But before my car pulled up to her house, I heard this voice say, “You know what she’s going to tell you.  She’s going to say, ‘If a wolf comes to your door, don’t let him in.’  You don’t need someone to tell you that.  Just don’t open the damn door.”

I’m still working on accurately identifying the wolves.  I’ve pegged the Big Bad Wolf.  It certainly took me awhile.  It’s the little, sly wolves that I struggle with.  When I think of how to help Jen and Will pick out the wolves, I’m at a loss.

I think we’ll have to take it on a case-by-case basis.

In the meantime, I’m locking the deadbolt, cranking the music and staying away from the door.

Jenny was hiding in a corner of the garage.  When Mark asked her if he still used the baby voice, she was visibly shaking.  She looked down at her feet, she clutched her Barbie, and she whispered, “Yes.”

Then, Mark announced to the three of us that he has only one voice.  He does not have, and never has had, a baby voice.  (Previously, on several occasions, he has acknowledged the baby voice.)

He informed the kids that he will see them even if they don’t want to see him.  He told us that he is going to see the kids because he doesn’t want to hear, in eight years, that they are wondering why their dad never came around, when they were little.

He stood there telling them this while Jenny cowered in the corner, and Will’s eyes blinked uncontrollably.  Did Mark see his kids? He did not attempt to soften his voice.  He did not go to them in an effort to ease their discomfort.  He could not see their discomfort.  He could not feel their obvious pain.

He did not say, “I am going to see you because I love you so much.”  He did not promise to find ways to make them more comfortable.

Will and Jenny desperately looked to me and asked if they could run up the hill to grandma’s house - the safe haven.

Mark and I stood on the sidewalk and watched our kids walk/run up the hill.

Those kids should have wandered a zig zag up the hill, stopping to pet a dog, check out a rock, or try to catch a butterfly.  They should have stopped (like they always do) to see if I was watching, and wave back.  They should have stopped at the top of the hill and yelled, “LOVE YOU!”

They marched straight up the hill, heads down, and never once looked back at us.

My head exploded with words.  I wanted to crush Mark.

I wanted to destroy him.  I wanted to deliver the kind of words that would level him.

After the kids crested the hill, I turned to walk into the house.  I did not say a word.  I did not look at him.

He got into his car and drove away.

__________

Why should Jenny and Will keep their promises if they see that their dad doesn’t keep promises?

Why should Jenny and Will be honest, when they see that their dad lies?

Will they learn the convenience of contradicting themselves, to manipulate situations to their advantage?

Have they learned that as long as their desires are met, there is no need to be considerate of another person’s feelings?

Have they learned that integrity is a thing that grownups refer to, but it isn’t really a necessary character trait?

Would it be better to sweep all these bad behaviors under the rug and allow them to grow up in a skewed fantasy world?  Then at 18 or 21 or 35 they can find out who their father really is.  Should I have allowed them the security of a fairy tale childhood?

Absolutely Not.

__________

Neither one of the three of us is surprised that we are right back where we started.  Neither one of us is suffering from dashed hopes.  We knew how this would play out.  We know what we are dealing with.  We knew he would let the dust settle after the bogus counseling sessions and the email diatribes, only to pick up where he had left off.

After a few quiet weeks, the phone calls started.  He took on the martyr tone.  “Call me if you want to.  I’d love to see you if you want to see me.”

Last week, it was game on.  Visits were a day apart.  He’d tell us when he was coming, only to come over more frequently and stay longer.  He lounged around in my backyard, eating popsicles, laughing at his own jokes.  Once, again, he was the star of his own show.  He acted like he had never written harsh words to Will in emails.  He acted like everything was just fine.  He assumed we’d play along and forget all the things that hurt the kids or made them uncomfortable.

But when he saw that we weren’t playing the game by his rules - we weren’t going to pretend everything was just fine - then he got ugly.  I saw evilness in the way he talked to his kids without warmth or compassion.  I saw that he was a force without caring.

