Couple Stress, the “Woman Who Didn’t Know If She Liked French Fries”

Fusion and the “Woman Who Didn’t Know If She Liked French Fries Incident”

Dateline:  Bergstrom Interantional Airport, which is deep in the forests of northeast part of Germany or in south Austin.

Fusion is the emotional process that occurs when the way one person feels is automatically absorbed by another person. Every close relationship includes a certain amount of adaptation to calm the other, the question is, to what degree?  It’s only with too much fusion that we get into trouble.

For example:  the family member who avoids going home for Christmas because he or she feels like a different person (less confident) when around family. The usual rationalization is to claim nothing in common or to have a list of past injustices.)

The horse I had once who wouldn’t eat at horseshows unless his buddy in the next stall at home came along with him on the road. (Fusion can get expensive.)

The cheerleader’s mother who tried to murder the mother of one of her daughter’s rivals so that the girl would be too upset to be competitive.

The wife who longed to tour Italy but stopped bringing it up after a few years to avoid the anxiety in her that was stirred up by her husband’s anxiety at the thought of shaking up the routine.

The student who can only perform well when ‘liked’ by the teacher.

A loved spouse who only feels safe when his or her partner is happy.

and…

The Woman Who Didn’t Know if She Liked French Fries:

A college roommate, we’ll call her K, met an wealthy older man who promised her a new life.  Not all that happy with the life she had, she married him. K gathered up her country-raised self and welcomed the makeover into an upscale wife.  Three years later the new look wasn’t worth putting up with the all the other women her husband provided with new lives.  The night of their last big fight, K and I met at midnight at a 24 hour café.  I ordered the burger and fries, but K told the waiter she needed more time.

K picked up the menu and stared.  “I don’t know what to order,” she said.

“Burgers and fries are good here,” I said.

“That’s the problem,” K said. “Dave thinks I should lose weight, so I always order what I know he thinks I should eat. I don’t remember if I like French fries or not.”

The emotional process of calming self by calming the anxious other has many names and faces. The term co-dependent, no longer in vogue since insurance won’t pay for it anymore, was defined as calming self when next to an anxious other by ‘helping’ that person. The co-dependent is the person who lies for the addict, supplies money, and sometimes takes on responsibility for locating the ‘drug of choice’ for them.  In this situation the addict is very clear about what will calm them down—for the moment. He or she is good at promising that if the other doesn’t do what he or she commands worse consequences are to come.

The addict turns responsibility for his or her life over to the other. The addict learns to be very good at convincing others to listen to his or her claims about life and to ignore their own beliefs.  Through this process, a person can end up “living” another person’s life.  Much like the woman who didn’t know if she liked french fries.

Next: Anxiety and Potatoes Part Two, the “Woman Who Used Two Potato Peelers at Once” Incident.

 

 

 

 

 

How the Worst that Can Happen Can Be the Best, in Three Episodes

Stress, How the Worst that Can Happen Can Be the Best, in Three Episodes

The “Riding into Mexico City on Mangos” Incident

Dateline: Mexico City Hilton Reforma Branch Office. Being here in this fine high rise hotel, I can’t help comparing this visit to another when accommodations were not quite so lovely. And a night when I learned an important life lesson.

Sometimes the worst thing that can happen turns out to be the best thing that could happen, only you don’t know that, of course, when everything is going wrong. But something good can come out of a mess. After all, we didn’t end up raped and murdered on the side of that toll way coming into Mexico City after midnight that rainy night.

Every word of this story is true, though portions have been toned down and presented in fictional pieces since no one would believe me except my family and they choose to focus on my better qualities. The ride into Mexico City began the day before the night when everything happened, indeed a very special day. First, at ten in the morning, the judge in Houston brought the gavel down on my bizarre ten-month marriage to my stepbrother. Then at four in the afternoon my friend, Sister Victoria Marie, turned in her final papers at the convent in San Antonio. Exiting the limo my lawyer had hired for the overnight trip from Austin and back (thinking teenage divorcees had to be easy), I hopped in the used Mustang I’d purchased through the student credit union, picked up the Sister, who was now back to being Sam (Sonia), and we did what every early loser in Texas does on the weekend after their first failed attempt at adulthood.

We headed for the border.

