Posts Tagged ‘parenting

28
Jun
23

Living the Caged Life

***

I’m not quite sure where to begin with explaining something that cripples my small branch of the family. It’s not drug-related, unless you count collecting as a drug. It’s not exactly abuse but is a sort of repression/oppression. And, it’s almost eerily apparent in a literary way. My parents have a habit of displaying figurines, dolls and busts elaborately dressed in suffocating spaces. Most unsettling are the busts and little angel figurines displayed in black metal cages. One is a bird cage housing a woman’s head made of plaster. Another is an obelisk housing three little ceramic cherubs which curl into balls on the floor of the structure. Caged life. Imprisoned feelings/desires. This is the symbolism my parents choose to consider art and perfectly normal in their home. Now, if I was to craft such things and think them normal, I would whole-heartedly expect someone to object and question me. But, if I address my parents about their decorative style, they will brush my thoughts aside until I walk away. [Well, so much for time with my parents.]

I bring this up because it’s like a bit of tragic literary genius, a means of turning how I have matured/aged into a metaphor. [And, if you know me, you know I enjoy metaphors.] Yet, I take no pleasure in writing about it and have no plan to craft a “bestseller” around this; there will not be another “Flowers in the Attic.” But, that’s how life has been with my parents, trapped, caged, restrained and crippled with fear, intimidation, false information and deception. All of our blessings and potential is trapped in a pitiful state, unable to flourish.

Any success we may find is quickly clutched and sucked back down into disappointment by a mother who can’t handle something outside her vital control. Anything my mother doesn’t personally direct and document in her files she will tear apart; she will bring it down because she doesn’t understand or benefit from it.

My father spends every moment torn between his own creative and social desires and avoiding the wrath of his chosen life partner who throws a fit every time he steps away from her to be with someone else. My mother lives in a box and chooses to be oblivious to the rest of the world; yet if you tell her she is oblivious or in denial, she will throw another fit and deny everything as if she was under interrogation by an FBI unit.

What’s additionally tragic is how the ways of my parents have imprinted themselves on us, their children. While other families might see their kids grow up and take off on their own to break the chains their parents may have worn, my siblings and I don’t do as well. A few are lucky to have found mates who helped financially distance them from the curse. But, the relationships have not exactly been solid and/or reassuring. The rest of us (myself included) struggle in many ways to take flight and feel comfortable in our own skins, at a time when people like me are being slighted by the insane amount of focus on abused minorities and people going through sexual migrations (and deviations).

The rest of the world has these people on a stage, receiving TLC and every avenue opened to them. I have never fit in a particular noteworthy group but–classified as plain “Caucasian”–I seem to be expected to fall in with a wealthy crowd who makes their own way through family connections, through legacies. Well, there is no grand family legacy nor role models to give me wings.

So, if you were to meet me and wonder why I don’t achieve more or have more in my life, and if you didn’t so quickly become uncomfortable and drift away, you might see and understand…and maybe even pity my situation.

And, on that note, I stop writing because I don’t have a good way of ending this piece. I feel compelled to just ramble. And, I’ve done enough of that in my life.

25
Jan
23

Don’t Let Your “FEED” Rob You of Family Connections

***

You know something is vitally wrong when someone cannot take the time to look at your email because they’ve already given that time to their “feed,” that term for what so many “cows” are fed by some anonymous online source, that stream of stuff, including TikTok-worthy videos and images, which is said to be custom-picked to appeal to every person, based upon their online activity. Are we that lost, as a species, already? Are we already submitting to the machine and forgetting what we claim is important, like family?

I saw a particular episode of the Parent Test, a recent TV show in which one of my favorite comediennes/actresses, Alexandra (“Ali”) Wentworth, and some guy, who looks a tad uptight, evaluate different types of parents by having them face various “challenges” as families. In that episode, the farming parents were asked by their kids to put the cellphones away for a day. And, the parents claimed to be somewhat surprised by the request. [Honestly, with ABC and television, lately, in general, I am not sure how much is staged/planned; but this felt slightly staged…like one of many Public Service Announcements.] I don’t think the farm family, if they even have the technology, would have this problem…or wouldn’t be the only ones. If you look at most of the video footage taken by the various families, there is some sort of “tech” in each segment. It’s everywhere. It’s like one big deceptive ad for some ISP (internet service provider). It’s sickening, in a way.

So, on a personal note, I have family who have submitted to “the machine” while still occasionally throwing a jab at others, including me, for how they either don’t make good use of technology or waste time on “pointless” interests/pursuits. ‘So easy to judge others and then disappear into the void of mindless scrolling…and scrolling…and ignoring what’s in front of you.

GOOD GOLLY! I want to scream and vomit.

What has happened to so many?!

Whoever is responsible for this madness, which seems like such an evil plot or a very poor miscalculation of technological power…there is a very special place in the “world below” for sick individuals like you.

I cannot even get my sister to look at artworks I thought would not only get her to laugh but give me some feedback on how I am doing with my art skills.

My other siblings send me emails so short and quick that they often just contain a link I’m supposed to click? In the age when we should already be aware of scams that appear like that? I tell them no; they have to include a message with that link to let me know it’s really from them. I am not just going to jump at every link; I already made a costly mistake with that move, once.

And, on top of the stuff that happens on these devices, it’s affecting social interactions. My siblings seem less tolerant of discussing anything and become more easily distressed when asked; and, if I look, I’m sure I’ll find them scrolling through that “feed,” again. It’s really, really sickening.

I ask them, repeatedly, who sends that “feed?” Where do they get it? Fbook? If it’s Fbook, I’ll add a few pounds of strength to my grip the first chance I get to strangle someone from that hot mess. If Fbook is to blame, I will just add another few pounds to the weight that keeps my hand from touching that disaster-waiting-to-happen. I refuse to submit.

But, what can I do?

I used to feel guilty for dabbling in online chat and other “traps.” I used to think I was a freak living in the shadows instead of socializing like “normal people.” I did it to fill in what I was missing but kept looking up and out of the rabbit hole, hoping some better reality would come along so I could turn off the internet and get on with my life. And, when the “feed” I was looking at lost its charm, when I either felt too sick-in-the-head (in part from the opinions/input of nosy people) or tired of going to bed feeling as empty as I was when I started looking, I stopped using those rabbit holes. I’m not saying I “quit cold turkey,” but I grew tired of being disappointed by the “filler.” And, even when I was somewhat hooked, I knew I wanted something else. I just couldn’t seem to get what I wanted from anyone, not from the people I knew close to home nor those I was meeting online. [I still find myself dabbling and feeling this way, just with different outlets that don’t suck me in the way the older ones did.]

I don’t even get along with my family, not very well, anyway, and I still want better interaction. I don’t want my family completely disconnecting, correcting each other and being guilty of judging the rest of our lives, when we’re not casting some sort of appealing illusion which makes others think we are glamorous arm candy. I don’t want to be a reality-TV disaster. Right now, I’d just be happy to have my siblings give time and honest opinions on my creative output without telling me I have too much time on my hands and that I talk/think too much for “social norms.” I can’t get them to look at something I wrote because they already spend too much time looking at glowing screens/text. That’s so sad.

