Cutting Family Ties: My Great Enlightenment

This journal entry is a reflection on the all-encompassing nature of formative relationships that shape the foundations of identity to a degree that can become virtually impossible to fathom without separation. Dysfunctional family dynamics can have devastating long-term impacts on the psyche of the unaware, even being the source of the unawareness. In having this effect, dysfunctional dynamics shape the reactions and beliefs of the afflicted, making them pawns in an invisible game of self-sabotage and self-destruction. We must take responsibility of our own needs to avoid such a fate; self-care becomes truly advantageous when it is grounded in the conscious act of caring more about oneself than anyone else.

One question I always ask myself is, "Could the truly tragic nature of my predicament been made clear to me without my choice to break free of it?" After all, I was born and raised in my family of origin; I was molded and shaped by their actions and words. Thus, I was bound to them inextricably as wool is to the sheep's skin. My birth on July 4, 1994 would be a moment that marked the beginning of an era; the life and the path I would crawl, see, and breathe my self into.

I was the youngest child of four. My life was characterized by the pitiful whimpers of a boy who never received what he believed he ought to have; I was defined by weakness and yet, deafened by ignorance. My future had been written far before I could even conceive of it: I was a boy and would remain a boy; I could never be a man and thus being a man could never make sense to me. I was cursed with the ailment of naiveté and protected against all evils by those who swore to keep me from them; and yet, I was still vulnerable to the greatest of evils: myself. For in being protected from the world, I was set up for failure—I would never learn the importance of discernment and thus, takers and vipers would exploit my ignorance.

The tragic peril of my situation was not lost to me—I was lost in it. Before my enlightenment and before my cutting-of-the-ties, I was a man—need I say, a boy, falling helplessly into a darkness of his own creation. I was a sombering and slinking figure, a dark and soulless husk whose imaginations could not extend beyond visions of his inferiority which he saw from every direction. What remained was a hopeless figure of blue disposition whose every thought despaired his existence.

I could not protect myself, for I knew not how. I was unaware of my own unawareness. I was, in a sense, hopelessly trapped in the slimy grip of self-loathing and self-sacrifice, which presented its poison as the cure. I happily drank the toxin and yet, with every sip I sank deeper and deeper into the nightmare of my own darkness.

Before my enlightenment, I was doomed to be a sensitive man. The strongest and earliest emotion I expressed was crying. Because I associated with a family system where I was the youngest, I would always develop and act out the psychophysical nature of being the lowest and the last. I would feel the inclination to look and follow, never learning to lead or having the capacity to put myself in a position above or before. Thus, I lacked the dynamics required to become that of a man; there were simply no milestones reached and no lessons imparted from elders; I would remain an emotional being whose every action was dictated by this or that desire to no-longer-look-up but lead due to being angry about not being allowed such a freedom.

I would be drawn into the desire to no longer be the lowest and the last through similar acts of compensation, my every action and word driven by compensating and the desire for the shifting from-this-role-to-that-role and the recognition by others, those of my origin, of that shift. Before the events that preceded my enlightenment, I was cursed with the need to be noticed in a way that would never be satisfied.

A finely stated "You are no longer the lowest and the last" or "You are now destined to lead and to look down upon" would have allowed for this transfer of extistentiality, this view-of-self required to live a life with a different nature of being. However, such a scenario would never occur - those of my origin would never have allowed such a transfers of rights; to them, my place would always be my place, and thus, it was as destined as it was the natural order of things. To myself, however, the acceptance of this role would not be taken in stride; rather, I would harbor resentment for my lacking in the order, I was treated as the youngest and thus less was already my place, last was my destiny and to look up and cry when hurt was my expression.

The true nature of those of my origin would not become clear to me until I offered my home to them. After a violent altercation with them I would find myself in a jail cell with three criminal charges. It was during this time that was forced to reflect on the nature of my relationship with these people. What was family truly worth, after all? These people, during my time in jail, would bicker and fight; they simply could not come together in an effort to release me from my predicament and even worse, they did not feel remorse for my misfortune. I was expected to forgive and forget; I was expect to violate court orders and return on the basis that "they won't know." This rhetoric was all too familiar to me. My childhood was filled with such rhetoric. Amidst the stolen electric meters and pilfered grocery store items, I also had to act with earnest under of the guise of "them not knowing". Thus, the rule of law did not matter as long as it benefitted these people, not myself. My best interest was never at heart.

Half a year later and after evicting those of my origin from my home, I find myself wondering: why did I not take note of their actions and adjust my actions as necessary to guard myself? If these people already had the habit of stealing and fighting, how did I not put 2 and 2 together and see that these people could ruin my life and rob me of my future? This time, it was almost too little too late- had I not hired a lawyer, my future would be destroyed and those of my origin would have felt no remorse.

I suppose that was the curse of the role I played - the hapless victim and the sacrificial idiot, the one who failed to see his demise by the hands of those who claimed to love him. Truly a pity it would have been for him, had he not opened his eyes. Truly a future it would have been for him, one of submission and lowly disposition with no path to the light of his maturity and masculinity.

The Breaking Of The Ties

The breaking of these ties first revealed the most striking reality: how others treat me is not who I am. Thus, it no longer made sense to define myself through the lens of external treatment. The question of who am I was no longer defined by what others did to me but how I defined myself. This feeling was strange; it was as if I was now a blank canvas and yet, I was armed with the paintbrushes of my own making. I did not know the nature of this new reality, only that at any moment I had to begin shaping it. I had cut ties with my formative social group of origin; I had finally created a new era of self-independence. Suddenly I found myself becoming more aware of my actions and, with that, I perceived the very all-encompassing and limiting ideas that kept me in the darkness of own ignorance. Upon seeing this ignorance for what it was, I realized just how tragic it all truly was. I was a man trapped in the husk of the past, never destined to leave—forever kept in captivity by people who did not know how to love him because they did not know how to love themselves.