Not Forgiving, Part 2

Since my adopted daughter's reactive attachment disorder was rekindled in late 2002, provoked and reinforced by an extended campaign of insidious and malignant undermining by my toxic in-laws ("Aunt Patty" Grossman, "Nanny" Carol Z. Klein, and Helene Kendler), I continue to explore spiritual and psychological remedies to mitigate the resulting trauma. Alas, there really are none. Rachel's early patterns of compulsive lying to attract attention and elicit sympathy were reignited, and have blossomed with new force. Today, at age 28, those tendencies are reinforced by more sophisticated techniques and high drama that she's developed as an accomplished, intelligent and informed adult.

Presently, I'm reading Forgiving and Not Forgiving, by Jeanne Safer, Ph.D. Last night, about half way through the book, I read and highlighted this paragraph:

To be reunited with the one who has betrayed your trust, to hear a heartfelt confession and embrace again, is the longed-for culmination of forgiveness. This ideal reflects the fundamental human desire for attachment, vindication, and catharsis -- for evidence that at least sometimes virtue is rewarded and people see the light.

Then, today's article in The Atlantic underscored and illuminated poor Rachel's situation. I feel so sorry that I wasn't able to overcome her early neglect sufficiently to prevent her regression. Our close friend Bill Schuyler was the psychologist for Rachel's school district. He knew Rachel well, and assured me that I had entered her life early enough (at 18 months) to enable her emotional, interpersonal, and attachment abilities to develop. Unfortunately, though, her fragile self-esteem and psyche suffered collateral damage as a result of the in-laws' crusade. I certainly hope that at least that tragic consequence was unintended.

Admittedly, I've come to embrace the cynical adage that no good deed goes unpunished. I have no expectation that Rachel will ever confess to her lies and troublemaking. The double whammy (of reactive attachment disorder plus parental alienation) is pretty darn powerful. Comfortable in her familiar, highly dramatic, sympathy-seeking persona, I suspect that she'll continue her established patterns of avoidance and denial coupled with episodic meltdowns, and that her struggles to find happiness in herself or in a relationship will persist.

I still hope that I'll be proven wrong, but I've accepted that my role, which allowed her not only to survive but to thrive, has terminated. Unfortunately, the "thriving" part was jettisoned when Patty and Nanny established their alienation efforts. Fortunately, Rachel has adapted admirably, so she will survive, albeit without the comfort of interpersonal trust and attachment.

There is an undercurrent of permanent sadness that I expect to carry for the rest of my life. I overcome it through the fulfilling relationships that I experience daily with exceptional friends around the globe. Forgiveness? It's probably not in the cards.

Another Mother's Day

Ignoring the commercial aspects of Mother's Day -- and focusing on the underlying meaning only -- this day has been one of sadness since 2003, the year I lost my mother and my daughter.

I honored my mother even when we disagreed (not infrequently). Our love was untouchable and unconditional.

Each year before 2003, Rachel was ridiculed for any efforts to honor me on Mother's Day. Peter would mock the "Hallmark Holiday," while reminding Rachel that I was not actually her mother. So destructive to our family, and so deeply unfortunate.

But, prior to 2003, she did care about me and I have mementos to verify it. She overcame her father's goading, and let me know how she felt. Without these few items, I would doubt my memories of the love and closeness we shared between 1987 and 2003.

Honor thy father and thy mother.

Lesson for Aunt Patty

Your efforts succeeded to some degree. Everyone is hurt; primarily your only niece. Enjoy your moments of schadenfreude.

But love is not lost.

a little saffron finch told me ...