Psycho Babble

Adele, who won a Grammy for New Artisit of the Year, redid a Bob Dylan song that is beautiful. I love the melody and the lyrics!  Never in a million years would I have thought I’d post anything by Bob Dylan. A long story made brief, my first husband, who was emotionally, physically and mentally abusive, would play everything Bob Dylan did all night long when he was on one of his binges. Along with his music of choice usually came torture and physical abuse. Saying nothing of the sleep deprivation he inflicted.

If he was in a particularly poetic mood, he’d drag me out of bed and make me read aloud from Dylan’s writings in a book he had that seemed to go on forever. It took me decades before I could hear Bob Dylan and not feel anger and rage build up inside me. Coming full circle, my husband today also was / is a Bob Dylan fan with many CDs in his collection. CDs that were put up in a box and away from my sight.

It’s only after being married to the kind and gentle man I’m married to, that I’ve allowed myself to let go of the association between Bob Dylan and the cowardly asshole I made the mistake of marrying so many years ago. I now appreciate some of Bob Dylan’s works, and recognize his talent as a songwriter / poet.

Beyond that, I can’t imagine anyone, Dylan included, performing this song as beautifully as Adele has done on her first CD. If you haven’t picked it up, I highly recommend Adele’s CD Chasing Pavements. Her title song Chasing Pavements is phenomenal as well. Hope you enjoy this beautiful music!

Love,
3T

Getting Closer

This is probably going to throw a bad light on me, and I’m OK with that. Most of my life I’ve had the problem of not being able to say “No, I can’t.” Consequently, over the years I find myself overwhelmed by what I consider others’ expectations.

Having recognized this through counseling, rather than take the harder road of becoming more assertive, I find myself withdrawing if I believe there are expectations of me that I can’t or just do not want to commit to.

Part of the problem I know was how I interpreted different parts of the Bible; Helping one another, loving one another, showing love. But where exactly does one draw the line of overextending yourself and hurting one’s own life in the process?

I do not believe that God would want His people to be doormats. That wasn’t the point of His Word. (In my opinion) Showing love through actions is a good thing. But there comes a point when you need to recognize you cannot nor should you meet everyone’s needs that may cross your path. I believe this to be a distortion of God’s Word, that comes in really handy for dysfunctional, enabling codependents. No one loves a codependent more than the users of the world. When they bleed you dry, they move on to the next well-meaning co-dependent and/or Christian.

And this is where my story begins. For six years we have lived next door to neighbors with whom I would say we haven’t spoken more than 50 words. I like it that way. I choose my friends based on who I enjoy being with. Not by geographical location. (aka; next door neighbors) That doesn’t mean I’m not pleasant to them, or have the occasional conversation, if I happen to be out shooting photos.

For someone who has no problem vomiting up all my thoughts and feelings in a public forum, I also happen to be very private. I don’t want my space or my world invaded unless I invite them in. So I was slightly confused when all of a sudden my next door neighbor starts acting like she wants us to be best buddies. Red Flags came up almost immediately. But I fought the urge to shut down and visited with her on occasion.

It soon became apparent WHY my neighbor lady wanted to be bosom buddies all of a sudden. Our quiet neighbors recently aquired three little rugrats. For their privacy I won’t go into details but to say there are emotional and severe learning disability problems with these three young kids, who happen to be her grandchildren.

It didn’t take too many conversations with her before the words like adult children with drug problems, and CPS, and foster parenting started being slipped into the conversation. I knew at this point exactly where she was headed, and I also knew I am NOT the person to be her support system. Call it cold if you like, but at the age of 45 I have come to know well what my limitations are. My kids are teens, one with his own set of scholastic problems. I have a chronic illness that will have me in bed for days at a time. And I never know when it will hit. I know my thresh hold for stress and tension, and when it will bring on the pain.

I have taken great measures to eliminate as much stress as is possible from my life. I have simplified my life enough for my comfort level. Sometimes I feel I barely have enough energy and attention to devote to the kids that God entrusted me with. My goal: to do right by MY kids, and work and build on my marriage. Now add a household to take care of. Between these goals / responsibilities, I take care of ME.

I’ve done the diapers, the homework help and the book reading. My life has simplified more as my kids became older. I replaced that time with hobbies that were relaxing to me. Thus, good for my health. My life is without a doubt simple. I make no apologies for that.