What seems to be normal, now, isn’t normal…or tolerable…to me. This “norm” is sucking the warmth and comfort out of everything. It’s a bug zapper waiting to close the door on humanity. One day, someone’s going to say, “J-Just one more minute.” They’ll be looking at their little glowing screen, letting their good eyesight wither and die…and some big black box is going to close in around them, sealing them away for eternity.

I’d rather chuck it all in a void than lose complete touch with real people. I’d rather have a real hug than an emoji or short video clip.

Damn. How do you stop this runaway machine?

And, why can’t you “cattle” wise up?

I’ve never been the biggest family-gathering person; I’m a bit of an introvert who struggles with social anxiety. But, even I feel this is the onset of something very wrong and want more warming, social interaction in this world. I certainly do not want to see every human being glued to a glowing screen in their hands.

Can you imagine? ‘Being a tourist and seeing everyone around you sitting quietly with a small screen glued to their hand(s), perched on fountains and fences and leaning against buildings…all hypnotized by some glowing, radiating slice of technology? You might hear the wind and seagulls/pigeons over everything else…because the people won’t be talking or walking, anymore. It’s an unsettling thought.

29
Dec
22

A Beef with Parents Who Give Their Newborn Girls Masculine Names

***

Let me start by saying I do not wish to cause anyone emotional distress (or “offend”) with my thoughts on this matter. You may have a masculine name and either be at peace with it or have your own personal conflict. I don’t want to add to your troubles. [So, if it’s a touchy subject, you have the right to not dive further into my rant.]

But…

What’s the deal with parents giving male names to some of the most beautiful women of this world? And, not just one; they give the beautiful girl a first and second male name. WHYYYY?

Examples?

Musician Taylor Swift, for starters. Taylor?…like the former U.S. President? ‘Not exactly a befitting name for someone so beautiful and graceful. So, I prefer to call her Tay, which has a certain elegance, like May, Fay, Emily or Amy.

Actress Conor Marie Leslie is also quite gorgeous, an exceptional dark-haired beauty. [I only know of her from tiny tips toward her name in association with personal interests; I cannot even recall what made me look her up online. Was it something about DC Comics? Teen Titans? And, I am astounded to see so many pictures for someone I otherwise wouldn’t know…but certainly someone I’d like to know better.] And, while the latter two names are adequate, the first is questionable, to say the least. Conor? That almost sounds like Conan. I suppose you can call her Connie. [I will.] But, why not just name her Connie, then? Or, Constance (like the lovely Constance Wu)?

Actress/Dancer Robia Brett Lamorte (aka Robia Scott), who first swept me off my feet as Jenny Calendar in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer TV series…is positively stunning and charming…and has TWO masculine-sounding names. Well, technically, just the middle one. The first has been modified from Robert. Robin, as a possible alternative, could go either way, it seems. Robia is certainly feminine but still a bit odd.

Legal correspondant Chanley Painter…is another exceptionally beautiful woman. I’m not even sure how to classify her first name. It sounds like a family name…like Carolyn Chanley…er, Channing. [Some of you might be saying, “Who?”** I only know of her after stumbling across her stunning face when Johnny Depp’s latest trial was being televised in some fashion. And, not long later, I felt prompted to look her up online.]

**This might be another factor. Other than Taylor Swift, the women above are not “household names.” They are not as famous as–say–Deborah Messing, Shania Twain, Whitney Houston or Amy Adams. And, I wonder if it’s not because of their names. Could these names cause such beautiful women to withdraw from the spotlight?…or not get as much credit/attention as women with more elegant/commonly-feminine names? From my awareness/experience, women with unusual/not-very-feminine names tend to take on voice-actor jobs; you’ll find them voicing cartoon characters more often than appearing in front of a camera. And, tragically, some of the prettiest faces and voices don’t live as long as they could (have).

Now, sure, not every pretty face has to be a celebrity and/or have a career in which they are on display. Even the above women could be perfectly content without cameras in their faces and without a page on that IMDB website. But, now that they’ve made themselves “known,” I cannot help being aware of this detail.

I’d just like to understand and warn parents who are quick to name their children…..

If there is any chance your child could turn out as beautiful as any of the above women, why, oh why, in this world, would you dare to give her a name that–in my opinion–does not adequately encompass the beauty she is?

Don’t let your male-dominated roots drive you to make such a crucial decision. You may want a son, but you were given a goddess. Respect her. [Obviously, this is no use to anyone who has already named their goddess and the beauties given the masculine names…unless you legally change names? But, perhaps, parents who have yet to have or name a child could take note for future life-giving.]

If you are reading this and own one of the above names, I apologize if my words rub you the wrong way. You may have made peace with the names you were given. I do my best to respect you as you are. I just feel you deserve better.

[However, if I dared to think of better names, I would risk altering the fabric of reality and warp what nature has provided. Names come with personalities, like genes. How could I be sure the name I pick would improve who you are other than how I address you? But, given enough time and the right circumstances, *we* could probably find more suiting names.]

[It’s no wonder why I struggle to name characters in stories I attempt to write. I want my characters to be as memorable and iconic as some who have already achieved that fame. But, I also want them to be favorable in my own heart, which may not be easy to explain.]

[And, to all you who may object with a “non-binary” perspective, I say get over your trending selves and let me have my opinion. It’s not just about having a gender-suitable name; it’s about having a name that befits the beauty placed in this world. It’s something I just feel in my gut. There are some who have fine names; I can look at them and say the name suits them. There are others who I will encounter and wonder…how did they ever get THAT name?]

03
Sep
22

The Electronic Enemy of My Mental Enemy Is My…

****

Don’t ask me why, but I’m hearing Warren Beaty deliver that line from Dick Tracy, when he says, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” And, then he goes on to rattle off a few other possible combinations to the lock rattling in his detective brain.

You may have heard the expression, before, too.

Well, I’m starting to think that line is key to my relationship with television. [Or, maybe, I already started to have this feeling, years ago, and just need to scratch the itchy matter, again.]

When I was a child, TV was forced to be my best friend. I wasn’t a very socially liberated kid. I had a mother who kept me on a very short leash and a father who had no patience after a long day at work to be the sympathetic mentor I desperately needed. Neither gave me confidence to interact with other kids. So, I was “permitted” to sit in front of a damaged family TV and keep myself out of my parents’ way. And, for a while, that was just fine…until I spent so much time in front of the TV that my mother insisted I needed to mind the electricity bill and go outside, once in a while…but don’t go so far that she can no longer detect my presence with her surreal psychic power of awareness (which apparently has a limit of one suburban block).

In short, my youth was a colorful, wild ride of promotional animation, shows bent deceptively selling toys and comic books. There were also the occasional “adult” shows which prompted my “early maturity,” though I remained smaller than most kids in my class until I was just about a legal adult.

