I have been working on calling people out when they're being passive agressive or hurtful. Not engaging them, but bluntly saying, "that is not a nice thing to say" or "what is the purpose of saying that?". If I do that, at least there's a chance of them learning something from the exchange. I have been working on this with my husband's passive aggressive tendencies, but I can be baited into arguments so easily by my mom that I often forget all the great things therapy is teaching me.
She and I spent 3 hours alone in a car this weekend. She kept picking on me in the usual ways. The way I dress. My hair is too dark. My relationship with my husband. My relationship with her. She called me a bully, and related me to the most narcissistic person I know. I am not a pushover when it comes to my mother, and so I fought back all along the way.
After about 2 hours of arguing, it clicked. I need to disengage and call her out.
I said, "You know, you're hurtful today. For example, I know that you don't like my hair dark; if you had told me only once I would know that perfectly well, but you tell me repeatedly every time I talk to you. Telling me once MIGHT be okay, but telling me more the once can have only one purpose: to hurt my feelings."
Her: "You're my daughter, I should be able to say whatever I think. You're too sensitive."
Me: "I've been in therapy for two months, and I'm learning that I can be hurt most easily by my mother, because she is supposed to be supportive in all things."
Her: "...therapy? What does SHE say about this?"
Me: "That I'm not too sensitive. That its normal to have feelings. That it's not normal to be picked on relentlessly, and that it's even more painful if its by my mother."
She figured out quickly that the reason I'm in therapy is because of my alcoholism. She got immediately worried that I was trying to say that my alcoholism is her fault. I kept responding with versions of, "My therapy isn't about you. It's about me" until something magical happened.
She apologized.
Not a sarcastic apology, but a tearful "It's hard for me to understand that what I say can hurt your feelings, because this is the way I grew up. This is the relationship I have with my mother. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. I hope I've told you enough how proud I am of you."
She started telling me about her childhood and how she knows its affected the way she is as a parent. She said that she always remembers how jealous of her her mother was. She told me that one of my teachers told her a long time ago that I will require a lot of positive reinforcement, and she knows that she did not do that enough.
I wasn't surprised when she returned to her behavior of picking on me almost immediately, and with the oomph of knowing that it's actually hurting me. I knew that her apology wasn't a band-aid to our relationship. I knew that nothing would change. I know that, even though I begged her not to tell my gossipy Grandmother that I'm in therapy, it's only a matter of time before everybody knows. I know that she'll use it against me, as proof of her being right: she's not in therapy, so she's of more sound mind.
But at that moment, it was nice. It felt like I had found my mother. But it's heartbreaking to know that the person that she could be is almost certainly lost forever in the person that she is.
4.27.2011
4.21.2011
soliloquy
My car broke down on the highway on my way home from work. It happened about 30 miles to the west of our apartment, and about 50 miles to the east of my parents' house, with a garage full of a tools and a father who can (and loves to) fix anything.
After I called a tow truck, I called my dad to let him know what was going on and get his take. Without a beat, he told me to bring it home so he could at least look at it; he said that if its something he can fix, we'd save a lot of money; if not, we'd have to take it to the shop anyway. So, I had it towed to my parents' house. When I talked to my dad, I told him I only had cards on me and no checkbook, and asked him if they'd be able to cover me until I can get to an ATM if the tow truck only takes cash/checks. He said, "of course."
When we pulled in the driveway, my mom was standing outside with her checkbook. While the man was unhooking my car from the truck, I told her that I don't need them to write a check, because I found out that they take credit cards and I have one. Her response, in front of this stranger was, "BUT YOU DON'T HAVE A CREDIT CARD, RIIIIIIGHT?!" (She is totally opposed to the idea of anybody --except her, of course -- having a credit card and says things like this about it often.) I said, "I have a debit card" and went on to explain again that I just didn't have a checkbook with me. She kept insisting she pay for it. Finally I just pulled out my card and handed it to the man well before he asked for it, and said, "I have a good job. The problem was that I didn't have a checkbook and was afraid I would need it, not that I don't have money in my bank account."
After that, she would say things like, "Isn't it SOO nice you live close enough to home that you can get help from mommy and daddy when you need it?" and "What would you do without our help!"
Before I even sat down from this whole 3 hour ordeal (an hour of which was this introvert chatting with a stranger in a tow truck), she said, "Lets go to a movie. Your aunt wants to go to a movie, lets go." I told her that I started my day exhausted and that I was exponentially more so now. She said, "....she'll be so disappointed. She called earlier to ask me to a movie, and I said that it might be perfect because you were coming home. But that's fine." Then proceeded to make a big, sad show about calling my aunt and informing her that Melissa is much to cranky for a movie tonight.
I hadn't eaten since 10am and my mom hadn't eaten dinner, so we went to grab dinner and run by Walmart so I could pick up some clothes to sleep in and a toothbrush. The Walmart trip was horrendous. Reader, my mother and I stopped shopping together about 10 years ago. She has this habit of picking up a piece of clothing that is a pervision of something I wore within the last 15 years and declare that, "THAT is something YOU would like. Not me, of course. But YOU would." I try to avoid going to stores with her at all.
Then we went to check out. I put my things on the belt, and put a divider between hers and mine. She told me that she was going to buy my things for me. I said that there was no reason she should have to buy me these things, that it was nice enough that dad was going to take the time to look at my car and that she brought me to Walmart. She kept insisting that she pay, in a too-loud voice, until I paid for my things.
