I can’t remember the exact timetable, but I do remember the context.
My mom and dad were incredibly complicated people. I guess we’re all complicated in our ways, but Ann and Tony Hall were especially complicated.
Or at least I think I heard it on a louder speaker.
I’ve written before about both their issues with drugs, alcohol, depression, and estrangement from important people. And this story from my childhood is directly related to all that.
I believe I was 11 or 12. I was a kid, but not a little kid.
The thing to which I’m the most present is the idea that all this – the fighting, my parents’ alcohol abuse and my dad’s drug abuse, the yelling, and the estrangements – was normal.
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This was during the summer because I didn’t have school. But I think I had band camp, so I did have to be somewhere the next morning.
In that small white house in Tuscaloosa, my bedroom was right next to the living room and the walls were thin. Therefore, I heard everything.
Mom and Dad fought a lot during those days. To be honest, at least little boy Ryan thought their relationship was based a lot on fighting. Tons of love, but tons of fighting and yelling.
They had one of their late-night fights that night. It was probably 3 in the morning because Dad owned a bar in those days and he kept bar owners’ hours.
They got into it and something deep got triggered that night. I don’t know what it was.
And I don’t remember when I did this.
I managed to wake up and get fully dressed and go back to sleep. I guess subconsciously I didn’t want to burden my mom the next morning by daring to take any time at all to get dressed and get ready.
Now my shirt was on backwards, but I was fully dressed.
“Tag goes in the back, Ryan.”
This was around the time when mom and dad (primarily mom) forced an estrangement from my dad’s parents. Lots of screaming and drama. The context of which was that my grandfather chose to take a consulting trip after he retired from his job instead of attending my sister’s ballet recital.
This getting up and changing clothes in the middle of the night thing – I seem to remember mom and dad thinking it was cute. That it was cute that I got up in the middle of the night and got fully dressed while they screamed and yelled at each other mere feet from my head.
Love and fighting…
I share this because I got present to something extremely powerful after reading the incredible book Hillbilly Elegy.
J.D. Vance shares his story of growing up in the “hollers” of rural Ohio and Kentucky. In this memoir, he shares his story of family instability, drug abuse, violence, and relationship uncertainty and instability.
Vance managed to escape this by way of the Marine Corps and Yale Law School.
My parents were not stupid people. They were both intellectually brilliant. My mom was the valedictorian of her high school. My dad was a brilliant musician and creative genius. They were both college educated.
They had the unique qualities of being both hippies and products of conservative southern parents from the 50s.
They were not Hillbillies. But I related deeply to the themes that Vance shared in his brilliant memoir.
The thing to which I’m the most present is the idea that all this – the fighting, my parents’ alcohol abuse and my dad’s drug abuse, the yelling, and the estrangements – was normal.
Every time I share something about my parents in this space, I feel like I need to explain that they were not bad people. My mom and dad were amazing people.
My mom and dad were beautiful, brilliant, loving beings with wounded, tortured souls.
How I grew up wasn’t normal. It was my version of normal, but this was not normal for everyone.
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Let’s make one thing perfectly clear: how I grew up wasn’t normal. It was my version of normal, but this was not normal for everyone.
Growing up, my best friend was a kid from an upper-middle class professional family. They lived in an upper-middle class neighborhood. I can’t remember what his parents did for a living, but I seem to remember they were both white collar professionals.
Both my old friend Deangelo and his sister Vonetta turned out to be well-adjusted, professionals. He works for a prestigious web design firm in Santa Monica, California. And she is a former medical professional who now lives in Brazil and teaches English as a second language.
My view from the outside was that their home was one of stability.
My home was a long way from being stable.
One of the themes that Vance writes about in Elegy is the Adverse Childhood Experience – or ACE for short. ACE is a negative experience one has in childhood (before the age of 18) the effects of which carry into adulthood.
If my therapist is reading this, I think this is what you were getting at before I shut you down that time. But I digress…
Consider that an adverse childhood experience is a pretty broad term. But here are few things to consider:
- Have you had a family member incarcerated?
- Has there been abuse – emotional, physical, sexual?
- Is there a history of substance abuse in the home?
- Does a family member have a mental illness?
I could go on.
Again, we’re painting this with a very broad brush. But I have seen many aspects of these in my own life.
Both my parents were addicts. I consider addiction a mental illness. Couple that with my mom’s depression – which I can see so much clearer upon reflection.
And one of my earliest childhood memories was visiting my uncle in prison. He got incarcerated after trying to complete a drug deal with an undercover DEA agent (at least I think it was DEA.) I was told that prison guards removed and searched my diaper. Gratefully, I don’t remember this part of the visit.
ACEs in childhood can lead to issues in adulthood: obesity, drug use and abuse, relationship instability, and health issues including cancer.
I share all this to make a point.
I’m not looking for sympathy, empathy, or sorrow. I don’t need it.
What I need is your attention.
Nobody is defined by their traumas. Nobody is defined by their past. Nobody is defined by their history.
Your history is not your destiny.
Nobody is defined by their traumas. Nobody is defined by their past. Nobody is defined by their history. Your history is not your destiny. |
I’m a survivor. But I’m more than that, I’m a thriver.
I escaped the instability. I escaped. And I’m doing pretty damn well for myself.
So many of the characters in Vance’s book never left the hollers. So many of the people in my life never escaped.
It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t simple. But it was essential for me to grow and change and transform.
And I didn’t do it alone. I had plenty of support.
Allow me to support you in your journey to create the life of your dreams. Let’s connect and see how coaching can fit in that journey.
Email me at [email protected] and let’s set up a sample coaching session.
My history is not my destiny. And neither is yours.
Your trauma isn’t who you are.
You can develop an entirely new relationship with your past. And making peace with your past can set your present day on fire.
I cannot recommend Hillbilly Elegy enough. And not just for those of us born and raised in Appalachia.
Photo by Rene Schlafer