In tuesday’s post I mentioned something I learned while in a residential trauma program for women. This took place at McLean Hospital in Belmont, MA. This trauma program was a turning point (one of many) in my healing journey. While there, my diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder was confirmed, and I will talk about that in some posts. I also became ready to face some of the trauma of my childhood.

Before this stay I had at least eight psychiatric hospitalizations, and I had seen numerous therapists, but I hadn’t been ready to truly face the trauma that had happened to me.

What I did know was that I wanted to be loved and accepted by my parents but that had always seemed unattainable. Still I tried, and tried, and tried. Then, during a workshop, I recall one of the facilitators say that “Love is not a sufficient reason to remain in a destructive relationship.” When I heard this, I immediately recognized many in my birth family as destructive relationships. I was certainly not a full and equal part of the family; for starters, I am intersex and for some reason, my parents and two of my brothers view this as a choice rather than a genetic fact. They see me as morally weak and spiritually deficient, and not as someone who was born with a rare set of genetic mutations.

When I was younger I had once told my parents that I didn’t want to live as a male, but their response was a threat to institutionalize me in the state mental hospital. This has happened to an uncle years prior, and while I was never told the reason he was sent there, the career of a brilliant young MSN was destroyed. My uncle has been a local celebrity as an artist, and had been gifted academically. By the time he left the hospital years later, he couldn’t play board games.

Even after this, I still tried to forge a closer bond with my family, but it was to no avail. As a child, I had been forced to live as male, and I had made it a practice to perform music at family events such as weddings and funerals. This continued for a time after i decided to live in a way that better aligned with my own identity, as a woman, but it caused a riff between me and my family.

It became increasingly clear that most of my family didn’t want ‘me’ there; they wanted their idea of me – they wanted who they wanted me to be rather than who I was. It became clear when I was prevented from singing at my Godmother’s funeral. It became most clear when my mom passed away and I wasn’t granted the privilege of being referred to by my own name in her obituary, with my family instead choosing to use a name for me that hadn’t been my legal name, let alone my chosen name, for decades. What was absolutely clear was that if I couldn’t be a son or brother, I wasn’t welcome. It didn’t matter that I am who I am because of a genetic condition. What matters is their beliefs about the situation. And an intersex daughter or sister isn’t part of the equation. The choice became one of harming myself to be accepted by my family, or finding another way. I chose the other way. I remembered the words of that counselor, and while I love my family, the price of being with them is too high.

Some stories aren’t as dramatic as mine, others are much more dramatic. We exist on a spectrum. Each story though, it’s equally valid – yours is a valid as mine. So you have relationships that are costing you more than they should? What steps can you take to make them more equitable?

And remember, while that counselor said that love isn’t a succubus reason, she didn’t say there were no other reasons.