In the car on the way back home, she asked me personal questions about my husband and I. Things that I do not talk about with her. Do you sleep in the same bed, even though you have that extra room? How often do you get sex out of him? I told her none of that was her business. She said one of her favorite lines: that I am her daughter, and so anything about me is her business.
I said, "I may be your daughter, but I am an adult. I have gotten through a lot in my life. I'm married. If I had a credit card, that's between my husband and I. If my husband and I wanted to sleep in seperate beds, that's between him and I. If he wanted to quit school and move us to Japan, that's between him and I. My decisions from here on in are decided by my husband and I and nobody else. I don't need money, I don't need to be dressed, I don't need to be taught lessons. I don't WANT to be given any of those things, either. Yes, tonight I was in a position where help from my mechanically-inclined father will save me hundreds of dollars, and he is happy to help. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm already raised, and I resent any implication otherwise."
This isn't my first speech like this to my mother, but the first one that seemed to get somewhere. I like to believe she soaked some of it in. I'm sure she didn't.
After I called a tow truck, I called my dad to let him know what was going on and get his take. Without a beat, he told me to bring it home so he could at least look at it; he said that if its something he can fix, we'd save a lot of money; if not, we'd have to take it to the shop anyway. So, I had it towed to my parents' house. When I talked to my dad, I told him I only had cards on me and no checkbook, and asked him if they'd be able to cover me until I can get to an ATM if the tow truck only takes cash/checks. He said, "of course."
When we pulled in the driveway, my mom was standing outside with her checkbook. While the man was unhooking my car from the truck, I told her that I don't need them to write a check, because I found out that they take credit cards and I have one. Her response, in front of this stranger was, "BUT YOU DON'T HAVE A CREDIT CARD, RIIIIIIGHT?!" (She is totally opposed to the idea of anybody --except her, of course -- having a credit card and says things like this about it often.) I said, "I have a debit card" and went on to explain again that I just didn't have a checkbook with me. She kept insisting she pay for it. Finally I just pulled out my card and handed it to the man well before he asked for it, and said, "I have a good job. The problem was that I didn't have a checkbook and was afraid I would need it, not that I don't have money in my bank account."
After that, she would say things like, "Isn't it SOO nice you live close enough to home that you can get help from mommy and daddy when you need it?" and "What would you do without our help!"
Before I even sat down from this whole 3 hour ordeal (an hour of which was this introvert chatting with a stranger in a tow truck), she said, "Lets go to a movie. Your aunt wants to go to a movie, lets go." I told her that I started my day exhausted and that I was exponentially more so now. She said, "....she'll be so disappointed. She called earlier to ask me to a movie, and I said that it might be perfect because you were coming home. But that's fine." Then proceeded to make a big, sad show about calling my aunt and informing her that Melissa is much to cranky for a movie tonight.
I hadn't eaten since 10am and my mom hadn't eaten dinner, so we went to grab dinner and run by Walmart so I could pick up some clothes to sleep in and a toothbrush. The Walmart trip was horrendous. Reader, my mother and I stopped shopping together about 10 years ago. She has this habit of picking up a piece of clothing that is a pervision of something I wore within the last 15 years and declare that, "THAT is something YOU would like. Not me, of course. But YOU would." I try to avoid going to stores with her at all.
Then we went to check out. I put my things on the belt, and put a divider between hers and mine. She told me that she was going to buy my things for me. I said that there was no reason she should have to buy me these things, that it was nice enough that dad was going to take the time to look at my car and that she brought me to Walmart. She kept insisting that she pay, in a too-loud voice, until I paid for my things.
In the car on the way back home, she asked me personal questions about my husband and I. Things that I do not talk about with her. Do you sleep in the same bed, even though you have that extra room? How often do you get sex out of him? I told her none of that was her business. She said one of her favorite lines: that I am her daughter, and so anything about me is her business.
I said, "I may be your daughter, but I am an adult. I have gotten through a lot in my life. I'm married. If I had a credit card, that's between my husband and I. If my husband and I wanted to sleep in seperate beds, that's between him and I. If he wanted to quit school and move us to Japan, that's between him and I. My decisions from here on in are decided by my husband and I and nobody else. I don't need money, I don't need to be dressed, I don't need to be taught lessons. I don't WANT to be given any of those things, either. Yes, tonight I was in a position where help from my mechanically-inclined father will save me hundreds of dollars, and he is happy to help. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm already raised, and I resent any implication otherwise."
This isn't my first speech like this to my mother, but the first one that seemed to get somewhere. I like to believe she soaked some of it in. I'm sure she didn't.
4.17.2011
mother knows best
I'm back in the land of the living! I've made myself wallow this weekend; no work, no cleaning, no visiting , no baking. I still have to figure out where the tendrils of this Evil in my life have taken hold and expose them for what they are. But telling my secret has done so much good, and I'm on my way.
So, for now, I'd like to get back to regular programming!
Something I love about my therapist is that she's caught on that I am introvert in an extrovert's clothing, and that I will steer the conversation to anything more comfortable to talk about. When I'm doing this, she just waits silently for my mind to go back to what I need to be talking about.
In one of these quiet moments, I surprised myself by saying this: My mind (my emotional brain) and my brain (fact/logic/common sense) tell me two different things, and I give my emotional brain way too much credit.
As an example, here's how my fact-based, common sense brain and my emotional brain have to say about my college experience.
My fact-based brain looks at it like this....
But....