We loaded up the trunk with diet drinks and blasted all the way to Monterrey the first night since she had rich relatives there. They took us out to KFC where we christened our journey the Freedom Celebration Hayride, a name which would later seem a haunting omen. The next day we cut south for Mexico City, just Sam, me, and El Sanborn, sucking up our freedom.   El Sanborn, a point-by-point guide provided free with Mexican auto insurance, was the man giving all the directions and the only man we were listening to on this trip.  The August day was hot and perfect even after mid-afternoon when we’d retrieved a couple of diet root beers from the drunk which had exploded in our faces.

Everything was funny and fun. Sam and I had been given a second chance. We couldn’t possibly mess up our lives again, at least not any time real soon. Not long after we congratulated each other with that thought, the tequila started to kick in. Around four we’d stopped into this lovely ex-hacienda hotel on El Sanborn’s recommendation and had what we referred to as a stylishly late adult lunch. Then back on the freedom highway kicking on the past and planning limitless futures.

Ready to roll the dice one more time. Then, again, thinking building a life could be accomplished by throwing dice at all was what landed us this highway in Mexico in the middle of the night.

Tune in tomorrow when the Freedom Celebration Hayride takes a terrifying detour.

Last Mexico Tourist Standing, Anxiety, Part Two

Stress to the Max, The Togetherness Force in Mexico City Traffic and How It Can Get You Killed

Dateline:  The outer reaches of a traffic circle on the magnificent including impaired health. Whether or good or bad depends on whether driven by emotions or thinking.

What does the great leader of the Aztecs, Moctezuma have to do with the togetherness force and the individuality force? Well, he did lose touch with what he believed…when he was awed by the horses, the guns, and the facial hair of Hernán Cortés.  Some kind of rock star worship, I guess.  Allowing the conqueror to take over his “bests thinking” decision-making didn’t end well for the chief.

Now back to whether or not you are a relationship junkie, that is, unable to move if someone you care about is anxious.  Or unable to stop moving away if someone you care about is anxious.

Too much of the togetherness force (fusion) is when you can’t tell where you stop and the other person begins. When you feel what the other person feels. If when your important other (or, heck, could be a particularly annoying stranger) gets upset…and you automatically get upset. You automatically go into ‘fix-it’ behaviors. You know you will not be okay until the other person is okay. Fusion is not all bad. All intimate relationships have some fusion.

Too much of the separateness force can result in too much distance as occurs when marital partners or siblings share so little they do not have enough common experience to know who or what the other is talking about.  Separateness like fusion is not all bad and is a part of all relationships.

All of us experience both forces.  The forces are not descriptions of pathology, though some people and cultures value one over the other, such as when “true love” is seen as one person being unable to survive without the other, or in frontier days when a person could not compromise sufficiently to live with others and rode away as the admired “rugged individual.”  This same over-sensitivity to others contributes to homeless persons preferring to camp out rather than suffer the closeness of a shelter.

If driving in Sonoma, California, the relationship junkies will fare better than the loners who will get chewed out for being rude (?).  In Mexico City, relationship junkies on the road–looking left and right, letting drivers in from side streets, even obeying red and green lights–endanger not just to themselves, but also innocent drivers who play by the city’s rules.  As a relationship junkie you will likely be found months later babbling incoherently as you drive round and round, circling the Statue of the Angel…and praying a little.

As Jessica LeFave, the psychologist sleuth in “Too Rich and Too Thin, NOT an Autobiography” says: “The rule in the horseshow warm-up ring is: Pay attention to what’s in front of you, and only what’s in front of you. Go soft–try to take care of who’s behind you and to the side–and you’re just mucking up the show.  We fools hooked on jumping horses over fences learn anti-defensive driving to survive in the warm-up ring before each class. The warm-up ring is always a tiny space, usually cut into units by steel girders supporting the coliseum, dividers perfectly positioned so that should you lose control for a moment, slip slightly left or right in the saddle, your neck will snap back as your head cracks into the steel. In this insane space, several dozen giant and excited horses randomly charge over fences in zigzagging paths with no regard for on-coming traffic or flying poles.  The straight-ahead, terror-factor-focus learned in the horse show warm-up ring is why I can drive in Mexico City, and why I’d make it through tonight and tomorrow (confronting a killer).”

