So, once again, here's what's so freeing about transforming a memoir into a blog:
A memoir is about the past.
A blog allows the mind to breathe and change direction at will.
Like right now.
We're about to detour away from high school for a bit, perhaps just until tomorrow, because I'm driven to share this story with you, right now:
WHERE'S THE CAR?
So, I’m a bride of about a year.
A year that does nothing to stop insecurity from crying secretly at night.
What has changed from my being girlfriend to fiancée to wife?
Everything.
Am I alone with this?
I think not. And so I write of reversal of fortune, which all too few understand in depth ....
As girlfriend and fiancée, I am entertainment.
I am freedom from responsibility.
I offer welcome respite from brutal study sessions where the med student’s brain is taxed to the max to absorb life-saving information. One day he'll slice people open. Live people. He’d better learn his trade and make no mistakes! Nada! Never! Not even once! He'd better be the best of the best!
As girlfriend and fiancée, I offer a sparkling respite from a home, dour with relentless grief—can't tell you why till my blog evolves and a sad story pops up down the road. Early on, I am sunshine, showering sunbeams whenever I walk into his house. As my trait of wonder walks on air, the girlfriend is rarely at a loss for laughter or words. I am loquacious, and when certain of knowing of what I speak, no one laughs harder than me when my tongue is caught spouting words, bouncing with nonsense. Insecurity does not make my words shrivel, dry up and die. Somehow the fact that insecurity and humility hold hands within my mind, works for me. I fall down and bounce back, repeatedly, just like that. My in laws fall in love with me. All of them. Even the grumps. I make a good listener, because as a pleaser, no one knows when I disagree, deep down inside—so people feel free to open up to me. In addition to listening heartfully, I’m always good for a laugh. The fact that I'm corny as a clown makes me laugh at every joke that others give a thumbs down. Being such a bright light, I have no clue that life darkens in this house whenever I’m not around. So, if I make a great girlfriend, an easily pleased fiancée, and a soon-to-be accomplished, undemanding wife—barring a few beginner cooking disasters and one fried chicken fire—what went wrong?
Everything.
You see, once a girlfriend becomes a med student’s wife, she’s no longer entertainment.
She’s no longer an escape from responsibility.
She’s no longer a source of sunshine, through and through—I mean, in addition to being a super duper pleaser, meeting all of her boyfriend’s needs, she stores up unmet needs of her own.
As pleasers do not consciously acknowledge having needs of their own, her needs go unmet over long, and guess what happens then? Pleasers grow needy—silently needy—not the kind of silence-is-golden—but rather a knife-like silence, slicing through anxiety as thick as a wall, meaning that down the road, it won't take much for this bride, grown quiet, to feel so invisibly unattractive as to assume herself unlovable, unloved, rejected ... so what else is new?
As to the med student? Was he at fault for growing up in a home where emotional displays of any kind were nixed to the point of non-existent? Was he at fault for the fact that his sweetheart came from a home where life's every passion leaped onto center stage, breathing fire from room to room? What did he know to do with one like her once her home and his conjoined? What did she know to do when 'the look of death’ answered her pleas for his time? What do boys and girls know of Mother Nature's reasons for arousing pheromones, which magnetize opposites? Thank god she was a seasoned pleaser, afraid to peak his ire. Well, thank god for him. As for her? She’d cry most nights, confused, lonely—silently. And guess what else she does as time goes by? Mother Nature instructs her defense system to 'save' her by calling upon disassociation to lessen her pain—as was her habit. Need I add that in order to disassociate from unresolved pain the young wife begins to disassociate from—the guy who can't retrieve his smile? That Annie's subconscious habit of disassociation from emotional pain relies upon anesthetizing vital portions of herself ...
Upon saying, 'I do', Annie has no clue of having assumed the role of Will's beloved grandma, who'd kept house while his mom had worked to pay the bills. As homemaker during the sixties, Annie was bound to cook, clean, shop, bake, while the student (who would one day earn the reputation of ‘perfect surgical resident’ in his Ortho program) hit the books, day and night—no down time for play—uh—except for sports where it had long been his habit to release pent up stress and angst. Though Annie knew no woman rivaled her for his attention, she sensed sports to be her nemesis, and as such, one day, in hopes of recapturing Romeo's eye, Juliet's smarts called forth her bright light of imagination to trade in the transparency of lacy lingerie and leopard skin loungewear (is this actually Annie we're describing????) for slipping a football jersey over her head before climbing into bed—anything to stop rejection in its tracks—anything to please her guy ... anything except opening her heart and allowing her fear of not pleasing him to appear as naked as a wife with no clue of a woman's wiles ... as of yet ...
