Beginnings to a Liberation Psychotherapy Understanding

***Contains descriptions of child abuse and violence towards animals***

What the hell is this liberation psychotherapy you’re yapping about anyways? It sounds like fancy talk from stuck-up professors in far away ivy towers.

Well, it’s not. Not to me anyways. It is practical, applicable, and will make all our lives better, safer, and saner. How is that you may ask. Spare me a few moments of your busy life. Let me to tell you one of many personal stories that led me on my journey to my understanding of of applied liberation psychology. What I am calling liberation psychotherapy. From theory to practice.

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When I was young my living was a solidly white, middle class, and suburban existence. It wasn’t any old suburbia that my younger years were spent in. Nope, it was the godfather of all planned suburban communities in the US. The (far from idyllic) perfect white flight suburban town within a town was called Johnathan located in Chaska, MN. My parents moved us there when I was at the sweet young age of 4. Around 1978. A year after punk rock music broke across the world. More on that later.

The serenity of whiteness didn’t last long. My mom was a stay-at-home mother while my father was off on business trip, likely having multiple affairs, or working in the garage where kids be damned to be around him. The divorce came when I was in the second grade. They divided us up for custody by asking me and my two siblings which parent they wanted to live. The siblings chose to live with my mother and I felt bad for my father so I went to live with him.

I remember this icky feeling of unfairness over the next few years. An unfairness that I would later come to understand as class oppression, living in a patriarchal society, general “fucked overness” of single mothers, or now a days aptly called intersectional oppression. When I was at my father’s house, as a reminder, he was living the solid middle class white flight and privileged life. We had food in the cupboards, the car was paid for, later on we had a four wheeler, basically I never heard him complain about money. While at my mother’s house she was in a constant mental depression. Having to look for work where she could find it. At different times she would have to go to the food shelf where we would eat that nasty generic black and white box of government cheese. The electricity at times was cut off for days.

I imagine that my father only wanted me because he could pay less in child support. My mother was very embarrassed about having to get “hand outs” which I’m sure further added to her depression.

It was no “white heaven” at my Irish catholic father’s house. I only new three distinct ways of him relating to me.

• First it was full on neglect where he never inquired of my whereabouts. He never even pretended to show interest in my passions (only his passions mattered such as sports but I was no Sporto). Left me at home alone starting at age 9 for full weekends while he was out with some new partner. Eventually he would end up buying food but it was a freezer full of the same microwavable hamburgers.
• Secondly, full on physical abuse. He was the classic example of bagging up emotions and then exploding. He was so unpredictable. I never knew what was coming on any given night. I was scared as shit of him as he was a huge strong man. One time he had a woman in his room who told him to stop me from playing guitar. A guitar I was excited to play that he just started me on lessons for. I was just practicing. Well eventually he unplugged my guitar, picked me up by my neck and threw me down 8 or 9 flight of stairs. The stairs had this green 70’s shag carpet on them. I remember standing up and walking back up crying and saying sorry. Only to be picked up once again by the neck and thrown down the stairs again. For some reason it happened once more. Eventually he grabbed me by my hair to drag me into my room. He started to punch on me so fiercely and uncontrollably I had to dissociate. He only stopped because my older brother came in with a baseball bat telling him to stop. My brother to this day says he doesn’t remember this. My brain won’t let me forget. Oh and though I’d rather forget, but it’s cathartic to write about, he had killed my dog. He broke her leg after throwing her into the garage. I didn’t have a choice with Dolly as he just told me nonchalantly when I got home from school. I better not cry because I was supposed to be a man. Welcome home from the first few days of the 6^th grade.
• The third and last way of him relating to me was through arguing politics. Not that I knew what the hell I was arguing for or about. You see he was a solid conservative. If not strait up right-winger. An early Rush Limbaugh listener and Fox news watcher. I don’t remember him saying to many racist jokes but affirmative action was racist. Oh and lordy those feminists were demon incarnate. The fall of all humankind. Femi-nazis and pro-choicers were worst than any serial killer. Once he passed away in my late twenties I had heard that he was C.I.A. Seriously doubt he was some type of James Bond spy but I’m sure he thought of himself that way. Hell he was a weekend cowboy. He was an engineer. Worked for Honeywell where I suspect he designed weapons for the military. Didn’t put it together to much later in life but most of his business trips were to US ally countries such as Taiwan and Israel. So makes sense to me anyways.

He was always full of ethical contradictions. As I wrote above he was a proud Irish Catholic. Within the US context he was far right-wing. Yet, he always had a soft spot for the I.R.A. of Northern Ireland. Mainly cause he could see them fighting for an oppressed Catholic minority. The I.R.A. were always considered left-nationalists as part of what they were fighting for was a socialist economy. Oh how nice it would be to not have to care about an ethically applied framework. You just call it as you see it. Such ignorance.

How did this affect me?

Stay tuned to for part two in my journey of a praticing liberation psychotherapist.

To read part II:

beginnings-to-a-liberation-psychotherapy-2bb

Thanks for reading Liberation Psychotherapy! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.