Today I had an epiphone. My "emotional brain" is my mom's voice in my head! And its not saying, "As long as you try your best, nothing else matters!" or "I love you no matter what."
It's saying: "You should have done better." It's saying: "You're so lazy!"
I was reading McBride's Will I Ever Be Good Enough and came to the recovery section a few weeks ago. In this section, McBride tries to help its reader develop their "Inner Mother," which I dismissed as Self-Help Bull Honky. But hell, that's what I'm talking about here: replacing my mom's voice in my head with a unconditionally loving voice that is understanding above all else.
I think the first step to replacing my mom's negative voice is to take all the sore spots and write them down. Write what my brain knows about the situation. Then write what I feel about myself with regards to the situation. I think I'll come to find out that most of the negative rhetoric will sounds just like all the crap my mother has fed me throughout my life.
I'm curious -- has anybody done this before? Any other suggestions with pulling apart my mom's voice in my head from my own?
So, for now, I'd like to get back to regular programming!
Something I love about my therapist is that she's caught on that I am introvert in an extrovert's clothing, and that I will steer the conversation to anything more comfortable to talk about. When I'm doing this, she just waits silently for my mind to go back to what I need to be talking about.
In one of these quiet moments, I surprised myself by saying this: My mind (my emotional brain) and my brain (fact/logic/common sense) tell me two different things, and I give my emotional brain way too much credit.
As an example, here's how my fact-based, common sense brain and my emotional brain have to say about my college experience.
My fact-based brain looks at it like this....
I studied Aerospace Engineering in college and minored in math, and I worked my ass off. My last three years of college, I was averaging 4-6 hours of sleep a night just so I could get my work done. The only time I was with friends was to work together on homework. My senior design project took even more time than usual, on top of me maxing out the number of credit hours the university would let me take in a single semester. But the project turned out fantastic, landed me the job I have today working on a NASA satellite subsystem, and created many lasting friendships.
That said, my first few years of college were unbelievably rough on me. I dealt with things ranging from feeling abandoned by God to having vicious, unfounded rumors spread about me to feeling as if I had lost the love of my life, and I dealt with them in unhealthy, college-like ways. On top of all that, I contracted Mono and was sleeping all the time, which killed my GPA. The only way I graduated on time with a decent GPA was to take maximum credit loads for five semesters, which is commendable on top of an already difficult major: out of the 200 people who started out in my major, less than 30 graduated, and only 4 of them were women.
But....
The first thing I feel when I think of college was the terrible things I did the first year. Getting black-out drunk at parties, smoking pot, sneaking off weekends to other college towns, getting involved with men who were jackasses. I think about trying to get boys to fall for me at parties, getting sick in the dorm bathroom, walking home across campus at 4am after waking up on a friend of a friend of a friend's couch. I think about how I screwed up that Physics lab. I think about how I could've done better in mechanics. I think how I could've been a nicer person through it all. And on and on.You get the gist. I know that if I met somebody on the street who has done the things I have, I would consider them successful. I would be able to see their mistakes as being lost, hurt, confused, and young. But when I think about myself, my emotional brain trudges up everything I've done wrong and conveniently ignores the commendable accomplishments.
Today I had an epiphone. My "emotional brain" is my mom's voice in my head! And its not saying, "As long as you try your best, nothing else matters!" or "I love you no matter what."
It's saying: "You should have done better." It's saying: "You're so lazy!"
I was reading McBride's Will I Ever Be Good Enough and came to the recovery section a few weeks ago. In this section, McBride tries to help its reader develop their "Inner Mother," which I dismissed as Self-Help Bull Honky. But hell, that's what I'm talking about here: replacing my mom's voice in my head with a unconditionally loving voice that is understanding above all else.
I think the first step to replacing my mom's negative voice is to take all the sore spots and write them down. Write what my brain knows about the situation. Then write what I feel about myself with regards to the situation. I think I'll come to find out that most of the negative rhetoric will sounds just like all the crap my mother has fed me throughout my life.
I'm curious -- has anybody done this before? Any other suggestions with pulling apart my mom's voice in my head from my own?
4.16.2011
status
I went to my therapist yesterday. I sat down and told her that I was more nervous than I have ever been to come see her. I started on my way to a panic attack, so I just said the words: "I was molested." I told her more of the story than I even said here, which is gigantic for me.
I want to thank you all for your comments on my last post. Your kind, understanding words went a long way in making me feel safe enough to tell the story aloud.
After therapy last night, my husband and I went out with our Couple Friends. It wasn't what I would've chosen to do right after a hefty therapy session, but it was cleansing to laugh so much. When we got back home around midnight, I told my husband that I told my therapist what had happened when I was little. I had never outright said the words to him before, but I had alluded over the years that something had happened, and it wasn't hard to for him to figure out who did it.
Having said it out loud has taken such a weight off me. Its amazing how much more poisonous it can be for the darkness to just be sitting inside me than after bringing it to light.
I feel as if this rock had been tied to my heart, weighing it down, for all these years. And I finally cut the damn strings.
I want to thank you all for your comments on my last post. Your kind, understanding words went a long way in making me feel safe enough to tell the story aloud.
After therapy last night, my husband and I went out with our Couple Friends. It wasn't what I would've chosen to do right after a hefty therapy session, but it was cleansing to laugh so much. When we got back home around midnight, I told my husband that I told my therapist what had happened when I was little. I had never outright said the words to him before, but I had alluded over the years that something had happened, and it wasn't hard to for him to figure out who did it.