He was a missile on a trajectory taking out whatever was in his path - even his own children.  The target is anything that threatens to tarnish his reputation and his image.

__________

In a strange, peaceful way, it is comforting to have things come full circle.

There is no confusion about mixed messages.  There is no need to further explain why daddy says one thing and does another. I’ve been explaining all along.

This isn’t our first rodeo, and it sure won’t be our last.

We are in the middle of this circle, but we’ve been training and preparing for a long time.

There is peace in knowing what we are dealing with, and knowing we can handle it.

]]> http://survivingnarcissism.com/2010/07/28/coming-full-circle/feed/ http://survivingnarcissism.com/2010/07/26/more-on-high-school-reunions/ http://survivingnarcissism.com/2010/07/26/more-on-high-school-reunions/#comments Mon, 26 Jul 2010 16:52:41 +0000 Jesse http://survivingnarcissism.com/?p=2531 “You mean, simply by following my path, I will have complete confidence in everything I say? I’ll spew wise words, funny tidbits, and wow everyone at cocktail parties? All I have to do is be true to myself, show the world who I am, and I’ll never embarrass myself again?”

“It’s not like that. Although that would be nice. It’s not about suddenly becoming a sage with a great sense of comedic timing. It’s about speaking from the place of knowing who you are, having a good heart, and sharing that with the world. It’s about trusting your intentions.

Yes, you are going to say ridiculous things. You probably will still be the type who speaks before the filters have kicked in. The point is that you are speaking authentically. You aren’t couching your words to please another. You won’t be sizing up the audience to try to determine what they would most like to hear.

You will be offering up what is in your heart and mind.  Some words will be wise.  Some words will be funny.  Some words will undoubtedly be stupid.

But they will be your words.

You won’t be preoccupied with whether you gauged the listener correctly, only to discover that you missed the mark.

You won’t be trying to please with what you say.  You will be a true representation of yourself, even with blunders.  And as long as you have good intentions and a good heart, your blunders won’t incriminate you.

Your blunders make you human.  Your screw ups make you real.

And when you allow yourself to be real, those you are with can let their guards down.  It will be easier for others to be real.  Exchanges will reach a new comfort level.  Wouldn’t you like to eliminate phoniness?

Imagine the possibility of showing who you really are, only to be greeted by the real version of others.”

excerpt from Seeing My Path and Taking It - A Conversation with Myself

This excerpt (yes, I really am almost done with the book) perfectly describes the last night of my high school reunion.

I thoroughly enjoyed myself, while actually being myself.

We had been chatting about what new book we wanted to check out when the female barista came to take our drink order. He gave her his most engaging smile, and she seemed to melt under his gaze.

And for what seemed like the millionth time, I felt those familiar pangs. The strings attached to my heart were yanked, and I felt a palpable twinge - that twinge I get every time he smiles at someone (a woman) other than me. I stood there, watching their exchange, telling myself, “For God’s sake, he’s just ordering coffee. He’s not asking her to jump in the sack.”

But the pangs intensified.

I tried to talk my heart into relaxing. I tried to explain to my heart that a lifetime of insecurities has created this habit of flinching every time the person I love devotes attention to any female other than me.

It isn’t realistic to relocate to a deserted island. Could I even find a deserted island, with a bookstore, a coffee bar, and all male baristas?

I try to speak logically to my heart. I hear myself say, “He’s been by my side for these many years. He’s had every opportunity to leave and find someone else. He’s still here. He’s not looking. Let him order his damn coffee without giving him that look.”

And then I ask myself, “Do you trust him? Has he done anything to make you think you can’t trust him? Why do you think all men can’t be happy with one love? Why do you think every relationship comes to a point where the man leaves to find someone new?”

And then I heard a voice say, “Maybe you are the one who can’t be trusted? Is that really the root of all this?”

“Or are you hoping he’ll find someone else, so you don’t have to continue fearing rejection? Are you so convinced he’ll leave you that you create this tension to bring about what you think of as an inevitable conclusion?”

“Do you realize that you are sabotaging yourself and your relationship?”