There were a few incidents, typically involving my older brother, in which TV became a nightmare. I’d been exposed to a few things definitely unfit for children with active imaginations. Scary clowns, dolls with eyes that glowed red, a madman chasing his wife and son with an axe, a kid opening a drawer of knives before stabbing his mother to death, a famous musician turning toward the TV to reveal scary eyes and cackle, young men drinking blood and eating maggots, etc.

My brother’s failing memory claims I used to laugh at scary movies; if that were true, I must have been wearing a monkey mask and defending myself against the true terror on that screen. But, the way I remember it…I was so terrified by blood-thirsty man-eating fish that I couldn’t cross a blue rug in my own bedroom (a rug I was forced to keep in place to cover a burn which my parents would repeatedly use to confirm their right to be angry and not trust me). I had to have my brother lift me into bed to avoid being devoured by what surely lurked in that rug.

During some of my most traumatic years, my high school disaster, television left me feeling like a troubled drug addict. I was losing sleep and unable to concentrate on schoolwork. I tried my best to continue enjoying my “friend,” especially when I continued to fail at establishing good friendships at school and couldn’t talk to my family about the problem…because they were either never quite “available” to talk or claimed/proved they could not relate. When family conflicts arose or school gave me a panic attack, turning to TV felt like popping open a bottle of pills and gulping them down or jabbing myself with a needle just to release the “pain.” I began to feel guilty (like Adam and Eve taking the forbidden fruit) when I turned to TV.

As adulthood was finally opened to me…at least, according to law (not necessarily in the minds of my restriction-crazed parents)…television became an increasingly hazardous drug addiction. While others turn to alcohol or any number of other recreational (and typically illegal) substances, I clasped onto TV for dear life. I practically prayed to the TV to spare my sanity from the family that refused to understand and respect me as a person and as an adult not nearly ready to take off on his own (for obvious reasons). And, the more I tried to continue enjoying TV, the more I was made to feel like a junkie and a freak.

[There’s more to this second chapter of the story, but it’s a bit of a touchy subject. In short, I was trying to also protect my investments much the way I was told to respect the investments of my family…family who now thought they were free to treat my investments any way they chose, even when I wasn’t home to see what they did. Had I done that as a kid, I’d have a permanent tan on my bottom; enough said.]

I didn’t notice much of a change in the quality of television, between youth and adulthood. Commercials changed a bit. I was able to watch more adult programs without missing the jokes; I could finally understand most of the humor used by Bugs Bunny and his pals (comments that made no sense to me as a kid). But, in general, TV was still the same influence it was in my youth, an inspirational friend. [Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Yada yada.]

And then, IT happened. 9/11. It might as well have been D-Day at Pearl Harbor. Something definitely changed. Heck, the whole world started to change…and seems to keep changing after that event, not for the better.

Actually, TV in the USA didn’t drastically change until 2008, when “antenna TV” got an eviction notice and was replaced (to some extent) by “signal boxes.” [Pardon me if I turn into a conspiracy nut at the thought and wonder if shady military operations are not involved.] But, it’s quite likely 9/11 was the flip of a crucial switch in the hands of those who hold the most power/control.

After 2008, television not only started to lose its charm, replacing “live studio audiences” and laugh-track-nonsense with “reality TV,” it started to lose its voice, completely. When “rabbit ears” and dials were all I had to tune a TV, you could put up with a little static noise and fuzzy picture. But, with the new “signal boxes,” suddenly I had to put up with losing even more of the picture and hearing either nothing or horribly broken sounds.

Imagine having a real, human friend who suddenly could not speak clearly with you, as if they suffered a horrible brain/physical jaw injury. That’s what my relationship with TV had become, living with a horribly handicapped friend. [Some improvement (I say sarcastically, in case you cannot hear the tone).]

Around 2009, coworkers started saying they no longer looked at commercials; they relied on their DVRs to skip the ads. You can imagine the panic advertising agencies must have felt (and still feel, if they still exist), knowing the growing audience was no longer interested in watching their work. So, it seems reasonable–yet tragic–for commercials to dwindle and falter into repetitive cycles of maddening proportions. Just as just about every fun treat in the world gets reduced at inflated cost, what were once cute, colorful ads in a wide variety (though dominated by one monopoly of a brand) become a handful of concepts no one needs to see a thousand times a day.

But, the true ugliness didn’t become apparent until after 2012 (when the Mayan calendar says the world supposedly ends). It was around then that drug ads became more common than ones for toilet paper and restaurants. And, the restaurant ads that remained dwindled in variety, becoming what they are today. I think I can count on one hand how many restaurants still air ads on broadcast TV. [On cable TV, I see more ads for the shows on those channels than anything else, and even those repeat until you want to scream.]

[On that note, I’m about one step from strangling certain ad voices on sight, if the voice talents are ever so unfortunate to cross my path. Papa-John-Cee-Lo (or whoever that voice is) is marked for getting a pepperoni fist shoved down his throat; he can rot with a certain lisping lawyer who refuses to shut up and who plasters his face on every channel, every hour of the day. If a scummy lawyer can afford that, what does it say about the cost of airtime and whoever controls commercial breaks? Not to mention…why is the scummy lawyer allowed to be a “proud investor” in so many companies? If I was a company of any sort, I’d refuse his investment; he’s annoying and unsettling.]

So, lately, television, if I can still enjoy any of it, is like picking fruit from a questionable tree. Pick at the wrong time from the wrong place, and I’ll get stuck with something sour and/or otherwise unpleasant. And, even if I pick a good “fruit,” something typically spoils the moment…family, signal loss, annoying visuals…take your pick.

Don’t get me started on game shows. Okay. Too late; I’m starting. Game shows used to bewilder me, as a kid. I couldn’t understand how all the flashing lights and rotating platforms actually changed people’s lives. But, there was magic in play. And, the winners certainly looked happy. Microphones were–and still are–a bit of a mystery. [I’m still curious about them.] But, as an adult, most game shows become more and more dumb and foolish wastes of time with contracts and clauses that make you wonder how much joy really comes from winning. When I was a kid, I’d dream of being on a game show and winning some amazing prize or trip around the world. As an adult, people will tell me I should go on a game show…and I pause to question the idea. Sure, I might win something because I’d like to think–and they think–I would perform well on the show. But, during my pause, I start to wonder if there’s more to winning than meets the eye…because there surely is; it’s not as simple as turning on the TV and standing by a colorful wheel. You don’t just win a car and drive it home; you sign papers and accept the terms that come with collecting said prize(s). You probably have to pay taxes on your winnings; all of those other factors take a little bite out of the excitement (unless you’re oblivious, a “housewife” and/or already exceptionally wealthy).

