on the up side

It's a funny kind of up side, and might not sound like one, unless you're an ACON. 

My oldest son is hitting the very beginning edges of puberty. We're not dealing with body odor and hair in strange places and long showers and such yet, but oh, the mood swings. It's bringing me back to when I was his age, and emotion was JUST SO INTENSE, out of the blue. Gotta love those hormones.

I spend a lot of time lately feeling like I am totally failing at this mom stuff. The pre-teen challenges make me feel so, so, SO out of my depth. Babies are easy. You change their diapers and snuggle them and feed them and carry them around and their needs are met. Preschoolers are a little more challenging but you can still keep one step ahead and figure out strategies for handling the tougher days. And there are oodles of books and websites and people in general out there in the world handing out information about little kids and ideas for how to live with them. But this. THIS. I have no idea what to do with preteens and teenagers. I have had no role models for how to be a great parent to a teen. There are very few books about interacting with adolescents and guiding them in a way that jives with how I want to raise my kids. I am SO lost.

Suddenly, kiddo numero uno is very, very, very aware of people all around him. People who can see what he's doing. People who can hear everything he says. People who might be JUDGING him. I can see little adolescent insecurities getting their nasty goblin fingers around his guts. And I know so well, having been that age once myself, that there is no amount of logic that will convince him that other people are not paying close attention to him. That it really doesn't matter what you wear, that you can just get over being insecure and not care.

He and I were in a children's clothing store the other day. This store carries a comfortable brand of underwear that kiddo #1 has been wearing for years. Recently, I have retired some of his underwear because they are worn out or too babyish (airplanes and cartoon moose are a definite no-go now). So I suggested that we pick up a package or two of new ones. He immediately started looking angry and upset.

Me: "what?"
Him: "I don't need any underwear."
Me: "Yes, you do. You don't have enough pairs and some are wearing out."
Him, between his teeth, getting pissed: "I Don't Need Any Underwear."
Me: "We're buying some. You prefer solids, right? No stripes? I know you don't want the other patterns."
Him: "MOM. I Don't. Need. Any. Underwear."

By this time, he looked really mad and he was starting to tear up. Apparently buying underwear is a big deal. I didn't know it was a big deal. Besides, he needs some. I ignored him and went to look through the rack. They were missing his size, so I asked a saleswoman if they had any in the back. She went to look. I turned back to kiddo #1 and his eyes were wide with RAGE and brimming with tears. I was irritated with him. He does need new underwear. He was being unreasonable. What's the big deal? It's just underwear!

What I wanted to say: "OH. MY. GOD. Will you GET OVER IT?!?! NOBODY is looking at you. NOBODY is paying attention to you. NOBODY CARES that your mom is buying underwear for you. It's JUST UNDERWEAR. THIS IS NOT A BIG DEAL."

What I actually said: "Honey, almost everybody buys underwear. There's nothing embarrassing about it. Even that saleswoman probably buys underwear, and sometimes she probably asks people for help. It's not a big deal."

Less than perfectly empathetic, eh?

The saleswoman came back and told me that they were out of his size, so we left. He was fuming. I suppressed the desire to roll my eyes.

But then, as we walked to the car, I suddenly got it. It IS a big deal to talk about or be seen buying underwear in public. Not to me, but to him. This is his reality. And I am not going to be able to logic him out of this. There is not going to be a convincing argument. Because he has hit that age - the age at which everything is embarrassing, especially if your parent is doing it. Oh, god. Are we there already?I thought back to being his age and embarrassed, and said what I think pre-teen me would have wanted to hear: "I'm sorry that that was so embarrassing for you. It didn't occur to me that it would be embarrassing."

After getting to the car, I checked in with him to see if he was still mad. He was, so I waited a while, and after he had cooled off, this is what I said: "So, I'd like to know how I could do things differently so you're not so embarrassed. Right now you don't feel like you need underwear. Sometime in the future you might need new underwear. What kind of plan should we make so that you can let me know what you want, but you don't have to feel embarrassed?"

I realized that my kid is in the perpetually-embarrassed stage, I apologized to him for not getting it, I thought about whether or not it's absolutely necessary to ask him in public about underwear (it's not) or to shop with him for it (also not). There are other ways to do this, ways that respect his right to be an awkward, self-conscious pre-teen. He will grow up later. He will, one day, be a twentysomething guy who can walk into a store and buy a pack of underwear without a care. Ok, maybe it will take him until 30. But it'll happen. Right now, this stuff feels hugely important to him, those feelings are very real, and I can recognize his feelings for what they are without getting my own panties in a bunch about it.

