How Indifference Became My Shield From A Chaotic Childhood — 'The Things My Father Did Are Unforgivable'
In my upbringing, nobody discussed what went on behind closed doors.
halfpoint | Canva I grew up in a chaotic home. In the 1980s, people kept chaotic homes a secret. No one discussed what went on behind closed doors. The illusion of a happy family was all that seemed important to the outsiders looking in. As a result of my childhood experiences, I decided to cut all ties with my father when I was 19.
I made this decision during our final phone conversation, not out of anger but rather by asking the straightforward question, “Do you feel any remorse or regret for the way you treated us?” His resounding “I regret nothing” response made my choice clear.
The term narcissist has become the buzzword as a way to describe any person who seems to have caused harm. However, my father is a genuine, psychiatrist-diagnosed narcissist. The things he did to my family and me are unforgivable. In this day and age, the police might have taken him away if the same circumstances had occurred; nevertheless, my childhood is now in the past.
According to research, data suggests that adults who experienced physical abuse as children may be as much as twice as likely to experience depression and anxiety and are more likely to develop chronic illnesses than adults who were not physically abused as children. I spent many years being angry and wanting some form of justice.
But there's no justice when a child grows up in an abusive home. Even if the perpetrator does get their comeuppance, the child still bears the psychological wounds. The decision to cut ties with my father allowed me to let go of my anger and made me feel at peace with my feelings.
Now, all I have left from my chaotic childhood is indifference.
Elie Wiesel, a Romanian-born Jewish American writer, Nobel Laureate, political activist, and Holocaust survivor, delivered an incredibly moving speech at the White House, discussing The Perils of Indifference.
“Indifference does not elicit a response. Indifference is not a response. Indifference is not a beginning; it is an end. Indifference, then, is not only a sin; it is a punishment.”
In my case, indifference isn’t forgetting and most certainly not forgiving; it’s just running out of steam that you once put in to manage the chronic flight or fight responses. After I let go of the anger from my childhood, I made myself one promise: I would ensure that if I ever had children, they would not grow up in the same chaotic household as I did.
My husband is nothing at all like my father. He is kind, caring, and rational. He would never get violent with me or our kids. He didn’t grow up in a chaotic house. When he was thirteen, his parents divorced, and his mother’s and father’s houses surrounded him with love and support. That’s also because they are outstanding people. However, herein lies the problem:
My husband doesn’t understand growing up in a chaotic home.
Thankfully, he has no experience with having to tiptoe around to try and make yourself invisible so as not to draw unwanted angry attention to some minor infringement. He finds it incomprehensible that a house can be quiet and serene one moment, only to witness doors slamming, people screaming, and ceramic dinner plates smashed the next. He has never heard the wailing of your younger sibling being flogged with a belt just because she was afraid to go to sleep at night.
He also never had to fight back in self-defense by slamming an alarm clock into the side of his father’s head so that he would stop trying to hurt him physically. Over the years, he has commented to me, “It couldn’t have been that bad,” or suggested, “Maybe you should speak to him again.”
My husband doesn’t say these things to upset me; he wants me to be happy. He also comes from a family with strong bonds, so he can’t comprehend how I can cut ties with my father. It’s partially my fault that he doesn’t understand my feelings about the past. I never told him too much about it. There was never a compelling reason for me to share it. Blame my indifference.
fizkes | Shutterstock
I've dealt with my feelings about my childhood, and there was no reason to rehash the past or revisit the most difficult times I had to go through in my mind.
Over the years, many people have made various comments questioning why I made my choice or what reasons I have not to forgive. Those people didn’t grow up in my home, and I’m not very forthcoming about telling my story. It’s natural for people to be curious about my childhood if they haven’t walked in the shoes of someone who has experienced trauma.
It is also natural for them to want to offer their thoughts and advice or tell me what they would do in my situation. It’s times like this that succeed in igniting the anger within me again. I don’t have repressed memories or feelings; I’m well aware of what went on. I have no desire or interest in discussing it. I also will not justify my choices that helped me heal. Indifference will do that to a person.
We have three children together. Unlike my father, my husband was home and present with them when they were little. As expected, when I had my first child, he asked me if now would be a good time to repair the relationship I once had with my father. Of course, I shut down that ridiculous idea.
When my second daughter was two years old, my younger sister was getting married. My sister has always remained in contact with my father. That’s her choice, one I do not attempt to understand, but she has her reasons. My sister wanted my daughters to be flower girls at her wedding; I was also a bridesmaid.
Joeyy Lee | Unsplash
Our whole family was so excited for my sister's upcoming wedding but my only concern was that my father would be there. I hadn’t seen him in years.
Before the big day, my sister asked me to put the past aside and be civil with him for her sake. I expected that the day would come when I would have to face my father again, and I wasn’t worried in the slightest. My indifference hadn’t changed.