I have come to look upon my neighbor as a steamroller. One who also recognizes my weakness of not being able to say, “I can’t.” Do I feel bad for these innocent children? Yes, I do. But I am well aware of the many resources this neighbor has available to her. Professionals, trained to deal with the problems of children who have been severely neglected and/or abused.

I’m not suggesting I don’t have my own ministry, doing what I can within my limitations. Something I do not believe in revealing basically because if it’s truly done out of love from Jesus, we shouldn’t be taking our own bows. However, I do not feel called or capable to take on this woman’s or her grandchildren’s problems.

I just spent one hour with this woman and all three kids. She IS a steamroller who knows how to manipulate circumstances to fit her agenda. Albeit a well-intentioned agenda of helping and protecting her grandchildren. This may very well be her ministry in life. Due to her health problems, I have my doubts. I believe she is biting off far more than she can chew. Or she is allowing for me to believe this. Either way, I cannot allow this chaos and emotional upheaval to invade my home or affect my kids.

Over the past couple of months, I have literally taken to hiding from her. Having the kids answer the door and say I’m sick. Paul screens the calls and lets her know I’m not available. Cowardly? Yes. Well intentioned? YES. I just haven’t been able to communicate boundaries with her. When I try, she steamrolls right over them.

Today’s manipulation however flabberghasted me. With Riley present she proceeds to tell me that the way “Paul hides you; looks as if you have a drug problem. And it just doesn’t look right. You should get out and meet more people.” At this point all I could think was I had a mother I rarely listened to when I was supposed to. I’ll be damned if this practical stranger is going to come into my home and tell me how I should live my life. I do realize this was a ploy to manipulate me into further immersing myself into her family’s mess. (Picking up Tayler from basketball now)

When I returned, she was waiting in her driveway for me. I do believe she realized she overstepped herself. All of a sudden she’s talking friendship and helping each other out. The kids today were well behaved. But, this was their first time here, and if I know anything about kids, when they feel comfortable their personalities change into rugrats. Which isn’t the point at all. The point is, this ISN’T my ministry! I have looked forward to some of the freedoms that having teenagers has afforded me. And I don’t want neighbors who we haven’t interacted with in six years, all of a sudden deciding to be “our friends” so that we can meet their needs!

All are nice enough. But this isn’t the road I want to take, and I believe I shouldn’t have to. My dilemma is how to combat this with civility and diplomacy. In all honesty I’m not sure that’s possible with this woman. Her outburst about Paul hiding me, let me know loud and clear she has no problem playing passive/aggressive to get her way. She is exactly the personality type I have avoided for years!

My gut instinct is to let Paul go to her husband and talk to him. To take the easy way out. I know that it would be awkward after the fact. Do I cave and help her out on occasion? The problem with this is my gut tells me it would be more of a constant than an occasion. Is it time for me to step up to the plate and try on some assertiveness face-to-face? I thought about handling it on a case-by-case basis. I’m scheduled yet again on the 27th to watch her three little grandchildren. I’m committed and will follow through. I’m just afraid once I’m sucked into this mess, I won’t be able to extricate myself from it.

When it comes to neighbors, I’m keenly aware of how bad blood can make your home and haven into a nightmare. Our cat that likes hanging out in their yard may no longer be welcome. Or worse, they could hurt or poison him, since after six years he seems to trust going into their backyard. Thier palm trees that they finally cut down. (They never manicured them and the palms would end up clogging our pool filters daily, and occasionally breaking the vacuum) At great expense I might add.

And this is why, to a mild extent, I’ve become far more reclusive than in years past. I crave simplicity. I detest chaos. My kids are at an age where the routine is set. There are not many surprises, we all know the schedules and adhere to them. Something that being married to their Dad never afforded me. Something my present husband has given me in spades.

I wonder if this is supposed to be an opportunity for personal growth. But in what manner? Something I know I must sleep on, and pray about. I can’t help but feel resentment that I have to deal with this at all. If there’s something I’m supposed to learn through this, I want to. But I don’t believe that lesson involves being used by a neighbor. A neighbor whose own husband doesn’t help her out. But I’m supposed to???

