Here is the link to the podcast: https://anchor.fm/lenigian/episodes/Life-with-Leni–Episode-8–Parental-Relationships-e12mk2u

Well, it’s June. June 2021. I don’t know about you all, but I am still stuck in March 2020. I don’t really know how and when we got here. Trauma after trauma, bad news after bad news, loss after loss- here we are. So I haven’t written or recorded in a while. Unfortunately, I had to take more time to grieve another pregnancy loss- the loss of our daughter hope, but that isn’t what this podcast will be about. Thank you though, for being so kind, understanding, supportive, and patient. 

Something I’d like to bring up is parental relationships. It’s come up in conversation so many times with so many different people. I can’t speak for all relationships, but I can speak to how I have improved mine. Some of you might relate and some of you might not. Some of you might have strained relationships, relationships that no longer exist, relationships you removed yourself from, relationships you want to salvage but don’t know how. I don’t pretend to know the answers, but what I can do is speak on my experiences and acquired knowledge from those I speak to. 

Growing up- I was lucky. I had both parents. I had a consistent roof over my head. And I was never hungry. I have to give credit where credit is due: as a child, while my parents were struggling, they hid it fairly well. Sure, we didn’t go to Greece for two months in the summer. Sure we didn’t have fancy cars. Sure we didn’t have everything a spoiled child would want to have. But we did have more than the basics. What I wish we had more of was communication. Effective communication. 

My parents were totally not good at that. But what the fuck did they know? I only thought about this later on in life. As a teenager, I was just mad at them and picked up their lack of shitty communication skills. As an adult, I realized who the hell did they have to teach them? Definitely not my grandparents. I took the time to understand parts of their story, and to be honest, it has made all the difference. 

My father’s parents, I didn’t really know. My pappou (grandfather in Greek) Alexandro passed away a few weeks before I was born and I didn’t have the chance to know him. From the few stories my father has told me about him- not particularly the best communicator. My giagia (grandmother in Greek) Domna was a pretty submissive woman, from what it seems. A hardworking one, nonetheless, but the quiet type that never really stood up for herself. She always tried to keep peace, especially between myself and my sister when we were literally ripping each other’s hair out. But again, not really the one that seemed to disclose or discuss feelings. My dad’s family was super poor, so poor, in fact, that my dad had to drop out of school at like 11 or 12 to learn a trade to help support his family. So where exactly would he learn effective  communication skills? What he learned was avoidance, hard work, and saving every bit of scrap you can because he didn’t have much. I get it. Now.

Then there is my mom. My pappou Kosta- good lord that man, FOR SURE, didn’t know how to communicate. He just fought with everyone. Sometimes he was, absolutely, within the right to call people out, but he wasn’t at all graceful about it. He was strict. Too strict. And probably never gave my mother a reason why. I doubt they ever had a real conversation. Then, there is my giagia Athena, who I personally diagnosed when I lived with her after my grandfather died. That woman was probably on the spectrum and had depression, for sure. After living with her, I realized, as an educator, she would have had an IEP and been in a special education class, without a doubt. She definitely didn’t have communication skills. I know, for a fact, my mother didn’t have any real conversations with her, ever. So where would my mom learn it from? No where. 

Being immigrants in a foreign country, both my parents had to learn language. They had to learn to communicate in a way where people would understand their English, so where would they find time to understand themselves, their needs, how to speak in a way that communicated that when they were trying to survive in the United States? People don’t realize that, but that strain of learning a new language takes a front seat. You have to relearn basics, so where would you find the time or strength to dig deeper. Feelings were buried. They weren’t explored. There were more pressing issues to deal with. So, under the rug everything went. Now, my parents didn’t have the models at home to show them the way, and they were trying to navigate a whole new life, with a whole new language, in a whole new place. You’d think, after being here for so long, they’d learn. But who would they have to teach them. Everyone they knew grew up just like them, so the lack of effective listening skills and communication were normal. It became part of the culture. 