They lived on the third floor of a walk up apartment complex that covered half a block. Their third floor was so high the pizza guy refused to walk more than half way up. So high that Grandma Etta was carried up on a chair. They lived close to heaven—except for the fact that storms of silent tears soaked one of two pillows, night after night.
Poor bride, with no one to confide in—because that would feel like complaining—not a pleaser's m.o..
Poor student, stretching his brain to exhaustion, having no clue as to the depths of misery, sharing his bed, hoping to play ball. Silence is a relationship killer on the loose. Bride and groom do not develop into foes—more like—strangers, sleeping, side by side, night after night—till icebergs loom large—at least on one defensive side. Eventually, we'll come upon stories illustrating how, brick by brick, two defensive walls build up, over time. Though this is pretty classic stuff (I mean sadly classic stuff), few know how to take down their own walls; instead many focus on the wall of the other, ignoring the thickening presence of one's own.
One night, the spirit of the voiceless bride arose, demanding to be heard. Well, not out loud! Haven’t you been listening? Annie'd not do anything to disturb the study or sleep of anyone as hard working and exhausted as Will.
In fact, early on during that first year, she’d stopped walking through their empty apartment to get an evening snack. Will's needs super imposed upon hers for good reason, right? Not just because he was studying how to slice into people, while making certain that they'd awaken, alive, but because she knew the humiliation that accompanied rejection. I mean, once rejected, guys had simply melted away ... so better to go with Will's flow then vent her feelings, rock their boat and capsize, alone with misery—again! Having offered up this bird's eye view, we come to see why a blushing bride's mind whipped her smarts into running on a wheel that got neither one to no place good, fast, night after night. Oy Gevalt!
As with every magnified insecurity, we are not born taking issue with our bodies. Body issues, like all insecurities, are not with us at birth. Insecurities, which are flung at us, strip us of seeing ourselves as we are. If we back track to my first school we see a chunky little girl, named Annie, championing the child called 'monkey face' by her friends. On her first day at her new school, Annie, didn't let baby fat stop her mind from choosing rather than hoping to be amongst those lucky to be chosen. In truth, Annie didn't see what she looked like, so she didn't care what she looked like until that busload of bullies rode her hard and put her to bed wet.
As defining moments occur earlier than during preteen years ... Annie will have lots to discover about exorcizing debilitating secrets, which Mother Nature instructs her defense system to hide from this vulnerable child's conscious mind. As we shall see, Annie's fears will have been deposited into subconscious pockets, which will prove deep throughout most of her life for reasons of disassociating defensively from burning insecurities, yet to heal. Annie's defense system will have had reason to develop firefighting skills that contain the blaze, while failing to put it out.
With this information we can readily understand Annie's quick yield to Will's admonishment: Annie, each time you walk through the living room, my concentration breaks down. Uh Oh! This Good Girl Through and Through is not pleasing her guy! Can’t have that! Who knows what will follow! Best to nip Will's displeasure in the bud! Thank goodness the mattress on the floor in their bedroom is comfy. As with many of their med school friends, the mattress is all they own. The bride’s dad’s business burnt down not too long before the engagement. So no help is found there. The groom’s dad had been laid to rest for years. Thank goodness, neither she nor he cares much for things. All they care for is love. And that, along with tons of fun, have been plentiful for five years of courting until …
Everything changed.
And a silent sense of confusion hangs in the air— replacing gaiety in under a year.
This sounds pretty dour, right?
Well, in truth this is about to reshape itself into a very funny story, so stick close and don’t miss even one word … my family doesn’t call me Lucy, for nothing! :)
So, okay, where were we? Oh yes, the apartment is empty, except for that king sized mattress on the floor and Marshall Field’s boxes, in which the couple’s clothes are neatly folded. There is also a card table and chairs, borrowed from the bride’s mom and dad. And that's it. One bedroom with a mattress, an empty living room, a small dining area, a borrowed card table and chairs, and a tiny kitchen. Who needs more? Neither one. They have each other? Right? Just like Barefoot in the Park. Actually, their story resembles Barefoot in the Park—a lot—except that Jane Fonda lets her despair be known.
Annie, don’t come out of the bedroom while I’m studying, OK? OK, Will. Whatever you say. Peace at any cost. Push all thoughts of rejection deep inside ... until they seep out while the little mouse silently cries herself to sleep ...