He couldn’t do anything to hurt me. I was now an adult, married, and had my own children — any power he once held dissipated along with my feelings about the past. The only major hurdle was that I was hosting the wedding rehearsal dinner at my home a few days before the wedding. My sister insisted that my father, who was giving her away and giving a speech, had to be present.
My sister assured me he would be on his best behavior; she said she would personally see to it that if the evening went pear-shaped, she would be the one to deal with it all. The enormity of what they were asking of me is difficult to express.
Not only would I have to host a huge dinner party at my house, but I would also have to host the one person on the planet I’d happily never see or hear from again. I also forgot that my mother would have to eat at the same table as the man who nearly destroyed her life.
In addition, my husband had never met my father, and my father had never met my children. This was a tsunami brewing among some very rough seas.
The evening was enjoyable. My house was sparkling, and everyone arrived feeling happy and excited about the upcoming wedding. Then my sister arrived with him. I opened the front door and came face-to-face with a much older, frailer version of the man I once knew, the man whose head I smashed with my alarm clock.
As expected, he entered with the same bravado as PT Barnum, opening his nightly traveling circus show. Huge smile, outstretched arms — the life of the party had arrived. Narcissism at its finest.
Josh Hild | Pexels
The evening I confronted my father, I was acutely aware I had a choice to make.
I could choose to let go of the past, ignore my indifference, and, for one night, embrace this man who had been entirely responsible for igniting my battles with mental health. Or, I could choose to use my secret weapon to get through the night — my indifference.
I kept my distance from him for most of the night. If he approached me for a conversation, I was task-focused with a quick exit to avoid potential confrontations. Towards the end of the night, he found me in the kitchen, alone, while I was cleaning up all the dishes. It was clear that the moment of reckoning had arrived. He would speak, and I had no escape plan, so I had yet to consider this scenario.
However, something intriguing happened. My body didn’t go into a fight-or-flight response. My blood pressure didn’t rise, I didn’t feel hot, and my breathing remained regular. I didn’t feel anything.
The old man who resembled the tyrant who was once my father stood across from me and said, “I know it’s been many years since we’ve spoken, but I need you to know tonight has been so wonderful. I am just so proud of you. I’m so proud of all you have achieved. Your husband, your children, this beautiful home — you have done so well for yourself, and nothing makes a father prouder.”
I recall taking my time to formulate my response to him. The last thing I wanted was to spit out a reactionary response. One part of me wanted to scream into his face, “How dare you call yourself my father and have any sense of pride in how my life turned out after all you’ve done? You lost the right to comment on my family or life many years ago when you chose your evil, narcissistic pride over the chance to make amends for all the damage you did.”
But I didn’t say that.
My indifference kept me safe from causing a scene. My indifference prevented me from engaging in an emotional response, which would have resulted in handing my power back to a man whose blood flowed with the need for authority and dominance over others. I looked him in the eyes and said, “Thank you. I do have a wonderful life, and it’s all despite you. Now, please go back into the other room and celebrate my sister.”
One recent study from the Journal of Marriage and Family found that 26 percent reported estrangement from fathers. A much smaller share, 6 percent, had cut ties with mothers. In the pre-Internet era, cutting off a parent might have meant changing a telephone number and tearing up the occasional letter. It’s harder now, with Instagram, Twitter and text messaging.
Sixteen Miles Out | Unsplash
My indifference was what helped me heal from the anger and trauma I had long held onto from my childhood.
In my darkest hours, when I battled depression and apathy for life, I remembered that I decided my children would never grow up in a chaotic home. The indifference I had chosen to develop the strength to move beyond my past gave me the clarity in my low moments to choose never to become the parent or the person who was anything like my father.
Unlike him, I would take any necessary action to manage the challenging times. I had chosen to break the cycle of abuse and neglect and prioritize my mental health and the happiness of my family. My indifference towards my father allowed me to let go of the anger and pain, to find peace within myself, and to focus on creating a positive environment for my children.
Some may view indifference as a negative trait, but for me, it was the key to my healing and growth. I used it as a shield to prevent myself from regressing into a toxic past and as a tool to propel myself forward with strength and resilience. In my case, indifference was not a punishment but a form of self-preservation and empowerment. And that is my solution.
There are ways to help child abuse victims. Want to get involved to bring an end to child sexual abuse? There are a few things you can do. There are organizations like Prevent Child Abuse America that are good places to start and that are always looking for people to donate their time and money to their efforts.
The organization also suggests writing to local elected officials to support policies that bring an end to sexual abuse, and of course, the simplest thing to do is to keep eyes and ears open and to report abuse when you see it — and to always take children seriously when they say they're being abused.
Deanna Bugalski is an Australian reality storyteller and fabulously chaotic mom of three, who writes about human interests topics, travel, entertainment, and mental health.