David McElroy

making sense of a dysfunctional culture

childhood

False belief of boyhood haunts me: I can’t be loved unless I’m perfect

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You and I are held captive by unconscious beliefs we learned as children.

We all learned different things — depending on our families and how we were treated — but we all internalized ideas that became our core beliefs about ourselves. These beliefs help us to survive as children and become our defense mechanisms. They’re like silent background instructions telling us how to survive and get our needs met.

But then we grow up and keep living as though our simplistic childhood beliefs are actually true. In this way, our childhood defenses turn into adult blind spots that can make us miserable — and we don’t even know we’re doing it.

I’ve recently learned something interesting. If I know enough about your personality, I can go a long way toward determining which false beliefs you learned about yourself. Our secrets aren’t as hidden as we think they are.

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He couldn’t mold her into himself, but my dad broke Mother’s spirit

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I grew up believing my mother was crazy.

That’s what my father said, so it had to be so. I don’t think he ever used the word “crazy,” but that’s what he meant. I didn’t know any better, so I believed him. Mostly, anyway. I thought there must be something wrong with her — because she would get along with my father if she weren’t crazy. Right?

I grew up believing my father was the word of truth about everything. Worshipping him was the family religion. His word was divine. No dissent was allowed. To question him was a sin. And he assured me that my mother was crazy.

Everything was simple then. He was light; she was dark. He was sane; she was crazy. He was good; she was bad. He constantly told me stories to reinforce that.

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Christmas looks different now, but I still see joy with eyes of a child

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I’ve always loved Christmas. I give credit to my mother for that. Even though she left us when I was young, she was around long enough to make my first five or six Christmases exciting and joyful.

Mother decorated in ways that seemed extravagant at the time. She played loud Christmas music on our big old stereo system and we would dance around the house and be silly. I learned to associate Christmas with joy and fun — and she always made sure I had fun toys waiting on Christmas morning.

When I was about 3 and a half years old — maybe the Christmas in this photo or maybe the one before it — I woke up while my parents were setting up all of our toys for the next morning. (I had one sister at the time and Mother was pregnant with the other sister.)

As they were concentrating on putting toys together and setting everything up — trying to be quiet about it — I stumbled out of my bed and came into the living room to see what was going on. As the story was told in future years, I stood there quietly watching from the shadows of the room before one of them finally noticed me.

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