Tipping the Scales

I just got home from dinner with my friend Liz, the one I wrote about here. She's obviously fragile, but was able to laugh and share ancedotes about her recent hospital experience. I gave her a small, soft teddy bear, which she hugged tightly to her chest throughout dinner. I noticed she picked at her food somewhat, but managed to eat most of it in the end. She has great confidence in her therapists, feels positive about her support system of friends, and is living with a friend who is a psychiatric nurse. She feels safe now, and I feel safer about her. So many of you left such wise and supportive comments regarding my earlier post, and they were all right on. Just being there to listen, laugh (and cry) with her, is the best thing I can do. It wasn't hard, and I've promised her (and myself!) to make sure I do it more often. During our discussion tonight, Liz spoke quite a bit about her mother, who doesn't know anything about what her daughter has been through in the past two weeks. Liz is adamant that she cannot tell her~at least not yet. Liz's psychiatrist agrees, stating that she does not need any more negativity in her life at this moment, something Liz's mother is an expert at dispensing.

Motherhood has been on my mind recently, I think mostly because of the book I'm reading~19 Minutes, by Jodi Picoult. The book is about a teenage boy, victimized by bullies his entire life, who exacts "revenge" by opening fire in the hallways of his high school, killing 10 of his classmates and one of his teachers. But it's also about the relationship between mothers and children, and the many ways they fail to connect, with sometimes horrendous consequences. It's an old joke in psychiatry that "it's always the mother's fault." It goes back to Freud, I suppose, or even as far back as Oedipus in Greek mythology. And truly, as much as I hate to admit it, many of the psychological issues that crop up in our lives can be "traced back" in some way to something our mother did (or didn't do) during the course of our upbringing. My husband's relationship with his mother has always been horrible-if you ask him, he'll say she was cold, selfish, demanding, and completely pessimistic about everything life had to offer. Yet I know she thinks she was a good mother, and feels that she gave Jim everything he needed. As for myself, I would certainly call my relationship with my own mother a good one, but I don't necessarily think it's a healthy one. During that awful time when my father left, my therapist taught me how deeply my mother and I were "enmeshed," and that our "boundaries were not clearly defined." I have always felt much more responsible for her well being than it's healthy for a child to feel, and certainly now as she ages and becomes even more dependent on me, it's harder than ever to maintain any kind of clear boundary at all. I think so many of the difficulties in mother/child relationships come about because it's so hard for mothers to realize that our children are separate, individual beings, that have unique feelings and reactions which are often completley different from our own. After all, we house them within our bodies, we give them life in the most elemental of ways from the moment of their conception. Shouldn't we then be in sync with their needs automatically? Shouldn't we know how to talk to them, how to respond when they're hurt or upset? Aren't they just like us, after all? No, they aren't. It takes a long time~if ever~for a mother to accept the fact that this child she thinks she knows so well is really a stranger in many ways. And that's why so many children of all ages find themselves reaching out to other adults when they're in need of help. Sometimes, our own mother's really don't know what's best. As I sat with Liz tonight, hearing her talk about all the people who have been helping her through this crisis~Ms. D., her high school English teacher; Alice, the nurse she was living with; Stacey, her college roomate; even Mrs. Hoyer, her sixth grade teacher~I was struck by the fact that she wasn't able to name her mother as one of her support system, in fact, wasn't even able to tell her mother what she was going through. I know Liz's mother ~she's not a monster, she's just a hard working, single mom, who I truly believe wants only the best for her daughter, just like the rest of us mothers. I put myself in her place, and I know how horribly sad and defeated I would feel if my son were in that situation and didn't feel he could talk to me about it. But I'm also realistic enough to know that could happen. I know that it's possible to love a parent very deeply, and still not trust their ability to give you what you need during some of life's most difficult times. So I'm glad Liz has found some caring adults to help tip the scales in her favor, as she tries to get her life back in balance. I hope someday she'll feel able to share this experience with her mom, and that in turn her mom will have the wisdom to respond in the way that Liz needs.

Sunday Scribblings-Inspiration

I love the ancient meaning of the word inspiration~to "breathe life into." In Christian history, the Bible was the book "inspired by God," who "breathed the words" into the hearts, minds, and quill pens of the scribes. When we talk about inspiration in the 21st century , we think of getting ideas, becoming motivated to do something, often artistic or idealistic in nature. Since I started writing last year, I find myself much more receptive to the possibility of inspiration. When I read Mary Oliver's poetry, suddenly the natural world comes alive, sending sparks into my own imagination. The delicious prose of author's such as Julia Glass, Jodi Picoult, Mary Gordon, and so many more whose words I devour like rich chocolates, starts setting off word explosions in my own brain. As I spend evenings wandering through the wonderland of artists that is the "blogsphere," I feel inspiration tugging at my shirtsleeves, urging me onward to express myself in my own prose or poetry.

When inspiration comes to call, I eagerly throw open the door and welcome it in. But I have noticed it can be rather shy, and, if greeted too exuberantly, will sometimes run back into the corner of my mind to gather itself together before making a reappearance. So I've learned to treat it with respect, and allow it time to become comfortable with my way of doing things.

