Childhood programming makes it hard to believe I’m ‘good enough’

My life has been getting better lately — and that’s hard for me to accept.

About 12 or 13 years ago, everything seemed to go off the rails. My financial position fell apart as I walked away from a lucrative career in political consulting. I gained a hundred pounds as I ate loads of sugar to “medicate” my depression after a failed romantic relationship. I felt lost and alone and off-course.

In the following years, I worked at jobs I hated. I didn’t make enough money. I was depressed and lonely most of the time. I no longer had heath insurance. Then I had gall bladder surgery and was left with medical bills I couldn’t pay. My credit was destroyed. Every day seemed like a struggle.

But things are slowly getting better. I’m still not living the affluent life which I had 15 years ago, but I’m doing better financially than I was. I have my damaged credit back up to something decent. I’ve shed nearly 50 pounds since the first of the year. And I finally got some resolution to a long-running romantic drama. I didn’t get what I had wanted for so long, but I finally got a decision on the issue — something which allowed me to finally close that door for good. I’ve needed a final resolution on the relationship and I got it.

I was thinking this afternoon about how much better things have gotten for me. Part of me felt relieved. Part of me wanted to pat myself on the back and tell me I’ve done a good job fighting my way out of that hole. But there was still a part of me which growled that I wasn’t perfect — and that I would never be good enough.

And in that moment, I felt the horrible feeling that I was still in trouble with my father. I felt his judgment. I felt his ever-present programming telling me I had to be perfect. And despite all the good things going on for me, I had trouble believing I could ever be “good enough.”

Almost four years after his death, I frequently have brief moments of panic during which I fear that I’m still “in trouble” with my father. In those irrational moments, I fear he’s about to walk into wherever I am and start yelling at me for something.

I never have a specific offense in mind when I feel that way. I just feel that he’s going to be angry and start screaming at me. Those are the only times in my life when I still feel like a scared child who has no path of escape. In the split seconds when I feel this way, I am a cowering little boy once again.

I met a fascinating (and beautiful) woman last weekend who immediately seemed like someone I’d known all my life. It was a very random meeting, but within five minutes, we were sharing childhood stories of family dysfunction. She asked me how my experience still affected me.

Since there was so much to tell, I wasn’t sure how to summarize, but I eventually realized that the place to start was my recurring fear of being “in trouble” — and how my father’s programming for perfection has left me feeling as though I could never be “good enough.”

There are many stories to tell about what I went through. There are many lessons to learn. But they all flow from the fear of not doing precisely what he wanted me to do — in the tiniest detail — and having him angry about it.

When I was thinking about this tonight, I ran across a series of short emails between the two of us almost 12 years ago. This was only a few months before I finally cut off contact with him when he refused to go to counseling with me. And even though this exchange strikes me as insane, reading it makes me remember what it was like to stand before him as a confused child — when he would scream and yell when I wouldn’t say whatever precise words he wanted me to say about something.

Here is that series of emails in its entirety:

On May 25, 2010, at 4:01 PM, Ed McElroy wrote:

I hope you’ll respond in some manner to the email today about Panama.

On May 25, 2010, at 4:03 PM, David McElroy wrote:

I don’t know of anything you’ve said about Panama.

On May 25, 2010, at 4:12 PM, Ed McElroy wrote:

Did you read my email today in which I talked about Panama?

On May 25, 2010, at 4:13 PM, David McElroy wrote:

As I said, I don’t know anything about what you’re talking about.

On May 25, 2010, at 4:16 PM, Ed McElroy wrote:

As I asked you — did you read my email in which I talked about Panama?

On May 25, 2010, at 4:22 PM, David McElroy wrote:

I don’t know how to say any more plainly that I don’t know ANYTHING about what you’re talking about.

On May 25, 2010, at 4:27 PM, Ed McElroy wrote:

Can you not respond to a simple question: Did you read my email to you today at 12:47 on the subject of Panama?

On May 25, 2010, at 4:29 PM, David McElroy wrote:

I’ve told you twice that I know NOTHING about anything you’re talking about related to your questioning here. Is there some way that that answer doesn’t cover what you’re asking about? I don’t know about any such e-mail. I don’t know about any such question. I’ve answered your question as plainly and as broadly as I know how to, so I don’t have any idea what you’re trying to force me to say.

On May 25, 2010, at 4:33 PM, Ed McElroy wrote:

Just yes or no: Did you receive an email from me today at 12:47, subject Panama?

I never responded any further. He knew that I didn’t know about whatever he was talking about, but he was insistent that I say, “No, I didn’t read that email,” instead of, “I don’t know about any email you might have sent.”

Why? I don’t know. He had been that way all my life. If I didn’t respond to him exactly as he wanted me to respond, he would accuse me of intentionally being “disrespectful” to him. I had constant terror of being in trouble for things which I said — or didn’t say — which he had twisted into another example of “insubordination.” I was punished many times for “disrespect” — when I simply hadn’t worded something as he preferred.

The constant fear of being in trouble — and getting punished — for things which made no sense to me caused me to live in terror. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t be what he wanted me to be. I couldn’t figure out how to be perfect.

If you beat that into a child — and leave him terrified all the time — you’re bound to cause lasting issues. That’s what it did for me. And I haven’t yet figured out a way to “deprogram” myself. I haven’t learned how to believe that my life is getting better — that I can give myself credit for something good.

By my standards of 15 years ago, my life is still pretty lousy. But I dug myself such a deep hole from which to climb. I rationally know things are better. I’m consciously happy with how far I’ve come in reversing the damage I brought upon myself.

But there’s still that little voice inside — not as powerful as it used to be — which tells me I can never be good enough. It’s hard to let that voice die, even though he’s been gone for almost four years.