Having said it out loud has taken such a weight off me. Its amazing how much more poisonous it can be for the darkness to just be sitting inside me than after bringing it to light.
I feel as if this rock had been tied to my heart, weighing it down, for all these years. And I finally cut the damn strings.
4.14.2011
lost in the trees
I asked myself today why I have been avoiding writing here or thinking about this blog, when normally it is so enjoyable for me. I realized that I have no idea what to write. I have no thoughts right now. It's as if my emotional brain had just shut down. And then, at that moment, it powered back on. And for the first time I can remember, I cried an onrush of tears that about the secret that I've held onto so tightly.
I thought that publishing the last post would be the hard part, but of course dealing with my emotional aftermath is. The truth is, the last post has forced me to face things that I haven't ever really faced and when I get upset, I shut down. I avoid dealing with things and retreat into myself, presumably because I have so often been scarred by showing vulnerability.
I've spent the last few days stressed out to the max with work and with people at work. I finally noticed today that something wasn't right, so I left work at 2:30. I came home, read, did yoga, caught up on a couple of television shows. And I was able to get centered enough to figure something monumental out. Really, the situations in the past few days haven't been any different than they usually are. Work has been pretty much the same. I have the same deadlines. I have the same coworkers, that annoy me in the same way. Hell, my boss is actually out of town! Only my reaction to the situations is different....this intense, dizzy-sick feeling of just absolute stress.
And then this image of a shivering, nipping chihuahua comes to mind: after baring my soul, I'm feeling small and anxious, and so am pushing everything away to feel safe and normal again. Particularly my own feelings.
I can't think of much more to say than that right now; my brain is an exhausted, sloppy mess right now. Today is the first day in probably about a month where I have thought, "I could really use a drink", even. Luckily, I have had a therapy appointment on the books for tomorrow evening. I think it will be a hefty one.
I will be back in a few days' time. Since I don't have many words for you, here's a sweetly tragic song by Lost in the Trees that emotes perfectly how I'm feeling.
I thought that publishing the last post would be the hard part, but of course dealing with my emotional aftermath is. The truth is, the last post has forced me to face things that I haven't ever really faced and when I get upset, I shut down. I avoid dealing with things and retreat into myself, presumably because I have so often been scarred by showing vulnerability.
I've spent the last few days stressed out to the max with work and with people at work. I finally noticed today that something wasn't right, so I left work at 2:30. I came home, read, did yoga, caught up on a couple of television shows. And I was able to get centered enough to figure something monumental out. Really, the situations in the past few days haven't been any different than they usually are. Work has been pretty much the same. I have the same deadlines. I have the same coworkers, that annoy me in the same way. Hell, my boss is actually out of town! Only my reaction to the situations is different....this intense, dizzy-sick feeling of just absolute stress.
And then this image of a shivering, nipping chihuahua comes to mind: after baring my soul, I'm feeling small and anxious, and so am pushing everything away to feel safe and normal again. Particularly my own feelings.
I can't think of much more to say than that right now; my brain is an exhausted, sloppy mess right now. Today is the first day in probably about a month where I have thought, "I could really use a drink", even. Luckily, I have had a therapy appointment on the books for tomorrow evening. I think it will be a hefty one.
I will be back in a few days' time. Since I don't have many words for you, here's a sweetly tragic song by Lost in the Trees that emotes perfectly how I'm feeling.
4.11.2011
oh brother
Dear Reader,
I have spent my life so far trying to live in the space between letting people feel as if they really know me and guarding my pride by keeping my secrets. When I tell deeply personal stories, I edit and delete enough to feel protected and to keep that gap between You and Me from getting unmanageably small. This blog is meant to be a conscious step -- albeit a baby one -- toward changing my immediate reaction from hiding to openness, so I think it's time to tell you one of my biggest secrets.
I have mentioned my "brother's daughter's mom" a few times, without ever talking about my brother himself, which is completely normal for me. Most people are very surprised to hear that I have a brother or easily forget that I do, because I mention my sister rather often and never talk about him. "My Brother" is actually my half-brother from my mom's previous marriage; he was 8 months old when my mom and her ex-husband divorced. She moved from Pennsylvania (her ex-husband's hometown) back home to Ohio with my half-brother, met my Dad, got pregnant with me, and married soon after. Later came a little sister. Our mom was strict, and my brother's dad was lenient (smoking pot with him at age 11 while hunting -type lenient). Our mom had full custody, until my brother came home from a summer visit with his dad and told our mom that he wanted to live with his dad instead. After thinking about it, my mom acquiesced because she didn't want to put him through a custody battle. That summer, my brother moved to Pennsylvania to live with his father, with the stipulation that my brother would spend summers and vacations with my family. He was 12 when he left. I was 8.
Years later, when I was in 7th grade, I was in the health class about Changing Bodies and the like. While I was in that class, I had my first flashback to being molested by my brother in 3rd grade. I'm finding myself editing out the harsher parts of this story because I'm not sure what level of detail will make this too difficult for you (and frankly, for me) so I am going to tell you all of the difficult broad strokes without dwelling on them:
A. At the time, I just thought we were playing.
B. I have no idea if I thought it was wrong or not as it was happening.
C. I don't believe it was recurring.
D. While having the initial flashback, I recalled my mother being aware that something was off afterwards. This, of course, could be that she actually did have some sort of suspicion, full-out knew, that I had a guilty conscience, or I was misremembering due to projecting my guilty conscience. My therapist is convinced that she was aware of it, that she effectively sent my brother away because of it, and that she's treated me because of resentment of the situation.
