parents

The Privilege of Seeing Pain
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The Privilege of Seeing Pain

“I started sharing my pain with everyone,” is what one of my teenage clients said to me recently. What an interesting way to say this. Her words hung in the air.

They are simple and poetic. Significant.

Her words gave me a new context for what it means to “act out.”

When the pain inside became too much for her to bear, she started sharing it with others as a way of saying, “I’m here, and I need someone to care. I can’t handle this on my own.” She had a rough childhood, and she started doing all of the harmful things one can imagine a teenage girl doing to herself, including stealing and harming others.

Adults do this as well – share their pain. The person who abuses their spouse, the dad who can’t stop yelling at his children, the woman who drinks excessively and physically abuses.

We all have these moments of sharing our pain, everyone one of us. Our prisons are filled with people who were sharing a pain too great to hold in.

Is there anyone you can think of in your life that has been sharing their pain with you? Is there anyone in your life that you’ve been unconsciously sharing your pain with? Ask yourself if there’s anything that you can do or want to do about this to help. There may not be . . . and there may be.

I’m reminded of this tale that I read a long time ago. I don’t know if it’s true, but I like the essence of it. The piece that sticks out to me: “If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them. The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behaviour is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity.”

This teenager in front of me had forgotten who she was. That she had a well of good inside. After years of being given someone else’s misbeliefs and someone else’s pain, her real identity was buried.

What if we took the time to listen, care for, and show kindness to the people in front of us who share their pain instead of shame them, punish them, or incarcerate them? Might we be able to remind them of their goodness and their deep capacity for love?

Not easy, but worth a try.

In Honor of Marcie
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In Honor of Marcie

Marcie is my daughter’s step-mom, or as we say in our family, her second mom. We’ve never really referred to her as step-mother unless we were trying to describe the nature of her relationship in our family.

When my ex shared that he was going to get married, I knew that I’d need to meet his soon-to-be wife. My ex and I were actively co-parenting our daughter and his wife would be an important part of that.

I had met one of his girlfriends before, and I could always tell that she was uncomfortable around me and didn’t want to speak to me no matter how nice I was trying to be to her. Seemed very strange!

I was determined to welcome Marcie into my life with open arms. She had just moved to LA from another state and didn’t really know anyone. The kiddo was about eight years old then, and I just could not stand the thought of having a high-drama, contentious relationship with my ex and his new wife.

I can’t remember what I said exactly when we met but it was along the lines of: Marcie, I want you to know that I’m so grateful you and my daughter get along, and I’d like us be friends so that we can support each other as she grows up.

I remember telling her that the more people in my daughter’s life that love her, the better. And that I’d be here for her if she needed me. She had similar nice things to say and we were both relieved.

So that began our relationship. Over the years, we’ve gotten to know each other and have been able to talk about a lot of issues that have come up. She’s been there to help me out several times. At birthday parties, some of the other parents often asked if she was my sister because we got along so well. They were shocked (I mean jaw-dropping shocked) when I told them that she was “the step-mom.” They couldn’t understand how I would be ok with “the step-mom” in the picture. I wanted to yell at them that were just people being nice to one another and it’s not THAT big of a deal!

Many years ago, I had a home assignment to complete for my Master’s Degree. For part of it I asked my family to write a letter to me about what it’s been like having me in their life. Here is some of what Marcie wrote (shared with Marcie’s permission and we’d only known each for about three years then):

“I have always wanted children and you have this wonderful and beautiful little girl. Knowing you has shown me a different way of thinking. You’ve shown me that step-moms don’t have to be ‘evil.’ That mother and step-mother can share responsibilities and understand our child’s needs and she’s a lucky girl by having two moms that are different…You could’ve made my relationship with your daughter difficult, but you didn’t. I also have a friend in you. You’ve touched my life in a way that’s special.”

Marcie divorced last year and is moving back to her home state in a couple of weeks. When it was clear that divorce was going to happen, I sat on my daughter’s bed and we both cried. Having Marcie as a regular part of our lives has been a blessing.

So this is my love letter to you, Marcie. I know you’re going to read this because I’m going to send it to you!

I am so grateful for the years that you and I have been partners in raising our amazing young woman. I think we’ve done pretty well. I’m so grateful that we have created a friendship that is meaningful. You have been someone that I have been able to rely on – a rock. I’ve always felt reassured that our daughter was leaving my house and going to yours because I knew you would take good care of her like she was your own. I couldn’t have asked for a better second mom for my sweet girl. I’m sad that you’re moving. We will miss you terribly. I know that we’ll see each other and talk, but LA is losing an angel.

Thank you for all the ways that you’ve touched my life. I love you.

A Sweet Moment: Superman
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A Sweet Moment: Superman

On the plane home after New Year’s, I sat next to a young man with his son sitting on his lap. The boy couldn’t have been more than two or three years old, and he was just adorable with his big cheeks.

They were looking through the airline Skymall magazine together to pass the time while we were delayed on the tarmac for 45 minutes. Dad pointed to the pictures in the magazine asking, “What’s that?” and his son called out what the pictures were with such enthusiasm in his barely understandable toddler speak. It was so darn cute that I chuckled each time.

Dad pointed to dogs, cats, cars, and many other items and the boy named each one with gusto.

They eventually came to the last page of the magazine, and I felt a twinge of disappointment that this exercise was coming to an end. I was really enjoying observing this gentle and caring exchange between father and son.

On the last page there was a picture of Superman. Dad asked his son, “Who’s that?” while pointing to the red-caped super hero.

The boy said, “Dad!”

Me and Dad laughed and he said, “No, that’s not me. Who is that?”

The boy insisted in his best English, “Dat’s you, Dad!”

Dad said, “OK” with a smile and moved on.

I was deeply moved. Hearing this comment from the young boy brought tears to my eyes. The way this child held such a strong and safe image of his father. I found myself thinking obviously his dad was Superman, because aren’t all dads Superman to us when we’re young?