My dad’s line to me was “Eleni, you have to fight! You have to fight for what you believe in!” I heard that line so often. I don’t think anyone ever told him that which may be the reason he pressed it into me so much. Of course he would retract that statement when I fought him on things. I was allowed to fight the world, just not him. He also pressed work and education- always telling me to make sure I can take care of myself, to never depend on anyone. That, I’m sure he learned for himself. Now, our household, wasn’t a very quiet one. There was a lot of yelling. No one, not my mom, not my dad, no my sister, not myself knew how to sit down and speak softly. We wouldn’t learn it from them. “They’re Greek.” And if you know anything about Greek people, it’s that we sound like we’re fighting when we are having a normal conversation. We are loud. So loud, in fact, that my inside voice and my teacher voice were the same volume. 

So, yelling was normal. Spitting insults was normal- and sometimes used as a term of endearment. Not being heard was normal. Brushing things under the rug was normal. Feelings were for the weak. Nothing was a big deal. Keep moving. Why are you crying? There’s nothing to cry about. Being soft was weak. You have to keep going. Going. Going. If you though something was hard, that’s your problem. Fix it yourself. Mental health was not a priority. What the fuck was mental health? So, I resented them. I was angry at them. How could these adults not care? Half the time I wanted to die and they just waved their hand like “cut the shit” and keep it moving. So yea, we were all super unhealthy and non communicative together. So what did I do? I stayed in relationships that were similar, normal to what I knew, only to find them becoming abusive. I even married one. And then I realized- this shit is NOT normal. That’s when I started working on myself. I didn’t really know where to start, so I started working on my body. I was always thick but I, also, ate emotionally. I took out my frustration at the gym, on the bag,  on other people’s faces in the cage. Muay Thai saved my life in so many different ways. That was my go to- the gym. I had no idea  how to help my mind, but I knew I felt a hell of a lot better partaking in some sort of legal violence. Of course I found this again in the midst of my separation and then divorce, coming out of a decade of exclusive mental and emotional abuse. But I stray- back to communication with my parents. 

Now- it wasn’t until I looked at my parents as not my parents, but as human beings who never learned proper communication, as human beings who had to navigate their own traumas and healing process, trying to figure it all out, while at the same time, trying to raise decent humans. It wasn’t until I realized, even though my mom had a mom- she didn’t really have one. And that her dad was just a dick. Or that my dad wasn’t allowed to be a kid, he was to be a provider. He had to be an adult far quicker. It’s why he’s so playful, why he always sings, why he always wants my niece and nephew to know that he IS there to play with them, probably because no one played with him. We think he’s annoying because he doesn’t shut up, but he just wants to be heard and to make sure we, and his grandkids, have that. 

Or that my parents had to figure out how to be a team without killing each other because there was no giving up. 

Now, my parents are normal humans with huge hearts. Some of the conversations I have had with people about their relationships with their parents were about parents with narcissistic traits or just not good people. People who intend harm, even on their own children. There’s a huge difference between parents who don’t know any better and narcissistic parents who use their children as pawns and entertainment. Please understand, the only way to improve a narcissistic parental relationship is to limit your time with them because nothing you say will ever get through to them, or for those that cause unforgivable harm, no contact. I am an advocate of “It doesn’t matter who they are, if they are toxic and causing you severe distress and harm, get rid of them.” I will NEVER tell someone, “well that’s your mom, that’s your brother, that’s your family.” Never. If they abuse you, sabotage you, consistently and continuously hurt you, traumatize you, undermine you,  or are just evil- get away from them. Point Blank. You do not need to sacrifice yourself and your mental health for your shitty mom or dad. Now that’s of course if those are the traits they possess, not something you have made up because, perhaps, you might be toxic yourself. 

That is NOT the case with my parents. 

