Mom Fog

A few weeks ago my mom came to visit on the occasion of my step-daughter's high school graduation.   I knew mom was about to arrive because,  during the week leading up to her being here,   my neck and shoulders began to stiffen up and become sore.

Her visits often have a certain rhythm to them.    I feel tense as she arrives but she is upbeat and so it's all smiles and hugs.   After a day or so she begins to be less upbeat and there is some kind of challenge to work out.   After a few days there is often some kind of a larger challenge,   especially if I try to draw any kind of a boundary with her.   She hates to hear the word "No".   After about three days I am ready for her to leave.   

Mom lives alone.   My family and I,   almost without exception,  are the only ones she has spent more than a few hours in close company with over the past twenty years.   She can be bubbly and charming for very short spans but her mood fairly quickly wears thin.   

During this visit I found myself drifting into what I'll call "Mom Fog".   This is a common pattern of interaction between us;   she talks and talks (and talks)  and I start to fade out.  She's talking about what she's thinking about and has very little interest in what others' views and thoughts might be.   

This stimulates my childhood pattern:   I had very little emotional room to grow as a person.   The space for "me",  where my sense of self could grow,   was very, very small.    The space I was given was her projection and had little or no relation to what I was or was not feeling at any given time.  She had very low empathy toward my inner life so she would just project her own imagination of what she wanted my inner life to be.   Her projection had almost no relation to my actual experience.   My feelings were invisible to her and so,  as this pattern laid in over time,   they became invisible to me.   

My survival mechanism was to support her at all costs.   And so I hid myself.   I never really took hold of my own agenda and, instead,  identified with hers.   Her narcissism blinded her to what was going on.

Mom Fog is the experience of losing my self in the ceaseless ramble of words and thoughts she is always sharing.   I have worked to have a greater sense of self,  but I need to be away from her in order to develop that.   When I am around her I have a split intention:  part of me pushes her away very strongly while another part tries to be friendly and accommodating.    

This split creates the Mom Fog where I feel pulled into a dangerous,  me-effacing vortex that swirls into oblivion.   Oblivion,  in this case,  means living my life in order to serve her agenda--a place where I have no individual will but all of what I have to give is taken by her,  without even saying thanks.

My experience of Mom Fog continues to relate to her narcissism.   Often I feel like I don't really matter to her except in so far as I serve her agenda.  She doesn't see who I am.   She often doesn't say thank you when she's asked me to do something and I do it.   Saying thank you is the most basic level of acknowledging the other person and his role; that he matters.    The fact she often does not say thank you tells me she's still stuck in the same mindset that imprinted on me when I was a kid.

Mom Fog comes when I deny the feelings brought up in me when she starts doing "her thing".   I stuff all of the pain.   I stuff all of my anger.    In me lies fury over all of this.   But  I smile and do my turn as the dutiful son,  without saying anything.   Why?   Perhaps it is because I have to pick my battles.   The period of my step-daughter's graduation was not the time to do major processing with my mom.   We needed to keep our attention focused on what was important and not distract from this important event.

I acknowledge that my mom is not malicious,  she's just clueless.   She wants to do better but she doesn't know where to start.   She's been stuck in these patterns for a very long time.   Her bipolar mixes up with other medical issues to make her perceptions wobbly at times.   I don't think it would be all that fruitful to "have it out" with her around my childhood,  because her memory of those years is spotty.     She has many times shared a "memory" with me which was actually distorted memory fragments from completely different times and contexts.    My mom largely lives in the moment and that's pretty much where you have to meet her.   

Additionally,   my mom could not handle what I really think and feel.   She has lived with her projection of me all these years.     She would likely feel crushed by what my actual experience has been.   She knows I am angry about things but I have shared very little of the content of my angry feelings.   But I do have to acknowledge the feelings myself.   My doing this is an absolute key to my healing.   It's being divorced from my feelings, the legacy of Mom Fog,  that is one of the major challenges I face in life.   

Writing this down was really helpful for me.   I wrote most of it while mom was here;   the process of writing and acknowledging my experience was a major help to me.   I was able to pull out of Mom Fog and be more present for my step-daughter's graduation. 

Thank God for blogs!

Your comments are welcome.

Warmly,  Ben

Lebron and Michael

In belated honor of Father's Day I thought I'd take up a sports theme.    What could be more natural?!   

I have to confess that I am sports fan.   I don't watch a whole lot of sports on TV but I do read the sports page first (almost) every day.   So sue me.   What has caught my interest lately relates to the NBA finals.   This was the finals where the latest "Dream Team" of super stars Lebron James,  Dwane Wade and Chris Bosh was going to show everyone how it's done.  Except they didn't.   

One piece that stood out in a big way was how Lebron pretty much choked down the stretch.   As he choked at exactly the moment he needed to step up,  many of us sports fans were likely thinking about the discussion from the previous week.    A sports news items had Scotty Pippen saying that Lebron might be better than Michael Jordan.   Anyone who follows the NBA knows that Pippen was Jordan's right hand man.   The phrase "Jordan and Pippen" was often heard during the time their team,  the Chicago Bulls,  were winning six NBA titles.   

Lebron better than MJ?   Really,  Scotty?   Now that the finals are over and Dallas triumphed in six games,   Pippen's comment looks,  shall we say,  premature.   The difference between Jordan and Lebron,  at least so far,  is that Jordan did whatever it took to win.   To use the shoe mantra,  he just did it.

To my eye,  the major difference between MJ and Lebron has to do with  the relationship they each had with their father.