Annie makes sure that after supper, any snacks or drinks she might want are in the bedroom next to the mattress where she curls up to watch the 19” black and white TV they’d received as a wedding gift. She’s also surrounded by whatever is needed to mark fifth grade papers, tests, or write next week’s lesson plans. Within their first year of marriage, weight changes hands. Annie's anxiety finds the 15 libs that Will's anxiety loses. Being a wiry guy, he doesn’t much care; she does—big time. Makes her feel even more unattractive, less desirable than ever! Thank goodness will power doesn’t let those pounds stick around for long.
So what saves Annie from languishing in the bedroom night after night as the med student continues to plough through gargantuan amounts of brain work? Well, that’s a story for another day. Today, let's concentrate on what will take place on that night when Annie’s twenty-two year old spirit can’t take one more lonely night without screaming for sorely needed attention!
So here it comes—a bird’s eye view of what takes place on that night, when the blushing bride just can’t take one more second of lonely confusion without splitting a gut. We already know that she’s not going to interrupt his studies or awaken the exhausted, sleeping, medical student, right? She’s also not about to silently split a gut. What she is about to do is this: Scream bloody murder!—but where in the world can that much angst in dire need of release take place without this world class pleaser causing a problem to anyone else?
Outside of this third floor apartment, Annie can think of only one choice: Get her to the car. Of course! So, quiet as the mouse that she is, Juliet pulls her Bear's jersey up and over her head, slips into her clothes, grabs her handbag, tip toes out of the apartment where exhausted Romeo lays dead to the world and flies down three flights. Once outside, this award winning scaredy cat suddenly realizes that she’s alone in the naked city in the dark of night, so fear inspires her to step up the pace, unlock the car door and slip into the driver’s seat, quick as a wink. Upon pulling away from the curb, Annie finds her lost voice and being a woman ahead of her times (?) gives vent to her frustration in ‘time out’—I am woman hear me roar!!!!
So what’s next?
Well, now that frustration feels relieved, it’s time to park the car, tiptoe back upstairs and resume her happy-home-maker charade by day while crying silently at night—because that’s all the narrow confines of her comfort zone allows her to do. Oh yes. This is not a new routine, for Annie. When bullied, she’d pulled off the same charade—fooling herself as much as anyone else—minus the home-making routine. Identify your patterns, and you'll figure out where you may be outsmarting yourself! Can't change for the better till you know where you're failing no one as much as yourself ...
Alas, Annie can’t find a parking place on the street. She’ll have to park at least half a block away and high tail it to her apartment as fast as she can. Wait a minute ... this is Annie we’re talking about, people. Not Annie Oakley. Scared of her shadow Annie. Sure that some bad guy, lurking in the darkness, is waiting to pounce—and do what? Who knows? Nothing good! That's for sure! So—No Way is our Annie parking half a block away. What is she to do? Where can she go that feels safe at 3AM?
Of course! She’ll go to Tara! I mean home. She’ll drive home! Where her family eats, sleeps and invests in emotion right out in the open, daily. Letting herself quietly in, Annie lies down on the couch in the den. Her plan? Slip back out at the crack of dawn. Drive home. Park the car. Slip into bed next to Will. No one the wiser. A perfect plan—except for this—
Dad is in the kitchen.
What the H-ll! Annie, what are doing here at 3AM? Did you have a fight with Will?
Fight with Will? What is he smoking? Annie never fights with Will. First of all, that’s not her m.o. Secondly, Will doesn’t fight. He just gives her that look. The one that withers her spirit on the spot. The silent look of—Death! Actually, at this point, all he need do is raise an eye brown.
Annie, unable to express the conglomeration of emotion that's tying her tongue, takes the easy way out and aswers her dad by a yes shake of her head.
Well! You get right back home! You’re a married woman, now. Your husband is a good, hard working man. He studies, all day! He’ll be worried sick if he awakens and you’re not there.
If Dad thinks he’s giving good marital advice … good thing this is not his profession. Dad's pragmatism doesn’t think to ask what could get his frightened daughter outside, alone with her anguish, deep in the dark of the night. Dad’s voice awakens Mom and Lauren. Mom doesn’t get involved. Why not? Dad has released the voice of authority. Both go upstairs to sleep. Or maybe one sleeps while the other tosses and turns—who knows—can't be a bird on the wall upstairs and downstairs, all at once.