Next:  Beginning of the Relationship Dependence Series, the “It’s Only Thunder” Incident.  Also facinating updates from the Last Mexico Tourist.

 

 

 

 

Are You Competent to Aid in Your Own Defense?

Stress. What If You Are Not Competent to Aid in Your Own Defense?

What If You Are Your Own ‘James Arthur Ray’?

James Arthur Ray, once-prominent New Age motivational speaker, bestselling self-help author, and well-paid spiritual teacher who suggested clients could “create wealth in all areas” of their lives if they overcame hang-ups by shaving their heads, walking on hot coals, and bending rebar with their throats, was found guilty of three counts of negligent homicide in connection with the deaths of three of people who attended a 2009 sweat-lodge event he ran near Sedona, Arizona.”  Three people who believed the snake oil salesman.

Speaking of trials, a couple of days ago, a certain defense lawyer in a certain high profile trial reported to the judge that his client had a mental defect making it impossible for her to aid in her own defense. This got me thinking about genetic transmission of this trait–a mental defect making it impossible for a person to defend herself. What if this mental defect extended to an inability to defend yourself against yourself?

This could be serious, since yourself is with you a good portion of the time.  What if you have this mental defect leaving you unable to defend yourself, and also, deep within that mysterious personality of
yours, you have a snake oil salesman as talented as any ‘motivational speaker’?

Could you indeed be led into a ‘group think’ poorly thought-out, even self-destructive decision by your inner charmer?  What if the person who keeps talking you doing stupid things is you?  I ask these questions propped up in a booth at MiMI’s Restaurant, unable to move any part of my body other than my fingers. This is my second time at MiMi’s this week. I had breakfast here two days ago after an eight o’clock emergency appointment (that I agreed to this outrageous time slot shows my desperation) with my rheumatologist whom I’d contacted admitting to extreme pain in the areas of one of my several auto-immune diseases.

Back to the Inner Snake Oil Salesman problem and the mental defect. The snake charmer in my tiny brain and I woke up this morning with the realization that I’d left the sprinkler on all night in an inner courtyard where I have a little I-don’t-care-if-it’s-100-degrees project going. The project is to nurse back to health the five or six sprigs of English ivy–amongst the 95 percent weeds–managing to survive last year’s deer buffet.

Concerned that my neighbors would notice the small lake and think I am a bad person who doesn’t care about the planet I was wasting water, I painfully hauled myself out of bed to resolve the environmental tragedy and made my creaky way downstairs.

I turned off the water and surveyed the damage.  That’s when the old Inner Snake Oil Salesman kicked in.  This is what she said: “Hmmm….You know, these weeds would come out really easy with the ground being as wet as it is.  I mean, if you pulled out the boatload of well-rooted creatures right now.  And you are already sort of cranked into position since your back hurt too much for you to stand up straight after turning off the water.”

My Inner Snake Oil Salesman said, “Come into my garden, little girl, there’s nothing here that can hurt you.”

I mesmerized myself. I wanted to believe. I went stupid.  (One of the ways you can tell you are lost in the sea of emotions is–you are incapable of considering how following the Inner Snake Oil Salesman worked out for you the last time.)
I turned against my own body….And now, as I struggle to hold my coffee cup…You know, I could use some salt on these sausage patties….Maybe that kind-looking lady in the next booth would hand me a shaker if I fell out into the aisle…

 

 

Stress and Doing Your Own Thinking

Immediate Stress Relief: Join a Gang

Dateline:  Stress in a New Mexico Maximum Security Prison, via television.

Where would any of us end up if–during those needy barely adolescent years—we had no sense of self and no sense of a future?  And we were offered both for the mere orice of turning our thinking over to a group, a gang in this case.  (Instead of say, the military, where the leaders, at least, have to answer to someone?)

“In October of 2009 :: James Arthur Ray’s $10,000 per head Spiritual Warrior seminar ended in calamity and tragedy. Three people were killed :: eighteen injured {many seriously} :: and thousands of followers were shocked to learn the true dark nature of the man they’d been paying large sums to follow.”

Prisons are full of people whose “group think” landed them in big trouble, somewhat like the ill-fated sweat lodge followers of James Arthur Ray. Trial update. The inmates, of course, didn’t have to pay thousands of dollars for the experience of giving up thinking as individuals, but then again…I’m quite sure if someone opened the flap of their tent there’d be a rush for the doors.

