“Mom, my pattern of silencing unhappiness had not served me well ... And that was especially true after I’d married Will. As a bride of twenty-two, I didn't connect Will's unexpected, emotional withdrawal with my devastating experience with Joseph in sixth grade. When love between children is dismissed as 'puppy love', we miss the fact that ... Love is love at every age. And I’d certainly not heard the term ‘self defeating pattern’.”
“So, what was your self defeating pattern, Annie?”
“Which one of many, Mom?” I asked with a smile. "Most importantly, this: I’d rarely shared my problems with anyone. Had I thought to bare my humiliation after those dreadful school bus rides, or had I opened up about my experience in the alley with Joseph, a shot of adult insight might have stopped me from biting off huge chunks of my self-esteem.”
“Wait ... I'm confused. Do you think what happened with Joseph and Will relates to Janet?”
“Not to Janet’s death, Mom, but to whatever had caused me to become so closed mouth until Will and I'd separated. Oh my God, Mom, did you hear the words I just said? Closed mouthed??? Me??? No one who knows me would have conceived of that being true—ever! Mom, think about the power behind that insight: I’ve never thought myself shy with words. Never. Yet, whenever confounding problems arose, my pattern had been to retreat into myself. *When we retreat with a problem, we end up stuck in a bad place, where no one can help us solve it. *If it’s a fact that nothing alive stays the same, very long—meaning everything gets better or worse—then a problem is bound to grow like a weed if the main root remains unidentified. In lieu of solutions, weeds undermine the good health of a garden, no matter how carefully the gardener plants seeds, and tends to the fruit of his labor with care."
"Annie, problems aren't alive."
"Problems aren't, but relationships are." "Think about it, Mom, when it comes to the good health of our relationships, problems, which go unchecked, worsen like colds, developing into pneumonia."
Since mothers tend to feel guilty about any mistakes while raising their children, discretion suggested my keeping certain thoughts (which I’ll share with you) to myself. So rather than telling my gentle, white haired, eight-eight year old mother the 'whole' truth, I choose to offer this slice of the truth, instead: “Here’s my point, Mom. It seems that from an early age, pleasing others is what had pleased me most about myself. In fact, it’s still hard for me to distinguish my needs from the needs of others. Any sense of conflict floods my mind with fear. In the split second that it takes to say, ‘No’, my mind floods with inner conflict. This stimulates the production of chemicals that shoot anxiety straight through the nervous system. As anxiety is fear and fear causes lucid thoughts to scatter, my brain pulses with static. Even when I stand my ground, I walk away feeling unfulfilled. Since it’s highly unlikely for selflessness to permeate any person’s psyche to its core, I've been learning what takes place when personal needs are compartmentalized (repressed) behind defensive walls. By the time I’d married Will, I’d grown accustomed to capitulating to the needs of others, while smiling brightly for all the world to see (including me). I imagine myself acting like Jackie Kennedy, soaking her pillow with silent tears, each time she’d climbed into her lonely, White House bed.
“Annie—how could you know how Jackie spent her nights?”
“Mom—I don't. But I'll bet my analogy's not far from the truth. Look, here’s the point I’m trying to make: It’s not as though I’d cried silently on most nights after we’d moved into the house. I’d cried whenever a situation hurt deeply enough to puncture my wall of denial. I'd cried whenever a storehouse of dark, lonely feelings overwelmed my sense of control, allowing pain to break through my dam and pour out of my core."
"Annie, where do you come up with these ideas?"
"I'm always reading, Mom. You know how drawn I am to understanding the complexities of the brain. Each time insight plugs into hindsight, I come to see how universal this self-defeating theme of dam building is to people at every stage of life.”
“And we thought you were such a happy, self confident child.”
“You thought that for good reason, Mom, because in many ways I was. I’ve been successful in so many aspects of life that most of my smiles push my fear of being—invisible—out of sight. In seventh and eighth grades, I’d cried silently at night after invitations to boy and girl birthday parties had been handed out on the playground at school. Then, I’d cry, again, on those weekend evenings when I knew those parties were taking place.”
“How come I never realized you hadn’t been invited to any of those parties?”
“Life’s busy, Mom, and I never brought it up. Did you go to boy and girl parties?”
“Are you kidding? We couldn’t afford parties when we were kids. We were lucky to have dinner.”
“So, you couldn’t have known what I was missing, and from time to time, there were sleep over parties, which I was invited to." After a moment, I think to add this fact: "During the 1950’s, self-help was not the rage. Who discussed self-esteem issues, back then? No one. Families, seeking counseling were dealing with pretty severe problems. Obvious problems. Lauren and I were such good kids that everything seemed fine." Except for that itch ...
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