I don't know exactly what kind of childhood Jordan had but as an adult he was very close to his father.   In fact,  it was after MJ's dad died (he was murdered)  that Michael quit basketball (while at the height of his ability) and went to play semi-pro baseball for a few seasons.    Basketball fans were incredulous.    Apparently,  Jordan had a close and loving relationship with his dad.    It seems to me that one only comes to be close to one's dad as an adult if the whole childhood bit went pretty well.    I am guessing that Michael's dad was a caring person who gave his son attention and love and supported him throughout his youth and into adulthood.  

My understanding is that Lebron never really knew his dad.   He was raised by his mother who was facing both poverty and,  at times,  drug addiction.    A documentary called "More than a Game" depicts Lebron and several of his friends who played on highly successful basketball teams together from age 10 through high school.    The coach of the team appears to be one of the few positive male role models Lebron ever had growing up.     

Personally,  I can relate to Lebron a lot more than I can to Michael.   I had a close relationship to my dad in the first 3-4 years of my life.   When I was five my parents divorced and I rarely saw my dad.   At six he moved out of state and I never saw him again.   He started out being a support to me;   then he disappeared.   There is a strong signature of that fact in relation to my consciousness,  how I see myself,  my basic self esteem.   The path I take to achievement will be more like Lebron's than Michael's.

See,   at those amazing moments when MJ sticks the jumper and leads his team to an NBA title,  he has his dad behind him,  holding him up.   All the care and encouragement his dad gave him,  all of the confidence his dad expressed towards him over the years,   all that is there for Michael.   It is what gives him that follow-through,  that supreme confidence when everything is on the line.   He is supported.

What I see with Lebron is that when he gets to those moments when everything is on the line,  a gnawing,  malicious voice comes up from his sub-conscious and asks,  "Why did your daddy leave you?"    Then he has to go out and make that shot that will win it all for his team,  only he does it with a creature hanging on his back,  trying to bring him down.   He freezes.   He asks himself,  "Who am I to shine?"   "Who am I to be the best at this game?"  He chokes.

I can identify with his struggle.  It is also my struggle.   I hope Lebron can keep after it,  that he can learn how to overcome the handicap of the cards he was dealt as a kid.     I hope that the power of his spirit can be so bright that it outshines the creature on his back.   I hope that he can come to a place where he knows he's a perfect child of God;  that he knows his gifts on the court are among the limitless expressions of divine love;  that even though his earthly father was not there for him,  his father in heaven is, always.

I hope that for me too.

Maybe Lebron and I both can become the best in whatever it is we each are meant do.   It sure looks like basketball is what Lebron's meant to do.   I am still trying to figure it out for myself.   

Sorry Michael,  I think you are amazing,  but I am rooting for Lebron from here on out.

Your comments are welcome.

Warmly,  Ben

Keep Breathing

Most people,  by the time they hit middle age,  have to deal with the prospect of their parents aging.     I am no different.   Most people have to deal with at least some conflicted feelings,  issues they carry with them from childhood which get in the way of an easy relationship with mom and/or dad.

I blogged last week about how my mom came into the station to pick me up a few weeks ago and absent-mindedly  left her car running in the parking lot.   I was confronted with the question of whether this was "garden-variety" forgetfulness or a sign of something where she might need more support.   Since then,  when I spoke with her several days ago,   mom told me that she checked herself into the ER with what she described as a pain in her chest and a lot of anxiety.     

The upshot of her ER visit  is that there are a couple of medical issues,  other than the bipolar,  she may be dealing with.   I don't yet have enough info to know how to respond.   But I do have feelings that come up.    My upset arrives at multiple levels.   

First,  she's my mom.   I love her and care about her welfare.   The simple fact of her experiencing illness is upsetting to me.

Second,     I am the only apparent person there for "base-line back up".   She has friends where she lives but I am the main bottom-line back up for her as she ages.   This freaks me out at the level of how her aging may affect my life over time.

Third,    I don't want her to live in my town,  at least not yet.    Contemplating this prospect freaks me out.    Her social network is in the town where she lives;   she has very little,  other than me and my family,  where I live.

Fourth,  I have huge ranges of conflicted feelings about her.   I love her.   I am very angry at her.     The issues I have with her are not likely to be resolved any time soon.    I can,  and will,  continue working on myself but this anger,  at some level,   always simmers between her and me.   

Fifth,  I defined my young self in part around the idea of "keep mom afloat and you stay afloat"   What does that mean for her eventual weakening and death?   If my mission in life as a child was "save your mother" what happens when I am not able to do that?   Will I,  at some level,  feel like I have fundamentally failed at life?  If so,  how will I deal with that?

Sixth,  I am very attuned to her.   My wife asked me the other day "where are you?"  because I was somewhat checked out.   There seemed to be a correlation with my mom's visit to the ER,  even though I was not aware of it until days later.   Are my mom and I connected on the energetic plain to a degree where I experience what she is experiencing?   What does that mean for me as she ages?

Seventh,  Mom did not tell me about her visit to the ER until I called her three days later.   What do I do with the prospect that she may or may not communicate with me about her health needs?   One of the symptoms of her bipolar is "lack of insight".   That could lead her to ignore medical or other concerns and possibly exacerbate the situation.  

Eighth,  can I trust her memory about the details?   Sometimes she comes across as clear and has a good memory.  Other times there are big gaps.   What is going on that she simply forgets about?

I am sure there are other areas of inner turmoil I  experience around my mom aging.   In fact,  they may be unconsciously rolling around in my gut at this very moment.   

It helps to try and understand the various aspects of what I may be feeling.    My feelings can be complicated.     I can imagine being overwhelmed by them as my mom shows signs of aging and I become more involved in supporting her.   

Keep breathing.

Your comments are welcome.

Warmly, Ben