A True Woman’s World

March 21, 2014 — Pat Bertram

We are bound to the world by society, culture, our shared past. We have no real choice as to what world we are born into — we come as babies to a fully formed structure, learn our way around that structure, and then finally, as adults, either try to live within the structure or try to bend that structure to our needs, hopes, dreams.

warriorI wrote a blog the other day about not believing in women’s issues. The point I tried to make is that both men and women have issues, and that what I believed in were human issues, non-gender issues, such as fairness and respect for everyone. In response, a friend texted me: “You are entitled not to be a feminist. A lot of very brave, determined women won you that right.” Although I commend his willingness to disagree with me since many people don’t want to voice disagreement with my commentaries, his remark hit me wrong. It presupposes that as a woman I have an obligation to be a feminist and that it’s my “right” to choose to forego that obligation.

For thirty-four years, I was deeply connected to another human being — a man. Because of this relationship, I understood the unfairnesses of a man’s life as much as I did the unfairnesses of a woman’s life. I want fairness for everyone, so much so that I have often done the fair thing when it was to my detriment simply because it was the fair thing to do.

It seems to me that those who champion women’s issues don’t want fairness. They want the tables turned where it’s women in the forefront of economic and societal structures. And it’s happening. According to a new analysis of 2,000 communities by a market research company, in 147 out of 150 of the biggest cities in the U.S., the median full-time salaries of young women are 8% higher than those of the guys in their peer group. In two cities, Atlanta and Memphis, those women are making about 20% more. This squares with earlier research from Queens College, New York, that had suggested that this was happening in major metropolises. But the new study suggests that the gap is bigger than previously thought, with young women in New York City, Los Angeles and San Diego making 17%, 12% and 15% more than their male peers, respectively. And it also holds true even in reasonably small areas like the Raleigh-Durham region and Charlotte in North Carolina (both 14% more), and Jacksonville, Fla. (6%).

This disparity is seen as an advance in women’s rights, but where’s the fairness? Are we supposed to continue to champion an equality where one gender is more equal than another?

If it is true that I owe those brave, determined feminists a debt, then I owe it to men, too. It was the urban world the early suffragettes were born into that gave them the time to fight for such things as equality. Women (and men) in non-urban areas were too busy keeping alive to worry about jobs outside the home or politics or bodily automony. So in a way, it was the industrial revolution, the legacy of men, that brought about the conditions that ultimately led to the fight for women’s rights. Oddly, it was urbanization in ancient times that originally contributed to the loss of women’s power, women’s religions, women goddesses. So there is no one to thank, no one to blame, no one to be indebted to for my “right” not to be a feminist — I was simply born into a particular world, the sum of everything that has  gone before.

Besides, I believe feminists are settling for too little. Instead of demanding entry into the so-called “men’s world,” I always thought women should create their own world, not the housewifey world that is usually considered a woman’s world though is merely an adjunct to the man’s world, but a true woman’s world — the world of mysteries, wildness, goddessness that is our birthright. A world superior to the world that we were born into.

But perhaps the structures of this materialistic world are too well entrenched, and all we can do is change who controls the materials.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Friend of My Soul

March 7, 2014 — Pat Bertram

I learned a new word today. Anam Cara. (I guess that’s really two words, isn’t it?) It’s Celtic. Anam means “soul” and cara means “friend.”

Soul friend.

I call my deceased life mate a soul mate, though I don’t necessarily believe we truly were soul mates.

Some people believe soul mates are separate halves of the same soul, split aparts. To these believers, you are only whole when you’ve met and connected with your other half, your soul mate. Although we were deeply connected, I do not believe we shared a single soul, nor did I ever believe it. Oddly, when I first met him, I entertained the idea that he was perhaps a “teacher.” You know the saying — when the student is ready, a teacher will appear. Well, I was ready, and Broken hearthe appeared. Even odder, when he was dying, long after I’d forgotten this romantic notion, he told me, “I won’t always be here to teach you.” I bristled at that, of course, because it sounded so paternalistic. It wasn’t until after his death when I told a friend of his words, that she reminded me of my youthful idea. The reminder sort of freaked me out, to be honest. Was I correct in that he came here to teach me, to help me gain whatever knowledge I could through his help? I do know that he had taken me as far as he could on my journey, and so . . . what? He went back whence he came and left me on my own? It’s because of this notion that I don’t necessarily believe we will be reunited when I die. I have the strangest feeling that he has gone beyond where I will be at my end, gone to a much higher plane. (What makes this whole idea so bizarre is that I’m not even sure I believe we retain some form of consciousness after this life. I do believe we are eternal, since energy can be neither created nor destroyed, but what form that energy takes, I cannot even begin to guess.)