All of the trips the game shows give away seem like restricted passes to visit locations reserved for those shows, as if you’d go on the trip and deal solely with people wearing the show’s logo, lest you step outside the permitted perimeter of what was awarded to you. [Oh, no. Don’t step across that line; you’ll have to pay separately for that.] The inflated prices (prize values) cover the excessively intensive private service you’re supposed to receive, if you like that sort of constant pampering/attention (whether or not you actually respect the staff) but probably don’t cover the tips that staff will surely still desire (unless tips are worked into the price of the trip…and then you might still feel awkward around the staff).

[I could just as well spend a fraction of the cost, go without the pampering and find something to do with my time rather than lounge around, stuff my face, get drunk and maybe “dance the night away” at some crowded, noisy club (or gamble). I’d rather explore wilderness, isolated beaches and ruins with a trusted companion than be pampered, return to a life without pampering and feel like I lost something when I supposedly won. If you already live a pampered life and win one of those trips…what’s the point? You are ensured an oxygen tank to keep you alive when you get there? There is no break from being pampered?]

I have never been a fan of “local news” or world news, for that matter. I’ve been more like a big kid most of my life, bent on cheerful entertainment, adding a little “adult edge” as I “mature.” But, as I…get older…sigh…I start to notice the news, more often, and see only horrible crime stories (unless there is a festival in town). So, as soon as I become aware of…that…I change the channel or tune out, completely. I don’t need to know about every shooting, bombing, killing or suicide around the world. But, apparently, my family does. Isn’t that…sweet; one more reason to spend less time with family.

Sigh. What happened to my “old” friend?

[And, without a good family relationship…or other friends…who am I left with other than myself? ‘Not a good situation to be in, people. If anyone says the word “therapist,” I’ll just bristle and tell you to zip it. Your therapist is never going to be a wingman (or friend who isn’t restricted to a schedule and price).]

I begin to wonder if, all along, TV was like the tree of forbidden fruit or the temptation that led me to taking the trouble-causing “bite.” Was it ever my friend? Or, was everything I thought good about TV just an illusion?

“The television dreams of tomorrow; we’re not the ones who are meant to follow, for that’s enough to irk you.” [Could wiser words have ever been sung?]

[And then, I think about all of the famous faces (actors, actresses and professional athletes, including those who compete repeatedly just to have a chance at the Olympics, which only gives them a brief window of fame…and fortune…tied to other hands all wanting their pieces) who have come and gone…people risking their lives just to avoid “labor,” some committing suicide when they can no longer take what that lifestyle choice gives them. So many souls throwing themselves into the hope of entertaining someone only to put on masks and pretend everything is “amazing” when some idiot is pressed to interview them, when the truth is anything but “amazing.”]

What are we doing, people? What are we all doing? [As Jerry Seinfeld once said, “We’re not men.” We’re (dumb) animals, no better than the sparrows in the bush, no matter what texts like the Bible say.] I’m both full of words and without words. I think we all need to go back to farming and cultivate our planet so we can live off the land without fear of competition fueled by the currently (and continually) failing government and economy. Forget TV and become real good friends (not reality-TV friends).

OR…we scrap the whole current mess and start from scratch. Tear down the dinosaur entertainment system and build something new yet appealing with a certain familiarity, so we aren’t traumatized by the change in temperature or water quality. Scrap commercials, lest they rear their ugly heads, again, like weeds…as tempting as it may be to apply my creativity to some really amusing ads. No more cartoons built around toy lines just to fill wish lists, auction websites and landfills with yesterday’s craze. Burn all laugh tracks and anything remotely artificial, other than special effects, which could still be used to dazzle and enhance programming. [And, remain cautious about falsifying reality, lest all minds become so warped that they can no longer grasp what exists around them…yet not so “pious” that we come out with another “comics code authority”/FCC to white-wash and pigeon-hole entertainment.]

16
May
17

My Response to “Self-Esteem Issues in Ohio” (Dear Abby)

*****
[Letter titled “Being Lifelong Target of Ridicule Eats at Self-Esteem.]

“Self-Esteem…in Ohio” is in their 30s and coming to terms with social/dating difficulties stemming from a lifetime of ridicule and, quite likely, manipulation, claiming to be more comfortable putting him/her self down than doing what makes him/her happy.

I’d say he/she is in an emotional rut, passing through a sad storm.  Sometimes we write things in the moment we are most emotional and it passes.  Sometimes the problem/feeling lingers.

Dear Abby suggests professional therapy.  I feel this is too easy to recommend without a sound system of assuring the doctor-patient relationship will work.  In a way, finding a good therapist is like dating except more expensive.  Heck, even online dating sites charge less per month to gamble with them.   So, isn’t a therapist asking more than a hundred bucks an hour for you to repeat your life history, before they remotely understand your problems, compounding the problem?

*****

Well, before I get started, I had a flashback to a time not too long ago when I found and visited the Dear Abby archives/website. I found the digital copy of the letter and a loooooooooooooooong line of responses from other people, reminding me of the old chatroom and message board days. There are many who have the same responses and a handful claiming to be in similar shoes. So, anything I could say wouldn’t be much different. And, I am not sure the “discussion” is any better than comments on YouTube, as they may be hard to read/filter.

On that note, I WILL still offer some thoughts and personal experience. After all, I am not a man of few words, usually. And, if I get carried away, it might be too much for the comment trail space. I might get more attention at the source. Yet, this is just as good, writing out my thoughts, self therapy, if nothing else.

If you can handle it, please take the time to read my “radically reduced” response (which, after two drafts, is still quite long). [I am slowly learning to curb myself and save some information for more appropriate, more fruitful settings. The general public viewing space is not the same as controlled group therapy.]

But, if you reader(s) care to sift through the website comments, go HERE.

*****

First off, I was surprised I didn’t think to ask it myself. Are you a man or woman suffering from this? I presumed you were a man like me which prompted me to respond. Some of what you said struck such a resounding tone with my own troubles.

Secondly, as I know I can say more than can fit in a few lines, if you read what I have to say and want to discuss these matters (perhaps more privately), my mailbox is open.

I’ll try to group my thoughts to address various topics…and keep the details brief.

LABELS

I don’t like to say I have a condition or disease as this only makes matters worse than if I simply think of my troubles as clouds overhead which can be diminished or replaced with sun, now and then. Better to think of the bad times as foul weather that will pass, I say.

ESTEEM AND/OR ANXIETY

I don’t consider what I suffer from as low self-esteem but, rather, social anxiety, a fear to engage people beyond a certain trust level. It’s not as bad as a gal I know who freaks out if a guy approaches her to be more than a friend. I can mingle with certain people if the “water” is inviting enough. I typically have little to no trouble talking to people who I don’t consider relationship prospects, but I cannot seem to approach any woman I find attractive. And, if I do begin talking with one who then turns out to be more than I can handle (or fear she will find fault with me), it becomes a real dire situation to get out of the mess. So, I tend to run through the scenario beforehand and avoid even a kind greeting or more than “Hi.” [I set myself up to fail before trying.]

