations and standards based on wealth, personal appearance, social status, etc. I still cannot take criticism of my intellectual ability well. Even when it is appropriate and positive and constructive criticism, my mind only hears “what are you, dumb?” and even a minor screw up that becomes known completely deflates me and destroys whatever self-esteem I may have built up. Being perfect is definitely a coping mechanism in my case.

***

• Struggle with boundaries

Boundaries are a crucial aspect of any healthy relationship. They help to define our personal space and comfort zones. For those of us who grew up in a dysfunctional family, understanding and setting boundaries can be a real challenge. This is often because boundaries were either non-existent or constantly changing in our childhood homes. This can lead to a blurred understanding of what is acceptable behavior and what is not.

Growing up I didn't really understand this but there were plenty of double-standards. To this day I feel the residue of “do as I say, not as I do.” I think the most prominent example was the double-standard set between parents and children. Yes, there is a dichotomy between the two but the only rigid boundary that existed in my childhood was the fact that children had to essentially be second class citizens to the adults and it was not limited to the family members, the same was instilled in me toward any adult and especially adult in a position of authority. To this day I am struggling with the legacy of this as I constantly get irritated and annoyed when kids, even my own son, interrupt an adult conversation or activity. Yet, instead of setting a clear and respectful boundary - say there is no interrupting X and only X because of ABC - and then happily looking forward to any and all interactions with my son I am quagmired in the cursed recurring pattern of sabotaging the relationship with one of the two people I love the most in this world.

Similarly, I could never clearly define or establish boundaries in anything - from work situations where I would repeatedly agree to something that I should not because of lack of boundaries to most basic day-to-day interactions with essentially anyone and everyone. If and when I did manage to set some sort of a boundary, for example getting my mom to not call during work hours unless it is an emergency, it was done not through clear, open and authentic communications but rather via the worst possible passive aggressive behavior. 

One of the most shocking and yet most important lessons I’ve gotten while going through intensive therapy was the realization that I lack the knowledge, skills, and ability to set any kind of boundaries and that it has had and still has a very significant negative impact on my psyche and more importantly on my relationships with the loved ones.

Which leads me to…

***

• Fear of conflict

Conflict is a part of life. It’s a natural result of different people with different opinions interacting with each other. But for those of us who grew up in a dysfunctional family, conflict can be a deeply unsettling experience. Instead of addressing issues head-on, I found myself tiptoeing around them, doing whatever I could to prevent a conflict from escalating. 

In a way my entire life can be defined as conflict-avoidance. That is not to say that I was successful but to exacerbate the issue, whenever I did get into a conflict my approach was that of scorched earth. If you’ve read Ender’s Game, and if you haven’t you should, the protagonist was conditioned to win at all costs and to do so in the most definitive way, so that there would not be another threat or even risk of such in the future. In other words, you don’t just defeat your opponents, you annihilate them. Completely. Utterly. So that they will never be able to threaten you in any way, shape or form. Those were rare exceptions, but in verbal arguments I would go for the proverbial jugular - not the topic of the debate but literally whatever would be the most painful and damaging thing to say to the person; whereas in the extremely rare instances of a physical conflict I’ve gone as far as (unsuccessfully) trying to throw a brick at the head of a classmate, pushing someone off of train platform, and literally wanting to decapitate someone with a katana. 

Besides how stressful these conflicts were, they were also incredibly emotionally draining - in the end I am not a total monster and such experiences brought with them a lot of regret, remorse, and guilt. Not to mention broken or destroyed relationships with people. Even in a considerably more structured and supposedly impartial context of work and workplace I have repeatedly avoided conflict at times to the detriment of my team and my own career, often essentially delaying an action or a communication in a stupid hope that the issue would suddenly get resolved on its own somehow.

Conflict avoidance often meant suppressing my own feelings and needs. Especially the feelings and emotions…

***

• Difficulty expressing emotions

Expressing emotions in a healthy and productive way is something many of us take for granted. In an unstable environment, openly expressing feelings may have been discouraged or even punished. As a result, you may have learned to hide your emotions, to keep them bottled up inside. This can lead to difficulty in expressing emotions as an adult. You may feel uncomfortable showing vulnerability or fear being judged or rejected for sharing your feelings.

