The Happy Family

The new version of Anna Karenina is out.
That means that Tolstoy's best line will be on everyone's lips:

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is 
unhappy in its own way.

Not that each individual is happy in a happy family. But we focus so much in therapy about how to get through the holidays, we almost forget that there are happy families.

There are happy people.  Not that they couldn't use a little therapy (smiley emoticon here).  Everyone could.

In therapy we refer to these people, these families, when we talk about what not to do, or why what one person wants to do is the opposite of what people in happy families do.

There are many combinations of unhappy childhood.

For example (Obviously composite players, not particular people ever seen in therapy, at least not by this therapydoc): 

Two people meet at a bar, fall in love and marry.  Jim neglected, Sally sexually abused, both can only guess at what a happy childhood might look like.  They can get it on television, but in reality, it must be fiction.  Sucked into one for whatever reason, they become very confused.

These two have therapeutic issues need both individual and couple therapy.  They work hard, but will never be buying a house in the suburbs. Their marriage has been turbulent, a difficult climb out of almost all of the isms, sexaholic-ism, foodaholism, and the usual, drug and alcoholism.

But they trek out to the suburbs for the holidays, let Jim's more functional siblings do the planning.  Both of Jim's brothers, despite the same upbringing, overcame their biggest ghost, the absence of nurturing parents, and put themselves through school.  They rose above the poverty, drink moderately. Not that they can't be obnoxious under the influence.

Jim, the black sheep, isn't close with them, but still likes to get together once a year.  He likes having a drink, eating in a good restaurant, even if he feels a little out of it.  His sibs and their wives have made all of the decisions about where to go, who is invited.  As their more functional families grow, more and more people are coming to holiday parties.

Although Jim doesn't mind it, this is a little overwhelming for Sally who is shy, who really doesn't even understand why so many people have to be there.  (You see, says the therapist, in happy families, everyone is included.)

Sally hates it.  She hates that there's alcohol, and she hates that it is at an expensive restaurant, and she hates that there are so many children.  She sees Jim's family as condescending, and controlling.  The big fight in therapy is about going at all.

Jim is willing to wave the white flag, to tell his family that he and Sal are taking a pass this year, but Sally keeps the argument, a marital therapy discussion, going.  No, she wants to go, but she wants to be a part of the planning committee and Jim's brothers and their wives won't let her into that circle.

Have you tried? is the question the therapist always asks.  Have you talked about this with them?  

Well, no.

In happy families they do that, the therapist will say, they discuss things like this.  And if the answer really is that you won't be joining them this year, then it will be okay.  The holidays have to be personal, meaningful.  Why bother joining in if it only stirs up resentment?  Find another solution.  Maybe meet with each family separately, visit during the afternoon.  Get to know new-comers, even sibs in smaller, more intimate settings.

On the other hand, the communication idea is still relevant.  Until a person has at least tried to express needs, desires, issues, problems, these will continue.  The relationship, the resentment will continue. It is called maintaining a bad system, not good for anybody.

This could be the recipe for a happy family, expressing needs, desires, issues, problems.  Not that it's an easy recipe, and recipes by their very nature are as good as the ingredients.  So those missing communications ought not be sarcastic, snarky, accusatory or blaming.

Have fun.  It's a little late for Thanksgiving, but we're nowhere finished with The Season to be Jolly.

therapydoc 

The Holidays and Business

Housekeeping:  There's another poll on the sidebar, take a minute.  And this post feels long to me, so grab a bite to eat and come back.  Settle in.

"Last year you weren't nearly this busy," FD corrects me.

I had told him that I'm beginning to feel the effects of nonstop holiday happiness.

"Who can remember last year?"

I remember blogging about this once, getting ridiculously busy in October, the drama, the sadness, the relentless desperation not letting up until after New years. I wrote that it had something to do with the stress of planning, how planning extended lengths of time socializing with family brings back memories, and they aren't usually the good ones. Heaven forbid we should remember the good ones. 

The thought of Uncle Al getting wasted, Cousin Ina slamming the door, swearing,  "Okay, that's it, we're getting a divorce!"  This type of family dysfunction-- boozing, screaming, slamming-- anger-- even passive-aggressive anger, "Good to see you, too," especially this-- tends to be a downer.

