As I’ve mentioned about a thousand times before, I grew up in an alcoholic household.  My dad was a former farm boy from rural North Dakota who hated his job as an engineer at Pratt & Whitney, or, as we used to call it at home, Pratt & Whiskey.

Now, I’ve got folks in my coaching practice and in my writing workshops who describe some pretty messed up childhoods.  Some of them make me want to dig up my old man and thank him for being the next best thing since Mr. Brady.

But that’s beside the point.

My dad was volatile, and unpredictable, and depressive, and mean.  He was a veritable time bomb in trousers. He’d walk through the front door, and you could practically hear him tick. He drank in the basement most evenings while playing his violin, then he’d storm upstairs, corner one of us in the kitchen, and rage against the man. I’m telling you, violin music still makes me twitch. My brother and I walked on eggshells when we were around him so we wouldn’t set him off. So we wouldn’t be the targets of his rage. We got really good at keeping our heads down. We got really good at looking busy and happy and compliant.  We got really good at gauging other people’s emotional temperatures.

 

For a lot of years my mom made excuses for my dad’s threatening behavior and emotional instability. I was ten when I told my mother that she should divorce my father. That our lives were going to be destroyed because the man was an alcoholic. But my mom wouldn’t hear it. According to her, Dad wasn’t an alcoholic—because he never drank at work, and he wasn’t a skid row wino—he was “moody”.

According to her, I had no idea what I was talking about, so I best keep my opinion to myself.

Looking back know, I realize that my mother had to lie to herself because she didn’t know how to leave him.  She didn’t know how to make it on her own.  She had two young kids and no college education.  As an engineer, my dad was a good provider, and she’d decided that, for her, that was going to have to be enough. So she hunkered down, rode through the storms, and basically pretended things were fine. Fine, fine, fine.

So, here’s what you learn when you grow up in a dysfunctional household, when you have unhealthy role models. Here are 66 of the unspoken rules you adopt without even knowing it. You might recognize them too if you’re a die-hard people-pleaser:

1. Do not tell anyone what you really think or feel
2. Your feelings and wants don’t matter
3. Don’t tell the truth
4. Don’t air dirty laundry
5. Expect disappointment
6. Ignore your gut
7. Don’t ask for help
8. Do not make people angry
9. Do not get angry
10. Make no demands
11. Act like nothing is wrong
12. Be cheerful and agreeable if you know what’s good for you
13. Don’t rock the boat
14. Do not confront
15. Keep quiet
16. Don’t trust yourself, or others
17. Wait, and the storm will blow over
18. Figure it out on your own
19. Be perfect
20. Conform
21. Do not question
22. Do not think
23. By yourself you are nothing
24. Mistakes are not an option
25. Don’t make trouble
26. Try harder
27. When someone is upset, run and hide
28. You’re better off alone
29. If people really knew you, they’d hate you
30. You’re unacceptable as you are
31. You’re a burden
32. You’re not good enough
33. Words mean nothing
34. You have no control
35. It doesn’t matter what you do or say
36. You will never survive on your own
37. People will leave you alone if they feel sorry for you
38. Give a tit; get a tat
39. Guilt is good
40. If you have nothing nice to say, don’t say it at all
41. Be inconspicuous
42. Be a mind reader
43. Smile
44. Bare your neck
45. Keep your head down
46. Always be on the look out for trouble
47. Sacrifice yourself
48. Love means never complaining
49. Take one for the team
50. Never relax
51. Let sleeping dogs lie
52. Don’t ask, don’t tell
53. Do NOT stand out
54. Numb out
55. Keep your eyes closed
56. Be what others want you to be
57. Be loyal without question
58. Mistakes=chaos
59. Circle the wagons
60. Expect trouble
61. Always be gauging others
62. You will never get ahead
63. Invisible is good
64. It’s all an act
65. Look for the catch
66. Better the devil you know, than the devil you don’t

No wonder I’m so freaking laid back!