I am 90% sure this happened, but I also have had powerful false memories in the past, especially due to dreams. That said, the effect on me has been the same. To make matters worse, I had discovered Christianity at the beginning of that year, and having this in my past made me believe I was dirty, used goods. I remember becoming a Christian at a summer camp, crying my eyes out in the hope that this would make me feel clean.
It didn't.
As far as the effect the abuse had on me...I'm unsure. Sometimes, I rarely think about it. I've gone years without thinking about it in the past. Sometimes, I think about it a lot, and try to dissect the effect it had on me. But if I learned anything in the past few months, its that humans internalize more than they would ever guess. But this is one of the reasons I don't tell this to people....thinking that it might not have affected me seems completely abnormal. Shouldn't this have devastated my life?
When my brother left to live with his dad, my mom changed. I know that my mom has always been a bit of a nutjob, but this definitely worsened it. I don't recall any of this, because I was young, but she maintains that my brother and I were always bickering before he left, and that my sister and him were close. Because of this, my mom openly blames my father and I for my brother leaving, saying that my dad always favored me in these fights. After my brother left, my mom overcompensated and always sided with my little sister. From then on, I couldn't do anything right and my sister could do no wrong.
When my brother was in high school, he was suspended several times. He stole jewelry and diamonds from my mom to give to his girlfriend and pawn. He brought a friend with him from Pennsylvania, and my mom found weed in the room they were staying in after catching them outside. My family had a New Years Eve get-together at a hotel, and my brother disappeared. He came back in the early morning high and drunk, and we woke up to him choking on his own vomit in his sleep.
As you might expect, he barely graduated high school. And then his girlfriend got pregnant, which is the one good thing that I've seen come from his life.He couldn't keep a job; he'd start one, get his first paycheck, and disappear on a drug binge. Soon after, my brother went to prison for drugs and criminal trespassing. When he was out on parole, he cut off his ankle bracelet and threw it in a dumpster, they found him, and they took him back to prison. He was given a time range for his sentence, and was going to go the minimum....until he stabbed a guard with a pencil. When I was a sophomore in college, completely living on loans and buried in schoolwork, I got the one and only letter I received from him. He was in prison and asking for $100. My then-pregnant 18-yr-old sister got the same letter.
After that, I stopped talking to my brother and started refusing to talk to my mom about him as if he has been wronged by the system. I will not let him manipulate me; somebody has to refuse to be seduced. He is completely unreformed, often saying that he's going to sue to the state of Pennsylvania for wrongful imprisonment and live on the paycheck for the rest of his life. The last time they spoke, he told my mom that he's going to "take care" of people like my Grandpa did -- alluding to an incident where my Grandpa got drunk and threatened my Grandma's life with a gun to her temple. My mom called my brother's counselor to tell her of what transpired, and the counselor said that my brother had been refusing treatment, except for the drugs. Including heavy doses of anti-psychotics.
Recently, my brother told my mom that my Grandma sexually abused him. I have no idea if this is true. I would be unsurprised to find out my Grandma, another person in my life with Narcissistic Personality Disorder, did abuse him. I would also be unsurprised to find out that it is yet another manipulation tactic from my brother to prove that his life isn't his responsibility. But what I know is this: for over 10 years, I have been cursed with a flashback that I was molested -- by him, no less -- and I haven't stabbed anyone with a pencil.
It makes me so nervous to share this with you that my heart is beating out of my chest. I don't want you to know I was sexually molested, by my brother, no less. I don't want you to know that I must be dead inside for it not to have had major tangible effects. I don't want you to know that I do not feel an ounce of pity for my brother as he rots in prison. I don't want you to know that my husband, who I've known for 6 years, has never met my brother and doesn't care to. I don't want you to know that I dread the day, less than two years from now, that my brother is out of prison, because the thought makes me scared for everybody I love.
But there it is.
Melissa
PS -- As a happy sidenote, my family has an excellent relationship with his daughter and daughter's mom. His daughter's mom has put herself through teaching school and is living on her own with her daughter. My niece's mom has lost patience with my brother, and has moved on. Only time will tell if he has.
4.08.2011
fight fair
As an engineer, it is quite literally my job to have a different point of view from those around me and to express it. At work, my colleagues and I can freely express disagreement, because it's not personal -- its for the common goal. Being a good engineer requires one to be aware that they do not know everything: because I have a background in X while my colleagues have a background in Y and Z, we all must point out issues and work off each others' strengths to find our best solution. I have to say, this is one of the aspects of my job I find most invigorating.
However, it does not translate to home for me. I had developed a habit of saying, “The problem with that is….” to my then-fiance (now husband) which I have come to understand sounds belittling outside the no-holds-barred engineering environment. At home, talking about where we might move to or wedding plans or any joint decision, I had to realize that we are coming at it from the same exact knowledge base. This tactic of disagreement works well professionally, but at home, it can come off as: “I know more than you and my feelings on the subject have more relevance.” Friends of mine that are also engineers report having similar issues with their disagreement tactics when applied to non-work situations.
The truth of the matter is this: I never learned how to fight fair with regard to personal matters. I’m known for retreating into myself when I get mad or stressed, often literally biting my tongue. I realize that if I don’t, I will say something nasty, completely unconstructive, hurt the other person, and wish I could take it back the second I say it. So, I try to wait until I cool down, to dig through the anger to get to the hurt, and that usually takes me a few days. After I cool down, I usually think I forgave and forgot, only to find out later that I haven't forgotten at all and that it has been simmering below the surface, causing me to have a disproportionate reaction about a later issue.
