D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
June 2010
Dear Mom and Dad, Please Sign Here:
A child's imaginary contract.
By Bina Breitner
Every child has an imaginary contract with his or her parents. Nobody is conscious of this contract — family members are just living their lives and trying to do their best. But the contract is there. If the child could put it into words (which she can't), it might read: "I, child of you, will 'be' everything you want me to be. You, parent(s), will appreciate my efforts, love me more, and make me feel safe. The End."
In many families, the contract works well enough. The child easily learns what her parents like and dislike, what they expect of her, what they reward or punish, and what will get her the deepest sense of belonging — and she adapts. The family approves, loves and reassures her. Both sides are doing their part in fulfilling the contract.
In some families, however, things don't work so smoothly. The parents don't relate well to their child, for whatever reason — emotional limitations, addictions, anxieties, traumas, preoccupations, ignorance about parenting, or just not caring — so they don't meet their end of the bargain.
If you think of an axis, with the child at one end and the parents at the other, you can visualize where they meet and connect. In a healthy family, they meet somewhere in the middle, or perhaps closer to the child's end of the axis. In a troubled family, the child has to travel farther; she has to go over to their end of the axis in order to feel connected.
To do that, she has to pay less attention to herself and focus instead on her parents' moods. She works hard on being whatever they might like her to be, just so they'll notice her. If she can't get real love, at least she can get as much approval or attention as possible. She becomes a performer, and eventually even she doesn't know what's real and what's staged.
Marcy came from this second kind of family. It didn't show, because her parents were intelligent, well intended and responsible toward her. She was well taken care of, well nourished, well educated, and they were proud of her, although they didn't say much because they didn't want to turn her head.
But her father had a problem with intense anger. When he blew up, he didn't understand or care what Marcy (or anyone else) was feeling. He just let fly. Both Marcy and her mother were scared of him. Marcy's heart beat a mile a minute. He wasn't physically cruel — he only yelled at her and occasionally spanked her — but the intensity of his anger terrified her. (It doesn't take much to terrify kids; they're so small, and so dependent on their adults.)
Marcy's mom was much gentler, but she worried about everything. She was nervous most of the time and had become obsessive about keeping the house clean and staving off her husband's anger. She only did what he thought was right. But even if she was intimidated and undeveloped as a person, at least she was approachable. Marcy could talk to her mom without fear of her becoming angry.
In many ways, these were healthy parents, but they didn't really "see" their daughter. They didn't know that she worked extra hard in the hope of feeling more connected to them. (She was living close to their end of the axis.) Since she didn't feel safe enough, she was super-good, always considerate of others, excellent in school, courteous and cheerful at home. At least this way, she figured, her father wouldn't get angry so often, and maybe both parents would appreciate her.
In this strict, somewhat impersonal family, Marcy had designed their "imaginary contract." She would pay huge attention to her parents, anticipate their wishes, and behave as perfectly as she could. They, in turn, would notice her, like her more, maybe even connect to her emotionally. She would be safe.
Over the years, Marcy did her part faithfully — in fact, when I met her, at age 51, she was still working on being the ideal daughter. But so far, her parents still hadn't really "seen" her.
Meanwhile, Marcy had developed serious physical difficulties, mostly due to tension. She lived in pain. She had trouble sleeping. She felt irritable (in part from her physical pain), and she felt she was carrying a heavy weight (she touched her upper chest). She'd thought the weight was depression, and her physician had prescribed antidepressant medication, but now she wondered if it was guilt. She hadn't done enough for the people she loved.
I asked her what "enough" would look like. She had no specific idea; she just knew she never got there. She said she should spend more time with her now-elderly parents, who lived a few hours away. She should be better at sensing other people's moods, sharing their suffering, to relieve them of some of their pain, and to heal them.
Her two marriages looked like her relationship with her parents. She tried to please, drove herself to exhaustion, felt guilty if she wasn't exactly what her husband wanted — on top of her full-time job. No wonder she was stressed to the point of breaking.
Like other children in similar situations, Marcy had completely believed (unconsciously) in her imaginary contract. Her parents, however, had never received that contract in the mail. They didn't know it existed, much less that they were party to it. It only existed in Marcy's child-mind because she'd invented it, for some very good reasons:
- It gave her a sense of control. If she got it right, they'd
love her more. It was up to her. That, in itself, was reassuring, because
she absolutely knew she could do it!
- It gave her hope. Maybe things weren't so great right now, but
once she'd finally done her part well enough, she'd have the emotional nourishment
she needed. The future looked brighter.
- It gave her respite from anxiety. She was so busy-busy doing and evaluating her performance, she was distracted from her deep worry. She had a job to do! (Mustn't waste time on worrying.)
Since she never got to "enough," and her parents still hadn't fulfilled their part of the bargain, she told herself she wasn't satisfactory. She needed to try harder, do better.
By the time she came to my office, she was depleted. She felt guilty toward everyone in her life. Her body hurt. She felt like a failure. And she was frightened: What if she ran out of steam before she'd done "enough"? What if she never got it right?
We worked on bringing the imaginary contract into her consciousness. What were the terms, exactly? In Marcy's case, she was supposed to be excellent in all ways and, especially, to be as self-reliant as possible. She should be entirely obedient and willing. She should be cheerful and productive. She should ask for as little as possible from her parents; that is, she had to not-need.