Sit Back. Enjoy the Show. My New Mantra.

My heart and stomach are a little jumpy lately. My niece is graduating from high school and my sister is having a big “to do.” Which means, I’ll be seeing my parents for the first time in 2 1/2 years. Oh sure, we’ve talked on the phone for the obligatory birthday or random holiday but to actually be trapped in the same room?

Oh, my head hurts.

Be an observer. Don’t engage. Deep breaths. All part of my mantra repertoire.

Or…….the lyrics to this song! (For those of you with a good memory, yes – you’ve seen it here before. But it still applies.)

“I’m just a little bit caught in the middle
Life is a maze and love is a riddle” – I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish things were comfortable and easy and smooth with my parents. But it isn’t.

“‘Cause it’s too much, yeah it’s a lot to be something I’m not” – If I play along, I’m not being who I am. I’m teaching my children very dysfunctional ways to maintain a relationship. And it is just too difficult to be someone I’m not. I refuse to model co-dependant, unfair, destructive behavior for my children to witness.

“I’m just a little girl lost in the moment
I’m so scared but I don’t show it
I can’t figure it out, it’s bringing me down
I know I’ve got to let it go and just enjoy the show” – Why oh why do I still fight the urge to turn into a 12 yr. old when I’m around my parents? Obedient, willing to do or say anything to keep the peace. The fact that I’m an adult with my own opinions, separate values and different grasp of reality is why we aren’t close anymore. They will try to drag me into their stuff and I’ve GOT to let it go. Sit back. Enjoy the show.

“I want my money back, I want my money back
I want my money back” – Oh, how I wish I didn’t have to go. I’ve been dreading this trip for months now. Please send me good wishes and strength. I can use all the help I can get.

“Just enjoy the show, just enjoy the show” – My new mantra. Saying it over and over and over and over……

Tunes for Tuesday – The Show

It’s no secret here – I didn’t have an idyllic childhood. It wasn’t horrid. But it was far from perfect. And it has skewed my view on what’s normal. I remember in my early twenties one of my sisters was bitching (for lack of a better word because that’s all she was doing) about my parents and blaming them for how she turned out and all the bad “luck” in her life. I told her to grow up. She was a twenty year old adult. It’s not like our parents sat in their cozy bed one night, maniacally rubbed their hands together and said, “Let’s procreate and really screw up some kids!” They did the best they could with their limited skills. If you don’t like something about your life then change it. But quit the blame game. Needless to say, that particular sister and I didn’t speak for a while and to this day we’re not close.

Fast forward twenty years and despite that sage advice I still struggle with my relationship (or lack of relationship) with my parents. This song speaks to me in ways I’m sure the songwriters never intended…..

“I’m just a little bit caught in the middle
Life is a maze and love is a riddle
I don’t know where to go, can’t do it alone
I’ve tried and I don’t know why” – I believe in therapy. It has made me a stronger person, a better wife and a much better parent. It helps me put things in perspective and sort what is real from what is imagined. It helps me to solve the riddles and make it through the maze. I used to be ashamed, embarrassed that I needed this kind of help. Now, I proudly go for my tune-ups. Because that’s all I need right now. Thank goodness.

“I’m just a little girl lost in the moment
I’m so scared but I don’t show it” – My friends have called me Super Mom. One friend wished aloud that she had my “Barney voice.” (Although for the life of me, I’m not sure that was a compliment even though she insists it was!) But I am just struggling through like the rest of you. Only I’m one of those who had a horrible example to draw from. I’m petrified that someday I will be estranged from my children – these amazing souls whom I adore. I wait for the next shoe to drop, the next mis-step that will send them running to the Oprah show (thank God she’s retiring next year!) I’m panicked that my daughter and I will end up just like my mother and I, distant and reduced to shallow interaction.

“I can’t figure it out, it’s bringing me down
I know I’ve got to let it go and just enjoy the show” – My therapist once said to me, before an upcoming, much dreaded encounter with my parents, to sit back and pretend I’m watching a play. Be an audience member – not an actor on the stage. And just observe. No pressure to react or respond. Just observe. What amazing advice for me. The pressure it relieved.