This idea of his coming to be my teacher certainly is not the personification of “split aparts.” It’s closer to the concept of soul mates in reincarnation, where we supposedly meet the same people life after life. These constant companions, enemies, allies who share our repeated lives are our soul mates. Again, this is not apropos because I don’t believe in reincarnation. Although many people like the idea of reincarnation, I don’t. I think it makes us just a bit too complacent about accepting the unfairness of life. If someone has bad fortune or ill health, somehow it is his or her fault because of karmic debt. If a person has good fortune, that is also because of karma paying off a debt.

Some people define soul mate as “the one and only,” the person you share everything with including ideas and temperament, a person for whom you have a deep and abiding affinity. Perhaps this defined my relationship with my life mate, but somehow it doesn’t go deep enough. Seems sort of paltry, actually, as a description of our relationship. We didn’t particularly bring each other happiness, we didn’t always want the connection, but we were connected on a level neither of us ever understood. Perhaps we couldn’t understand because we never had a name for our connection.

John O’Donohue, Celtic Mystic, and author of the book “Anam Cara, a Book of Celtic Wisdom,” wrote: In the early Celtic church, a person who acted as a teacher, companion, or spiritual guide was called an anam ċara.  It originally referred to someone to whom you confessed, revealing the hidden intimacies of your life.  With the anam ċara you could share your innermost self, your mind, and your heart.  This friendship was an act of recognition and belonging.  When you had an anam ċara, your friendship cut across all convention, morality, and category.  You were joined in an ancient and eternal way with the “friend of your soul.”  The Celtic understanding did not set limitations of space or time on the soul.  There is no cage for the soul.  The soul is a divine light that flows into you and into your Other.  This art of belonging awakened and fostered a deep and special companionship.

In everyone’s life, there is great need for an anam ċara, a soul friend.  In this love, you are understood as you are without mask or pretension.  The superficial and functional lies and half-truths of social acquaintance fall away, you can be as you really are.  Love allows understanding to dawn, and understanding is precious.  Where you are understood, you are at home.  Understanding nourishes belonging.  When you really feel understood, you feel free to release yourself into the trust and shelter of the other person’s soul.”

In the end, it doesn’t matter whether we were soul mates or anam cara or something else beyond life and reason. All I know is that while we were together, he was my teacher, my guide, my companion, my business partner, my friend. Most of all, he was my home.

Now he is gone. Has been gone for almost four years. And I still feel homeless.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Being Nice

February 15, 2014 — Pat Bertram

For many years, I was subject to depression and debilitating allergies that so enervated me, getting out of bed in the morning was about all I could handle. Then there were the years my life mate/soul mate was dying, where I hunkered down in my emotional foxhole, trying to protect myself from the pain with which life was bombarding us. During these times, whenever I’d go out among people, all I ever seemed to see were happy, healthy, and energetic folks, which made me feel as if I were alone in my misery.

It wasn’t until I signed up for Facebook and started making contact with all sorts of people that I discovered the truth rainbowin their status updates. Everyone is struggling with something — illness, disability, debility, depression, grief. Even if people aren’t struggling with such a difficulty themselves, they are taking care of someone with a problem. The strong, healthy people I saw were probably normally traumatized people on their good days.

I’m learning to be nice to everyone, even people with a bad attitude. Anger, rudeness, pettiness, are all signs of unhappiness and discontent, and chances are, the misery stems from actual problems, not just a desire to be mean. In a strange sort of way, how people treat me is not my problem. Their inconsideration is a reflection of them, not me. My only responsibility is in my own reaction, and — in an ideal world — I would always choose to be nice. Life of course, is not always ideal, and I sometimes I let my own problems dictate my behavior, especially when those problems entail a lack of sleep, such as the episodes with my afflicted brother.

One of my favorite scenes in a film is in the 1989 movie Roadhouse where Patrick Swayze is discussing his policy with the bouncers. “Be nice,” he says. He goes on to tell them that no matter what anyone does, be nice. And he ends, “I want you to be nice until it’s time to not be nice.” It’s a good policy for anyone, being nice.

Sure, we have problems, but everyone else does too. So let’s pretend this is an ideal world, and let us all be nice.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Sundowners Syndrome and Other Night Time Horrors

February 12, 2014 — Pat Bertram

For many people, night is a time of relaxation and rest, especially when it comes time to sleep, but for others, night is . . . well, it’s a nightmare.