Add to that the happy family script: We're supposed to like getting together as a family.  You've seen the commercials, especially the one with the cousins getting away from their parents to a restaurant for dinner, just the cousins.  Delightful, but how often does this happen?  Great when it does.  I think it was Leo Tolstoy who said, 

"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." 

Anna Karenina.  He was right, of course.

A prescription to manage the anticipatory anxiety:

a) plan as little as possible, wing it
b) label dysfunctional patterns, but don't argue; discuss
c) have an escape plan
c) expect little
e) accept a lot
f) and when the catastrophic expectations materialize, laugh about them.

Because after all, they were all predictable, the catastrophes.  We know our family members well enough to predict their nahrishkeit (rhymes with bar-ish-kite, means foolishness).

So clear the snow off the getaway car and check the availability at the local hotels.

But getting back to FD. He is right. This season has been the worst in years. Something in the air, something other than poverty, although poverty, and the anticipation of poverty, doesn't help; it is bringing people down.

The social scientist in me says it is entirely random, this year, and I'm different, too.  It is the luck of the draw, the draw of my particular patient mix, and really, mine is great, but this is work, not cocktails.  If you accept a lot of new patients, the complexity, the responsibility, will overwhelm. Never launch them, is the answer.  And take frequent vacations.

Maybe, however, there's a global confluence of variables at work, too. The unemployment, terrorism, the economic collapse of governments, the senseless murders and suicides hashed over repeatedly on the ten o'clock news. Kids voluntarily foregoing childhood, sexting.  War in Iraq, no pay raises for military families.  Riots.  Explosions in the Middle East.

Business as usual? Maybe yes, but these nagging toothaches add to what we already have, pain in our own ecosystems, in our own families, somewhere there is pain.

So avoiding the worst of times* is the prime objective.

We could start with ourselves, logically. Others might act out, Uncle Al, Cousin Ina, but we're affected, too.  Under the spell of what is supposed to be intimacy, I think the healthiest among us regresses. Where else can we be ourselves, the ones we used to be as kids, if not with family? 

We're a little different when we're with them, our siblings, parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins.  We slip into old patterns in the same context, eating and drinking with them, the same dinner table, hearing the same snarky jokes at somebody's expense.  The context triggers the synapses, old nerve pathways, thoughts and feelings of childhood come alive, like some ghost of holidays past.

Once we're there, we lose our more mature defenses-- intellectualization, rationalization -- the ones that make us think things through, forgive; and we regress to the childish ones, denial, projection.  The ones that blame.  The fun started with planning; being together finishes us off. 

You might think it isn't worth it, going home, but I think it is.  It's worth watching how this happens to us, and better even, it is worth labeling what is going on, appealing to the intellect of others in the family, the ones who might get it, who work programs or have had some therapy, or maybe caught on years ago, as children.  Also appeal to the heart of the family, the place in each of the first degrees, second degrees, thirds, that wants this to be a happy family.  Enjoy the best of everyone, and fight the regression to denial, projection.  Stay adult.

Just don't referee.  That's what you spent money on the tune-up to avoid. 

Not everyone goes home, goes anywhere is the truth.  If we didn't have good holidays as children, if there were no presents under the tree, if there was no tree, if there was no dad, no mom, if nobody filled in, if there was no Santa Claus, if someone died,  then for sure, no matter if we have reinvented ourselves, now have a functional family, a home, it is still sad, remembering. And if we haven't reinvented ourselves, if we have successfully abandoned the dream of the happy family, then there is no reunion.  No matter, sad.

And if our parents didn't make it as a couple, if there was violence in the home, if there is violence in the home now, then LOSER is written all over us, we're sure.  Adult Children of Losers, ACOL's, and sadness. And the expectation that our spouse should have helped us correct this by now, by the holidays, for crying out loud, and didn't, then the blame game is in full swing, and it can be a very loud game.

Conflictual couples conflict the most before and during the holidays (probably associated with license to drink/use). It is wishful thinking, peace on earth.

My son asked me, "Why do you think this is, that people lean on their therapists more during the holidays? You would think they would be busy baking cookies. Eventually everyone needs cookies."