“The sun is hot in the sky just like a giant spotlight
The people follow the signs and synchronize in time
It’s a joke nobody knows, they’ve got a ticket to the show” – And it’s all a show out there. Every uncomfortable situation, every dysfunctional family event – it’s just a show. For all of us. You can engage if you want to. Or you can sit back and observe. It’s your choice.

“I know I’ve got to let it go and just enjoy the show
Just enjoy the show, just enjoy the show” – This is the work I do. My role with interactions with my parents is to observe. Don’t get sucked into their crap. Don’t engage if it’s not productive, honest or real. Sit back and enjoy the show.

“I want my money back, I want my money back
I want my money back, just enjoy the show
I want my money back, I want my money back
I want my money back, just enjoy the show” – And this is my private little joke. This part of the song? It’s my ring tone for them. When they call my cell (once – since I made it their ringtone last winter) this part of the song is what I hear. There have been times when I’ve wished for a do-over for my childhood. But I always come back to this – if I hadn’t gone through what I did I wouldn’t be the woman I am today. And I like who I am. Warts and all.

The Dad He Used To Be

When I got the idea for this post I tore the house apart to find a particular picture of me and my dad. It’s a favorite of mine. I was about 18 years old, walking down the street, holding hands with my dad and my grandfather. My two favorite men in my life at the time. I couldn’t find it. So I said, well, I’ll just find another one. And then I realized. There ISN’T another one. My dad is still alive. I’m in my 40’s and I don’t have another picture of him and me.

Now I believe that every family is dysfunctional. What distinguishes us from other families is the degree of dysfunction. Ours has its fair share. My mother has Borderline Personality Disorder. She is high functioning. When we were kids, friends would tell us how much they admired our family. My sister and I would look at each other like they were nuts! Seriously? You’d enjoy not being spoken to for days? Being pulled around by your hair? Getting in trouble for leaving 2 kernels of corn in the sink? Testing the “waters” every morning to gauge the mood? Doing everything in your power to make sure Mom was happy? Because we all know — if Mom ain’t happy then nobody is happy. That was never more true than in our house.

When I was young my dad was good at diffusing the “situations.”  He’d say, “She’ll get over it.” He’d calm her down – sometimes. And if that didn’t work  he’d take us out of the house for awhile. As a result, we were able to develop a relationship with him. He’d take us fishing. To baseball games. I learned about songs he liked. Heard  stories about him growing up. When we moved out of the house things began to change.

I guess because he no longer had his daughters as a distraction he began falling under my mom’s spell. Things that angered her now angered him. The whole cycle of putting someone on a pedestal, worshipping everything about them and then tearing them down and throwing them in the dog house – he follows now, too. My mother, ever so impressed with titles, would brag about their neighbor “the Supreme Court Judge.” (Before you start guessing who – not the Federal Supreme Court,  the State Supreme Court) Anyway, then she was telling me a story about the Spinster next door and I said, “Wait. I know about the Supreme Court Judge neighbor but who is the Spinster?” And she said, “The Supreme Court Judge IS the Spinster. But she’s not really a Supreme Court Judge anymore. She’s retired.”

I envy my friends who have lunch with their dads. Talk to them on the phone without someone listening in. When my parents lived closer any time I’d stop in to see my dad at the coffee house he ran he’d hurry and call my mom to join us. Oh, I could do things alone with my mom. But I couldn’t with my dad anymore. She’d get so jealous. She’d accuse us of loving him more than her. And to survive her wrath my dad gives in to her demons. I once asked him whatever happened to the man who used to say “She’ll get over it?” He rolled his eyes and said, “That’s minimizing her feelings.”

I read in a self help book on BPD that spouses and children often take on the traits of their partner/parent and can become BPD themselves. My sister and I ran in the other direction as fast as we could. We constantly check in with each other, a barometer of sorts, assuring ourselves that we’re making sane choices with our husbands and children.

I miss my dad. But I’ve come to realize I miss the dad he used to be. Or at least, the one I thought he was.

(I still can’t find that picture. But I promise, if I do, I’ll post it with this entry.)