I’ve tried various methods of countering my anxieties. One, which has yet to work well though I love the idea, is delivering thoughts on paper. Rather than speaking with the person directly or trying to get an email address/phone number (as some seem to make appear so easy), I would write my thoughts in a note and pass it to the person or get someone to pass it to the person. I never passed notes in school, ironically. But, I’ve done it on the job (hoping to avoid a boss telling me not to socialize on the job by inviting the person I wanted to speak with to find me after work).

You’ve probably heard the bits about loving yourself before you love another and being comfortable alone, too. I don’t know what to think of these philosophies, but they give me a headache.

I was a kid who spend adequate time alone because Mom and Dad were not available or interested in what I liked to do, other than art, and I couldn’t do art all of the time. [That’s a whole other ball of wax, source of childhood trauma.] I could occupy myself and say I was okay. But, as I matured, I needed some social connection. I had heard “no man is an island” and took it to heart. I just wasn’t very good at getting off my island and joining the natives of another. And, no one was going to show me the ropes without sounding suspicious.

We’ve likely both been “okay” on our own long enough. How long do we have to go alone before we connect with someone? Right? And, how do we define loving ourselves? How do we know we pass the test and can move on to the next step, loving someone else? Who verifies our abilities?

TALKING DOWN ABOUT ONESELF

I don’t recall doing this in my youth. What I do recall wasn’t so much me talking about myself as it was conveying what others had said/done about me. I guess it was my way of taking a punch instead of fighting back. I’m not exactly a fighter, but as the saying goes, “corner a cat and get scratched.” [I’ve had my moments when I lashed back at those who went too far.]

However, as I entered my teens, I started to seriously wonder what was wrong with me. I can relate to what you say about not making yourself happy. For the longest time, I have put up with crap, figuring I could do no better. I would not say I have low standards by any stretch, but I have taken chances without making sure the decision was right in my gut. And, usually, when I don’t follow my desires, I run into trouble. Yet, if I only listened to my inner voice, I’d probably be more anti-social than I already am, because, I suspect, some of the voices inside me have been shoved in there by my family and peers. And, why do I want to listen to them?

THERAPY AND SELF-HELP BOOKS/EXPERTS

Whenever someone has no better advice or assistance to offer, I see this often. “Get professional help.” As if it were so simple. If you’re lucky, insurance may cover some or all of it. But, I doubt it. And, from my experience, it was more harm than help, especially when my family did whatever the professionals prescribed without considering its impact on me. As a minor, I was not to be trusted; I might as well have had rabies or be told I was due to be “put down.” In short, my trust in therapy ended when the last pill I was convinced to take nearly ended my life. When professional help goes that far the wrong way, you either get mad or you die obeying strangers.

I’ve encountered many “self-help” books, too, by self-proclaimed life-experts. I would snort at these quite hastily, wondering what makes anyone an expert on life when they are still living and learning as I am. Especially, if that life expert is younger than me. After all, what is the sense of life experience if someone can live it all before another? Just because one tree figures out how to produce apples faster than another does not make it wiser or all-knowing about fruit production. [This logic might also be applied to the medicine field and how pill manufacturers fail to grasp the concept of every body being potentially different; we can’t all be lab rats just to satisfy someone’s curiosity.]

Maybe I am not being fair. Maybe there are still good therapists in this world. But, I have yet to meet one. And, after my horrible experience, I am inclined to reject the idea.

If you DO consider professional help (in other words, advice and/or assistance from someone outside the circle that knows you already), I hope you can do as much research as possible and defer the expense.

I think therapy works when we accept someone’s way of thinking into our own. I’ve read some self-help books that have fairly good ideas. I just have a hard time trusting my soul to a book instead of someone I can see with my own eyes and hold with my hands. [I suppose this could have people questioning my ability to believe in a god, my religion. After all, what is faith in a god other than trusting stories passed down about someone I cannot see or hold?] So, if you tell yourself to have faith in the words of another, it’s likely you’ll adapt and do your best to make that work.

I guess, because I’ve “been there, done that,” it’s hard for me to trust, again.

Suggestions for countering these problems:

1) Well, I already gave one about labeling conditions/difficulties.

2) As for the lack of confidence to engage others or feel better about ourselves, I wish I could find a good therapy group, if I cannot do better at making friends on my own. I’m not likely to seek such a group out, sadly. I have doubts about therapy and professionals but DO think a group is better than one-on-one.

I had brief experience with group therapy and campfire discussions. But, I could feel, rather quickly, a sense of community. When everyone in the group contributes, there is less likelihood of distrust. You slowly let your guard down and accept not being alone with the problem. I had a good time with my senior (high school) retreat when the group was able to divulge personal trials. Suddenly, those who appeared flawless were just as fragile as I, and I wanted to reach out to them, to hug them. [Sadly, the trip did not end as well as it started.]

HOWEVER, be sure you are in the right group and gauge your experience day-by-day. Because, I was placed with one group who had different problems than my own, and it made no sense for me to spill my emotions to people who could barely speak for themselves and/or comprehend my woes.

3) I have repeatedly tried something over my lifetime which doesn’t exactly accomplish much other than shaking an emotional load off my shoulders. Whenever someone made me feel “less than” or hounded me (like a bully), I would concoct a tall tale. [This probably contributed to some calling me a liar at the wrong time, like the “boy who cried wolf.”] It’s sort of like the advice some give about wild animal encounters; you make yourself look big. That’s what I did without attempting to be cooler or dress differently (as many would do). I talked big and fabricated details, hoping to steer away whatever was looming over me like a plague. It doesn’t necessarily make me feel better about myself, but it helps to steer the threats away.

Consider this a last resort strategy. Some days, I’d just want to get home and unwind. And, I’d tell myself this strategy accomplished the bottom line. It got me out of the line of fire. But, if the problem didn’t stop

4) I like how people describe Conan O’Brien as having “self-deprecating humor.” People like him are able to stay modest and have a sense of humor about themselves, so it’s less likely to get or feel hurt. In some foreign films, you might hear “fight fire with fire” or “counter poison with poison.” Even in common medicine, a vaccine is often a re-built virus used to counter another.

So, rather than simply shoot yourself down, have a sense of humor about your shortcomings. Find a way to turn a negative into a joke. So, at least, if you DO find yourself in an awkward situation, you can make light of it. And, try not to let yourself wonder if your date thinks you suffer from anything just because you make jokes or put yourself down. Don’t double the weight already on your mind.

5) Think outside the dating box. If you view a date in any particular way and figure it’s a hopeless case, try designing a different date (like drawing a new map for how to walk through a park or a new menu for your favorite restaurant). [IE Some expect sex on a third date. I don’t care for this “rule.” I must assure myself I don’t have to follow it and set my own rules. And, if my date doesn’t agree, I don’t have to continue dating that person.  Of course, I may be good at designing, but I lack the drive or self-assurance to put my designs into reality/action.  Which is why I see myself as a good interior decorator.  hehe  I design the room but don’t necessarily have to do all the remodeling.]