He is thirty-two, responding to my late office hours. I tell him that time's running out.  Fix it now, fix it now, people tell themselves.  Count down. . .Ten more days . . ., nine more days . . ., eight more days . . ., seven . . .

And the days are getting colder, and darker, and what we really want, all of us, is to snuggle up close with people we love, or one person, maybe by a fire, and sip something warm, maybe hum, turn on Johnny Mathis, sing.

That would be the goal, I suspect. And by the time we get to December 24, some people pull it off.

therapydoc

*Different author, Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.  Bring one of these, a good book, on vacation.

Snapshots

Hi. This is Dr. ____. I won't be back in the office until Thursday, Oct 23. James _____ is on call for me. If this is a life threatening, do not call James. Call 911 or go to your nearest emergency room.

As long as I've taken off 10 days for holidays (days so holy and yet so obscure that my kids' college professors think they're making them up) I thought maybe you'd like some snapshots of my in-town vacation.

Most of the children flew in with the exception of one near term (K"H) so she can't travel. We took a lot of video so she wouldn't miss much, especially at the zoo.* And a few snapshots.

But a therapist's snapshots are different, I think, than normal people's snapshots. Maybe not.

They go something like this:

My granddaughter (2) hasn't seen her cousins who are just a little older than her for a few months. She used to see them every day and played hard with the boys.

Her father insists that she needs a nap. She chooses Bubbie to put her down, but the youngest cousin wants to come along to sing her songs. He climbs on her bed and they're talking.

"You can go upstairs," he tells me. "I'll protect her."

Another:
If you recall, Blue, my main fish, has new friends, Nemo 1 and Nemo 2. He's become aggressive since they set up permanent residence, and torpedoed N1 and N2 into submission early on in their relationship.

Terrified, in search of another sea (shelter), the clowns read the writing on the coral wall and declare a necessary move to another tank or they will die. Very histrionic of them.

Anyway, I move the clowns to another tank and they're happy, back to clowning around. But my son-in-law can't stand seeing Blue alone in a 55 gallon tank.

He's proactive, surprises me with more pals for Blue.

So everyone is in the living room admiring 3 new fish, a dog puffer, another that likes to handfeed, and a fragile little yellow tang. Blue is adjusting and the fish and children are getting along swimmingly. My son-in-law tells me that the vitamins will be coming in the mail.

Apparently (we now know) garlic is good for fish, as are other expensive nutrients. My father, very pleased to hear about the garlic, says, "I could have told you about garlic."

You can take the kid out of Eastern Europe. . .

This is a family reunion. We talk for hours and hours into the night, not so much about fish. All together we occasionally break into strange songs that fit our conversations, such as, What if G-d were one of us. Just a slob like one of us.

Another pic.
We're lunching at the dining room table talking about why marriages don't work anymore and why some people seem so disappointed; why others are breaking engagements two weeks before the wedding.

My first degrees are pontificating about what people should be looking for in a partner. You should look for (this), you should look for (that). Finally I can take it no longer and say something commanding, something like, "I have something very profound to say. Really profound."

Somehow it is silent at the table and they're all looking at me. This is the first time in my life this has ever happened. I'm freaked. But I continue,

"Here it is. Here's the profundity of the day. I'm telling you that it is a truth. A powerful truth."

'I didn't know what I was looking for until I found your father'.''

In unison: Awwwwwww.

Number 3 Son picks up on process. "That was so like your father (not present at lunch); the way you did that, got everyone's attention, spoke really, really slowly, then said what you thought to be the most profound statement in the world."

Ha, ha, ha. They all laugh.

Another.
"Bubbie, will you play Sorry with me?"

Okay.

Before we start his younger brother joins us. Soon the board is trashed. The littler guy isn't interested in Sorry.

"I don't want to play," he says, kicking the board again.

I suggest that he and I play Memory while I play Sorry with his brother. We do this, play the matching memory game to my left, Sorry to my right. And because both bore me to tears, a passable version of Spider (one real deck of cards) is ongoing in the middle.

There's a lot you can do if you have enough floor space.

Another shot.
The kids buy 2 boxes of Crispix. I buy one box. FD buys another. My pantry is hardly big enough, but there are enough Crispix now to feed an army. (See photo below. )

Why do we do this?