Boundaries can be defined as “things that indicate bounds or limits; a limited or bounding line.” They’re used to establish property lines and psychologists over the years have used them quite a bit with their patients who haven’t learned how to establish personal boundaries.

For an example, (This is hard for me, I’m writing off the top of my head, and since I have been very poor in the area of establishing boundaries, it’s not easy coming up with an example) I’m going to pull from my own life. An example of a boundary would be setting up plans to do something fun, and then having your Mom say, “No I think we should do this.” And then I would dutifully say OK, usually taking the heat from my husband for crumbling under my authoritarian mother’s bossiness.

I have spent my life, (the part I was sober anyway) trying to please others. At all costs. The cost was usually mine in the form of self-esteem, since I didn’t stand up for my boundaries. As well as the bad feelings, hurt, or etc. because someone so thoughtlessly trampled on my boundary, which I thought was perfectly clear. Usually the would-be offender will never know: number one, that they trampled all over my boundary, and number two, that it hurt me as deeply as it did. They will be weeded out of my life, softly, subtly, and never know of the hurt feelings they may have unwittingly caused. That’s more so today than in the past.

In the past, I would ignore it and ignore it and ignore it, until I blew my stack, much like I did yesterday. Of course, if you cannot tell by my writing, I can be one brutal bitch when I feel I have been wronged. I have almost unconsciously hunted down each person’s triggers, or hot spots. You know, the areas in someone’s life where there is residual pain, and I go for it like it was their jugular. Of course the minute I do that, my point on boundaries is lost in the fray. I am no longer an injured party, but the attacker; the victim has no idea why they are being attacked so brutally. (Another family-of-origin trait)

I want to change this unhealthy behavior, but life-long habits learned within our families of origin are not easy to conquer. To understand that, I’ll use an example from my childhood.

There is a family dynamic that to this day, not only do any of us question, but it continues unfettered by anything resembling healthy and real:

Ok, the house is in a shambles, and company will be there in three hours. Thus begins the ranting and raving. “WHY hasn’t this been done? Who spilled sugar on the floor?” A fight breaks out between my parents, name-calling, and shame based-end-of-the-world screaming, we scatter to our rooms, not wanting to be noticed and pulled into the fray. We were certain this is it. (We were kids, I’m not sure any of us knew what “it” was. But it was scary) Somehow miraculously, the house becomes company ready, although the fight still festers and there is yelling and screaming throughout the process of making house company ready.

Then the doorbell rings. Company enters the home to see nothing but smiling faces, jokes, laughter, hugs and kisses. I have come to dub this behavior, The Norman Rockwell Syndrome. Compliments are made on what “well behaved children my young parents have. What a happy family we are!” If I didn’t know better I would believe we invented the Norman Rockwell Syndrome. But I’ve no doubt this is a common occurrence throughout households.

In fact, in the few cases where I have been the guest; instead of allowing for Norman Rockwell syndrome to take over, the hosts continue with their troubles.  I now label them rude, inconsiderate, and mark them off of my social calendar. Which is healthier? I haven’t a clue. Do you?

Back to boundaries. For a long time now, I thought I had set up boundaries, because (The X-man withstanding) they were not being trampled on at such a pace where I found myself emotionally hurt, discouraged, and depressed. (Of course I moved a thousand miles away from my family too)

Life was good. Of course what I had really done is shut myself away from most of the world. Developed a hard shell where strangers were concerned, and chalked friends up as easy come easy go. I never judged their behavior, and they didn’t mine. If they did, they were history.

I know I have some more work to do on boundaries. A LOT more work on boundaries. But as far as cutting people out, I’m trying to re-think my attitude. Suffice it to say, if someone has proven time and time again, that they are indeed toxic and detrimental to my psychological and physical well being, they will or have been cut out of my life.

What I want, what I strive for is balance and peace. With love and some joy sprinkled in there along the way. I don’t like chaos, or loud chaos, or changes in plans that I feel were changed solely because someone wanted to stamp their thumbprint on the plans. I have a family FULL of thumbprint stampers that usually will have me emotionally exhausted by the time I hit my front door. WHY? Because I will go along with others’ plans. It’s called going with the flow, motivated by wanting to please others. But when you have four different people saying four different things, and then a couple of them look at you for your input I literally want to jump out of my skin. Or jump on an airplane back to my safe fortress.