Without a doubt my inability to express and at times even recognize my emotions has been the most significant impairment in well… really everything, from school and work, to friendships and family, to romantic relationships. To a large degree in my case this is the result of the combination of the disdainful and overbearing Russian and Soviet patriarchal mentality crossed with the worst of the toxic masculinity. 

“Boys (and men) don’t cry” was not just a saying, it was the only option. What’s more, it’s not that you could not feel and display vulnerability for that would be a weakness, you also could not show any display of positive emotions either. I mentioned that my dad never said “I am proud of you” yet I know that he is, he just can’t verbalize it. Sometimes we need more than a feeling, we need a confirmation and a couple of words like that could go a long way.

Lack of expressing emotions was only a part of the puzzle, so to speak. To this day there are significant parts of my family history that I simply know nothing about or am left to make conjectures and assumptions. I was 25 years old when I learned that my father had more than one sibling, the eldest brother did not survive the Siege of Leningrad and died as a baby. It is incredibly tragic, though everything about the siege is, but why did I have to learn this in my third decade of living and only by sheer accident? Similarly, although I know that my paternal uncle and his family moved to the far east for work3 sometime in the late 70s or early 80s, I am yet to learn of the real reasons and motivations and the impact on the family dynamics.

As I am writing this, I remembered that for many years, struggling to deal with my emotions, I found a copout by making a very clear distinction between “I love you” and “I am in love with you.” Where the former was a nonchalant and non obligatory with clear undertones of casual and very cavalier approach, whereas the latter was the one that was truly meaningful and authentic and long lasting. The first time I said “I am in love with you” in either Russian or English was when I was already in my 30s, after I met my spouse and it is to her credit that rather quickly I was able to get over this absolutely ridiculous distinction and was able to say “I love you” and mean it.

Yet, even with a person who I love so much, I often find myself incapable of expressing any emotions for the simple reason of … fear. Fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, even though I know that we are meant and will be together forever, even though I can intellectually understand how silly that fear is, I still struggle with verbalizing how I feel and this is the closest and most important person in my entire life. Imagine what this means in terms of expressing emotions to others. What’s worse is that I often catch myself exaggerating positive and minimizing negative emotions. Worse yet, is that in case of the latter I simply bottle up everything inside and keep it there until I no longer can handle it all and it spills out in the most ridiculous, inappropriate and overly dramatic ways…

But the worst trait is:

***

• Over-responsibility

One of the most significant behaviors displayed by those who grew up in a dysfunctional family is a sense of over-responsibility. As an adult, this can translate into feeling responsible for everyone and everything around you. You may find yourself taking on more tasks than you can handle, or feeling guilty if you’re not able to fix a situation or help someone. This constant sense of responsibility can be draining and lead to burnout. It’s important to remember that it’s okay to ask for help and that you don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Hoo boy, where do I even start with this one? The borderline messianic desire, nay, an “uncompromising duty to promote justice, to protect the innocent and to support those in desperate need of help, no matter the cost, no matter the means or the sacrifices?” Or my ridiculous decades long opinion that no matter what happens on the road when I am driving, it is fully my and only my responsibility to ensure the safety of everyone in my car? Or my taking on any and every request and project at work to a point where a few years ago I was literally doing three full-time jobs at the same time while being underpaid and under promoted? The stereotypical “jewish guilt” on steroids over inability to deal with my own mental state just as much as the guilt over inability to change the work environment or the world to where it is fair and just to everyone? 

This sense of messianic responsibility for everything, infused by the overdeveloped codependency where my own self-esteem is directly tied to my ability to please and take care of others is indeed draining. I know that I am not the modern day Prometheus or the modern day Atlas and yet I can’t escape the desperate need to charge every windmill in my sight.

***

By the time my mental state broke down last year I was already broken by the unbearable weight of the impossible responsibility, the overfilled bottled up emotions, lack of even the most basic boundaries…  

Indeed, every family is unhappy in their own way but I am thankful to my parents for escaping the hellscape of Russia and the doomed destiny it would have had. I may have to reassess my past, my relationships, and most of all myself but if I want to break the generational curse, I don’t have a choice.