Another snapshot.
FD brings a bag of dried apricots to the family room where I'm straigtening out the wreckage. He takes one out and offers it to me. "Eat this," he insists.

I try it. "This would be better dipped in chocolate."

He raises an eyebrow.

I take the bag from him and rummage through the refrigerator, find chocolate frosting left over from the only cake I have made in ten days, eight of which have been holidays. At some point we have lost track of how many dozens of cookies we've frozen on paper plates in food storage bags soon after baking, working under the assumption that unless cookies are eaten directly from the oven they should be eaten directly from the freezer.

Brownies ditto.

I bring the melted chocolate to FD, dip an apricot, make the offering.

"Well, these are better."

Another.
I go to the synagogue. It's a really happy holiday, a dancing/singing kind of holiday. All the young people bring their babies and catch up on pregnancies. I look from one face to the next, try to catch a baby's eye. Any baby will do.

And another.
My machetainista** comes over to see the grandkids before they leave. I tell her I won't decide who to vote for until November 4.

She's aghast. How can I be on the fence? She goes into all the reasons I can't be on the fence.

But still, I'm on the fence and yet Barack and Michelle, even Joe Biden and viber*** won't stop emailing me, neither will someone named Carson.

Why should it matter? I live in Illinois.

And another.
"Bubbie, do you have any Wacky Mac (disgusting boxed macaroni with powdered, processed cheese)?

Well, actually, I do.

"Yes!"

Another.
"Will you stick the boys in the shower?" Empath Daught begs me. She's trying to pack up to go.

"Well, sure."

In a flash the two little guys are stark naked and giggling. I direct them to the shower and they march in obediently, wash and have the time of their lives. I don't have to do a thing. They come out clean.

Another.
FD shouts to me as I pull away from the curb at 6 a.m to take them to the airport. "Don't make any sharp turns." He has packed 4 suitcases into the trunk. Shot cords are holding it closed.

He should know I'm the kind of driver who rarely changes lanes.

Sharp turns?

At the airport I read his text. "Don't make any sharp turns. I mean it."

Or this one.
Empath Daught, S-i-L, and progeny are at the airport. We're finished with those hugs, the ones that make people stop, stare, and feel.

I'm in the car pushing buttons for sad music to get it out of my system. I look for the kind of music that FD hears and asks, "Why do you like this?" I end up listening to the song, Now I have everything.

The gas gauge is very low. It always is when I'm nowhere near home. The same thing has happened only a few days before, I'm lost driving to Midway Airport, dropping off my son. I'm not really lost on that trip, just feel lost and take the wrong highway because in our last moments he brings up something we should have discussed before these last moments, but mutually avoid.

I fill the car with $10.00 cash at a Marathon and he can't understand why I don't just fill it up, and I can't explain it to him, can't explain it now.

But this is a different time, a different day, different departure, and I fill up the car and am seeing the sun rise as I swipe my credit card. A woman about my age is leaving the mini-mart with 6 packs of cigarets and she drops them onto the seat of her white convertible Miata and I think, "This can't be her sports car."

But maybe it is.

Hi, this is Dr. ___________. Please leave me a message. If this is urgent, please try my cell phone _________. If this is an emergency and you don't hear from me and can't wait, don't wait for me to call back. Call 911 or go to the nearest emergency room.

therapydoc

Okay, here are a couple of pics.



*Seriously, that one of the apes? OMG, a real crowd pleaser. I have to put it up on Youtube.
**A machetainista is the mother or step-mother of a daughter or son-in-law.
***Viber is wife in Yiddish, rhymes with why-her

The Family Reunion

Let's talk a bit about dealing with the family reunions and not getting sick. Family can make you sick; we've discussed this.

Someone once asked me how exactly to avoid getting sick when certain subjects are destined to come up that will make you sick, and the answer, of course, is Steer clear. Or as the kids say these days, Don't go there.

Meaning if you know it's toxic, as Boris or Natasha or someone used to say on that cartoon, Spy versus Spy, on the Rocky and Bullwinkle show, Exit; stage right. Or at least have a stage door in mind.

Conflict avoiders among us relate. Fight or Flight? No contest.

