Family Dynamics

It’s that time of year. If you are my age, December probably conjures up memories of Currier & Ives holiday cards and holiday movies – all depicting happy families gathering, satiated from a traditional holiday meal, reliving times past, and just contented to be together.

And why should it not? Whether, intentional or subconsciously, I was taught that the holidays were a time to congregate with not only the nuclear family, but with an extended family that includes grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins – all heterosexual, all of the same race/ethnicity, and all of the same religion, of course. 

I’ve been lucky. My family was/is by no means perfect, but that scene was pretty much my childhood. Consequently, it also made me oblivious to the fact that not everyone’s experiences are the same as mine.

Recently, my friend Sue asked me to watch Hillbilly Elegy, Ron Howard’s film adaptation of J.D. Vance’s memoir. I hadn’t intended to watch the movie. I read the book in 2016 because someone suggested that it would help me understand why rural America voted for Donald Trump. It didn’t. I’m a public health professional who can find empathy in almost any situation, but the only people I found redeeming in the book were Vance’s sister Lindsay and his girlfriend, now wife, Usha.

By his own account, Vance described his family as “highly dysfunctional.” His grandfather was an abusive and violent alcoholic. His father was absent. His mother suffered from substance abuse problems and exposed her children to a series of boyfriends/stepfathers. Vance credits his screaming, cursing maternal grandmother “Mamaw,” as his savior.  

Because Sue asked; “You have to watch it, so we can discuss it,” I watched the film version. That and because some of the work I’m doing now involves understanding Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs). 

The film has been panned by many film critics, but in my opinion, Ron Howard, as well as brilliant performances by Glenn Close as “Mamaw” and Amy Adams as Vance’s mother Bev, did what Vance didn’t do – made me feel compassion for rural white individuals who have been harmed by systems that have also repeatedly hurt and disenfranchised people of color 

It also made me think about how our society/culture has been programmed to turn away from families in abusive situations, or worse, to blame and shame the individuals who are suffering.

I watched an interview with Vance on YouTube where he reminisced fondly about the funeral procession for his grandfather when people pulled their cars off to the side of the road while the procession passed (which is still customary in rural communities). But I wondered, why is he glamorizing this show of respect for a violent person? How many people looked the other way when witnessing this family in crisis because it was “none of their business?” Or how many people normalize this behavior because it is their “normal?” How many times do families gather around a table to recant, glamorize, and laugh at stories of clear dysfunction because it has become family lore?  

I admit, it’s not easy to speak up when things seem amiss. In 2011 after a Grand Jury investigation revealed 15 years of child sexual abuse involving former Penn State defensive coordinator Jerry Sandusky, my colleagues at the Injury Prevention Center of Greater Dallas and I had a discussion about what we would do if we suspected abuse. We wanted to believe that we would speak up, but none of us were absolutely sure of what we would do. Part of that is because I have participated in multidisciplinary child fatality and intimate partner violence fatality review teams in Oklahoma and Dallas and have read too many cases where a system, whether it’s a church, law enforcement, or a government agency has protected an abuser even when a report has been made. 

Dysfunction doesn’t always manifest as blatantly as it did for J.D. Vance’s family. That makes it even harder to speak up in family situations when your expertise provides insight into potential mental health issues. I know from experience what it feels like to suggest counseling and be told to “stay out of it.” I also know what it feels like to feel guilt for years for not persisting when my worst fears came to fruition. 

We’ve also been taught that united is better than divided. I have devoted a lot of time in this blog to espousing that very sentiment. But sometimes unification is not always the answer because some family relationships are just toxic. 

Life is hard. Families are hard. I’ve finally realized that judging, blaming and shaming individuals for the adverse experiences that have shaped their lives does nothing to change those experiences. Systems have created the toxicity of familial dysfunction.

People are flawed. Our history is flawed. We need to spend our energy in creating protective factors within systems, so that when an individual makes a mistake, the system doesn’t fail them.  

Until then, we need to have more grace and less judgment for families in pain, regardless of race/ethnicity, religion, geographic and economic demographics, etc. 

I’ll start with me.