What a Drag it Isn't Getting Old: the 86th Academy Awards

Judi Dench in Philomena

The mid-western weather is depressing. How depressing? People are calling for permission to blow off therapy. That's how depressing.

I'm home unusually early one night last week and the TV is singing to me. With the flick of a button there's Andy Griffith as the Mayberry sheriff in a rerun in black and white (1960).  The sheriff looks handsome, smiley and helpful in his khaki uniform, helping Aunt Bee break into a pharmacy.

They have to use the "hidden" key on the door-ledge because it seems the old pharmacist isn't feeling well. The older man's niece will fill in for him. A stranger in this small town, she has all the right credentials and she is going to run a tight ship.

Another townsperson, also elderly like Aunt Bee, a known quantity, bursts through the door in a panic. As Andy proposes to help her get her pills, the new pharmacist puts her foot down. No you don't. Not without a prescription. Nothing doing.

http://www.tvland.com/shows/andy-griffith-show/photo-galleries/the-andy-griffith-show

"But my pills! My pills!" the clearly pain-racked, tottering old person demands dramatically. "You wouldn't deny an old woman her pills!" Then she describes her many aches and pains, and how now she will certainly die without them.

Andy turns on all of his charm, and by the end of the show the new pharmacist relents, visits the older woman at her home with a pot of soup and her pills. Andy asks about the change of heart and the younger woman confides, "They're placebos. They were sugar pills, Sheriff."  Her uncle hadn't been plying this customer with opiates after all. He knew what he was doing.

Oh, if only it always worked out this neatly. We baby boomers are just beginning to notice our aches and pains, our arthritis, weak knees, necks, shoulders, and hips, parts of the body we didn't even know existed before. We're popping Advil and Tylenol, comparing which analgesic works best.

Therapists who have been sitting for years (it's a living) suffer lower back pain, an occupational hazard. Years ago a mentor of mine, sitting on a pillow shaped like a doughnut, warned me that sitting is the most dangerous part of this job. She was right, ___ her. But most of us with an ounce of sense won't be asking our doctors for anything stronger than ibuprofen, and we'll try not to even have to take that. We'll dutifully carry on with our yoga, those swims, physical therapy.

But I digress. The morning after the Andy Griffith Show, a song pops into my head, Mother's Little Helper. Rolling Stones, circa 1966,Aftermath. (Remember that album?!) The lyrics, if memory serves, include these verses:

Things are different today, I hear every mother say that she needs something today to calm her down. And though she's not really ill. There's a little yellow pill.
She goes running to the shelter of her mother's little helper.
And it helps her on her way. Gets her through her busy day.

Refrain: Doctor please, some more of these, outside the door, oh a few more.

What a drag it is getting old.

There are a few more verses before the close:

And if you take more of those, you will get an overdose.
No more running to the shelter of your mother's little helper.

Yet heroin is on the upswing, almost fifty years later.  

Let's get to the Oscars.

(1) In early January I had the pleasure of viewing Philomena, a film about an elderly woman seeking her lost child. As an unmarried pregnant teen, her father warehoused her in a Catholic orphanage. There, at the hands of brutal, poorly trained midwives, she has a baby boy. She is allowed to watch nuns, nurses, cuddle with her baby, and as he grows she observes as he plays with other children and they interact as mother and child. He knows she is his mother.

She is in his life for an hour a day until, at age three or four, he is lost to adoptive parents, no goodbyes. Left is a tearful young woman who will always have an empty place, a hole in her heart that no one, nothing but he can fill.

Judi Dench, nominated for best actress, didn't win the Oscar last night, but she will be remembered as Philomena, a light-hearted (if sad at times) woman, hopeful and religious, screaming youth and positivity that at her age isn't supposed to exist. But it does.

The real Philomena Lee attended the Academy Awards ceremony. Ms. Dench is working. She couldn't get off.