Another truth: my husband comes from a family of pacifists-to-a-fault. I love them to death, but they are full of passive-aggressive, enabling “peacemakers”, which is a stark contrast to my family's in-your-face disagreements. When my husband and I have an argument, even a calm and rational one, he gets sort of a post-fight hangover that takes the form of a dark cloud following him (eh em, us) around for a couple of days. He says it is because I always seem to have a problem with his behavior, he gets crapped on, and then he has to change his pattern and be mindful; but that I rarely have to do that for him. But, I notice that it is much more likely to happen if he’s already in sort of a funk, and perhaps he is unconsciously displacing his other anger on me because I just gave him a reason to.
I don't think I haven't ever been in a situation where I could learn to fight fairly. I certainty didn't learn it from my parents, I definitely didn't learn it from friends (Reader, I'm sure this is something we'll talk about down the road), and the way I have learned to disagree with people at work offers lessons that only apply to impersonal situations -- not everyday disagreements with my husband or other loved ones. Year One of marriage is certainly providing its classes in Loving Disagreements, and I'm learning along the way, but it makes me wonder.....is this an effect of having an unhealthy childhood? Is this something everybody learns as they enter adulthood and the long-haul relationships that come with it? Is it a product of being an engineer? Or is this just an idiosyncrasy of my personality?
However, it does not translate to home for me. I had developed a habit of saying, “The problem with that is….” to my then-fiance (now husband) which I have come to understand sounds belittling outside the no-holds-barred engineering environment. At home, talking about where we might move to or wedding plans or any joint decision, I had to realize that we are coming at it from the same exact knowledge base. This tactic of disagreement works well professionally, but at home, it can come off as: “I know more than you and my feelings on the subject have more relevance.” Friends of mine that are also engineers report having similar issues with their disagreement tactics when applied to non-work situations.
The truth of the matter is this: I never learned how to fight fair with regard to personal matters. I’m known for retreating into myself when I get mad or stressed, often literally biting my tongue. I realize that if I don’t, I will say something nasty, completely unconstructive, hurt the other person, and wish I could take it back the second I say it. So, I try to wait until I cool down, to dig through the anger to get to the hurt, and that usually takes me a few days. After I cool down, I usually think I forgave and forgot, only to find out later that I haven't forgotten at all and that it has been simmering below the surface, causing me to have a disproportionate reaction about a later issue.
Another truth: my husband comes from a family of pacifists-to-a-fault. I love them to death, but they are full of passive-aggressive, enabling “peacemakers”, which is a stark contrast to my family's in-your-face disagreements. When my husband and I have an argument, even a calm and rational one, he gets sort of a post-fight hangover that takes the form of a dark cloud following him (eh em, us) around for a couple of days. He says it is because I always seem to have a problem with his behavior, he gets crapped on, and then he has to change his pattern and be mindful; but that I rarely have to do that for him. But, I notice that it is much more likely to happen if he’s already in sort of a funk, and perhaps he is unconsciously displacing his other anger on me because I just gave him a reason to.
I don't think I haven't ever been in a situation where I could learn to fight fairly. I certainty didn't learn it from my parents, I definitely didn't learn it from friends (Reader, I'm sure this is something we'll talk about down the road), and the way I have learned to disagree with people at work offers lessons that only apply to impersonal situations -- not everyday disagreements with my husband or other loved ones. Year One of marriage is certainly providing its classes in Loving Disagreements, and I'm learning along the way, but it makes me wonder.....is this an effect of having an unhealthy childhood? Is this something everybody learns as they enter adulthood and the long-haul relationships that come with it? Is it a product of being an engineer? Or is this just an idiosyncrasy of my personality?
4.05.2011
green-eyed momster
I started reading farther into Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers a few nights ago. The particular section I started at struck a chord so much that it brought up some unresolved anger about an incident with my NM. It was part of the book was about the envy of the NM towards her daughter.
I recall realizing at an early age that my mom seemed jealous of me. When I was growing up, she would always say that my father loved the kids better than her. Through college, she would get mad that I "got to do fun things" as they stayed at home and “toiled away” (I haven’t told you this yet, Reader, but I was in a major in college that demanded a particular sort of commitment to it; I started with 200 people in my major my freshman year, and graduated less than 30. I was doing fun things, sure, but I wasn’t being spared from toiling away by any means). Her lack of invitation to my bachelorette party made her fume. My mom will happily offer to babysit for my sister so she can go out with friends, and then attacks her for the next few days over everything, telling her that it's her own fault that she's tired because she went out too late and drank too much (even if she clearly isn’t tired from it and didn't drink a drop).
But this is all dwarfed by the biggest source of her envy: my other families. When I was little, it was my relationship to my friends and their families. Then it was my relationship with my boyfriends or their families. Now, its my relationship to my in-laws, particularly when it comes to holidays. My husband and I live an hour away from my family and 3.5 hours away from his family. Trying to make a Thanksgiving and Christmas at both families was difficult when we were both in college and on holiday breaks for them; now that I have a full-time job, it is ridiculous to think of trying to. When I called my mom in early October (1.5 months early!) to let her know that my husband and I have made a decision to spend Thanksgiving with my family and Christmas with my husband's family, my mom was out for a work meeting and my Dad answered. My mom has these meetings at some interval, but I don’t know when or how often, although when I call when she’s at them, she'll expect a nefarious reason. I told my dad what I was calling to tell my mom. He innocently told my mother, and the next morning, I received an email response from my mother at work. I always say that passive-agressive isn't my family's style. Agressive-agressive is our modus operandi. Case in point.