I'm sure I will embarrass him again in the near future, and again, and again. I'm also sure that there will be times when I'm not willing to change what I'm doing, and he will be forced to deal with his own embarrassment. But there will also be lots of times when I decide that I can give the poor hormonally-addled, frontal-lobe-growing, mortified kid a break. Because I have the ability to empathize and show compassion. And THAT is the up side, my friends. 

free to disagree

Dropping in to quickly share a thoughtful Facebook post from The Peaceful Parent Institute.

I love how free my children are to give me honest feedback about what they do and don't like. I love how clearly lacking in inner conflict they are when they express frustration that's resulted in some way from what I've done/said, not done/not said...the next time your child is giving you feedback that's a little bit hard to swallow, try to hold that you're giving them a HUGE gift of allowing, supporting and validating their feelings, their right to have "negative" feelings in close relationships and a right to explore, identify, put words to and express those feelings.

You can read the rest here.

parenting resolutions for the ACON

 

 With the start of a new year coming up, many of us are thinking about who we want to be in 2013. For some this means a plan to diet and exercise, or to accomplish a specific goal. For me, new year's resolutions are more about touching base with my core values than a to-do list. I started calling it a "mission statement" a few years back, and make an effort to check in with it from time to time, to see if I still value the same things, and to remind myself of my intentions.

I wrote the following two years ago, as part of a post about coming out of the FOG, but I think it can stand alone as a mission statement for parents who are also children of narcissists. I'm considering printing it out and hanging it up somewhere where I can see it more frequently.

I will be myself. I will work to overcome the anxiety, fear, and shame that shackle me. I acknowledge the heredity and upbringing that contributed to these issues in the past, and take responsibility for handling them in the present time.

I will not fraternize with people who do me harm, physically or emotionally. I will not subject my children to such people. I will continue to build a community of reciprocal relationships with friends and family members who play actively positive roles in our lives and who show a willingness to work constructively together in times of interpersonal struggle.

I will not allow any person to bully and intimidate my family via threats of legal action.

I will be a compassionate witness for others who need to share their stories and come out of secrecy, whether it is about abuse or any other personal trial. I will express my gratitude to the friends who share their struggles with me in order to let me know that I am not alone.

I will work hard to be a truly loving parent who understands who her children are as people, who will respect their rights, who rejects control-based parenting advice with its negative views of the nature of children. I will listen to my children's concerns. I will acknowledge my mistakes and apologize genuinely to them. I will not shame them or withdraw love from them when who they are is at odds with who I am. I will not use my size, experience, or age to oppress them. I will exercise patience, self-restraint, compassion.

I will expect my husband to confront me and support my children when I harm them. I will support them when they believe that he has done something unfair, or when I witness him doing something hurtful. We will work as a family to encourage an atmosphere of respect for all members, regardless of age.

I understand that my children may choose their own paths. I will work to be open to their criticism and understanding if, despite my intents in this time, I fail to play a significantly positive role in their lives. I will accept whatever relationship they wish to have with me in the future. I do not own their bodies or their minds, now or ever.

If you are a parent, what is your parenting mission statement, and how is it affected by also being an ACON?

i thee dread

I once heard the phrase "don't borrow trouble." The idea is that if you're worrying about things that haven't happened yet, or might not happen at all, you're borrowing potential trouble from your future and turning it into real trouble in your present. Well, I'm borrowing trouble, big time.

I dread weddings and funerals. Specifically, weddings and funerals which my parents might attend. Even more specifically, funerals of relatives that I love, and the weddings of my unmarried siblings. 

Nobody is dying right now, so that pot is sitting cold on the back burner. But the weddings. Oh, god, are there going to be weddings? Brother #3 has a long-term girlfriend. He's had others. Will this one be "the one"?  Will I have to spend thousands of dollars on traveling and hotels and other wedding-related expenses, for a wedding that I don't really want to attend, but feel obligated to? My sister has been with her boyfriend for several years, and more and more lately, I wonder if an engagement announcement will be forthcoming. I told myself, hey, maybe they're just the cohabiting type. Maybe they'll never get married. Maybe they'll break up (sad, wouldn't wish for it, but could happen). Maybe they'll suddenly elope and spare the rest of us the ordeal of a family wedding. If they do have a ceremony, it'll most likely be closer to home, but still, ohhhhh...I don't want to go. Her college graduation was hard enough, but things between my mom and myself have gotten much worse (well, better for me in most ways, but you know what I mean) in the years since then and I Just. Don't. Want. To. Go.