Yes I have some work to do psychologically. I don’t know if smoking was something that helped me avoid owning my shit, or just helped me bury my feelings...All I know now, is there is all this junk I haven’t worked through that seems to be bubbling up all over the place.

And this is my intent for the time being, for this blog. I’ll definitely sprinkle in some fun times that I have with my husband and my kids. But overall, I would say this blog will be filled with more than a little psycho-babble.

I have to admit, yesterday some family turmoil and my ensuing emotional breakdown caused me to slip up and buy a pack of cigarettes. Yes I sat and smoked myself into a nice comfortably numb zombie state. By the way, after 6 weeks, they taste like a litter box. The rest of the pack was broken to pieces, and I’m back on the smoke-free bandwagon. I quit for me, and I’m sure as Hell not going to let “family-antics” ruin it for me. Whatever it takes to be smoke-free, I’m committed to that path. Even if it means avoiding certain family members indefinitely.

Well, whoever may or may not be left at the end this, thanks for reading.

3T

Part of me has for quite some time lamented the passing of time. Or more to the point, lamenting the loss of my youth. Having the natural blush in one’s cheeks being replaced with make-up, knowing that not going to the hair dressers will show my age in a matter of weeks, due to the ever-increasing amount of grey growing in. Seeing fine lines starting to form from years of pouting the lips together to inhale on a cancer stick. Those “laugh lines?” Look more like wrinkles each passing year.  Knowing you are in your desired dress size, but still, they don’t quite fit like when you were 21. On occasion I may allow myself to dwell on the downside, more to get my butt in gear to minimize the downside of forty-something.

BUT, the unexpected surprise that comes with forty-something? I have passed the age where I matter. At least in society’s love affair with youth. I’m free to wear whatever I like, whenever I like. I’m not tied to the latest trends, which go out as often as one changes their underwear.

I can be as flamboyant, as eccentric or eclectic in dress as I chose to be, and it doesn’t matter. Freedom of age. I aspire to one day head up one of my own Red Hat Society ladies groups who wander the town in the purple outfiits with red hats, lunching here and lunching there. And not caring who is staring or wondering why all those “old ladies” are wandering around in public with overly ornate and bright red hats.

With forty-something comes the freedom to just be. To enjoy the simpler aspects in life that in the earlier years I was running and moving too fast to notice. The blue skies, a perfect rose and a sunset that can take your breath away. Standing as an observer of youth, watching as a Jr. High boy, with love in his face gives his “girlfriend” a peck on the cheek as she rides away in her mother’s car.

There are times I go to pick my daughter Tayler up, where I have to wait for her to get things together and get herself out to the van. I use this time to really look into the faces of youth and see all their possiblities, sometimes their hopes written all over their faces. And at times, see the distinctly famalier look of depression that comes with puberty. I take those moments to pray for that particular young person.

Reminding my daughter and her girlfriend Heather that a smile and a sincere “Hi” to one of their “outcast” labeled classmates may do more for this person that they will ever know. I remind them that once school is over for them, all the social norms and labels that are in play in school become nothing in the real world. It may very well fall on deaf ears, but maybe, just maybe, they will run into a classmate who desperately needs a contact, or connection, and they will provide it.

Forty-something provides me with some confidence to try and reach out in love, with a simple smile and hello. A polite “Thank you” to the frazzled cashier who may have the world on her shoulders trying to bring a working living in to her family.

Forty-something is stopping to smell the roses. My opportunity to connect with various individuals, simply by making eye contact and smiling. With age comes the realization that connecting with individuals, instead of indifferently walking by, provides me with more blessings and a sense of well being, than any amont of parties or uppity social clubs ever could.

God’s commandment to all of us was to “love one another.” Forty something is realizing that loving one another means more than what may be safely tucked away in our hearts. It means bringing it out and proudly parading it. Putting actions to our feelings, compassion and words.

It doesn’t always work. There are times your warm and sincere “hello” will be met with indifference if not downright rude dismissal. Forty-something says it doesn’t matter. For every five rude and indifferent individuals, that one, whose face will light up, just by being acknowledged makes it worth it.

