Never Broken: Songs Are Only Half the Story (40 page)

I read a study by a group of psychologists who wanted to understand why some children who have faced hardship have such emotional resilience. The study revealed a surprising answer: the kids who were resilient
knew their “oscillating family narrative.” This meant they knew the good and the bad. Not only where grandma went to school or grandpa’s favorite hobby, not just the accomplishments, but the darker moments as well. They came from families who did not keep secrets, and knowing that there are ups and downs that people face over time gave the children a sense of security. They would also have ups and downs, and that was okay. There was an overall arc that kept climbing onward. Honesty and transparency were key to emotional resilience.

As I write this, I am proud to say my dad and I have come a long way in healing our relationship. A lot of this is due to my dad’s determination to find his own health and happiness. While I took my own path to find happiness and healing, my dad spent years dedicated to healing his own wounds and trauma. We have had moments where he was able to not only communicate his regret and ownership for his shortcomings as a father when I was younger, but he has shown me with his actions that he has made real changes. He comes to my house and stays with us for months, and he is easy to have around. There is no tension. When he needs something, he lets me know clearly. There is nothing passive-aggressive. If I hurt him, he will tell me. If he hurts me, I will tell him, and we know we are both responsible enough to sit and listen, and we make amends. He allows me to be myself and he is encouraging of me as a mom and a person. He tells me he is proud of me and articulates why. He thinks I am a thoughtful parent, and he is very proud of the changes I have made to ensure I don’t repeat the patterns I was raised with. Often he puts a hand on my shoulder and with a tear in his eye says, “Jewel, I’m so amazed and so proud of who you have become despite what you had to work with. I admire you, honey.” I can’t tell you how good this feels.

He and I spend a lot of time talking about the past, about our journey and our healing. I was surprised to find out that when he married Nedra,
she made him feel a lot like she made me feel—as if he didn’t know very much and that she was an all-wise, all-spiritual person. He was so scared and empty from his childhood that he was thankful to meet someone like her and was happy to let her tell him what should be done.

I admire my father. While I wish he had been able to intervene earlier, I think it takes more courage to face these things after you have displayed years of abusive behavior. The shame and the hurt and the guilt make it nearly impossible to face up to. Making amends takes tremendous vulnerability, but it takes accountability to earn back a relationship that was lost. Words can be said easily, but one can’t fake actions. My dad and I are a loving father and daughter. We may not be what other fathers and daughters are, but what we have is real and safe and he shows up with honesty and I am thankful for it. I thank my dad for letting me tell my story uninhibited. When I told him about the book I was going to write, he said, “Jewel, this was your life. The things I did affected you and you have a right to talk about them.” He is willing to be seen on every step of his journey. This takes courage. I like to think of my dad as his true self now—I think as a child he was a gold statue covered in wounds and abuse, under layers of mud and crud. I feel I am getting to know who my dad really is and who he was meant to be.

One of the things my dad said he struggled the most with over the years in regard to my public life was learning that I was living in my car. People asked him how on earth he could let his child be homeless. I did not know this had been hard for him. At the time, I never did call family to tell them what was going on. When I moved out at fifteen, I just never looked back. It’s not that I thought that if I went back to Alaska, my dad would not give me shelter. He would have. I just never thought about it or thought to call. My dad knew I had been living with my mom in San Diego. I think I called him to say I was going to live in my car, but other than that I never called home when times got hard. He
told me recently that his own feelings of inadequacy made him feel unqualified to parent, especially from far away, and so he never called or checked in either.

I am thankful my dad has done the work it takes to live a different life. He has been sober for many years now and works hard at being honest with himself and others about his feelings and fears instead of lashing out to protect himself from them. I am astounded my son gets to have a relationship with him, and it warms my heart to see Kase get to know my dad as a loving and patient grandparent.

I am proud and thankful my dad stopped the generational cycle of abuse while he was alive. He was able to find tenderness and honesty with his kids sooner than his own father did. My dad found it before he was on his deathbed. I’m proud to have looked at these things and broken the cycle before I had my child. I hope Kase will be able to live a life always knowing his own worth and that he will avoid the traps that took me until I was forty to find my way out of.