“If you can’t learn to deal with your insecurities and your fears, you can’t possibly have a healthy relationship - with him, or anyone else.”

And so, while he was in the middle of ordering  his cappuccino, I walked away.

I walked through the bookstore, out the other side and headed toward the parking lot. I didn’t browse the handmade bags or beaded jewelry. I didn’t stop for chocolates. I kept moving in the direction of the car.

A street separated the market from the parking lot. I stood at a booth that sold lemonade and bottled waters, while I waited for traffic to clear so I could cross the street. I was leaning against the booth when he came up behind me. He dropped a stack of books on the table next to me.

There were five books in the stack. I don’t remember the individual titles, but each book represented a specific topic: trust, respect, love, commitment, and overcoming insecurities.

I looked at the stack.  It took a moment for the subject matters to register on my brain, and for my brain to get a memo off to my heart.

While I was still staring at the books, he quietly said, “If you keep running away, I can’t show you that you can trust me.”

He took off his ball cap, wrapped me in his arms, and tenderly kissed me.

And then I woke up.

It was fun.

I’m glad it’s over.

Note to high school reunion planners:

Find objective individuals with warm smiles and calm, reassuring expressions on their faces.  Have them stand at the entrances of the facility that hosts the first night’s function.  These individuals shouldn’t be members of the class.  They will act as greeters - kind of like greeters at Walmart - only they will be more convincing, and they will appear to enjoy their role as Happy Greeter.

As each class member apprehensively approaches the door, the greeter will acknowledge them, look them in the eye and say, “Hello!  So glad you made it.  You have never looked better.  Everyone will be so glad you came.”

The greeter will kindly instruct the class member to check his or her coat and insecurities at the door.

The rest of the evening will be spent happily conversing and exchanging with old friends.  The bubbles of insecurity that normally encase the classmates won’t bump into each other, preventing real conversation.

A great time will be had by all.

I headed out this morning, spade in hand, to perch on my little stool, and begin a little garden therapy.   The tomatoes, herbs and pumpkins are being taken over because of neglect, on my part.  That just guarantees me more garden counseling sessions.

As I started pulling, I went for the biggest weeds first.  By pulling the largest weeds first, it made the task less daunting.  The big weeds made it look like there were more renegades in the garden than there really were.  The big stuff magnified all the little stuff.  Once the big ones were out of the way, it seemed like the job was more manageable.  But, I can’t just start yanking at those big ones.  I have to work at them a bit, and tease out the root, so I get the whole plant.  It’s best if I wet the soil a bit, first.  There’s prep work involved.  But if I do the prep work, the job is much easier.

I’m pretty good at tuning everything out while pulling weeds, and my mind is free to wander where it will.  Because my mind was free to associate, I noticed how pulling the big weeds in the garden is a lot like dealing with the big issues in my life.  If I take care of the big stuff, the little stuff seems less daunting.  Just like in the garden, those big issues make the smaller issues seem more difficult than they really are.

There’s a sense of accomplishment when I successfully go after the big things.  Then, I build momentum, and start quickly raking up all the little stuff.

With some serious prepping and laying of  groundwork, I managed to ‘pull’ the big weed in my life.  Most of the little issues don’t even seem like problems anymore.

I’m not talking about stringent rules like stopping at stop signs, filing taxes by April 15th, paying bills on time and brushing my teeth twice a day.  I’m talking about societal rules that we take for granted - rules that are designed to help us all live together and cooperate - rules that direct conduct and behavior.

I don’t even like writing on lined paper.  Lined paper reminds me of my third grade teacher, hands on hips, nagging us to keep our writing between the lines.  I prefer a clear blank sheet of paper, so my letters are free to stretch their legs and go where they want to go.

The other day, I was explaining to Will that it is really important to make eye contact with people when you are engaged in a conversation with them.  He said, “I can hear what they are saying, why do I have to look at them, if it makes me uncomfortable.”  My explanation was that society expects this kind of behavior.  People (not all cultures, but many) believe that if you aren’t looking at them when you are conversing, then you aren’t paying attention.  Will said, “But what if I’m not comfortable with that?”  And I heard myself say, “Well, honey, I guess you have to make yourself uncomfortable, so as to show respect to the  person you are talking to, and make them feel comfortable.”