Our city of Mesa is seeing a shocking spike in teenage suicides. Standing by indifferently, and doing nothing is not a solution. All of us need to reach out to these kids, whatever form it may take. We start one at a time. With ourselves, and our children. Teaching them manners, politeness and how to treat their fellow students in the face of a growing epidemic of indifference. We’re losing precious lives to the epidemic of indifference and rude behavior.

The symptoms are all around us. On the roads where “road-rage” is the rule and not the exception. People running around stores at a rat-race pace, bumping into one another like mice in a maze, with not so much as an “excuse me.”

Changing our times can start with us. The forty-somethings raising teenagers. Involving ourselves in their lives and the lives of their friends. Reaching out with unconditional love, and learning how to really listen to what they are saying.

Forty something for me is learning to slow down and make a difference, one person at a time. Changing the signs of the times cannot be done through government legislation, it cannot be done alone by our overworked and under-staffed school systems. It takes all of us, one un-noticed kind act or connection at a time.

The freedom of forty-something is realizing the power of a smile and human connection. I’m learning that true inner peace and happiness comes from these acts of kindness and love. Taking (what used to be perceived as risk) steps to reach out to one another.

The vanity lost to age, being replaced with loving one another, far outweighs any perceived loss of youth. I’m learning to love the freedom of forty-something!

Love,

3T

I fondly remember the days of sleep deprivation from crying babies. Of cleaning up vomit. Of gagging through diaper after diaper of stinky baby shit. First, let me say, I have never been one of those mothers who thought their baby’s shit didn’t stink. Changing diapers was more than a chore, it was a lesson in breathing through the mouth so I wouldn’t puke right into that shitty diaper.

I look back with trepidation at the fact that I longed for my babies to be older, more independent, able to dress themselves and make their own breakfast. What a fool I was, wishing away the simplest time in my chidlren’s lives. When their every comfort was dependent upon me.

I contemplate the angst I have put myself through worrying over a rugrat’s struggling academics. Enforcing rules, and establishing routine. All of this seems like a cake walk now.

The hardest lesson I’m learning is standing by and watching my adult child make some of the same mistakes I’ve made. Of seeing my adult child go through the consequences of his actions, that reach years into his future.

Baby shit can’t hold a candle to seeing your adult child heading for various disasters, trying to intervene and having your advice thrown back in your face. Looking into your once baby’s face to see indifference and a smug know-it-all gleam in their eyes. Being accused of trying to interfere in his life and fun, knowing he is headed for a day of reckoning.

It goes against the Mommy mentality to stand by and watch as the shit hits the proverbial fan. It goes against the Mommy mentality to not rush in and try and save the day. To stand by and watch as consequences make your once-baby’s life more difficult. To see the uphill battle of life get steeper for him. Honestly it rips your heart to peices.

I know a young adult has to learn the lessons that come with irresponsible behavior. They have to feel the consequences of their actions, in order to learn from them and pull themselves out of the self-made mess they created.

The lessons in life can be hard and made harder by our own bad choices. The lesson I’m only now learning, that maybe I should have learned earlier in my children’s lives, is to not hop in and make it all better. To not hand a twenty dollar bill to an adult child to try and make things a little nicer.

I know I have made my share of mistakes as a parent. And as a parent you can’t help but worry the mistakes they make are not directly tied to your parenting. Feeling guilty doesn’t change the facts. Trying to bury that guilt with money and gifts, may lead to hurting them more.

Standing by and not bailing your kids out, but allowing them to do it for themselves, is the hardest lesson I’m only now working on. Seeng your predictions and warnings come home to roost, is not a good feeling. 

Tough Love. I’ve heard that expression thrown around for decades now. I started reading the book by that title years ago, although I can’t remember much about it now. I am coming to the conclusion, though, that tough love is by far harder on the parent than the adult child.

Tough love may be the only way to get through to some kids. Coming to the realization that your adult child in some ways is more like you than you would want for them. That they may very well be the type of person who will only learn from their own mistakes, and the consequences they endure.

Watching them make mistakes, remembering not to throw the proverbail baby out with the bath water, is another lesson I struggle with. Trying to remember all the wonderful qualities in your child that make you proud of him or her. Balance.

Remembering that he is, or can be, compassionate and kind hearted. That he doesn’t do drugs and drink. That he isn’t out prowling around for various women to use. His sense of humor that delights you when you least expect it. Balance.

