Why I’m teaching my teenage son the grey rock method
3 years ago shortly before the COVID pandemic I triggered the most radical shift ever in my kids’ lives.
It was a long time coming. Their father and I met in college and things quickly took off. We were campus infamous and the attention, partying and high-profile social circles distracted from the fundamental problem: we were two teenagers who didn’t know anything about the real world or relationships.
Let’s go back to where it began. My parents had an unconventional relationship. My dad was not only 11 years older than my mom but also born and raised in the US. My mother had migrated from the Philippines as an adult with the youngest of her 4 children, my brother. Her husband at the time, aka my brother’s biological father, quickly became her ex-husband when he did not fill out the necessary paperwork to join them in the US. My now 80-something year old father theorizes that he probably did that intentionally to get away from her but that is a story for another time. Anyways my mother gets a county job where my father was also working; he sees her, starts leaving roses on her desk and years later I’m a 4-year-old flower girl at their destination wedding.
About a year later I see my father smoking a cigarette in the garage. Not realizing what I had seen or was doing, I tell my mother what I had witnessed. Turns out my dad was supposed to have quit smoking 5 years ago once my mom got pregnant. They were both smokers up to that point but the deal was that since my mom was forced to quit my dad would as well. Turns out he only cut back and instead hid his habit from her. It was the first time I remember seeing my parents fight, but it was far from the last time.
Bickering was a daily part of life. More like, my mom always had a problem with someone — the bad driver on the road, the person who side-eyed our mixed and blended family while we were out and about (semi-valid though), the co-worker she deemed a competitor, my dad who did not do things the way she wanted or expected it to be done, etc. I recall her regularly getting offended by something my dad did or didn’t do. “I’ll pick up dinner since your dad hasn’t lifted a finger yet.” “I’ll take out the trash because he will wait until it gets too late.” My dad never engaged when she went on her rants. He didn’t judge either when the clutter took over all of our living areas and made the kitchen inoperable. In hindsight he was using the grey rock method without even realizing it. This is what I remember of their relationship.
Once I reached my teenage years and started dating (oh and watching all of the 90’s teen rom-coms of the era), I wondered why my parents never did anything conventionally romantic. No date nights, no PDA, not even coffee runs — they both drink a lot of coffee. I know relationships are not a fairytale but they never seemed happy. Like, joyous or even content in each other’s presence. It was confusing to witness. My soul knew it was wrong but I didn’t know why.
My children’s father on the other hand, did witness a more stable partnership between his mother and stepfather but never knew his biological father. His mother would not talk about him despite him being his Jr. While I cannot speak to the details of his experience, I do know that as an adult the lack of knowledge he had about his biological father created a belonging complex that definitely followed him into our relationship.
As a couple we were disjointed. We had fun in college but once our oldest child arrived it was harder for him to settle down. Our early relationship was marred by drama — other women, too much access to money and opportunities too soon. I could villainize who were then but we were both young and frankly, dumb.
We never grew out of that phase. I shifted into career and motherhood mode and took on the brunt of responsibilities. Then the brunt of the bills. It was hard to communicate the struggle I felt. When I communicated I was invalidated or chastised. Sometimes even physically threatened or hurt. (Note: The national domestic violence hotline number is 800–799–7233 if you or a loved one is experiencing abuse and need help.) I became numb and immune to all feelings, good and bad. I programmed myself to get through each day because my kids needed me. So I slept on that couch in the cold living room for years, made sure I succeeded professionally and kept the kids sheltered, clothed and fed.
Then the inevitable last straw came on unexpectedly. It was the fall of 2019. Our relationship had already unraveled by that point but he did not put in the effort to move out like we had agreed. And my patience was long gone. I guess his patience was gone too, for whatever reason he expected me to change my mind or get too busy to remember to hold him accountable like I had the few times before. But the anger I saw in his eyes and the way he threatened me that day was too raw to ignore. So I took my children somewhere safe and told him to pack his things and leave immediately. Most of our interaction from that point forward was on the phone because I did not feel safe talking in person. My friend came over as support when he asked to pick up the rest of his bags he left behind. Why those bags weren’t taken the first time around I’ll never know but it was a relief when the last of it was gone. I put a chair underneath the front door knob as extra security the next few nights.
A week later and after speaking with a new therapist he asked if I and the kids could come meet him. Begged for the opportunity to leave things on good terms. But instead it was a tear-filled plea at one of the kids’ favorite places to come back; to sleep on the couch and work his way back into the bedroom, to finally find the job he had said he would get for years, to help out more. I said no for the last time. While the kids watched I told him respectfully that we were done and there was no coming back. That we needed to coparent like we said we would. I hated being put in an awkward position but I was glad I finally had the courage to stand my ground.
Fast-forward years later and my 13 year-old is calling me from a bush near our house. We, including my current partner, had just attended his older brother’s basketball game and my children opted to spend time with their dad after the game. While their dad and I may have had a tumultuous past I never keep them from him as I believe in giving my children the opportunity to get to know him on their own terms. And I thought with time and maturity I would not have to worry about him threatening their physical safety.
Today was different. My youngest is intelligent and outspoken. A true Gemini, he can be your best friend or worst enemy. I think he’ll be a CEO one day. He’s calling because he offended his father when he had correctly referred to his home as “mom’s house” as he was being dropped off after the game. I was not there so I cannot attest to the tone he used or whether or not there was more to the story. But I do know the fear I heard in his voice when he told me his dad charged at him and started chasing him through the subdivision. He called once he found a quiet place alone after he ran into a parked car and tripped and fell into a bush. I immediately knew he wasn’t making it up because I too have run away from his dad like that before. His energy brought memories flooding back to me: the panic, the anxiety, the survival instinct.
His dad eventually found him in the bush. And with me still on the phone he lectured our son. I could recognize the backpedaling I had seen so many times from literally miles away. Then once our son would not agree with him I heard him get angry. Yelling at him to stop making a scene and go in the house. Then the call drops. I’m already rushing home praying for the best outcome. I call back and the phone picks up but nobody says hello. I hear a continued argument with a lot of tears in the background. My son keeps refusing to go inside the house until his father leaves the premises. His dad finally leaves and I stay on the phone with him until his brother locates him.
As I’m on the phone my son tells me he got scared, that he knew I had been hurt before and thought his father was going to hurt him too. As the boys get older I want to be transparent about our relationship so they can learn from our mistakes — but in that moment I was not prepared to find out that he knew more than I let on. I moved past feelings of defeat and failure to act. I told him some of the information I learned after studying narcissistic behavior, that he should not engage when it seems like he is no longer being heard or that someone is inexplicably mad at them. That sometimes people’s minds can’t be changed, that sometimes the truth for some does more harm than good. How to use the grey rock method when necessary.
While I thought I did my best to shelter my children from the ups and downs between their father and I, I should not be surprised that they could and did see everything. I know now that my recovery is one step of the process and that everyone in the household has their own journey towards it as well. We are going to take things one day at a time. It will not be easy but I believe that everything always works out.
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