Huh?

Clearly, I struggled with the societal rule that says I should stay married.  I fought with that rule for awhile.  I didn’t want to be another person who ended up divorced, but in the end I kept thinking about one of the few rules that I really DO like - The Golden Rule.  However, I found that it isn’t particularly healthy to be married to someone who doesn’t also follow The Golden Rule.

I can over look a few minor transgressions on the part of a lifelong partner - I’ll still sleep in the same bed with him, even if he’s too tired to brush his teeth; I’ll still sit next to him on the couch even if I’ve been the one to take out the trash the last 13 times (who’s keeping score anyway); and I’ll still cook him dinner when he comes home late from work because he stopped for a beer with the guys.

Taking out the trash and coming straight home from work are rules for other people’s marriages.  They aren’t my rules.  My rule is that we treat each other kindly and with respect.  My rule is that we make each other a priority.

Yesterday’s post about marriage quotes, and especially the quote that Susan sent, got me thinking about one of the things I missed a lot in my marriage.  I really wanted to put a nice meal on the table at the end of the day.  I wanted to look at the person I married, and see him look forward to taking his first bite of whatever yummy thing I had prepared.  I wanted the family to come together around an evening meal, talk of our day and our plans for the next day.  I wanted to eat something warm and delicious while we shared our hopes for a fun vacation, our struggles with golf or our squabbles with friends.

That didn’t happen in my marriage.

I think I would like that part of marriage.

Instead, my little family of three gathers at the end of the day.  This is one of our favorites.  Even Jenny loves this dish.  That’s saying a mouthful, right there.  I made this recipe up.  That means, I don’t have real specific measurements.  It’s yummy and easy and doesn’t require that you follow any rules.

Chicken and Broccoli Fettucine (for three - okay more like 2 and 1/2)

• Cook 1/2  pound of fettucine - not too soft (al dente, for those who know the  expression)
• One large chicken breast - cut into bite-sized chunks
• 1/2 yellow onion - coarsely chopped
• 1/2 red pepper - coarsely chopped
• 1 C broccoli flowerets
• 2 cloves garlic - pounded

Heat a cast iron skillet (you can use your non-stick pan - I just don’t want to know that you used it) on medium high heat.  Let it heat until the pan radiates a lot of warmth when your hand is held about an inch above it.  Add 2 T olive oil, add the chicken and salt and pepper.  Saute until chicken is lightly browned, but not cooked all the way through.  Spoon out the chicken and add the onion.  Stir the onion until it starts to look less white.  Add the green pepper and broccoli and pounded garlic.  Stir frequently.  Turn the heat to low, pour in about a 1/4 C water and simmer with the lid on until the broccoli gets really green, but not overcooked.

Remove the lid and pour in 3/4 C half and half.  (At this point, do not worry about counting calories.)  Heat this on a medium low heat until the half and half just starts to simmer.  Don’t let it boil.  Add 1 C grated parmesan cheese and some basil - fresh basil is magical if you have it.  Add the chicken and any juices.  The sauce will start to thicken.  Keep stirring.  Add more cheese if you want it thicker.  The fettucine will soak up some of the liquid.  It will be saucy, kind of like your best girlfriend.

When the sauce has thickened and the chicken is thoroughly heated, toss the sauce with the fettucine.

Spoon into big pasta bowls.  This dish is great with crusty bread to soak up the sauce.

It’s even better the next day.  Don’t reheat it in the microwave, though.  Microwaves do nasty things to chicken.  Just put a couple tablespoons of water in a pan, add the leftover Chicken and Broccoli Fettucine, cover and reheat on low.  Stir it so it doesn’t stick.

While you slurp the pasta, ask your family about their day.  Make eye contact and listen.  If they don’t ask about your day, politely interject a funny snippet from your crazy routine.  Think of a couple rules that are okay to avoid, and explain to your kids why it’s okay.