“Any relationship can function like a gang if the requirement ito belong is giving up using your own “best thinking”.  The less developed a person’s “self,” the more impact others have on his functioning and the more he tries to control, actively or passively, the functioning of others.” For a full description: The Bowen Family Center.

I remember a movie (not the title, sadly) which opens with a lovely wedding being held on the lawn of a Southern plantation-style mansion. The day is beautiful, the grounds lush with just the right amount of moss hanging from the trees. The guests are dressed in bright colors and the newly married couple are lovely.  As the credits finish, guests are leaving with many kisses and good wishes for the bride and groom. Now only a few family members remain scattered out around the lawn chatting with the wedding party.  The bride, after a particularly pleasant send off for some friends, is walking across the grass alone when she spots a plate next to the wedding cake.  On the plate are the remains of the ceremonial piece of cake her husband had offered her with their arms linked.  She smiles, the sweet memory still warm in her mind.  She steps over to the table and picks up the piece of cake for another lingering, dreamy bite.

And that’s when it happens.  Her very new husband hurries over to where she stands ready to pop a bite of cake into her mouth. He grabs her arm, frowns, and says, “Hey, not with your fingers!” A look of horrified recognition registered in her eyes.

Welcome to the gang.

 

 

Trip to Marketing, Part 2, Psychologist, Heal Thyself…

Dateline: Dairy Queen, Italy, Texas International Branch Headquarters.

Set-up:  Part Two of Trip to Marketing.  How to Set Yourself Up for Continuous Rejection. 

Welcome to your front row seat in the learn-by-voyeurism theater.  (See previous entry.) Starting next week, you, too, have the opportunity to share four days of pathologically enthusiastic marketing professionals shouting slogans.  (See, I knew the defensive superiority business would come up.)  I hope you learn something as I throw myself to the dragons.  Now you’re asking why anyone would go her way (even pay big bucks) to find demons? It’s hard enough to feel good about oneself doing what you are good at…so why would any sane person push the envelope?  Why would anyone go out of their way to increase opportunities for rejection and the occasional being burned to ashes on the spot?

Because throwing my every energy into projects for which I have absolutely no talent is a habitof mine.  Somewhere around seven years old, with my life cranking on rather successfully…plenty of atta girls for schoolwork, hymnals won in church word contests, and standing well in terms of the usual childhood challenges…I had to change things up…I had to add an endeavor which would bring plenty of anxiety and regular opportunities for failure.  I chose to go down the Crazyland fork during a family vacation after the second grade.  A trip routing through Kentucky horse country.  The horses were so beautiful I had a stomach ache. 

My fate was sealed.  Ignoring my short-legged, uncoordinated body, and my socio-economic abilities, and my gutlessness when it comes to jumping a jumping a horse over a Land Rover… I re-launched myself into measuring my success as a person through my success showing horses. Which also meant a childhood of hoarding my allowance and lunch money, talking my parents into cash instead of new clothes, and serving as my sister’s valet and maid. For decades, the expense, time, and danger of my obsession crippled every other area of my life and most areas of my body.   

Remember the Pseudo Self?  (Search site for full description.)  that part of who we are that is determined by others?  Our façade.  Our “look at me” stuff.  Our body packages, our “visible” bank account (cars, houses, clothes).  In addition to all the usual external measuring sticks, the real nutcases among us…ahem…find other ways to judge ourselves.  Other ways to suffer rejection.  Showing horses provided an endless arena of possibilities to put my entire self-worth on the line weekend after weekend.  But I got over the horse show thing. (And it wasn’t all torture. I had a great time. Keep in mind the author’s slight tendency toward defensiveness.)

Over the horse show thing, you’d think I’d sit back and enjoy my profession and family like regular person. But no. I looked around and thought…hmmm.mmm…Is there any other arena of life which could possibly step in and supply even more opportunities for rejection?  Wha..la.  Of course.  Why not write a book?  That way you can collect rejections on a daily basis.  Who could pass up that kind of opportunity?