A person doesn't always have the option to fly, however, and sometimes assertiveness feels too hard. So there are other alternatives. Like dropping the gefilte fish on the floor, which makes a huge mess, but distracts nicely. Or spilling some sort of liquid,like water or wine. The more creative among us might pull off the tablecloth altogether.

There are family reunions that are just for fun, but sometimes there are reunions that are more purposeful. I know of people who rent cottages in Colorado once a year and everyone gets together just to hang out for a week. They float in and out and don't necessarily talk about their issues with one another.

Therapy tends to be about how to handle it when there are issues that should be ironed out, and who should do/say what. It's very complicated. In therapy we entertain the options, sometimes include the siblings or a sibling, parents or a parent, just to prepare for the extended time together.

Then there are the shorter reunions, the kinds that are played out over a dinner on a holiday or a birthday or anniversary. These tends not to be a good times to work on relationship problems.

But there's often a person at an affair trying to corner another person to do just that, which is why sometimes plates drop and drinks spill.

Pehaps more respectful variants of dropping the fish (respectful to one's host)include noticing what one's nemesis is wearing (people often buy new clothes for parties and holidays) and going crazy over it.

OMG, your tie! It's so beautiful! Italian? Where did you get it? I just love the design, and how the tones bring out your coloring.

Or you can try to change the subject, as in:

How's ____ ?(pick someone) I heard he/she is:
(a) thinking of leaving his job,
(b) expecting),
(c) just came into a ton of money,
(d) is running for village council.

(make something up)

If this doesn't feel right to you and you think this is a good time to resolve differences, think again. You're at dinner. This is not the time for conflict resolution that should take place at lunch with just the two of you and a few well-designed therapeutic interventions in your head.

Instead, say,

Eventually, you know, we're going to have to get together and resolve our differences.

Put this meeting off for as long as you wish, but do your best to get through the party.

Family reunions are supposed to be happy.

Can you tell we're getting to the Passover seder? Well, it is that time of year, and the first of the two sedarim starts on Saturday night. It's a hugely labor intensive holiday for the observant, but even many non-observant Jewish people have a family dinner.

For those of you who aren't familiar with it, the seder is an ordered meal with traditions to remind us that we were slaves in Egypt (1500 B.C.E. about). It can take awhile to get through this dinnertime service, too long for some of us who want to get on with the meal.

Eventually you do get to dinner. So it is to this end that FD and the kids put together a list of things to avoid talking about at the seder, especially at dinner, after the telling of that story starring the late Charlton Heston.

They even started a list of things we should talk about.

I'm going to hand them off to you since there's still time to inform your guests, but surely these are ours, so make up ones of your own that make sense:

We don't talk about:

baseball (there's this Cubs versus Cards problem)

any politics, any politics, even Valley Village politics, we'll try not to, but we will

religion
credit cards, mortgages, or tuitions
websites
blogging
wii
winter
Obi-wan

We do talk about:

religion
the Masters (golf)
shoe sales
the food
why Saba is throwing toys (frogs, insects, ping pong balls) at the table

Star Wars jokes
past performances of the Four Questions

that story about the grandfathers who were switched at Cedar Sinai hospital in Los Angeles and sent home with the wrong families!

Now, some people like to really get deep and understand the true meaning of everything, why we celebrate Passover, what the symbolic foods mean, etc.

If you're one of those, even if you're not, I'm going to take the liberty of recommending one particular author's lovely and serious piece, but not too serious, if you know what i mean. Stewart Weiss writes, Top 10 Pessah talking points, and for some crazy reason, they're different than the ones my family put on our list!

Friends, I need of a little rest and plan to take a few days off. Not just work, but this, too. Slavery's not for everyone, and we Jewish women strongly feel that way by the time we get to the holiday (the cleaning, the cooking, the shopping, the juggling of menus, guests, the self-correction, another day on that). I'll do my best to post your comments over the holiday, but probably won't have a chance to reply to them until it's over and the last child is on an airplane home, assuming the airlines remain solvent, that is.

Have a great week, and I'll see you next year in Jerusalem. That's what we say when the seder finally ends, the last song is sung, and most of us are already asleep on, or off our feet.

therapydoc