For example, Sundowners Syndrome frequently affects people with Alzheimer’s and dementia, and sometimes elderly hospital patients. These people react to the sun going down with confusion, anxiety, aggressiveness, agitation, restlessness, anger, even disorientation and hallucinations. My father had such problems when he was hospitalized for an operation a few years ago, and the inordinate anxiety lasted for months afterwards. It’s one of the reasons I am here to look after him. Although at 97 years of age, he can still mostly take care of himself, he does need someone to do the things he can’t do for himself such as grocery shopping, some cookiSunrise/Sunsetng, cleaning, etc. More than that, though, he needs someone here at night because he is prone to panic attacks when he is alone after dark.

Those who suffer from bipolar disorder or narcissistic personality disorder seem to be afflicted with something similar to Sundowners syndrome, especially when it comes to night rages. These people can often control themselves during the light of day, but as the night progresses, their rage escalates, which makes even the generally well-balanced members of their families miserable, angry, and depressed.

Such night rages are often accompanied by insomnia and sleep deprivation, though I don’t know whether the lack of sleep is the result of the rage or a contributing factor. Although no one knows for sure what causes such night rages, there are various surmises. The rages could be a result of the build-up of stress during the day. They could be a result of fragmented circadian rhythms. Or they could have a biological basis, perhaps due to a disruption in the cholinergic system. (The cholinergic system is the network of nerve cells that uses acetylcholine in transmitting nerve impulses.)

I’m very aware of this nightmarish cycle since so often my dysfunctional brother inflicts his rage on me. He doesn’t physically inflict his rage on me, just verbally, though the fury he focuses on me sometimes feels like a physical assault — his anger is that powerful. Sometimes his anger isn’t directed at me specifically. He has a whole list of people who have “ruined his life” and he nourishes his anger against them as if his fury were a venomous hothouse plant. He seems to have such a stake in this anger that he cannot let it go, but what that stake is, I don’t know. Perhaps his rage makes him feel alive. Perhaps he is afraid of owning up to his own culpability in how he has ended up. Perhaps some sort of inner demon has him in thrall.

This conjecture, of course, is futile. He seems to have at least two cyclical patterns of disorder (bipolar swings and narcissistic rage, though he could have Sundowners Syndrome or something I have yet to identify — perhaps even alcohol-induced dementia), but since he has never been diagnosed, I have no idea that the truth is. All I know is that his night rages are impossible to predict, control, or deal with.

Because of him, my nights have become rather stressful, though occasionally, when his all his cycles wind down, so does he, and peace reigns. I have learned, however, never to take the quiet nights as a sign of things getting better, but simply to be grateful for them.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Living Inside a Disordered Mind

February 7, 2014 — Pat Bertram

People keep asking me why I have anything to do with my verbally abusive, demanding, and dysfunctional brother. To be honest, I don’t know what else to do. I realize he is not my responsibility, but neither is he the responsibility of the state, the penal system or whatever social services might be available. (He does have a court date coming up for being intoxicated in public, so it might be taken out of my hands, but even if he shows up, which I doubt, I don’t think he’ll get a severe sentence.)

Partly, I put up with his abuse because I feel sorry for him. He seems to have gotten himself in way over his head, augmenting poor genes and a hard childhood with bad decisions, bad luck, and self-medication for emotional disorders. Partly I put up with him because I sense that inside of a tornado of unfocused energy that manifests itself as rage, the real person is scurrying around, looking for a way out. And partly I put up with him because . . . well, contrary to what he believes, I am a kind and compassionate person.

Yes, I know I have to take care of myself first, and I do. In fact, I’m going on a hike tomorrow, will be gone for most of the day, but that only gives me a respite. When I return, it will be to his demands, his anger, his hatred. Though he exhausts me, I can only believe he exhausts himself even more. Because of his various disorders, he seems to project himself onto me, and if it is true that what he says to me, he is really saying to himself, he hates himself beyond belief. To be honest, I don’t much like him, either, and would just as soon not have to deal with him at all.

Still, he is so broken, not just physically, with many badly healed bones and various painful maladies, not just emotionally, but also mentally. It must be hard living inside a mind that harbors, protects, and polishes to a high sheen every hurt no matter how great and every slight no matter how small with equal fervor. It must be hard not to be able to differentiate between important thoughts and trivial thoughts since all thoughts are given equal weight and voice. It must be hard to be so needy, and yet be unable to meet those needs or to ask for help. It must be hard to be closed off to anything good, to be so caught up in one’s misery, hatred, and fury, that nothing can breach the walls.