I’ll take a chance in saying something about my dating history.  I’ve probably gone on a handful of dates, altogether.  My first date was as much a disaster as it was a relief.  I was once accused of standing someone up and ran into an emotional dispute IN PUBLIC (which I dread) as a result of me pursuing the relationship that, apparently, wasn’t to be.

I do better befriending a person and then trying to arrange times we can hang out together casually, instead of trying to follow some schedule every few days, weeks or months.  [And, the people I usually befriend come from my workplace.  I don’t go to “normal” hangouts to meet people because I don’t have a group of friends to join me.]  I’ve “dated” people through emails and chat rooms before meeting them in person.  I can’t say I’ve had much success, but it certainly feels better getting what you can for free or little money than paying some agency of faceless strangers to hopefully find you a match.  My methods are not conventional.  But, I’m not sending disturbing nude images to people just to get a rise out of them, either (like some who deter people from trying anything online).

6) Exercise is good. I agree with those who recommend exercise for improving psychology and the mood. [Posture and what we do with our hands also play a part.]  I didn’t get it until my twenties. In school, I wasn’t exactly lazy, but I didn’t do anything to “work out” other than play video games and the occasional sport practice by my own rules. I never lifted a weight or ran a mile (which proved to be a cause of great distress and embarrassment). But, once I started walking to get groceries, etc., I found myself melting pounds and stress away. I recommend bringing a headset radio/MP3 player to give yourself something to “suck” on and tune out the traffic. But, if you like walking among nature and listening to every little sound, have at it. I tend to dwell on negative thoughts without my music.

7) Diet may be a factor.  Consider what you eat regularly but don’t guilt yourself for enjoying the occasional comfort food.  A few tips in this area:

a) Moderation is a very important word.  If you find yourself eating a whole bag of chips or candy, stop.  Nor do you need to eat a whole head of lettuce in a day to say you’ve had your veggies.  Have a little of every food group or flavor type, and your taste buds will feel fuller sooner.

b) There are self-help books that talk about how what we eat impacts both physical and mental health.  Look into Ayurvedic medicine, the use of herbs and various food groups to address internal issues like nerves.  I’ve heard pumpkin seeds and shrimp are good for countering nerves, but I’ve seen minor results, at best.

c) Know your body type.  Some people are just genetically built to change weight/shape as the seasons shift.  Some, like me, don’t gain weight much because of a hyper metabolism.  Others are designed to be stout.  Once you know your type, accept it.  [I would presume this is a step to that “self love” requirement, but it’s not often someone will address it this way.]

8) If you haven’t already, consider looking into astrology and figuring out who to avoid, who to approach and what you can do to appeal to those you do approach.  You might be surprised by what clicks with another person, finding new connections/commonalities.  I personally find the subject full of possibilities and creatively inspiring.  But, that may just be because of my “sign.” 🙂

9) When all else fails or seems too complicated, don’t forget to take deep breaths and blow the negative thoughts and clutter from your mind.  I’ve had many bouts with panic attacks.  [Another topic for another time.]  Some nights, I’d go to bed worried I’ll forget something important that just crossed my mind.  I need to have faith and tell myself what matters will be there when I wake.

10) Art is often my therapy.  I can craft in many forms.  There is no specific yoga pose or martial art I have to follow.  I just have to pray for creative inspiration and appreciate it when it comes.  There’s a whole study on the use of mandalas and adult coloring books you might investigate.  Or, try what my family call “doodle challenges” in which one person draws a line or shape, and another (or yourself if you really must do this alone) turns that shape or line into something.  It’s sort of like finding shapes in the clouds.  [This is not directly helpful to dating, but it may be good for clearing the distressful clutter from your mind/heart.]

[I’m sure I’ll think of more and reconsider some of my verbiage in good time.  🙂  Again, if interested, I’m willing to compare notes via email and, eventually, other means.]

 

I normally copy this to a special blog page I created as an archive.  But, it doesn’t seem to be working, today, in case anyone wonders why the response isn’t there (or the link here).]

28
Feb
17

My Response to “Achiever Mom” (Carolyn Hax)

*****
You can find my response to this and other letters on the designated page. But, while you’re here, have a read.  [You may find a loose end or two as my response kept evolving over a few days.  I finally just decided to post what I had.]

Achiever Mom is concerned about her son who is twelve years old, not exceptional in sports or academics and void of any interest with which she feels able to relate. She mentions her husband as a socially anxious under-achiever and highlights a moment in which her son supposedly chose to forfeit a spelling bee due to a lack of interest in winning/trying. Claiming she grew up grasping at every opportunity she could, this incident made her angry at him for not being more ambitious to achieve greater status.

Carolyn Hax does a decent job of asking Mom to accept her son as he is and let him find his own way. But, Hax seems to be making the assumption the son bailed on the challenge, knowing it would irk his mom, making the son appear more devious than he may be (which could have a negative impact on what the mother does next).

While overall content with the article/response, I felt there were a few details missing, details that might need light shed upon them to better understand and direct the situation at a crucial stage. This case also touches on a personal one, which motivates me to speak out. Thus, the following response is more about my experience and how it may be related to the situation at hand than added advice.

————–

Achiever Mom, you be careful with that boy. I don’t want to scare you, but soon, he will be entering high school, that tumultuous stormy sea between Scylla and Charybdis that tests youth’s metal. He will face temptation, heavier work loads and peer pressure like he has never known. He will be torn between convention and rebellion, between practical and unorthodox. And, if you so much as twist his wrist in an effort to tell him “how it’s done” or fail to teach him how to accept defeat, you could scar him and the connection you have for life.

If you don’t mind reading a novella, I’m content to sit down and discuss this with you for the moment. Getting all of the thoughts out and answers we might benefit from is a tad hard to achieve in half of a newspaper page. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, take a deep cleansing breath, maybe fix yourself a calming drink and have a go at this.

[FYI, I speak from experience; I was a boy much like your son. I had a father who (without any “inheritance”) boasted military experience (in “peace time”) and a mother who was the self-proclaimed ruler of discipline and organization (as well as the queen of denial). But, I didn’t bail on the spelling bee. I simply fell short and discouraged myself from trying, again, because I had been built up to think I was smarter than I performed and acknowledged for a skill I must not have valued much (until I was older and learned to care more about the full use of words than just spelling them). I made one mistake and didn’t have the nurturing I felt necessary to continue or didn’t see the logic in trying, again. I had no “failure coping skills,” no interest in being less than the best and, to be quite honest, little to no interest in glory from spelling.

There were many other instances in which I had gut instincts to go one way and my parents insisted I go their way. And, in short, because they only accepted doing things my way after it was too late (after I paid the price of going against my gut feeling) or after lengthy protest and stressing out, a rift gradually grew. In just a few years, it grew to the point I lost sight of the childhood love I had for my parents. And, to this day, that love is razor thin; it’s an obligation and an oath, not a comfort or treasure.