But I will go. She's my sister, and I love her, and her wedding isn't about me or my mom, and I'll suck it up and go and be supportive and happy for her and not let her *know* that I'm sucking it up. I'll bring my kids, because she's their auntie, and they love her, and they should get to be present for the celebrations of people they love.

But I worry.

I worry about having to be near my mom.

I worry that my mom will try to talk to me.

I worry that my mom will try to touch me, or kiss my cheek like she did at another family gathering.
I worry about looking perfect, and not being too fat or too frowsy or too...something.
I worry about having to stand next to her in a receiving line, or sit near her at a table.
I worry about the interactions with relatives that I don't want to see, many of whom may lecture me about burying the hatchet.

I worry about bringing my children.

I worry that my mom will approach my children.
I worry that she will talk to them.
I worry that she will touch them and kiss and hug them.
I worry about whether or not I should allow her to go near them.

I worry that there's no real way to keep her away from my children if they're at the same event.
I worry about maybe telling my kids to stay away from Nona.
I worry that she'll sneak behind my back, when I'm away from them for a moment.

I worry that I'll feel like I want to protect them, and that I'll do something that leads to her causing a scene.

I worry that in the name of not drawing attention to myself during my sister's wedding, that I'll put on too brave a face and subject myself to too much.
I worry about the more-intimate rehearsal dinner, where all of this will be a thousand times harder.

And as of last week, I know that my sister is looking at rings, and that she'd like to have a simple ceremony but that it will at the very least be a small ceremony, not a private elopement, and that she is counting on me being her maid of honor.

And I know that I will go, and bring my children, and act natural, and that it will be really, really hard.

And I worry, and I worry, and I worry. 

labels

I'm reading David Burns' book Feeling Good, and while I'm actually becoming less of a fan of cognitive-behavioral therapy while reading it, I did like this passage:

"Labeling yourself is not only self-defeating, it is irrational. Your self cannot be equated with any one thing you do. Your life is a complex and ever-changing flow of thoughts, emotions, and actions. To put it another way, you are more like a river than a statue. Stop trying to define yourself with negative labels - they are overly simplistic and wrong. Would you think of yourself exclusively as an "eater" just because you eat, or a "breather" just because you breathe? This is nonsense, but such nonsense becomes painful when you label yourself out of a sense of your own inadequacies."

He goes on to talk about labeling others: "When you label other people, you will invariably generate hostility."

These aspects of self- and other-labeling brought to mind both how narcissistic parents tend to label their children (cold-hearted, the artistic one, dependable, moody, forgetful, bitchy, good, bad, etc) and also how we internalize those labels and apply them and others to ourselves. It also reminded me of the special ed mantra "put the child before the disability," because saying "an autistic child" focuses on what you think is wrong with the child, while saying "a child with autism" allows you to think of the child as a whole person, and their diagnosis as just one aspect of who he or she is. It helps you to think of the child in terms of what he or she can do, rather than what they can't.  This is true of any child, not just those with a medical or psychological diagnosis. The difference between a "difficult child" and a "child who is sometimes difficult to parent" can be vast. The same goes for labeling ourselves. Am I lazy, or am I a person who sometimes feels sluggish? Am I forgetful, or do I sometimes forget to do something? 

I'm going to think about what labels I put on myself today. Where did they come from? When do I use them? Can I change the way I apply them?

be excellent

“[Kids] don't remember what you try to teach them. They remember what you are.” 

- Jim Henson

mad

I'm pissed, and I'm not sleeping. 

My mother, my childhood, my extended family has been on my mind every day this month. I'm sure it's one part holiday-family-mindfuck, one part normal ACONness, and a bunch of other parts of other things all tossed in for good measure. 

Even while I feel happiness for making the choice to end contact with my mother and father, even while I revel in how good life is without the two of them and their shame parade, there has also been a bitterness brewing inside me. Something I learned tonight put a torch to the whole bitter pyre, and now I'm awake and seething about it.