I guess in the end I put up with him because I am so very glad I am not him, and I feel a bit guilty about that.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Reward Deficiency Syndrome

February 6, 2014 — Pat Bertram

Dopamine and three other neurotransmitters— serotonin, the enkephalins, and gamma-Aminobutyric acid — are a major part of the reward pathway in the brain. In the majority of people, the reward system begins with one of these chemicals spreading out to “network” and involve the other neurotransmitters in what resembles a cascade. As a result, people feel secure, calm, comfortable and satisfied. In some people, this reward system is deficient, and they have a hard time feeling satisfied.

This deficiency can contribute to alcoholism, drug abuse, obesity, and various other problems because there is no “off button” of satiety.

I seldom feel these rewards. When I eat, I don’t feel a cessation of hunger, don’t feel any sustained pleasure from foods (though I do enjoy various tastes, of course). When I ran when I was younger, I never felt a runner’s high or any mindother sort of satisfaction except that of having completed the course. After a lifetime of wondering what the big deal is — what this natural “high” is that gives people such great satisfaction — I no longer particularly care if I am deficient or not. I’ve adjusted. I find my satisfactions in other things — a job done, a skill learned, a blog written.

This reward deficiency syndrome is often present in people with mental challenges such as bipolar disorder and narcissistic personality disorder. Rage is a characteristic of both of these mental disorders — perhaps because rage is a way of releasing adrenaline which leads to a small cascade of reward neurotransmitters. Alcoholism is also often present with both these disorders — those suffering from these problems often self-medicate with alcohol to relieve feelings of dullness and depression.

Although reward deficiency syndrome is related to neurotransmitters, I have a hunch it also relates to behavioral issues. For most of us, if we do something “bad” and are punished, we see the cause/effect of bad/punishment. If we do something positive, such as work hard and take home a nice paycheck, we see the cause/effect of good/reward. But those with behavioral reward deficiency don’t seem to be able to see cause and effect, hence they feel no accountability.

I’ve seen this in my dysfunctional homeless brother. I am trying to be as kind to him as possible, even though he is never grateful and takes all such kindness as his due. In fact, his sense of entitlement is so great, he doesn’t even seem to be able to see that I’ve been kind to him; instead, he harangues me for being selfish. (This projection of his own qualities onto me is part of the narcissist personality disorder.) Conversely, if I ignore his demands, he doesn’t seem to be able to figure out that being courteous would get him courtesy in exchange. Instead, he escalates his demands. I used to be afraid that if I paid attention to him after his demands became insanely insistent that it would teach him to continue his assault (that’s what his demands feel like — an assault), but it has no effect on him since he doesn’t seem to be able to see that I am “rewarding” his assault. To him, it’s all the same. In fact, often when he knocks on my window for attention and I ask what he wants, he gets angry because I am demanding and inconsiderate, as if it were I who wanted his attention. It doesn’t compute that he was the one who wanted to say something to me.

He got a jaywalking ticket a couple of months ago and was so angry about it that I said I’d pay it, not just to shut him up but because I didn’t want to drive him across town to the courthouse and hang around all day while he tried to fight it. He never said that he wanted me to pay it, but he kept reminding me I had offered to pay. A couple of days ago, my father offered to pay the ticket, too. When I asked my brother for the bill so my father could write a check, my brother got mad. “You lied to me,” he said. “You said you were going to pay the ticket.” We went round and round for a while, me trying to explain that I had intended to pay it and he calling me a liar. Today, after I paid the ticket, all he said was, “I never asked you to pay it.” (Incidentally, “lying” is a big thing for him. Any miscommunication is an opportunity for calling me a liar, among other things.)

Ah, the joys of living with a dysfunctional brother.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Narcisstic Rage

February 3, 2014 — Pat Bertram

I grew up in an angry family. Any disagreement between parents and children seemed to escalate into epic battles, ending only in violent punishments. Not surprisingly, I have always been afraid of anger, my own included. In my experience, anger is a destructive force that quickly becomes unfocused and wreaks havoc on the innocent and guilty alike, so I learned early in life not to do anything to anger anyone, and to keep my own anger reined in.

