Raised on love...and anger

I just had a conversation today with a coworker (Kim) who was raised in dysfunction, and seems to be raising his child in much the same way as I was raised. He shared several anecdotes today of some harsh discipline he gave his young child. laughingly, he said, “you are probably judging me, but I thought that was a really funny way to handle the situation…“

Actually, I was kind of judging him. I was thinking, “this is exactly how you were raised… And exactly how I was raise. And here goes another generation…” Then, all the way out, he said, “please excuse me. I want to call my son.” 

I had heard him call his son before. He is very tender and affectionate. Lots and lots of love.

So how does the same guy exude both of these? Very severe discipline, and extremely warm love? What is going on?

Instantly, my mind jumped to the family dog. My dad talked often of our dog (whom we all loved dearly) and about how to train a dog well. He also spoke often (with disgust) of those who spoiled their dogs. That was not our way. The way to train a dog, for my dad, was to discipline it very severely for disobedience. Yelling, striking it, even using a stick. He tells of his family dog growing up. One day it seriously disobedient, and grandfather, in a rage, “beat it to one inch of its life.” He said it became the most loving, gentle dog, after he nursed it back to health. “The key is...to compensate with lots and lots of love.” He would say that often. 

So what do dogs have to do with kids?

An awful lot, actually. 

In my early marriage I was always comparing people to dogs, and even (gasp) my wife on occasion. She very quickly set me straight. “You can not compare people to dogs.” But it was how I was raised. We treated that dog really, like part of the family. And...is this too hard to admit? My dad’s parenting of us kids was not far off from his animal raising. 

Our dog learned absolute obedience. It learned who the “alpha male” was, and it laid down at dads feet. It would come bounding up to him in giddy excitement when he came home. But control himself not to jump up on him. He would sit, stay, heel, and follow other commands. If he did something wrong — like one time he got left in and made a mess in the basement — he would come crawling to dad for his punishment. He knew he could never run far enough to escape, and that punishment would be far less if he took it voluntarily. We all knew that. 

My dad prided himself on even being able to train the family cat. “The trick,” he said often, with a joyful gleam in his eye, “is that when you see it climb on a table or somewhere it should not, you SCREAM, and throw whatever is close to you at it. Books, coffee cups, shoes...whatever! It won’t do that again!”

And he was right: it did stay off the table after that. It was also a lot more skittish. (Even though dad compensated with “lots of love”)

My dad was so talented he could even give phobias to cats.

In a previous post, I talked about Stockholm syndrome. This is a trauma response resulting from a calculated combination of threat, and mercy. 

When a criminal threatens the life of a prisoner, then relents, it creates a profound sense of gratitude within the victim. This gratitude could feel like love. When another prisoner is harshly treated in front of the privileged one, this sense of gratitude grows. And with the capricious changes of mood in the captors, a strange sort of survival instinct awakens in the prisoner. They realize that the most important factor for their survival is the emotional state of their captor. This is not a conscious decision. But deep inside, their heart becomes awakened to the needs of their captor. Their become hyper-attuned to his moods, and nonverbal signals. They begin to live to make him happy. Because if he’s happy...then they will live. 

Surprisingly, these bonds sometimes survive captivity. After the Stockholm hostage crisis, the hostages reported feeling afraid of the police, and protected by their captors. They raised money for their legal defence. One of them later married their captor. Weird. 

And weirdly familiar. 

I remember trying to explain my feelings to my wife one day. 

“You were treated so badly. It musbhave been awful. You must be so glad you are out of there.”

...yes. ...kind of. ...not really. ...it’s complicated. 

What is complicated is that I actually really felt strong feelings for my parents. Yes, I loved them like any child would. But there was something more. A fierce, desperate attachment to them. It felt for all the world like love. It was a feeling that was strongest in some of the harshest moments of discipline — especially times when I would be disciplined (or dad would loose it for other reasons) and then apologize. Or when he would harshly discipline one of my siblings, or hit the family pet, or yell at a stranger. 

“That could be me. But it is not me. Because I know. I know how to survive. How to keep him happy.” It was a profoundly safe, comfortable, warm feeling. Like a dream I used to have of flying in a metal cage, over a field of dinosaurs. The dinosaurs could be my dads rage: the cage was my empathic link to his emotions. The cage was only for me: others didn’t seem able to read the signs. 

“Why doesn’t he get it? Ouch. That must really hurt. So easy! Can’t he read the signs? I knew from a mile away that dad was angry. Why did he have to be so loud, right then? Didn’t he see...?”

This connection is sometimes called a trauma bond. 

Now, I have two questions. 

The first is how to disconnect it. I feel like it was mostly (or completely?) disconnected during my hypnotherapy session concerning my dad. Although I am still afraid of him, I feel that this is just a normal and realistic fear, knowing there is a dangerous person in the world, who is angry with me. 

The second question is: how does this change how I see God? I realize that I was raised to see God in exactly this way. “He is wrathful, jealous, and angry. Do the wrong thing at the wrong time, and you are toast. But it’s OK. He is also super loving. He’ll strike you with lightning, then give you a big hug if you come back to him. The trick is in learning His signs, and when not to cross him...” 

I know that this is not true. I know that God is love, and love is patient, kind, etc. But how to square that with what I know about Gods wrath?

I realize that many others have struggled with this one before. I used to think this one was easy, but now I think I never saw the true issue. I always thought it was easy to reconcile the two. 

“Sure, God is super wrathful. But he is also super loving. So the two cancel out.” And doesn’t that just fill you with so much love for His holiness? 

Except that is not love.  That is Stockholm syndrome. 

But maybe the situation is somewhat different for God? Does it matter that there is an absolute judge? And that his righteous decrees at times seem harsh and random to us?

Maybe my problem had been that I have been taught that my dad, a human, got to treat us kids as though he were God. 

Maybe it is OK for God to stay times treat us in a way which seems harsh (how else would we expect absolute justice to feel?) but His heart for us is kind. Not in a narcissistic way, but in a genuinely kind way. Is this possible? I’m thinking out loud here. 

At any rate, this is a question which is in no way resolved in my mind, and which I plan to investigate further.