I had a hard time talking with my parents about nearly every concern on my mind. And, there were plenty in my early teens. Certain tasks or challenges were deemed too dangerous or unfit for me before I could even attempt them. Where I wanted to try was not always approved. The more often I quit, the less my parents approved of me; and the more I disliked myself. Yet, I could not see any merit in continuing what discouraged and/or hurt me, as well as what seemed “too hard.” I was told I was a good student, but that didn’t seem the case when it came to learning from/with my parents. Confusion does not make a good foundation. And, when later asked by others why I couldn’t do something, I felt too embarrassed to say no one never taught me or that I was afraid to learn. Nor could I easily take what others taught me and apply it at home without my parents objecting strongly.]

Your last little paragraph kind of says it all. You are a tightly wound violin string ready to snap at the kid for a “mocking bow” and potentially never succeeding at anything. You may say it was so, but I don’t know and doubt he was mocking. Nor would I be so harsh to assume he will never succeed at anything; that’s just devastating talk. Get that junk out of your head, doing a weekly sweep if necessary.

[That reminds me of a time when my mother thought I was “faking” weakness/illness/injury. I was actually physically, mentally and emotionally hurt; and she thought I was faking. I don’t remember her saying so when I was in the moment. But, hearing her thoughts, decades later, hurt almost as much as they would have had I heard them as that kid. It explains why I felt so abandoned and helpless at the time, left to fend for myself like a baby bird that fell from the nest. Yet, I didn’t do so well fending for myself. Had I been a bird, I probably would have died or been eaten.]

Whether or not you shake your head at my earlier assessment, let me ask you a valid question (or two). How successful are you, really? [That might have shed some light on the situation.] Are you the “breadwinner?” Are you at the peak of your career path? Or, are you “content” with much less than you yourself could have had yet wishing–as many do–for your children to “have a better life” while losing sight of what you experienced?

Understand that some things never change; but others do. Tools that were available when you were his age are not the same now. Opportunities you had then are not necessarily available now. Others you did not have are. Circumstances are slightly different.

———
This next portion is going to sound much like what Carolyn said with a few different words. You might find a few new perspectives. But, you can skip past it, if you prefer.

Instead of focusing on the word “succeed,” right now, put the phrase “stimulate the happiness of others” up over your work space and do everything in your power to guide your son toward what makes him happy (not what makes you happy). In time, I would guess (I mean, what do I know?) this will turn into success once he feels good about what he can do before assuming he can or must be successful.

Teach him a lesson my parents had a hard time–if not failed at–grasping: how to experience failure and deal with it. Don’t teach him to fear failure and fear trying things you feel he isn’t fit or right to do (like laundry, cooking and other household chores), just because he doesn’t do them your way or makes a mess. [Maybe there’s a reason he doesn’t follow directions well; and it doesn’t have to be a “disability” or “attitude problem.”]

The scariest part of the coming years could be letting him do what he chooses and being ready to cushion any blows that come from those decisions, not letting him take over your house and lifestyle but allowing him to mold himself rather than have you pick the shape he takes. If there is competition, let him decide to enter or avoid it. Encourage him to discuss what is happening in his life without framing the moment with past experiences and assumptions/predictions. Then, if you see an opportunity for him to take a chance with good odds, kindly nudge him.

Say something like, “Hey, you’d be good at that. Why don’t you give that a try?” And, leave it at that. Or, provide the tools/supplies without any pressure to use them. [If you must, try a little negotiation. Say you’ll do ____ for him if he does ____ for you (for himself). And, don’t cave if he resists. But, don’t deprive him of necessities, either. Don’t take away his ability to connect with friends, regardless what he has done (and not from what he MIGHT do).] If he turns away from the challenge, don’t fight his decision. [However, if his life takes any scarier turns, if he withdraws so much from interaction, chores and challenges that his life seems in jeopardy, other action will become necessary.]

———

The first line of your letter that jumped out at me was where you mentioned your son being nervous and not wanting to be there. [Actually, the first was his saving grace, his sense of humor. I seem to have survived this long with that little life preserver, myself.] While nerves and refusal may be signs of weakness one could halt by pushing the weakling into the fray of battle, it might also have been an area of achievement he had little interest in pursuing. And, pressure to do something we do not instinctively favor could be unnecessary pressure, like peer pressure. Just because our peers tell us we’re uncool for not doing what they do; that doesn’t mean we can’t choose to do things differently.

Some adults might recall being kids pushed to take up musical instruments but, later, giving up these lessons to take up medical or financial jobs. They might look back and question their parents’ pressure to take interest. [Or, if they are so fortunate, the former kids might integrate those lessons into adult life and be some amazingly, envy-worthy, diverse people.]

[I personally was adept at math because I had a brain apparently gifted at absorbing equations. But, would I pursue math contests? No way. Too boring. I’m a creative spirit. There is no creativity in math, other than creating problems and, later, solutions. I don’t mind problem-solving. But, I guess I have little to no interest into imagining problems in terms of numbers and variables. My mind is more geared toward seeing social, arrangement/composition or regulation problems around me and figuring out solutions.]

One other thing about your letter that sticks in my mind: You briefly mention the husband being socially anxious and an under-achiever who struggles to get jobs. Yet, you love this guy; you married this guy, right? [That may be a tiny weight off my shoulders, an ounce of hope.] But, how much do you love him? And, could it be your marriage is merely another challenging opportunity you took upon yourself? Did you enter this family structure like a school contest, hoping to work your way up the ranks from district to state, mold the members like clay sculptures until they won the blue ribbon at the county fair? In other words, do you love your husband (and your son) for who he is, for being part of your life? Or, do you see them as works in progress you just haven’t been able to fully improve to the best of your ability, yet?

What would you say or have done had your husband not “inherited” any money? Would that have any impact on you marrying him? Was the money or family status a push toward the thought of a stable future/home?

I wonder, how does your husband feel about you (and the kid/s)? Do you have more than one child? That too could be a big factor in this pressure-to-achieve situation. For instance, how does this son get along with his siblings? How “successful” or “driven” are they? Might this son feel pressured to be like them when he is not?

[I knew a few “only childs” and saw how their parents treated them like pet projects, like singular rockets filled with hopes of greater success than any family of six or more could achieve.]

How would the husband feel being labeled an underachiever? Does he accept this like a healthy bowl of bran cereal to stabilize his diet? Is he comfortable not doing as much as some, accepting that some people are tortoises while others are hares? Or, do the words cut a little deep, leave him a little less eager to try?

———
Here comes some more advising verbiage. Again, breeze past it if you’d rather read more unique material.

At twelve, your son is at a crucial time of development, sure. [Heck, every year between birth and whatever number you want to use for labeling adulthood is crucial.] And, you could fortify this by giving him a swift kick into some regimen like boarding school or a “balanced diet,” and trust this will keep his back straight, his shoulders back and his elbows off the table. But, what is more important is a trusted family member fortifying him with experiences, both good and bad.