The lovely message at the top of this post is the FUCK YOU that I never mailed to my mother. It festered in my head for many months, and finally I grabbed a sharpie and some paper and wrote them out. First they were simple line letters, then they became block letters, and then they grew curlicues. A fancy fuck you. Fuck you very nicely! Fuck you very much, y'all don't come back now, y'hear?

It made me smile, and I took the paper and stuck it in a journal. I later glued it in. When I'm feeling especially ticked off, I think of those embellished, bold, black letters and raise a middle finger to my FOO.  Tonight, in my ire, I scanned it and added a frame. It's a Formal Fuck You. I'm fantasizing about mailing it, or creating yard signs, or putting up a billboard, or hiring a skywriter. Yeah, a skywriter.

Tonight I'm feeling MAD. 

MAD that my mother won't leave my family alone.

MAD that my oldest brother said cruel things to me six months ago, things that were totally planted in his head by my fucking mother. MAD that he hasn't spoken to me since, even the one time we ended up in the same restaurant together. MAD about the way my mother played her children against each other, so that they have evil pictures in their heads of each other.

MAD that my mother cries her crocodile tears to whomever will listen, and MAD that they actually believe her. 

MAD about the times my sister-in-law has told me how sad she feels for my mom and my dad, who really do love me and miss me. MAD about how weakminded she must be to fall for this shit.

MAD that none of my siblings seem to remember the times when they were the black sheep.

MAD that in a huge extended family, I don't feel like I can trust anybody except maybe my sister. 

MAD that the habits I learned from my mother as a child make it so fucking difficult to be a patient, loving parent. MAD that I have to work so hard to do something that should come naturally.

MAD that she has the audacity to come onto my property. A little MAD that I didn't know she was there at the time, because I totally would have called the cops on her ass.

MAD about all the time and energy this emotional crap takes - time that could and should be spent on other things.

MAD that my lasting legacy from her is anxiety and depression, for which I take medication. MAD that the medication feels necessary for me to be a kind and engaged wife and mother.

MAD that she didn't deal with her own family shit, and instead handed it down to her kids.

MAD that I'm alone, the only one of her five kids who GETS IT, while the rest still do their adoring mommy-we-love-you-so-much routine.
MAD that this is SO UNFAIR.

And tonight, I'm MAD for one more reason. I'm MAD that she had the audacity to send my in-laws a Christmas card containing a woe-is-me letter. MAD that she's crying her sob story, "apparently I'm forbidden from seeing my grandchildren", to these people who ARE NOT HER PEOPLE. MAD that she is such an inappropriate bitch. MAD that she treats my children like her possessions. MAD that she would tell my in-laws to give my children a hug and kiss from her and tell them that she loves them. MAD MAD MAD.

And MAD that what I really want to do, send her a scathing letter letting her know that I'm fully aware of her manipulative bullshit and that I WILL NOT TOLERATE IT, is exactly the kind of thing I should not do. Do not feed the trolls. DO NOT ENGAGE.

So tonight, because I'm so full of MAD, and unable to vent my spleen all over the person who most deserves it, I'm spewing it here, instead:

BACK OFF, BITCH. My children do not belong to you. *I* do not belong to you. We are not objects, we are not playthings at your disposal. If your grandchildren meant ANYTHING to you as people, as human beings in their own right, you would know that anybody who harms me has NO PLACE in their lives. And if they meant anything to you, you would be working your ass off, night and day, to try to figure out where you went wrong in our relationship and FIX IT. You would not be courting the sympathies of people who are much more important in my life and my children's lives than they are in yours.

My kids are amazing people. I'm an amazing person. And YOU SUCK for not knowing it.

Stay off my lawn, stay away from my family, and STAY OUT OF MY LIFE.

And because maybe you didn't hear me the first time:

FUCK YOU

the ghosts of christmas past

Every holiday at my parents' house takes for-ev-er. My siblings and I would try to make plans so that we could work around all of our kids' naptimes and bedtimes. We considered the likelihood of kids falling asleep in the car on the way there and/or the way back. We thought about their happy and grumpy times of day. We figured out what time of day worked best for all of us and advocated for having family gatherings during that time. In short, we did our best as parents to set ourselves and our kids up for the smoothest, best-mood holiday gathering possible, and we did our best as siblings to accomodate each other. And really, it would have been fine, if it had been up to us. Problem is, my mom wants to host everything. And she is completely incapable of serving a meal less than two hours after the planned time. Inevitably, we ended up with hungry, tired, cranky kids and way-too-late bedtimes. And, of course, my mother commenting on the kids' bad behavior, which wasn't bad behavior at all, but hungry, tired, cranky behavior. I remember her thinking very poorly of older relatives who acted the way she does and who had no sympathy for the families with young kids. And now here she is, choosing to sneer at our parenting rather than choosing to help us plan a gathering that is actually fun for the people involved. 