How dull life would be without inspiration. From the simplest of thoughts to the loftiest ideas , inspiration motivates us throughout life. It's not limited to artistic endeavors, but includes all the exciting ideas that we think of to enrich our lives and the lives of others. It is the breath of the spirits~of creativity, generosity, excitement, joy, and wonder~that inspires us to live life to the fullest in every way.

Hanging in the Balance

Earlier this evening, while on my way to meet a group of girlfriends for dinner, I had a telephone call from one of my former students. She's all grown up now, and in her first year of teaching in a special education classroom. She's been calling me regularly for the past several months, telling me how her teaching experience was going (not well), her progress toward buying a condo (not well), her relationship with her younger sister and mother (not well). A couple of weeks ago, she called while I was just about to go into rehearsal. "Liz," I said, "I can't talk right now. I'll call you later, OK?"

"Sure," she said, and I hung up the phone.

Well, I forgot to call her back~you know how it goes, life gets crazy, and you sometimes put off those conversations that you know are going to demand a lot of emotional energy. Tonight, when I saw her number on my caller ID, I was tempted to let her go to voice mail. I was within 10 minutes of my destination, and really ready to have a fun night out. But my conscience got the better of me. "Hi, Liz!" I said brightly. "How are you doing, honey?"

"Not so good," she said. "I've just been really overwhelmed with school and everything....and...a couple of weeks ago I tried to hurt myself...really badly. I've been in the hospital for the last 10 days. And I'm...well, I'm just reaching out right now to anybody who might care about me."

Oh. My. God. Obviously, I feel like the worst possible person in the whole world for letting this girl down (the night she did this was the night that I told her I didn't have time to talk to her!!!). But I also feel completely inadequate to help her~what do I say? what do I do? Is it enough just to listen, to be sympathetic, to try and make her feel important and cared about? I know, I'm not a therapist, but, my control freak, over-responsibility factors have gone into overdrive. "Fix it!" they're screaming in my ear. "Make it all better! You have to!"

Of course, this all makes me recall with utter clarity the suicide of a student that occurred just last year. Another gifted young man, who felt overwhelmed by this world, and unable to measure up to it's demands. As I was talking to Liz tonight, one of the first things she said to me was, "I know this is all my fault." It was her "fault" that she couldn't handle the pressure of dealing with 18 autistic teenagers in a classroom with one aide, her "fault" that the condo she was trying to buy had structural defects the sellers were attempting to hide, her "fault" that her mother was totally unsupportive of her efforts toward independence, her "fault" that she was only 23 years old and new to the world of adult life and responsibility.

One of the best things age has given me is the ability to know how things can change. Even 24 hours can make a difference in the way you feel. Young people find that so difficult to believe, because they just haven't seen it happen enough. Whatever they're feeling now, is the way they're going to feel forever. Today's tragedy, today's failure, seems so insurmountable, because they have so little experience of the happiness and success that tomorrow could bring.

I'm meeting Liz for dinner on Monday night. I think I'll be meeting Liz for dinner as often as I can for a while. I don't know what I can say that might make life seem a little more liveable to her ~ I hope just having someone show up and listen will help. I do know the world can't afford to lose any more talented, caring, intelligent young people. We need all of them we can get.

Write on Wednesday-Writing What You Know

Anyone who has ever taken a class in creative writing, or read a book about writing, is familiar with the advice to write what you know. In my mind, I expand this idea to mean write what you know about, but also what you know deep down. Brenda Ueland (my new favorite writer on writing) says it this way: “All people have in them this power to write greatly and well, when they freely and carelessly express what is true to them.”

How do you know what’s true to you? Just this morning, I was sitting in my favorite chair, enjoying those precious few moments of stillness before the chaos of the day. As I sat, sipping my coffee and watching the sun rise, I was reflecting on “stillness and calm,” this week’s topic for One Deep Breath. I played around with some haiku based on the serene stillness of a swan family, swimming on the pond near my office, and then some more with the summer- like breezes we had enjoyed the day before. Nothing that came out on the page felt right. Then I realized that the very moments I was enjoying ~ those moments just before dawn which I claimed for my own each day ~ these were the essence of stillness for me. When I began to write about this time of day that was so vital for my well being, the words flowed easily.

The more I write, the more I understand what it means to write what is true deep down. There is a certain sense of fulfillment in expressing this kind of truth, an ability to let the words flow freely, with no need for artifice, or for paging through the thesaurus or dictionary. I can write carelessly, without trying to impress an unknown audience or inner critic, because I’m expressing what’s coming directly from my heart.

Ueland taught creative writing in her native Minnesota for many years during the middle part of the 20th century. In her book If You Want To Write, she offers a favorite exercise for “getting people to write well, so they know how gifted they are and consequently grow in boldness and freedom.”

“I would ask them to tell about some childhood memory,” she states, “to write it as carelessly, recklessly, fast and sloppily as possible on paper. It worked for these reasons: they would forget about writing ‘writing,’ and about trying to please Teacher. Their only effort became to tell spontaneously, impulsively, what they remembered. I asked for childhood experiences for this reason. A child experiences things from his true self (creatively) and not from his theoretical self (dutifully), i.e., the self he thinks he ought to be. That is why childhood memories are the most living, and sparkling and true…”

So, how about you? What are your most “living, sparkling and true” thoughts? Are you writing what you know deep down?