Last night I had one of the most vivid and
disturbing dreams I have had in years. In it, my father put his hands around my
throat and tried to strangle me. After an initial struggle I managed to
overpower him, wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze the life out of him.
Normally, that would have been quite enough
to be going on with, but, in the way of dreams, I realised that earlier in the
day I had somehow also been responsible for killing my mother. In the dream I
was not overly upset by their deaths, my major concern was over how to dispose
of their bodies without being caught.
Jump to a moment of me chopping up bodies
and putting them in a suitcase (I have recently watched The Jinx, I am hoping I can blame it for this turn of events!). Then
jump to a moment of me shoving the suitcase in the back seat of the car I was
using to drive me to bookstores to promote my newly released memoir.
Now I know people say that hearing other
people’s dreams is about as interesting as watching paint dry, so most likely
there will be very few people still reading at this point, but for those of you
who have persevered, this dream feels like it is a doorway into the deeper
feelings I have about putting my story out in the world.
Writing a memoir is, by its nature, a very
personal experience. I am telling the story not just of my life, but of the
lives of others. I have tried my hardest to do that story justice – to be honest,
transparent and generous. But a lot of the terrain I have covered in my book is
not pretty. And I do wonder how my Mum and Dad would feel to see themselves
represented through my lens.
There’s a saying that goes, “Blood makes
you related, but loyalty makes you family.”
I have thought a lot about this during the
process of writing my book. So what is loyalty? The Oxford Dictionary defines
it as, “giving or showing firm and constant support or allegiance to
a person or institution.”
It also defines the word “betray” to mean, to “expose (one’s
country, a group, or a person) to danger by treacherously giving information to
an enemy.” Or, in another definition, “Be gravely disloyal to.”
Intellectually, I know that in family systems, especially
family systems where abuse is occurring, the concept of loyalty can be
extremely damaging. It can mean that children become secret keepers. That they
see themselves as worthy of abuse rather than asking whether what their parents
are doing is wrong. It can mean that they would rather betray themselves than their
parents. It can also mean that when these “loyal” children develop into adults,
they stay true to the dynamic of their family of origin, which may mean that
their own children may be doomed to live within familiar patterns of abuse.
There can be big downsides to loyalty. But there
are some pretty major upsides as well. For me, the biggest upside is the sense
of belonging. I think one of the reasons writing a memoir is difficult, and is
now giving me nightmares of myself as a callous murderer, is the deep-seated
fear that I am now moments away from being thrown out of my tribe.
There is also the fact that I generally
think of myself a loyal person. If I love you, I will fight for you, defend
you, sing your praises, help you succeed. I am loyal to my Mum, my brother and
sister. I am loyal my husband and kids. I am loyal to my friends.
But I also have a strong need for openness
and honesty. If there is an elephant in the room my brain keeps shouting,
“Elephant! Elephant! Elephant!” so loud that the words often end up trumpeting
out of my mouth.
The people in my life who get me, love that
about me (thank God, because seriously I can’t seem to shut myself up!) But not
everyone is so keen on honesty. Some people think that loyalty means seeing no
evil, hearing no evil, keeping quiet and toeing the line. For those people, loyalty
and honesty are completely at odds.
But for me, they aren’t. I want the people
in my life to speak their truth. I want them to tell me when I step on their
toes or push against a boundary or say something that hurts them. And I want
them to know that though the moment might feel a bit awkward and full-on, and
though it may not always be handled graciously, I will always circle back, reflect
on what they have said and hear them.
In making room in my relationships for both
loyalty and honesty, hopefully it will mean that I have the privilege of truly
knowing the minds and hearts of my nearest and dearest, so I can connect to them
more deeply. That has got to be a good thing.
So maybe I can find a new way to interpret
the dream. Reflecting on my childhood has allowed me to see my parents as
flawed people who were doing the best that they could, rather than merely
objects that failed to fulfil the needs and wants of my childhood. Maybe the
father and mother I murdered was the outdated image I was held of them from the
past. Maybe I needed to chop my parents into pieces so I could put them back
together again in a way that made sense to me. (But don’t tell the dream
police, I’m not sure they would understand.)
What do you think? Is it possible for loyalty
and honesty to exist together? Would you ever write a memoir?