He needs to be free to try things, learn how to do them both your way and his own way and experience failure to learn from his mistakes. You’ve probably heard similar advice elsewhere. It just might not have stuck with you or found purpose. Well, I’d say the purpose has been found. It’s your son. And, he needs his mother to still catch him when he falls but to let him fall, as well, and learn what comes with failure, including the steps to recovery.

A parent who is driven by only success and grabbing every opportunity might not be relaxed enough to say, “It’s okay if I don’t have any interest in ___. Maybe I’ll give it a try; and, if I don’t like it, that’s fine. I’ll do better at something else.” You might get upset if you take on a crossword puzzle and leave half of it blank. You might cut interests out of your life because you did not excel at them. Or, you might think you have to be good at everything.

———

Which brings me back to the father in the picture. What’s his input with the son? How does he nurture the boy? Is his method annoying to you? If you answer the last question with some form of “yes,” that says plenty. Maybe a lack of desire to compete and excel could be directly or subtly linked to an unhappy union in which two committed lovers–role models for the boy–are anything but encouraging images at the finish line. The boy might not want to complete the race because the prize at the end of the road is not worth his time/energy. [Or, maybe, it’s not you he’s looking at but other families falling apart.]

———
One last push to sound competent and professional. These moments just pour out of me like a leaky boat. It’s the chatty therapist in me.

Get to know your son and his interests. [If at seventeen he still likes the cartoons he watched at five or keeps a stuffed animal on his bed, don’t harp on that being a bad thing.] Let him decide when it’s time to keep or part with something. Don’t assume his decisions or ways are bad ones. Teach your son how to pick himself up and try, again. Don’t insist he must continue or be smarter or more successful than he feels fit/able. Or, live with the possible failure of staying connected with your son; accept that he will likely cut ties with you or resent you if you push too hard or fail to fill in other gaps.

You can’t guarantee success no matter what method you try. You, too, must be able to cope with “failure” and still find happiness, contentment. Otherwise, this life is a miserable one.

———

Phew! And, breathe. [This is just the tip of the emotional iceberg for me.] If you manage to find my lengthy thought process here and wish to continue, feel free to contact me.

06
Feb
17

My Response to “Teen in Ogden, Utah” (Dear Abby)

*****

You can find my response to this and other letters, now available for your viewing and opinion, on the designated page

But, while you’re here, have a read.

“Teen” is fifteen years old and entering a Crusade, a religion-fueled war, with his divided parents. How the parents even managed to get married and have a kid is a mystery, considering one believes in God and the other sounds like an atheist. What is not a mystery is why “Teen” is distancing himself from the parents and feeling uncomfortable when church-related topics arise.

I might have left this one alone had I not been bothered by Abby’s last “sage advice” from a “wise clergyman.”

———

The opposite of faith is certainty? What is that supposed to mean, Abby? And, what do you expect this young man to do with that? I’d expect him to emulate his father. I do not think such “wise” words would inspire him to remain true to any religion/faith.

“Teen,” there is only one thing I am certain of: you will learn a great deal about how impulses of your parents dwell inside you in the coming years if not decades. And, you will do battle with those facets until you can rest assured in your choices. Knowing this, you can either accept the stress you feel as part of the life you’ve been given or seek out activities and groups that relieve this stress. Hopefully, ones that don’t involve “recreational drugs” and/or violence other than martial arts practice. A club or class/group that eases your mind will be far less costly than a therapist and could result in making some valuable connections.

If I may ask a few questions…

Exactly how does your belief in God vary so greatly from your mother’s that there is this problem? And, why does it seem like your non-believing father has no interest in involving himself in this struggle of yours? I picture him hiding his face behind a newspaper or cellphone while your mother “encourages” you to participate in a religious community. Apparently, you have no concern for hurting HIS feelings because he has offered none; he simply lets you do what you like until it affects his wallet or some other non-religious aspect of his life. [Or, is it possible your parents are on the verge of divorce and you simply opt to support your mother while opposing your father? Is it possible your mother married your father with aspirations of changing his ways and making him a part of her chosen faith?]

I may be off-base. But, I hear these other voices in response to your comments.

You say: It’s really uncomfortable when people ask why I haven’t been in church.
I hear/think: Church bothers me because it’s too formal. [Or maybe] Church bothers me because I’m asked to give money. [Or] Church bothers me because it interferes with my free/fun time. [Or] Church bothers me because my parents don’t go there together; it does not hold us together as a family.

You say: Mom signs me up for church activities, and I don’t like going.
I hear/think: I struggle with socializing/participating. [Or] I’m anti-social. [Or] I suffer from social anxiety.

Abby suggests telling your mother how much you love her and hope she will continue loving you as you explore your life/religious options. I would guess none of that sounds easy or comfortable for you. Am I right?

If I was you, I’d have a hard time saying I love my mother, too. At your age, I was entering a similar battle and just starting to distance myself from my parents who seemed unable to respect my decisions and even my personal space. Pressure to change one’s ways or attend certain activities could be a sign of lacking trust in you to make your own decisions and come to your parents for advice when you need it.

I cannot tell you which faith is right or wrong. But, if you can better understand or see what motivates the feelings you have, you can answer your own questions. If your mother is so bent on getting you involved in the activities of her church community, hurting her feelings may be inevitable. Yet, if her faith and love for you is strong, she will recover from the bruises. [Just don’t cut ties with her completely unless that is what you truly want. What you want today may differ from what you decide to have in your life years from now.]

13
Oct
15

Struggling to Conceive? The Impossible Conception

*****

I feel the need to say something about any couple “struggling to conceive.”  I feel this just about every time I hear those words.

There is no struggling to conceive!  There is a reason you do not get pregnant.  And, more than likely, it’s because the time is not right for one or both of the individuals involved.  If you are famous, your career is a concern.  If you are not famous, maybe you two are not right for each other or not fit to be parents.  Just because it’s the thing other people do doesn’t mean you have to do it, too.

One of the frustrating facts of life hits us like a bus when we come up against our shortcomings.  And, sure, we can challenge ourselves, push our limits.  But, think about this.  Pregnancy, giving birth, is a HUGE concern.  It’s right up there with the overproduction of animals as pets (which so many fail to take care of before taking appalling steps).  How many single parents are out there now?  How many couples divorce in the blink of an eye?

So, the next time you think you are “struggling to conceive,” take a step back and think about what you are doing.  It’s not about what’s wrong with your bodies or some cruel hand of fate.  It’s about what’s right for you and the world.  Once you bite the apple…

25
Sep
13

Do It Right or Not At All

This comic strip (sent to me by an acquaintance) sums up my childhood, growing up with perfectionist parents who couldn’t teach us kids how to be responsible without making us feel completely hopeless. If we couldn’t do it THEIR way, we couldn’t do anything. If we tried to copy them, we were never right. If the task was deemed too dangerous, we were made to fear it. Eventually, none of us did any chores or earned any allowance. We were just poor fools.

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