Downstairs, younger sister Lauren is not any more adventurous than older by four years, Annie. Are you afraid to drive home? A true shake of my head. Do you want me to go with you? A relieved shake of my head. Okay, let’s go. Uhhh—wait, Lauren. We won’t find a parking place. We’ll have to run about half a block in the dark. Uhhh. No thank you. Common ground established. This running outside at night proves impossible for both Too-Good-to-be-True-Safety-First-And-Foremost Goodman Girls.
I know! exclaims Lauren—let’s take the bug. We can park it anywhere. Oh! Right! Great idea!
As Dad works afternoons and evenings, we can get the little grey, Volkswagon bug back, early in the morning, before anyone knows it's gone.
OK! That works! We'll leave my car, here, because Ira is picking up Will in the morning as he does twice a week. If we drive the bug back here before anyone awakens, I can pick up my car and drive straight to Highland School (where I teach 5th grade).
Doncha love it when a plan, comes together, seamlessly? Well, almost seamlessly. How am I going to explain Lauren in our bed to Irwin when his alarm goes off? Who knows. All that matters is following Dad’s dictates and getting both of us safely back into my apartment, no bad guys to be seen!
Now that I have an accomplice in arms, my spirit feels the folly of the entire night, so Lauren and I are laughing while the bug—which my mom hates because it's such a lightweight that while steering it along on the freeway she can't stop it from lurching from lane to lane with every change in the stiff wind—is chugging us toward my walk up apartment near Devon on Hoyne.
Sure enough, a spot just big enough to welcome us is close to the entrance of our apartment. So slipping the little grey bug into the slot, two giggling conspirators tip toe all the way up those three flights where I peel out of my clothes, slip the football jersey over my head and slide into bed next to the unconscious, exhausted med student while Lauren climbs in next to me. Feeling cozy, connected and loved, we two fall asleep, just as we’d done when we'd shared Grandma's bed, snug as two kittens on a skid-free and thus well grounded rug.
B-RINGGGGGGG—goes the alarm. Will sits up, rubs his eyes and spies Lauren fast asleep, snuggled up on my other side. Shaking my shoulder in surprise, he asks, What’s your sister doing here?
So this is the part of the plan that we’d not thought to address. This is where Lucy Ricardo, winging it, comes to pass. For good reason my mind blanks and all Will gets is a sleepy-eyed stare, not a hint of a smile much less a word that makes sense. Next thing I know, he comes up with the next part of the plan:
Did she have a fight with your parents?
Exceptionally grateful, my head shakes up and down.
Wow! That must have been some fight if she drove over in the middle of the night!
Another even more grateful, shake of my head. Thank God! I am scott free!
Or so I think.
Next thing I know, Will asks: Annie, where’d you park the car?
What? Not Scott free?
My blood runs cold.
You see, after Will got home from the hospital the day before, I'd taken the car grocery shopping. So, he doesn’t know where it’s parked, but I’m supposed to, right?
Now I stall—with what purpose in mind, I have no clue …
Uhhh, the car’s mine, today, isn't it? Ira's picking you up, right?
Common sense suggests that there's no reason for Will to know more than he’s already made up by himself.
He asks again:
Annie, com'on—where’d you park the car?
For God sakes! What reason can Will possible have to ask such an impertinent question like that—twice!
So, here it is—another part of the plan that we’d not thought to address. Here’s where winging it is not going to work for me, at all! This is where Lucy has a script to follow, while I’m left on my own! Geez!
For good reason, my mind blanks, again, so all Will gets is another sleepy-eyed stare, no words—then after an uneven stare down of several seconds, I ask: Why do you want to know? Isn’t Ira coming?
Yes, but I left an xray in the car, and I need to take it to the hospital, today.
What??? An xray??? I mean, what am I supposed to do with that?So ... what do I do? I come up with an answer that makes my husband look at me like he’s married a real live ding-a-ling:
I don’t remember, Will, I think it's parked near the worms.
You what? You don’t remember, but it's near the worms?
That’s right, Will. Oh—wait—maybe I had a bad dream! I just don’t remember. But don't worry. I'll find it, later.
In the nick of time, Ira arrives.
Desi looks dizzy. Lucy, feeling ditzy, continues reassuring her husband, who is rightfully fearing that his wife has gone loco ...
Don’t worry, Will, I’ll find the car and drive the xray to the hospital.
You'll what? Annie—this is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!
(Mind you, Will's only been married to me a year—
This will be the first in a long line of crazy responses from a woman in need of developing a voice …)
Honk! Honk! Ira is impatient. Does not want to be late.
I reassure Will, again— all will be well—trust me.
Amazingly, he leaves without the xray.