NM:
"I saw you called last night. I hope you were not trying to circumvent me while I was at a meeting to get the answer you want from Dad. Haven't we been there,done that?
I realize you guys have to travel on the holidays usually, but when do you propose to exchange gifts here? Many people do travel on the holidays to see their family. Christmas is on Saturday. Can't you come here Christmas Eve and leave for <Husband's hometown> on Christmas. Or have Christmas Eve in <my husband and my current city> and Christmas morning here. Usually <Sister> does not have to go anywhere until afternoon on Christmas. Don't you want to see <Niece> and <Nephew>, me, <Sister> and Dad on Christmas? As far as Thanksgiving, I need to call <Brother’s Daughter’s mom> to see what her plans are to come or not. Thanksgiving seems to work on Friday."
I have to say, reading this email still pisses me off. I could list off all the reasons why my husband and I chose to split the holidays this way, Reader, but I have a feeling that you might understand that our decision did not involve purposely causing offense to anybody.
I responded to her with a very long email outlining our thought process, to prove the underlying reasons. It was biting, but fair. It made me feel better to send it, even though I knew it would accomplish very little. I had outlined exactly what our reasons were, leaving her with no leg to stand on. Now I realize that it is typical of my communication with my mother...
1) Try to remain calm. Emphasis on "try". Usually fail. Bite back just enough to feel revenged, usually in response to a particular nasty comment from her.
2) Use logic -- logic is undeniable.
3) Use email/text and be as explicit as possible: then my words can't be twisted.
And I met my goal: she stopped arguing that we had to come to both Christmas and Thanksgiving. I left her with no legs to stand on!
But, of course, it didn’t matter in the end. She just changed how her anger came out. In the days up to Thanksgiving she stopped saying that we were favoring my husband's family, but instead, she would say in a nasty tone that my husband and I just dictated to her what we were going to do for the holiday (Of course we did! We are married, a family of our own, and can make our own damn decisions!) She constantly said that my nephew and niece weren't going to have their aunt and uncle there for Christmas. She used every tool at her disposal to show me her anger over the fact that we weren't planning on going to be in my hometown for both holidays.
My husband and I stuck to our guns. Thanksgiving in my hometown, Christmas in his. When Thanksgiving rolled around, though, my Mom attacked my sister verbally to the point that my sister left and said she wouldn't be back for dinner. Then my Mom came after me, saying things like, "Why don't you go and see the people you ACTUALLY want to be with?" to the point that we told her we were going home and left. And then we went to spend Thanksgiving with my husband's family -- because I'll be damned if her tantrum ruins our holiday. Later, when she asked me what we did for Thanksgiving, I told her that it was none of her business the second after she ran us out of her house.
Thanksgiving at his family would be considered a disaster in my mom’s eyes. We heated up store-bought entrees and sides. It was disgusting, and cold, and the one thing we did buy and bake ourself -- the turkey -- was undercooked. And it was the best Thanksgiving my husband and I have had together.
I’m trying to use this NM Parable to learn my lessons in communicating with my mother…
1. She’ll probably get to me, because, as my mother, she knows the buttons and can find them when looking. But, I don’t have to give her that pleasure. I can stick to my guns, make my own decisions, and she can make whatever noise she wants. I can try to find out why these sore spots she’s pressing on are sore at all, and fix them. I can draw firm boundaries and refuse to engage her. I can choose to keep my dignity. I can choose to block her out. I can choose to realize that this person, while she did give birth to me, is a far cry from a Mother.
2. I can use logic all I want, but will likely just force her into a corner with it where she’ll just scratch her way out. She hates losing control, regardless of reason.
3. Email/text helps in the immediate time frame, but will inevitably spill over into life. Really, the best bet is to avoid extraneous conversations altogether.
I’ve been working on this. I used to call my mom idly, because I was bored or wanted to see what they had for dinner. Considering about 50% of our phone conversations ends with me being degraded or bossed around in some way, I’ve been avoiding calling her unless necessary.
But I’m not doing so well at it. Just a few days ago, I let myself get baited, and my mom started yelling on the phone, and hung up when I tried to stop her. Then picked up and hung up when I called her back. And let it go to voicemail the next time.
I wish this blog post ended with resolution. But it won’t, because I haven't gotten there yet. I have listed out what I have to do, but I don't know how to actually implement it. I don’t know how to keep myself from being baited. I don’t know how to finally learn that yes, my mom gave birth to me, but I can’t expect her to be a Mother.
I recall realizing at an early age that my mom seemed jealous of me. When I was growing up, she would always say that my father loved the kids better than her. Through college, she would get mad that I "got to do fun things" as they stayed at home and “toiled away” (I haven’t told you this yet, Reader, but I was in a major in college that demanded a particular sort of commitment to it; I started with 200 people in my major my freshman year, and graduated less than 30. I was doing fun things, sure, but I wasn’t being spared from toiling away by any means). Her lack of invitation to my bachelorette party made her fume. My mom will happily offer to babysit for my sister so she can go out with friends, and then attacks her for the next few days over everything, telling her that it's her own fault that she's tired because she went out too late and drank too much (even if she clearly isn’t tired from it and didn't drink a drop).