This fear of anger is one of the holds my dysfunctional alcoholic brother has on me. He is such an angry person, it’s as if he’s caught in a whirlwind of powerful energies and furies he cannot control. His anger bombards me with such force sometimes it feels as if I am soaking up his anger. Some of his anger is understandable, given his upbringing in such an angry family, but some of the anger is alien, especially when it is centered on me. Have I really done so much to offend him? Am I really the evil bitch he thinks I am? It’s possible, I suppose — our ability to deceive ourselves seems boundless at times — and yet, I am not quite as isolated as he seems to think, and since other people don’t see me as evil, I have some sense of the truth.

His mental issues are undiagnosed, but I’ve been doing online research in an effort to find a way to diminish his demands on me. (I realize finding a name for his illness won’t change anything, but it might help me figure out a way to deal with his relentless demands for attention.) He exhibits many symptoms of bipolarism, alternating between depression and anger. (One thing that is characteristic of bipolar anger is spitting, and the sound of his spitting tells me when he’s ready to go into rage mode. When I asked him why he spits, he told me it was to get rid of the poison in his system.) He also exhibits many symptoms of narcissistic anger. When someone with narcissistic personality disorder feels even a tinge of slight, they go into rage overdrive, as does my brother.

This list of narcissistic personality disorder symptoms exactly describes my brother:

•Turns every conversation to himself.
•Ignores the impact of his negative comments.
•Constantly criticizes or berates me; thinks he knows what is best for me.
•Focus on blaming me and others rather than taking responsibility for his own behavior.
•Expect me to jump at his every need.
•Is overly involved with his own addictions, ignoring everyone else’s needs.
•Has high need for attention.
•Is closed minded about his own mistakes. Can’t handle criticism and gets angry to shut it off.
•Becomes enraged and has tantrums when his needs are not met or if he thinks he’s been slighted.
•Has an attitude of “Anything you can do, I can do better” — he hates that I am a published author, and is constantly telling me (screaming at me) that he is an artist who has written 400 songs, that he knows how to write and I don’t, (though he hasn’t read a single word I have ever written).
•Forgets what I have done for him yet keeps reminding me what I “owe” him today — he says he wants to leave here and that I’m not helping, but won’t tell me what I can do to help.
•Has a vast sense of entitlement.
•Sees himself above the law.
•Does not expect to be penalized for bad behavior.
•He cannot see the impact his selfish behavior, and if he could see, he wouldn’t care.
•Projects himself onto me, telling me I need help, that I am out of control, selfish, devious, manipulative.

mirrorWith as many self-centered people there are in the world, you’d think there’d be a high rate of people with narcissistic personality disorder, but oddly, it affects less than 1% of the population. (Bipolarism is much more widespread.) There is treatment for such a disorder, but the person has to want to undergo psychotherapy, medication, self-help, and even inpatient care, but narcissists seldom see any need for treatment since in their world view, everyone else is at fault.

From what I have read, narcissistic rages don’t last for several days as my brother’s seem to, so who knows the truth of him. The result of all this research is . . . very little, actually, just the realization that nothing I say or don’t say, do or don’t do will change him. He will always see slights where none were intended, will always feel entitled, will always be enraged when he doesn’t get what he believes he deserves.

I can change me, however. This association with my brother is teaching me to deal with my fear of anger, both mine and other people’s. It’s teaching me to reach for what I want and not expect anyone else to give it to me. It’s teaching me that I am my own person, both connected to the world and separate. I might be my brother’s keeper, at least temporarily, but I am not him and I do not have a stake in his wants or needs.

And most especially, it’s teaching me that I can never be free of the past, but that I can learn to deal with it gracefully and carry the burden lightly, and that is no small thing.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Destination: Joy

February 2, 2014 — Pat Bertram

I’ve been writing about my problems dealing with my emotionally unstable brother, and the writing has been helping me find peace and sanity in the madness of my current life. Normally, my brother wouldn’t be a major issue, but he is currently camping out in my father’s garage and seems to think I am here for his convenience, to be his scapegoat / sounding board / disciple. When my brother goes into one of his demanding (demented?) states, he continually bangs on my windows for attention. I usually respond to the first few raps, but when he gets abusive, I ignore him. bookHe does not like being ignored, and will pound on my windows until I respond. If I don’t respond, he keeps rapping. Relentlessly.

I’ve been keeping a journal of his actions. The other night he rapped forty-one times. Actually, it was more like 123 times since each time he tries to get my attention, he knocks on three different windows in two different rooms. Finally, he got so angry at being ignored, he broke a window. This panicked me. I was afraid that the patterns of childhood would repeat themselves, and he would be punished unmercifully for his actions.