My parents aren’t out to harm anyone. Ever. Not even those who have harmed them. They are good hearted people and they want the best for their kids. It took me a super long time to learn to keep calm, to listen, to say what I mean and mean what I say in a tone that may not be so offensive. I come off very passionate sometimes. I have to be careful with that. So, I started asking them questions about themselves. I started to get to know them as people, not just my parents. I set boundaries. Anyone who thinks you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, think again. I call my dad the Tasmanian devil. Half the time he’s yelling something you can’t decipher and is all over the place. I even turned it into a verb. “Baba tasmanian deviled me” and everyone knows what I mean. I don’t remember what the conversation was about, but he was tasmanian deviling me, and perhaps this was not the best way, but I yelled over him. I repeated “I don’t care who you are, I don’t care that you are my dad, you will not speak to me like that.” He didn’t take that seriously, so I said it again. He continued. I said it again. He continued. And I hung up. Not the most respectful, but I had to set a line. He called me for a few days and I ignored him. He needed to know I was serious. He even called my sister and told her “You sister no talk to me.” I know that hurt him. And the last thing I want to do is hurt the people I love, but I had to make that boundary clear. Ever since then, when he starts to tasmanian devil me, I just have to gently remind him, and he simmers down. Then we can continue to have a meaningful conversation. And I am so grateful for that. I am so grateful that he is receptive and respectful to the shift that had to happen for us to be able to really talk in a way we never did before. It’s not perfect, but man, it is beautiful.

Same with my mom. I don’t remember when this was but I blurted out she had mommy issues as a joke, and we all laughed, but it’s true because that sparked multiple future conversations. I think she stopped looking at me as her little shit of a daughter and we started to talk more and more about it. I think she realized I knew more than she thought I did- because, you know Greek parents, you don’t know shit about the world. My mom’s favorite saying is “Ekane i miga kolo kai xezei to kosmo olo.” Translation: The fly grew a butt and now shits on the world. (I’m laughing as I type). But for real- how many of us have parents who think we don’t know shit about shit? I think I impressed her because perhaps she felt understood or started to understand herself a little bit more with our conversations. I learned to listen and to make sense of things in a way none of us thought of. Aside from being an educator, I also hold a degree in mental health, so I offer a really different perspective. I’m lucky though. My parents were open to it. After we yelled at each other for years, after we never took the time to listen or understand. After years of being on the defense, all of us, something shifted. My parents are my friends, now. We’ve learning to appreciate each other on a whole other level. It’s not perfect, it will never be, but it had to take my mentality to change in order to pave the way for theirs to change. I had to change. I had to shift. I had to create the new path, the new way. I had to model my behavior, my responses. I had to be open to let them know what works for me and what doesn’t. I had to quit being defensive all the time. I had to teach them new phrases. For example: my dad will always say everything will be ok. I had to let him know, that no, they aren’t always ok and that sometimes, when he says things like that, when I am drowning in pain, it doesn’t help. So now, he’ll tell me “we take it day by day” because I told him that’s what works for me. He just wants to be positive, he WANTS everything to be ok, and he thought it would help- I let him know it didnt.  You can’t expect your parents to know what works or doesn’t work  for you as an adult. And you, certainly, can’t know what works for them if you never ask. Start asking. They might not even know what works for them. Maybe they’ll start to explore it.

Now, again- this doesn’t go for bad people. Bad people are mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, coworkers, bosses, etc. If you are dealing with bad people- remove yourself. Bringing you into this world doesn’t mean you owe your parents anything. And I am sure there are people who are going to think that line is so disrespectful because “your parents are your parents.” Being your parents is a fucking blessing. Treating you like shit because they brought you into this world is not their right. When you try to talk to them about how you’re feeling, don’t talk about it in an argument. No one listens when emotions and voices are high. Ask them to go out to dinner. Talk calmly. It won’t change the first time. Not even the second. It’s your job to set your own boundaries and enforce them. Either they’ll learn or they won’t. I hope they learn. And I hope you learn, too.