I’m retiring!

Well, kind of. A part of me is retiring. The hero part, the achiever, the hustler. Do you know the part I’m talking about? Many of us who grew up in dysfunctional families-whereupon the majority of the time addiction and mental health reigned unchecked, we began to take on a certain role, or roles that are still affecting us today.

This may be present even though we may have left the situation and have built a life that has gained skills and buffers and bluffs between that which we grew up in.

There is this theory called the 6 dysfunctional family roles that can outline the role(s) we may have taken if we had elements of unsafety and unpredictability in our household. Here’s a snippet of the roles, and if you desire to explore more, please click here.

See if any of these roles resonate with you:

The Hero:

May be motivated by inadequacy and struggle with overachievement. A strength of this role may be they gain positive attention through being productive and they may receive self worth from achievement. Consequently, hero adults may struggle with a compulsive drive and perfectionism.

The Addict:

May be motivated by shame, they struggle with chemical use, behavioral addictions and untreated mental health and trauma. They seek relief from pain and struggle in many areas of their life.

The Mascot:

Otherwise known as the family clown, this role is motivated by fear and they struggle with clowning and hyperactivity. While they may receive amused attention and be considered fun, the consequences can be immaturity and emotional illness.

The Lost Child:

They are motivated by loneliness, and may show shyness and solitude which provides them some escape and relieves the family from having to worry about them. A potential price may be social isolation.

The Scapegoat:

They are motivated by hurt and may struggle with delinquency. While they may receive negative attention and force a family to focus away from the addict, the possible price may be self destruction.

The Caretaker:

They can be motivated by anger and they struggle with powerlessness and may seek importance and self righteousness through their sense of responsibility in the family. The possible price is illness and martyrdom.

For me being a hero was my ticket to freedom. If you have worked with me for any amount of time you know that I am not a fan of the black and white, binary sort of lens that we can place on our past and current selves. Being a hero gave me a ticket out of the hell that was growing up, I got good grades, I was involved in team activities, I had friends and I learned to please those around me. It was like rocket fuel to bring me into a different socioeconomic class, it helped me to seek support and guidance and break many, many intergenerational patterns of trauma in my line.

Aaaaannnddd it also gave me a bad case of perfectionism, of self doubt, of grinding and pushing and pulling and fighting, fighting, fighting for everything in my life. So much so that I was barely able to tell the difference between what needed to be muscled against and what could actually come pretty naturally.

In essence, it worked until it didn’t work. Which is what understanding some of these roles can do for us. Where have they worked? Where do they no longer serve? How do we lay them down and honor the gifts they have given us?

It has been brought to my deep attention this past year that my sweet little hero (just kidding she is not sweet, she’s feisty and gritty and she guzzles espresso) that she was tired and needed to retire. Yes, the only way that I was gonna let this sister lay it down was to throw her a goddamn party! No amount of willpower, pushing, belittling or numbing was going to make her go away.

She required a creative celebration. She didn’t know how to take her grubby little hands from the wheel. So, I made her a flier, I wrote her a poem (see below), we had cake and we celebrated with her.

When she pops up still, how could she not? She guided us for 40 years and it’s gonna take her some time to rest. And when she does pop up I tell her oh sweetie, remember your party? You gotta let me try to lead this thing, you did it babe, kick your feet up.

A gentle reminder sweetpeas that even if we didn’t grow up in such alarm and dysfunction we all carry roles and parts of us that are no longer working. Maybe you do need a celebration, maybe these parts need a simple acknowledgement, or a gentle word. Give yourself the space and the time to give them their due.

No part of us is all good or all bad, needed and then unneeded, these parts are our story and my goodness don’t we love a good story? Give yourself the gift of telling your story… you sweet and precious soul.

What I wrote to my hero/achiever/hustler/shine$sparkle part of myself that was read out loud at her retirement party:

Hey Honey boo,

Oh my dear sweets, I am so, so thankful for you.

Look what you accomplished.

Just look.

Do you see it?

I remember that night on that trampoline under the stars and we made a wish. Do

you recall?

The wish, which would become a call, was to break it all. Your little heart knew that

she wanted it differently.

It’s been ages and minutes and peaks and valleys since that night on the trampoline,

we have landed and risen and landed again.

Your wings are tired sweetie, because, babe. You did it.

I am so fucking proud of you.

I think the reason you’ve become so ornery–rightfully so–is you are tired now. The

steam and the tenacity and the feat of it all has caught up. It’s time to lay it down. You

got the job done.

Did you hear me sweets?

The mission is complete.

You get all the stars and stripes and accolades.

We’ll throw you a huge party, what kind of cake do you want?

Who do you want to be there?

What music shall you walk up in on?

What a goddamn celebrity. They will line up, they will kiss and touch and place

fingertips at your temples.

You will receive.

For once you will drink it in and you will shut your mouth darling and let them tell

you the difference this has all made.

And you will smile and cry and swoon and sit in the dichotomy of how brilliant and

small you truly are. All at once. All here and now and past and present. It’s all here. In

that room, in these times and in those times.

You will be among the stars.

But, for now, we will remember you are a human in a human form, having a human

existence.

Your feet will get tired and your belly will ache from sweets and your eyes will be gritty

from tears.

That is ok.

In the morning, after a good long rest, you will eat and drink and evacuate your

bowels. The same old same old…isn’t it lovely, this life to live?

You have never gotten to simply do it before.

To move and to shake and to grieve and to sing and to smile at babies and to pick up

pieces that are just yours to pick up.

What a sweet thing.

It’s gonna be fun, I can feel it.

It’s gonna be more fun than work the stars are reading.

Of course I don’t know how long it will last, that’s the thrill of it.

Join me will you?

No, no sweets I’m not placing you on some dusty shelf, you are my right hand woman,

you get to sit on some velvet throne like royalty and I’ll go into battle.

You did the work baby girl, now you get to dispense some wisdom and ask the others

to figure it out for once.

Thank you for your service. Thank you for all you gave me. You set me up so, so well.

You set us all up to gain more than we ever imagined.

What a gift you have been.

Your storage houses are full, the children are fat with nutrition.

There is laughter and lovemaking in the homes below.

Sit and hear it, delight in it and let your bones know peace.

I love you.

And you are the leader/mother/giver/hoper I have always needed.

It’s going to be ok because it already is ok.

And now we celebrate.

XoXo,

Amy