I’m ashamed to admit, I screamed at him. Until he came here with all his emotional baggage, I haven’t screamed at anyone since childhood, hadn’t even known that it was still in me to raise my voice in such a manner, but I was furious, fearful, faithful to old conditionings I only vaguely remembered. My father had said that if my brother broke a window, he’d have my brother arrested, but when I told my father about the broken window, he just shrugged the matter off, which gives me hope that some of the old patterns of fear and punishment are finally being destroyed. At least in me. I truly do not know if there is hope for my brother because he doesn’t seem to see a need for change.

I came here to my father’s house to look after my aged parent, of course, but I also came for redemption, though I’m not sure what or whom I am trying to redeem. I just know I didn’t want to be carrying the same patterns of thought throughout my entire life, and I somehow felt that looking after my father and allowing him to be as independent as possible would help close the circle of the past. If the universe is unfolding as it should, it might not be an accident that my brother showed up here, too. (In fact, he has often told me he doesn’t know why he is here.) He is a big part of the puzzle of my youth. I’ve always felt torn between my brother and my father, as if I were the rope in their tug-of-war. Each seemed to want my total loyalty, though neither ever really did anything to warrant such loyalty.

The shackles of the past seem to be diminishing rapidly now. Oddly, I woke up this morning with an inward smile that has been with me the whole day. It could be that I really am doing some good here, perhaps even finding that redemption I am seeking, maybe even finding a bit of freedom.

I used to think that freedom came from being unencumbered by the past, that I could only be free when both my father and brother were out of my life, but now I see that one can be free even while cumbered. It’s a matter of gracefully and lightfully carrying one’s past and present as one travels into a more joyful future.

A friend sent me this quotation by Danielle La Porte in response to yesterday’s blog, I Come From a Narcissistic Family:

Freedom does not come from a checklist, and a ‘zero inbox’ is not a life aspiration.
If liberation is a chore, it’s not really liberation.
You can’t contract your way to freedom.
You can’t punish your way to joy.
You can’t fight your way to inner peace.
The journey has to feel the way you want the destination to feel.
Let me offer this again, in reverence to your life force:
The journey has to feel the way you want the destination to feel.
And again, with respect to your potential:
The journey has to feel the way you want the destination to feel.

Since my destination is joy (I didn’t realize until this very moment that joy is in fact, my destination), my journey also has to feel like joy. And my inner smile is telling me that it is possible.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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I Come From a Narcissistic Family

February 1, 2014 — Pat Bertram

As a member of a narcissistic family, my childhood was skewed. The following list is from The Narcissistic Family: Diagnosis and Treatment, by Stephanie Donaldson-Pressman and Robert Pressman, and it perfectly describes the dynamics of my early years. The list is taken whole from the Pressman book, but the comments in double parentheses are mine:

_____ I was not allowed to have feelings that might upset my parents.

_____ As a child, I had to meet the emotional needs of my parents.

_____ I learned early on that my needs weren’t valued so stopped trying to get them met.

_____ I felt that I had to act in ways that pleased my parent(s) to avoid being abandoned. ((When I was a teenager, they did kick out a couple of my brothers, so this was a very real fear.))

_____ Our family had to look good to outsiders, so I was required to keep the family secrets. ((It’s not so much that we had to look good to outsiders but that we had an unspoken agreement to keep the secret, which was that we were not the close knit family we seemed. In fact, I am a bit nervous writing about this even now. As if I am doing something wrong. As if I’m “tattling”.))

_____ At times my parent’s need to look good to others did help me get some positive attention. ((I remember my father telling me once that I had to do what he said because he wanted to be able to be proud of at least one of his children.))

_____ I was expected to read my parent(s) mind and give what they wanted without their asking.

_____ If I tried to set limits and boundaries, they were overrun by my parent(s.)

_____ I was not allowed to make mistakes or change my mind.

_____ The less emotional support I got from my parent(s), the more fearful I was that I’d lose it. ((This was true until, as a young teenager, I realized they would never give me the support I needed and gave up expecting it.))

_____ I learned to be super responsible to please my parent(s.) ((Second oldest and oldest girl of a large family. Talk about super responsible! By five, I knew how to do laundry, iron, cook simple meals, wash and dry dishes, sew and embroider.))

