Frigid Hearts


I always knew my adoptive parents had issues. I always knew they often walked on the wrong side of the street. But it wasn’t until 3 years ago till the veil was completely removed that I could see through them like a glass window pane. It wasn’t until 3 years ago that I truly realized exactly how dysfunctional everything about them was, and that it wasn’t me who was the inherently wrong human being, like they always caused me to feel. It wasn’t until 3 years ago that I realized that I was never really loved by them.

While my head always knew that the lives they lived were messed up, it was somehow my normal. Even though I could compare it to my friends and know that they didn’t experience things that I did, somehow my parents tricked me in to believing, the same way they make the outside world believe, with their charisma and fake masks that we were a normal family, and even furthermore, that I had a silver spoon in my mouth.


In addition to realizing exactly how dysfunctional my parents were, that my Dad is a full blown, highest order Narcissistic Personality Disorder and that my Mom is his Flying Monkey, mimics some of his Narcissism traits and has somewhat of a Dependant Personality Disorder as well, I also realized that they didn’t love me. They never did love me. They weren’t capable of love, at least certainly not for me. This has been a very hard truth to work through. To know their hearts have been that frigid to me my entire life and that the entire thing has been nothing but a farce, it has probably been the hardest realization I have had to swallow thus far. Somewhere deep inside I always knew it though. This, along with the physiological rememberance of being abandoned at birth, and being told that my birth father wanted nothing to do with my birthmom because of me have been the construct of my self esteem identity. This has been the basis for my inability to feel secure, to feel worthy, to not always feel second best.

My Great Depression kicked off with the transparency of my adoptive parents and the slow realization of their lack of true love for me. That was followed by my birthmom starting drama with me over my involvement with my birthfathers side. I did come to find out later on (still within the 3 year great depression) that my birthdad didn’t even know of my existence until after I was adopted out. She never even gave him a chance. Their stories don’t match up. This gave me one positive (my birthdad redeeming his status in my life as not someone who rejected me) but changing my birthmoms status in my life to someone who is not as genuine as she makes herself out to be and to making me feel as though I am being treated like a kid in a divorced marriage situation after 40 years. There are many other things included in my depression phase, but these primal needs and wounds are at the heart of everything.


I gave my Mom a journal a while ago from my daughter and step daughter as a grandma journal for her to fill out her responses as a legacy type journal. I just found it last summer and read through her answers for the first time. There were a couple answers in particular that really struck a nerve and showed her lack of love and interest in me. The picture above is the first of them. In this one, she speaks of her wishes for me and my daughter being that we get the best qualities from her and my dad. So first what is wrong with this is that she is, as always, denying me being my own person and wanting me to only be a carbon copy of them. Secondly, denying the fact that because I am adopted, I don’t get qualities/traits from them. While yes I might pick up a couple of things environmentally from them, she is in complete denial of my genetics and the fact that who I am is influenced by something and someone other than her and my father. She had made comments earlier last year when I was speaking of the family tree album I was doing (with her not knowing I am doing my birthfamily side as well) that I might want to pass it down to my daughter one day because she “might want to know where she came from”. That is not where my daughter came from. My adoptive parents share no genes, no nationalities, no lineage with her. If she would have used the term family history, that would have been one thing, but saying that is where she came from is complete delusion and denial of who I am and shows that she has forced me to live in their pretend world, that I don’t need to know anything more than them.


In this nest question (the bottom question), it’s asking about her young family, meaning me and her and my dad, and she says not a single thing about me. All she talks about are all the visits from other family members of hers and my dads coming to see her. And the two things she listed at the end we’re not activities that involved me, the zoo and picnics. They must have been from her childhood. Most of the questions in the book had no answers that involved me whatsoever, even like this, when they were directly asked about her child(Ren). Or the answer was very generic when it came to me, like playing cards and games rather than specifics like she gives for all the rest of her family. Whenever she emails me now, she always gives me all kinds of specifics on all of the family members. But all she does when she gets on the phone with me is ask generic questions, how are you, how’s the weather. For about 6 months she didn’t even ask me about my job (knowing I pick up new schools often) and she didn’t even know I was teaching somewhere new. I was waiting to see when she’d ask.

And then there’s my Dad. He hasn’t given me his journal yet. But yesterday when I was at their condo after they left to pick up the leftovers from Easter, I noticed it sitting on the desk, and I got curious to see how much he had filled out and what his answers were. Much like my Mom, he didn’t disappoint with his focus on his childhood and not me. Again, showing his lack of love and interest in me. Here are some samples of his.


So first up we have the young family page which happens to be the most blank page, the one he hasn’t filled much in on. Must be some of the hardest questions for him to answer. The ones that ask about his child. Hey, maybe he’ll end up answering like my mom, with nothing to say about me whatsoever.


And then there’s this beautiful page. Again, asking about children on that last question, nothing about me answered. Hey, maybe he’ll add something to it before he actually gives it to me…not holding my breath….and then we go up to the question about the most treasured picture. The picture he speaks of is of his mother. Again, nothing of me, which are all downstairs in their house. And then he goes on to mention how all the other pictures (from his childhood) were destroyed. As my best friend (who is a therapist) pointed out, that sentence shows anger. And she wonders if the reason he never saved any of my stuff from when I was an infant (as I pointed out in my post where it hit me about being very hurt about him sending her the dead boyfriend’s clothing but not keeping my stuff), that it might be his twisted logic that since his memories got destroyed, that I am not allowed to have my memories either.

Both of my parents focused in these journals mainly on their childhoods, which they claim to have fond memories of, even though I know my Mom’s mother was abusive. My Dad speaks several times of how good of a life his parents gave him. Yet neither of them are capable of loving me or of sacrificing their own needs for their child or accepting me for who I am (which is nothing that should be hard or weird for any parent to accept, I didn’t present them with any difficulties-I was all in all a REALLY great kid).

I will soon have to figure out the boundaries I need to place in order to be able to unlock and unearth my buried heart so that I can protect my tender heart from their frigid hearts while I learn to love myself, something they don’t and never did. As my best friend aptly labeled it today. I am their project, nothing more.

Author: Alice Funk Farie

Ecclectic Eccentric, Adoptee, Mom of a child with Aspergers Autism, Complex-PTSD from childhood trauma, Daughter of parents with Narcissistic Personality Disorder and Dependant Personality Disorder, Anxiety and Depression Warrior, Empath, Indigo Child, Musician, Educator, Wife of a Sociopathic Addict, Stepmom, Martial Artist, Artist, Philosophizer, Quote Collector, Survivor

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