Remembering that not bailing them out may be the most loving thing you can do for them. And that bailing them out may very well hurt their future indefinitely.

Being a parent means letting them struggle up that steep hill they created. If for no other reason than to allow them the opportunity to feel pride in overcoming those obstacles. To know they dug themselves out, and that they are indeed much stronger and capable than not only you, but than they thought themselves to be.

My once-baby is an adult. Adult enough to push me away, and block my advice or concerns. This makes him adult enough to take it all on. Not just the good but the bad as well. And gives him the opportunity to prove himself.

But it’s still the hardest lesson I’m learning.

Sometimes I wonder if I don’t sabotage my efforts at being organized and completing all that I would like to complete. I find myself procrastinating on just about everything that I do, and always manage to run late due to this annoying habit.

I know my schedule is no more (probably less) than anyone else’s but still I find myself running at break neck speed to be here or there, or get this or that done. I could psychoanalyze the shit out of this, and still I come up blank.

I’m sitting here writing this while I should be in the shower, getting ready for what I admit was supposed to be a more than normal hectic day.

We have yet another cocktail party to attend this evening. My attitude leaves a lot to be desired. I know I will pull out my social hat at the last minute, and we will go and smile and visit and put in the appearance. The amount of time we’ll spend there will be far less than the amount of time I’ll dump into getting ready. (Teri thy name is vanity)

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the middle of the week. Or that it is yet again tied to my husband’s job. A job that admittedly provides well for our lifestyle. He has given me permission to flake on this one tonight, if I don’t get everything I want to get done, done. I feel like we need to show up, as all of his bosses will be there, as well as those in the community that it would bode well for him to network with. I’ll be a good wife and prepare accordingly.

This Thursday is my appt. for the biopsies on the two masses in my left breast. I don’t believe I’m worried per se, although the thought of those needles still make me queasy; I’ll be going in prepared. Translation: 10 mg of valium and a 10 mg percocet. (For pharmacy sticklers its 10mg/325mg percocet) My homegirls wanted to get together that evening for a dinner, but with the kids here this week, the cocktail party tonight and the biopsy that day, it’s not looking good for socializing. Which reminds me I need to send an email to let the girls know I can’t make it this Thursday.

Well it’s time to start running errands.

side note: I’m still looking for gift ideas, in the post directly below this one. Thanks to those of you who have offered up some ideas. Although baking is not something I do often, I imagine I could try to whip up some fudge, although the thought of cheating and hitting a bakery to put together some gift tins did cross my mind....this may not be the point of gifting baked goods.

Hope everyone’s Tuesday is a good one!

Love,

3T

Feeling much more optimistic today, thanks for asking! Now I’m off to do everything that didn’t get done yesterday, because I was too busy hosting and starring in my own pity party. A point that cost, in the form of the ticket for the Breast Cancer Awareness Luncheon, that my overworked husband will now have to attend without me. I could waste time feeling guilty, or get my shit together; and completed.

I admit to being a little overwhelmed by the amount of events that are on his list to attend this year. I begged off last night’s due to the pity party and then begged off the luncheon due to being behind on the “to do” list. That’s two I’ve flaked on and the Season has just started. I’m more than a little nervous, knowing that I’m in the middle of a anti-social mood with many social events scheduled.

And then the teenager has so many activities planned, that keeping hers and my husband’s events straight is making my head spin. I just feel like so many areas of life are spinning out-of-my-control. (Yes I’m aware I’m really not in control of it, but knowing that, and FEELING that are two different things) Peri-menopausal or resentful rebellion? Or is it just the stress of have-to-do-this and have-to-do-that. How would I have-to-do ANY of it, if I had a fulltime job? And am I thinking this way, just to get out of all the “have-to-dos?"(Something I’ve done in the past)

I’m getting the “itch” to runaway from reality. I won’t, but I have to acknowledge the feeling or I’ll get resentful. Or is this all due to the “foreboding dark cloud” hanging in the what seems like an eternity-away-future.

There are many family stresses weighing on my mind and heart, things I can’t put here, out of respect for the privacy of my loved-ones. So many and varied stresses that seem so completely out of my control, and all I can do is worry.