_____ The rule in my family was that parent(s) got to do selfish things because it was their right.

_____ I have had life-long problems making and keeping intimate relationships. (Actually, this is not true as far as I can tell. I had an intimate relationship for thirty-four years that ended only when he died. At times, though, our relationship seemed more like a mutual support group since he also was the child of a narcissitic family. He’s the one who helped me to finally see the truth. Apparently, our family secret was so secret, it was even secret from me!)

_____ In relationships, I worry about the other person finding out how defective I am. ((Not any more. My relationship with my now deceased life mate/soul mate taught me that even if someone knew the real me, I could be loved. As for friends, after a lifetime of thinking people didn’t like me, it recently dawned on me that people really did like me. That was an incredible revelation, and has made a big difference in my relationships and in my life.))

_____I have an overwhelming need for external (outside of myself) validation. ((I don’t think this is true so much any more since I am learning to validate myself, but it was true when I was a child and even decades afterward. And for all I know, it could still true. When I did a personality profile for one of the dating sites I signed up for, it said I was looking for “someone who’ll always strive to make me feel attractive, desirable and loved with undivided attention and a sense of physical security. Someone who’ll make me feel young and alive with a flirty manner around you, and who’ll renew my passion for life by opening my eyes to new experiences and opportunities.” Sounds about right.))

_____ I learned to achieve early on to bring glory to my family OR Even though I did well in school, my parent(s) ignored my achievements. ((Yep!!! Straight “A” student here. Never so much as a single metaphorical pat on the head.))

_____ I became fragmented trying to figure out what my parent(s) wanted from me.

_____ It was dangerous for me to recognize and express my own power as a child. (I didn’t recognize I had any power. I’m still struggling with empowerment.

_____ I had no inherent value other that what I could do for my parent(s.)

_____ My parent(s) became hurt or angry when criticized so I learned not to rock the boat.

_____ I had to give up my own sense of self to survive in my family.

The strange thing to me is that even as a very young child I knew that my parents were doing the best they could. I knew they had their own problems stemming from their own dysfunctional backgrounds, so I didn’t blame them for the situation. It wasn’t until I was in my forties that anger at my upbringing erupted. I was the child, for cripes sake! They were supposed to figure out what was best for me; I wasn’t supposed to figure out what was best for them.

Writing about my narcissistic family background isn’t so much about airing family secrets or putting the blame on anyone as it is an attempt to understand the dynamics of my current situation: looking after my 97-year-old father and doing the best I can for my dysfunctional, homeless, and highly narcissistic older brother.

This is the first in a series of posts where I will be trying to find the pieces to the puzzle, if for no other reason than to free myself from my past and allow me to run headlong into the future.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

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Enabling or Decency and Caring?

January 17, 2014 — Pat Bertram

Kaypacha Pele says that this week’s mantra is:

“I feel that Life is upping the stakes,
Just to see what it will take,
To get me to stand up tall and straight.”

Oh, so very true! I’m in a difficult situation, one in which there is no real solution, no right way of dealing with problem, no wrong way. And the situation keeps escalating beyond anything I’ve ever had to deal with before. (I was going to say escalating beyond my power to deal with it, but that isn’t correct. I am dealing with it. Just don’t know what the right way is, or if there is a right way.)

In Applying the Lessons of Grief, I wrote about a homeless sibling who is depressed, possibly bi-polar, probably an alcoholic, verbally abusive, furious, manipulative, desperately needy, and relentless in pursuit those needs. (He’s also brilliant and exceedingly creative, and spent most of his life composing music and writing songs.) He has been living here for several months, and therein lies the problem since his anger now seems to be focused on me. (He thinks I have it easy looking after my father, and doesn’t see how stressful it is being torn between the two of them, as I have been my whole life.) If I could find out what he wanted, perhaps I could help, but he is cagy (paranoid is more like it) and talks around his needs. (He hates being a charity case, hates when people do things for him, and hates even more when people don’t.) He won’t go for treatment, blames everyone else for his problems, and doesn’t know how to take care of himself. Mostly, it seems as if he is lost inside a whirlwind of unfocused energy.

Although my father would like to invite him to live here, it’s not possible. My brother is restless, doesn’t sleep, is unable to stay still. He’d wander away in the middle of the night, leaving the front door wide open. He is a pack rat, surrounding himself with piles and piles and piles of trash, never shuts up, drinks constantly, all of which made my 97-year-old father a nervous wreck. And me, too, actually. When my brother stayed in the house, he used to come into my room every night and scream invectives at me (“porky pig” and “whore” are about the two nicest things he has ever said), because he thought I was working against him in his efforts to reconcile with our father.