As soon as Will is gone, I shake Lauren awake.
Get up! Get up! We have to get dressed! I need to get to my car. I need to get to Skokie, drive to the hospital on Chicago’s west side, deliver a damn xray to Will, and drive back to Skokie to teach, all before 8:30AM!
Of course, I manage to get all of that done in short order, because if there’s one thing I’m not it’s a ding a ling, at all. I’m just a twenty-two year old bride, getting along as best as I can without a voice.
In a nut shell, that’s pretty much how I get by when revealing the truth scares me half to death until our first child turns two and begins to develop his voice, naturally, by way of practicing two self-assertive words: MINE! and NO! Mine and no—two words, which had been mine at two but fell out of my brain at three, when life suddenly turned so dark and scary, my voice choked and fell into an unconscious state ...
Thank goodness, while raising my kids, I had reason to connect with The Family Education Assoc., associated with The Alfred Adler School of Psychology. Thank goodness i was ope to learning—little by little—to ensure that my children were raised with high self esteem—and thank goodness, some where along the way between then and now, you'll watch me unwittingly begin to work at developing high self esteem of my very own. And oh, by the way, as my stories continue to unfold, I believe you, too, will come to see why I believe everything and everyone is connected—eventually.
There are countless stories in the naked city.
And if asked why I remember so many of ours, vividly, I'd reply:
I teach by telling stories, which pin point ...
Here is who I was.
Here is how I’d operated without a voice.
Here is what I learned.
Here is what has changed for me, today.
Here is who I think I’ve grown to be.
Here is how I fool myself into believing I know who I am.
Here is how I learn to identify traits that I do not yet attribute to my whole.
Here is how I grow to be the person I already think myself to be.
Here is why growing pains and growth spurts go hand in hand
Here is how the sum of my parts develop into the whole I am until something changes, again ...
Each time class convenes, another true story floats naturally from a file inside my mind out of my mouth
And in truth, I don’t know who is more entertained and enlightened as insights unfold …
The participants, who, laughing as they learn, show up, year after year …
Or me …
We'll live in that apartment for two and half years, till after med school graduation at Medina Temple leads Will toward completing his one year general surgical internship. Following our first year of secret tears— whoops—I mean marital bliss, we'll have saved enough money to have the white, wall to wall carpet, which the last tenants had left, cleaned. Imagine the carpet cleaners huffing and puffing while hauling their equipment up those three flights of steps. Upon crossing over the threshold into our empty living room and spying Mom’s card table and chairs and nothing else, one of them asks, so, when are you folks moving in? We've lived here for two years is my laughing reply. Barefoot in the park, really hit home! Throughout the years, we'll see many movies that hit home, as well. Novels, too. Classically, authors write of what they experience, live, learn, and come to know.
I didn’t need much to be-happy-don't-worry. Neither did Will. Though I have lots of stuff, now, it's not stuff that would have dried my tears and made me happy back then any more than today. All I needed back then was—a cacomainy (sp?) plan—to help me get by until I figured out how to say what I'd really felt. Today, I mean what I say and say whatever needs to be said in as caring a way as a good girl like me can muster up without rocking boats, unnecessarily. However, if a boat needs rocking, I'll muster the courage to stand up and do whatever needs to be done. Can't please all the people, all the time? I agree, not an easy task. But, for the most part, my trusty instincts and imagination have conjured up exactly that for more decades than I can believe have passed. :)
As you get to know more about me, I’m sure you’ll agree that once I get my head examined and see my way toward developing a sense of well balanced clarity, supported by self trust, I'll muster the courage to develop a voice, here and there, though not quite everywhere. I mean, at the end of his life, even Michaelangelo said: I'm still learning. And what's good enough for him is good enough for me.
Today when life offers my mind reason to open to new opportunities for expansion, which offer my voice reason to readjust to new, unexpected developments, this is what I figure: I’d be nuts to change much about a plan that continues to be as successful and enriching, both personally and professionally, as the one that guides my path ... you know what 'they' say? If your plan works, stick to it ... and if it stops working—tweak it ... if tweaking and squawking doesn't cut the mustard—cut your losses and start over.
My family doesn't call me Lucy, for nothing.
I have a small collection of dolls.
Recently, upon unwrapping a gift from my kids, Lucy Ricardo joined my collection.
Some things change, other don't ...
On one hand, I'm open to change
On the other ...
I yam who I yam
Why?
Because human nature has two sides
And my two sides create my whole :)
Your friend,
:)Annie