My life, so far, has been about examining what worked in my childhood, keeping the good while being willing to see and let go of the bad. I wrote a song I call “The Family Tree.” I sang it for my dad, and afterward we both cried and hugged each other. We’re both warriors of the loneliest battlefield—the one that is contained within our own flesh. Both seekers of truth. I am proud of my life. I am thankful for the gifts both my parents gave me. I was made into a curious, creative, thoughtful person. The rest I give back. It never belonged to me anyway.

The Family Tree

Mama, I see your face now

In the mirror, it’s getting clearer

Daddy, all those things I said I wouldn’t do

I’ve been drawn to, ’cause I looked up to you

And I’ve loved you through this tangled legacy

Tracing the twisted roots of our family tree

I stayed strong like you did

I moved on like you did

And I wound up tough as stone like you did

If I don’t learn to bend, I know I’m going to break

Like you did

Lover, I must forgive you

I confused you with what I couldn’t see

Inside of me dark things pulling

Not evolving, made a puppet out of me

And you came with your own history

Both caught in the branches of our family tree

I stayed strong like you did

I moved on like you did

I wound up all alone like you did

If I don’t learn to bend, I know I’m gonna break

Just like you did

I love you but I need to look at who we’ve been

Take the fruit but choose the seeds I scatter on the wind

That’s the job of the kid, to do better than our parents did

So I’ll stay strong like you did

And I’ll move on like you did

But I won’t hide from the truth like you did

I’m learning to bend so I don’t break

And you can bet I’ll teach my kid that love will always find its way

just like you did

TO MY SON

long night of the dark soul

what once nurtured me

I must turn from now

yet leave the most tender part of me

behind

half of the time

child

I know you will read this one day

I know you will have questions

I know you will love that which I turn from

dearly as he is a part of you

and so I fear my turning from him

will make you feel as if I turned from

a part of you

as well

this drops me to my knees

even now as I write this

tears sting my eyes

and my lungs turn to iron

too full of sadness to breathe

it breaks my heart

to think you may ever

feel rejected in any part

by my decision

to separate from your father

I want you to love him

as he loves you

so deeply

so undeniably

but what he and I have created

aside from you

has turned from growth

to not merely stagnation

but the opposite of growth

we are reverting

and it is damaging to us both

and compromises us each

to the point I fear it may

compromise you

and so it is with love

that we turn from each other

it is with love for each other

and love for you

though it is hard for me

at this time to feel anything

but sadness for the pain

I fear I inflict on you

I have a hard time forgiving myself

for not seeing things sooner

for not being more perfect

as to figure this out

without leaving

but I suppose

I need to look at myself with the same

kindness I will look at you

when you are older

and you are learning

to form and reform yourself

I must be gentle with myself here for

I never knew love before you

how could I be touched

by something I knew not of in the past?

but loving you has showed me

how to love myself

and in this way your gift is twofold

in my life

loving you has echoed back

and bathes my own love

over me

I love myself enough to leave

I love myself enough to make sure

I am the kind of woman I want you to know

this has set a healing process in motion

it is literally as if

the future washed over the past

to change it forever

and then ripples into the more distant

future

of our family legacy to heal it as well

in ways I cannot foresee yet

but sense

the way an animal senses shelter

is near

it is not about perfection

it’s not about withholding love until

we feel we have earned it

and arrived at perfection

it’s about loving ourselves

in the process of becoming

what we want ourselves to be

it is a work in progress

it is a sculpture

that is not wrestled from stone

immaculately overnight

but the labor of a lifetime

and with hope

we are given a pencil to draw

scratchy lines

and with confidence our family gives us

we find courage to make bold ones

and with self-love

we are given the eraser needed

to scratch out and redraw a more accurate shape

we should not be so bound by shame

that we cannot renegotiate

or reimagine

our selves

we cannot be so bound

by the vision of others

that our own true shape

becomes obscured

. . .

I want to imagine myself boldly

I always wanted to

but you inspire me

even now

at two and a half

to be the best version

of myself I can be