For the last few months, he’s been camping out in the garage, which has seemed to be the best solution all around. My father could relax and go about his business of growing ever older and at the same time could be assured my brother was taken care of. Of course, that care fell on me. I’d make sure he had food, clean clothes, access to a shower, arranged for dental care and even made sure he kept the appointments. A couple of times when he was too crippled with sciatica to make his daily trek to the liquor store, I made the trip for him. (I can hear you screaming “enabler!” But it is not my place to decide when he is going to stop drinking.)

When he gets wound up in his whirlwind of unfocused energy, he becomes relentless in his need to be heard. He often knocks on my window at night, wanting to talk, and I used to answer the knock because . . . well, isn’t that something we all want? To be heard? Unfortunately, what he usually wanted to tell me is how fat, lazy, stupid and useless I am, living in a cocoon of ease that I don’t deserve. When I refuse to answer his knock, he bangs on the window every few minutes for hours. I’ve gotten used to it, and ignore it, though a couple of times the neighbors called the police. (I asked the police what they could do — they said they could arrest him. “Then what?” I asked. They said, “We let him go. If he comes back, we can arrest him again.” I asked, “Then what?” “We can arrest him again.” I said, “Then what?” “Arrest him.” Oh, yeah, like I want to spend the rest of my life caught in the hamster wheel of the justice system.)

It all came to a head yesterday. After a sleepless night due to his shenanigans, I went out to tell him I’d be gone most of the day (to keep him from disturbing my father with his endless pounding on my windows for attention) and found my car covered with invectives written in black marker. Some of the markings came clean with toothpaste (makes me wonder what it’s doing to our teeth if it’s such an all-purpose cleaner) but other markings didn’t come clean at all, not with Windex, Magic Eraser, isopropyl alcohol or any of the other possible solutions I found on the internet, so I painted over the words with acrylic paint. He was lying in his sleeping bag, laughing drunkenly at me while I was cleaning my car. I was so angry, I kicked him and kicked him again. (Not something I am proud of. I also almost strangled him once and slapped him another time. Never in my entire adult life have I lifted a hand to another human being, not even in self-defense, and yet somehow, he raises true homicidal tendencies in me.)

I cleaned my car, went to an exercise class, and at lunch afterward (well, we had to replace all those burnt calories, didn’t we?) I mentioned my problem. Later, I got a call from one of the women, a retired psychiatric nurse. She was kind, but pointed out that I was enabling him. That I had to call the police, get him out of here. At the very least, she told me I needed to start keeping a journal of his abuse. (I started last night.) She also suggested my leaving for a while or spending entire days or weekends away so that my father wouldn’t take me so much for granted. (He can still mostly take care of himself, so it’s not a problem if I leave.) Told me that I’m being torn between two puppet masters.

Oddly, hers wasn’t the only unsolicited advice I got yesterday.

A friend who is a holistic therapist with Buddhist leanings told me that there was no right or wrong. That if I kept helping my brother as a fellow human being, that was okay, just not to take his karma on myself.

An astrologer told me that according to my horoscope, I need to let go of being attached to a past dysfunctional emotional pattern or pain that began in childhood. (Oh, so true! One reason I am sympathetic to my brother is that I remember the bewildered boy and angry teen trying to deal with a my-way-or-the-highway father.)

A writer friend told me to keep a journal of what my brother does, and to write a book about it someday.

This is all so complicated. I do understand about enabling and tough love and all the rest of it, but where does one draw the line? It’s important to me to be decent and caring. It’s also important to me not to end up in prison for manslaughter. (How fitting that word is! The “mans laughter” was the final straw.)

I considered leaving and letting the two men fend for or fend off each other, but I am making friends here, have made various plans for the next couple of months, and am not yet ready to be homeless myself.

In the end, it was my own response to my brother’s abuse that turned something off inside of me. I can see that as a fellow human being, he deserves certain basics, such as cleanliness, so I told my father that from now on, if my brother wanted to take a shower, he was to come to the front door and ask. If he wanted food, he was to come to the front door and ask. Since this is my father’s house, it is up to him to allow my brother access or not. I don’t want to have anything to do with my brother any more. While I might be sympathetic to his plight, he made choices that I never did. (We both knew from a young age that we inherited a tendency toward alcoholism and substance dependency. I stayed away from both; he ran toward them with open arms.)

Life. Such a strange thing it is. I hope I am standing up tall and straight.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Follow Pat on Google+. Like Pat on Facebook.

Posted in life, relationships. Tags: , , , , , . 33 Comments »
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