Eat some more.

Be thankful.

Oh happy day!

Stan and Rose tied the knot today!

And then I felt self-conscious.  I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me to be self-conscious prior to receiving that first comment.  But a comment does mean that someone actually read the blog, rather than some sort of spambot stopping by and doing whatever it is spambots do.

And then I received another comment.

These comments were from complete strangers.  People who didn’t know me, read my blog, and said encouraging things.

It felt great.  Better than great.

I was connecting with people.  People were connecting with me.  I found a way to bond with complete strangers.  I found comfort in their words.  Their words made me think, and dig deeper.  Their words sparked new ideas for new posts.  Their words kept me writing when I was deep in a well, and couldn’t see light coming from above.

Their words made me feel like I wasn’t floating in a small lifeboat, by myself, on a stormy sea.  I had company in my boat - company with blankets, coffee, snacks, stories, words of encouragement, compasses and maps.  Their words acted like life vests.

Their words were Coleman Lanterns in a cavern, portholes in a tunnel, and flames to unlit candles.

The more I wrote, the more comments I received.

Some of my posts didn’t receive any comments, and then I would wonder if everyone had stopped reading.  Maybe they moved on to something more interesting.  I’d briefly wonder if I was back to floating my boat alone.

Then the next post would hit a collective nerve, and spawn deeper discussions.

Family members, friends and complete strangers rallied around me and buoyed me up when I most needed it.

Other comments felt like making eye contact with a complete stranger at a cocktail party, introducing myself and discovering, after sharing a bit of history, how much we really had in common.

Some comments helped me see my situation from a new perspective.  These comments helped me to be objective or detached or less emotional and more clear-headed about where I had been, and more importantly, where I needed to go.

__________

I started this blog as a way to vent, process and work through the bizarreness of my failed marriage.  I didn’t anticipate receiving guidance, encouragement, wisdom, tenderness and thoughtfulness from family, friends and complete strangers.  Okay, I knew I would receive all kinds of support from my amazing family and friends, but not to the extent that I did.

Just this morning I read some of my first posts.  Sure, I cringed a little (a lot) and edited a few things.  My writing has matured some.  My perspective has changed dramatically.  I have experienced tremendous growth and healing in only twelve short months.  My kids have come so far.  Our goals (actually, my goals for our little family) of health, harmony and creativity are realized on a daily basis.

This growth has little to do with my writing, and everything to do with the outpouring of love and encouragement and understanding received by all of you marvelous folks that take the time out of your day to type your thoughts.

This isn’t just a flowery love letter.

This is a call to action.

You may be proud of your independence.  You may think you don’t need anyone.  But the truth is, none of us was meant to take this journey alone.

Maybe you aren’t comfortable bringing coffee cake to the little old lady who lives by herself at the end of the hall.  Maybe you can’t bring yourself to offer a shoulder to the woman, working in the next cubicle, whose husband is undergoing cancer treatments.  Maybe the guy you play poker with every other Friday night is going through a wicked divorce, but you don’t have a clue what to say.  Maybe your sister’s son is struggling with making friends, and you’d like to be there for him but you don’t know what to do.

Here’s your chance to share your experience, wisdom, intelligence, heart and love, without a lot of exposure or risk.

Comment on a blog.  Put yourself out there.  Do it anonymously, if that is more comfortable for you.

What is the point of getting all your experience, building all that character, reading all those books, and climbing all those mountains if you don’t share all that you’ve learned?

Think of the ripple effect.  Think of the small impact that can snowball and impact so many.

I look at how my life has changed.  I look at how my kids’ lives have changed.  These changes are a direct result of the impact of comments that were made on this little obscure blog.

It takes very little time.  It doesn’t require that you spend money.  It isn’t a lifelong commitment.

Find the words that come from your heart.  Type them in the comment section of a blog.  Send out your good words to the universe.

You may be pleasantly surprised at what the universe delivers back to you.