But this is all dwarfed by the biggest source of her envy: my other families. When I was little, it was my relationship to my friends and their families. Then it was my relationship with my boyfriends or their families. Now, its my relationship to my in-laws, particularly when it comes to holidays. My husband and I live an hour away from my family and 3.5 hours away from his family. Trying to make a Thanksgiving and Christmas at both families was difficult when we were both in college and on holiday breaks for them; now that I have a full-time job, it is ridiculous to think of trying to. When I called my mom in early October (1.5 months early!) to let her know that my husband and I have made a decision to spend Thanksgiving with my family and Christmas with my husband's family, my mom was out for a work meeting and my Dad answered. My mom has these meetings at some interval, but I don’t know when or how often, although when I call when she’s at them, she'll expect a nefarious reason. I told my dad what I was calling to tell my mom. He innocently told my mother, and the next morning, I received an email response from my mother at work. I always say that passive-agressive isn't my family's style. Agressive-agressive is our modus operandi. Case in point.
NM:
"I saw you called last night. I hope you were not trying to circumvent me while I was at a meeting to get the answer you want from Dad. Haven't we been there,done that?
I realize you guys have to travel on the holidays usually, but when do you propose to exchange gifts here? Many people do travel on the holidays to see their family. Christmas is on Saturday. Can't you come here Christmas Eve and leave for <Husband's hometown> on Christmas. Or have Christmas Eve in <my husband and my current city> and Christmas morning here. Usually <Sister> does not have to go anywhere until afternoon on Christmas. Don't you want to see <Niece> and <Nephew>, me, <Sister> and Dad on Christmas? As far as Thanksgiving, I need to call <Brother’s Daughter’s mom> to see what her plans are to come or not. Thanksgiving seems to work on Friday."
I have to say, reading this email still pisses me off. I could list off all the reasons why my husband and I chose to split the holidays this way, Reader, but I have a feeling that you might understand that our decision did not involve purposely causing offense to anybody.
I responded to her with a very long email outlining our thought process, to prove the underlying reasons. It was biting, but fair. It made me feel better to send it, even though I knew it would accomplish very little. I had outlined exactly what our reasons were, leaving her with no leg to stand on. Now I realize that it is typical of my communication with my mother...
1) Try to remain calm. Emphasis on "try". Usually fail. Bite back just enough to feel revenged, usually in response to a particular nasty comment from her.
2) Use logic -- logic is undeniable.
3) Use email/text and be as explicit as possible: then my words can't be twisted.
And I met my goal: she stopped arguing that we had to come to both Christmas and Thanksgiving. I left her with no legs to stand on!
But, of course, it didn’t matter in the end. She just changed how her anger came out. In the days up to Thanksgiving she stopped saying that we were favoring my husband's family, but instead, she would say in a nasty tone that my husband and I just dictated to her what we were going to do for the holiday (Of course we did! We are married, a family of our own, and can make our own damn decisions!) She constantly said that my nephew and niece weren't going to have their aunt and uncle there for Christmas. She used every tool at her disposal to show me her anger over the fact that we weren't planning on going to be in my hometown for both holidays.
My husband and I stuck to our guns. Thanksgiving in my hometown, Christmas in his. When Thanksgiving rolled around, though, my Mom attacked my sister verbally to the point that my sister left and said she wouldn't be back for dinner. Then my Mom came after me, saying things like, "Why don't you go and see the people you ACTUALLY want to be with?" to the point that we told her we were going home and left. And then we went to spend Thanksgiving with my husband's family -- because I'll be damned if her tantrum ruins our holiday. Later, when she asked me what we did for Thanksgiving, I told her that it was none of her business the second after she ran us out of her house.
Thanksgiving at his family would be considered a disaster in my mom’s eyes. We heated up store-bought entrees and sides. It was disgusting, and cold, and the one thing we did buy and bake ourself -- the turkey -- was undercooked. And it was the best Thanksgiving my husband and I have had together.
I’m trying to use this NM Parable to learn my lessons in communicating with my mother…
1. She’ll probably get to me, because, as my mother, she knows the buttons and can find them when looking. But, I don’t have to give her that pleasure. I can stick to my guns, make my own decisions, and she can make whatever noise she wants. I can try to find out why these sore spots she’s pressing on are sore at all, and fix them. I can draw firm boundaries and refuse to engage her. I can choose to keep my dignity. I can choose to block her out. I can choose to realize that this person, while she did give birth to me, is a far cry from a Mother.
2. I can use logic all I want, but will likely just force her into a corner with it where she’ll just scratch her way out. She hates losing control, regardless of reason.
3. Email/text helps in the immediate time frame, but will inevitably spill over into life. Really, the best bet is to avoid extraneous conversations altogether.
I’ve been working on this. I used to call my mom idly, because I was bored or wanted to see what they had for dinner. Considering about 50% of our phone conversations ends with me being degraded or bossed around in some way, I’ve been avoiding calling her unless necessary.
But I’m not doing so well at it. Just a few days ago, I let myself get baited, and my mom started yelling on the phone, and hung up when I tried to stop her. Then picked up and hung up when I called her back. And let it go to voicemail the next time.
I wish this blog post ended with resolution. But it won’t, because I haven't gotten there yet. I have listed out what I have to do, but I don't know how to actually implement it. I don’t know how to keep myself from being baited. I don’t know how to finally learn that yes, my mom gave birth to me, but I can’t expect her to be a Mother.
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