I had a really rough weekend, except my weekend began on Thursday....
My mother had a very traumatic childhood, replete with abuse in all of its wondrous varieties. It is that history that helped encourage her to marry the man that would become my abusive alcohol and drug addicted father and would land the both of us in therapy, and me in odd relationships with women that I attempted to save and rescue but who really had no desire to be saved or rescued from their worlds of abuse, denial, and avoidance. To all the women I loved in my adolescence, rest assured you were one of these women. John Maher's song, "Daughters" has become my mantra.
Therapy helped me realize so much about myself and my own limitations, and how important openness and truth are. I was lucky to start therapy young, but my mother was forced to begin much later in life before being treated for advanced Hodgkins disease (advanced to the point where they could not believe she was still walking and believed her to be beyond hope for a cure). When they began her treatment, they insisted she see a psychologist, as they were about to give her stronger treatments than any human had been exposed to before, they felt that it would be an exceptionally traumatic experience.
I often listen to stories of family and happiness and somehow these two concepts interlinking with one another seem quite foreign in my head, and at times in practice. I know few families that are altogether wonderful. Generally, the people that tell me how wonderful they think their family is find it easier to say that than to confront everything weird about it. That's not to say that their families are not special or good, but this simple description somehow avoids addressing all the little idiosyncrasies of the people in it. In most cases, families are a little weird or odd. It encourages me greatly when the person I am speaking with can admit that their family is a little ... off. I do not believe in the picture postcard families. I'm sure they exist, but they seem to me to be a little like Big Foot, I know that they could exist, I am just rather skeptical. So when someone tries to tell me how wonderful and great their family is, I get nervous because I feel it must either be denial or truth, neither one of which am I exactly sure I will know how to handle, as though Charlize Theron walked up to me and confessed her undying love for me.
When my mother is victimized in the course of her life, it can be really difficult for her to deal with. Not necessarily small insignificant things, but more particularly injustices. Most recently, my mother was teaching at a school where she was awarded a large budget, was able to garner large private grants, received spectacular classroom reviews, and was bettering students' lives. This was cut short by a vice principal that wanted her to give a student a better mark. He said she just did not understand Mexicans and that this student should receive a better mark. She wouldn't give him one. The vice principal wrote her up for not teaching well. She contested this on the grounds that he had never observed her classroom - in fact at this point no one had, which violated Florida law. Suddenly, evaluators appeared to assess her classroom, and she received excellent reviews.
At the end of the school year, the administration decided not to retain her. She began looking for new jobs, and driving throughout the state for various interviews. However, for some reason she simply was not getting offers. The mystery was dispelled when it was confided to her that her former principal was giving her a bad reference. Despite having great things in writing from the man, his oral recommendation, or lack thereof, was leaving her unemployable and depressed. (In Florida the former principal must be called as a reference.) Somehow she no longer had any control over her life again. She was made powerless by another man.
Thursday, my best friend called me from Germany, very worried and scared about my mother and feeling she might do something "drastic". He wanted me to call her. He wanted me to fix her. He wanted me to do something dammit, and there was really nothing I could do. I tried to call her but she could barely talk to me. Miserable, depressed, barely able to speak, hanging up the phone oftentimes, and really in a dark place where it seemed to her that living and life were simply chores, like dishes, that really should be done by someone else. I was at a loss because I honestly had no idea what the outcome would be. She would get sad or depressed in the past, but this time I had to agree with my friend, this was much worse than ever before. I had no idea what would happen, and I really had no idea what to do about it. Depression does not lend itself to comforting or consoling. I learned this when I dated a girl that became clinically depressed. The more you try to help, the more likely they are to snap back at you to get you the hell away from them. It's an odd and difficult thing to understand, and not something people generally talk about in mixed company. I would offer a better explanation, but I am no psychologist, and I cannot really explain, in rational terms, irrational desires.
Fortunately, the darkness broke and the sun seems to be shining, if only partly, in her life again, and things are moving forward. The thing I do not know is how I would ever "watch" all of that again. I really hope she is able to work through whatever still lingers in her mind that makes this happen because I know she has a lot to offer and it is never really as bad as it seems.