The last several times I spent Christmas with my extended family, the gift exchange was hard. Since my brothers have gotten married, my mother, despite badmouthing the women behind their backs, gives them beautiful presents. The strange thing is that the presents don't suit the recipients...and they do suit me. They are, in fact, pretty much exactly the sorts of things somebody who knows me and loves me might give to me at Christmas. I ached when one SIL unwrapped a pair of beautiful, beautiful dresses from a label I had coveted in my early teens. The symbolism of giving a dress like that to me would have been wonderful. Instead, they were given to SIL, who doesn't wear dresses, and even if she did, she wouldn't wear these dresses. They were my style, not hers. She also received jewelry that was so totally *me*.  The same SIL once received gift certificates for pampering, and she hates that kind of spa service. I love it. Another SIL received home decor items that looked like they would fit perfectly in my home, not hers. Both SILs received mother-in-law/daugher-in-law weekends in gorgeous Bed & Breakfast inns with tours of museums. I have never once had a mother/daughter weekend. Not once. (At some point I let her know that it would be meaningful to me, and she begrudgingly promised one to me, then later asked me to plan it myself and insisted that I choose a specific weekend even though I was in my third trimester, hugely pregnant and uncomfortable, and not really disposed to travel at that time. The weekend never happened.) Meanwhile, my husband and I would receive strange, useless gifts, the kinds of things you give to somebody whom you don't know at all but feel obligated to buy for.  Gifts for my kids are generally completely out of sync with their age and interests, and more often than not, they break immediately, at which point she might mention replacing them, but never does.

Then there is the matter of my son's birthday. Kiddo had the good fortune to be born on Christmas Day. This means that on the 25th we have not one, but two occasions to celebrate. We have found ways that work for us, generally switching over to "birthday mode" in the second half of the day. Dinner is his choice rather than the turkey dinner I grew up with. We have birthday cake for dessert rather than other Christmassy desserts. Thanksgiving is when we have turkey and pumpkin pie; Christmas is when we have his birthday dinner...except when we go to my parents' house. Because apparently my parents and siblings are more attached to their traditional Christmas meal than to their grandson/nephew. Even though growing up, the birthday kid always got to choose dinner, when it interferes with the turkey, we can't have that! And can we all share cake? No! I would bring a cake, but they would still prepare the usual pies. Nobody except my husband and I would share cake with my son. My siblings and parents didn't even sit down at the table while singing their unenthusiastic birthday song; they were too busy trying to get their pie. The whole day would be CHRISTMAS!!!!! and no thought about the birthday kid. This is why so many people think Christmas birthdays suck. They don't have to suck if everybody else gets over themselves and gives some attention to the birthday boy. (I'm not asking for a parade, just geez, actually sit down and sing happy birthday and watch him blow out his candles and share some cake together. Be his tribe for a second, will ya?) This whole dinnertime dismissal of the birthday would also be hours later than planned, as indicated in the first holiday memory above. The whole thing felt awful. It felt like my son's birthday was an inconvenience to everybody, like oh, geez, yeah, we hafta squeeze in the birthday song somewhere here, ugh. I don't expect anybody to love my son like I do, but I do expect people to be gracious hosts, grandparents, aunts and uncles. I do expect that a child celebrating his birthday should get to pick the meal, eat it before his bedtime, and have everybody make him the center of attention for just fifteen minutes. I tried discussing my concerns with my siblings and parents, and they acted like I wanted excessive attention. They said they would *try* to compromise. It didn't happen. He was four. After that, I decided that if honoring his birth is such an inconvenience to them, we wouldn't subject them to it. We haven't been back for Christmas since.

Our first Christmas completely on our own was WONDERFUL. No agenda but ours. Nowhere to rush to, no dinner too late for the kids, and the birthday boy would be celebrated and appreciated just as he deserves.  My in-laws usually come to see us, or we might visit them on the other side of town. They make plans with us, asking about what works best for the kids, and they honor those plans. They are genuinely excited about my son's birthday. We enjoy each other's company. Isn't that how Christmas is meant to be?