And I did survive the rejection lifestyle. If that had been all there was to it, I wouldn’t be packing for LA once I’m back at headquarters in Austin. But, alas, such is not to be. Turns out publishers aren’t satisfied with you writing a book. They actually want you to sell your book.  Up leaps the Girl Scout Cookie trauma.  The chocolate bars are lead in my stomach again.  My goal during the seminar is to keep my Emotional Guidance System (which will be alternating between criticizing the program “These people are sociopaths!” and urging me to leave “You don’t need this. What you need to do is take a walk, run, or a nap!”)… in check.   

I’m giving this marketing seminar business an honest try.  I know that my resistance is fear and not a reasonable choice.  I’m like the middle school boy who says he’s choosing not to go to the Valentine’s Dance because he doesn’t like dancing… instead of admitting he has no idea of what to do there.  Should be quite a ride…Hang On Tight!

“I Buy, Therefore I Am” Part 1

What Could Be More Christmas than a Few Outstanding Commercials?

“Happy Holidays…Mind if I Sneeze on You and Will You Pay My Taxes?”

Dateline: Las Vegas Hilton International World Headquarters

Set-up: This is Part One of a series of entries on “I Buy, Therefore I Am” as we make decisions in the New Year.

“What are the thoughts that define you?” “What stuff can you can buy to define you?”

Just for Fun:  December Television Ad Awards–

Most Out-to-Lunch:  Shared by K-Mart and other retailers.  Children are shown Christmas morning jumping with glee opening packages of pajamas.  Pajamas.  Do these people not have any kids?  Or, perhaps more likely, they’ve never been kids.

Most Inside-Out:  Kleenex pushing for a paper towel dispenser in every bathroom in every house in the United States.  Think “no germs” ignore “We’re a green company doing our part to save the planet.” What?

Most Claim to Illiteracy:  Bayer A.M.  Aspirin and secret new ingredient.  Think coffee.

Best Double Talk:  Herbal weight loss supplement listing an ingredient as proven to take the pounds off. The statement goes, “Emerging research (read: some ad guy’s wild guess) suggests (read: could, maybe, who knows, sorta possibly, not more than the effect of air, sounds like a good idea)…that X may be a factor (read: may or may not be a factor)…in weight loss.”

Most Ambiguous: Kay’s jewelers.  We understand that if our husbands love us they will take the family credit card we’ve sacrificed to pay down…and charge a chunk of diamonds, but the Kay’s ad leaves too much unanswered. What size of diamond equals true love forever?  Jared’s is straight-forward. Anything that comes in a Jared’s box means you are recognized as a goddess among women.

Most Insulting:  Young lady behind the wheel, longing to get her nails done, says she cannot fulfill her dream because her car insurance is too high. Oh yes, her prayers are answered…and relax…she gets her nails done.

Are We Supposed to Cheer? Awards: (1) The couple smiling and saying they owed three million dollars in income tax but thanks to X services….they only paid a few thousand dollars.  So, then…what group of schmucks ended up paying what the smiling couple was able to avoid?  (2) The ads for cold medications promising that with their product you can continue your usual activities without taking a break ….thus infecting thousands of other victims.

Stuff you can get today for FREE (no shipping and handling):  A DVD on a wheelchair scooter (Great, I didn’t have plans for Saturday night and now I do!), time share brochures, a sales pitch price quote for car insurance.

What about the FREE memory foam mattress for ninety days?  The FREE face creams, credit scores, and women’s Viagra.  Here’s a tip.  When they  ask for your credit card number….it’s not FREE. Personal favorite is the women’s sexual stimulant cream which is absolutely FREE…the teeny white print mentions that acceptance of your FREE supply signs you up for a marvelous monthly shipment every month for the rest of your life…which costs just over $45 dollars per month, which will gladly be deducted from your credit card.  Sure, you can withdraw your “membership” just any ole time. Any old time you can take a few days off work to write letters, package the magic cream back in its orginial jar, cut proof-of-purchase bar codes out of the original box you threw away months ago, collect DNA proving you are the person you claim to be, photocopy your birth certificate to prove you were over 18 when you agreed to have the monthly charge to your credit card, photocopy your passport to see if you’re on the “no fly list” and therefore are not allowed to use the US mail system or make changes of any kind on your credit card, photocopy proof of car insurance, and book an hour with your lawyer composing a letter promising that you are not now, nor have you ever been, a member of the Communist Party.

Part 2.  When does a person cease to exist?  When you stop buying stuff?  The perfect marriage always includes a BMW.