(2) The drug-overdose and death of Philip Seymour Hoffman made me angry.Why did this happen? Who gave him drugs? Why didn't someone who cared stop him from killing himself? Cocaine, heroin, methamphetamines. You will tell me, and I will tell you, that drug-seekers will find their drugs. It is the secrecy, however, that boggles the mind. The secret is so special that no one blurts. Because, after all, nobody dies of this stuff.

Philip Seymour Hoffman http://tinyurl.com/ltomb6b

A British street artist, hoping to draw attention to the issue, erects an eight-foot sculpture on Hollywood Blvd., Oscar injecting heroin. The words inscribed on the shunned piece of art: "Hollywood's best kept secret." 

Oscar shooting heroin http://tinyurl.com/lm7uwby

Only a few blocks away at the awards ceremony, a memorial is going on, featuring those in the industry who made their mark but passed away. Some timely, others not. It is an annual awards retrospective.

At the end, the fade, the camera lingers on photos of Philip Seymour Hoffman. Other memorials fly by so fast that they are hard to read, but this one hovers on stage just a little longer than the rest. Hollywood's best kept secret.

Earlier in the evening Bill Murray had addressed the academy, slipped in a reference to his deceased friend, Harold Ramis. The crowd is surprised, but uncomfortable, we're not there yet, not remembering, and Mr. Murray moves on quickly to the movies at hand.*

Harold Ramis, we miss him already

June Squibb at the Oscars

(3) If you haven't seen Bruce Dern in the film Nebraska, as grumpy old Woody Grant, an elderly alcoholic who thinks he has won a magazine sweepstakes, his portrayal is trumped only by June Squibb as Kate, his aging wife. She is aging better than he is and has plenty of attitude. She laughs at him, berating his stupidity while protectively telling him not to leave, as he heads off to claim his prize in Omaha.

Marvelously irreverent, Kate sarcastically rips into Woody. She roasts everyone she has ever known and isn't particularly nice to her son, either. In an interview with Bob Nelson, the screen writer (WSJ), I read that the people behind Woody and Kate are Mr. Nelson's parents, very much the same in real life. Nebraska is nothing, imho, without June Squibb, hilarious in this role, and many of us were rooting for her for the Oscar.

She didn't get it, either. But more important, perhaps, she scored attention to aging well,as Judi Dench does for Philomena. Ellen Degeneres (simply brilliant, ordering pizza for the audience, three large ought to be enough, taking tips when it arrives) jokes poker-faced with Ms. Squbb, roasts her early in the opening monologue. Assumed by the hostess to be hard of hearing because of her age, the actress is charmed, if perhaps a tad insulted at the very idea.

(4) Death, unless we're ready to hear about it, and even then, is a drag.

Hard-rocker Pink incongruously sings Somewhere Over the Rainbow halfway through the Oscars ceremonies in a tribute to Judy Garland. This before the retrospective and that Philip Seymour Hoffman punch, just before Bette Midler comes on to sing Wind Beneath My Wings. Talk about milking it. But Judy did die young, and she spent years abusing alcohol and prescription meds. Her children, in third row seats, surely had a hard time watching, listening.

As Pink makes us cry, we eat up the set, a delicious montage of a young Judy in the Wizard of Oz, ruby slippers and all. We are reminded that there was a time, way back when, that we stayed glued to our television sets on Thanksgiving for our annual Wizard of Oz fix, anticipating that blast of color at the end of the black and white film, assuming an aunt had a color set.

Pink does a nice job, singing a quiet song; her family must be proud. And Bette Midler, like Pink, doesn't belt it out either. This show had to be sad, mellow, and it is all the better for it.

Probably some people thought about it, during that emotional television event, about those mother's little helpers, the pills that people like Judy Garland used to get through the day.

They aren't just Hollywood secrets.

therapydoc

* Mr. Ramis died of complications from an auto-immune inflammatory vasculitis, a relatively rare disorder. Chicagoans loved his improv at Second City, and everyone remembers his films:  Caddyshack, Ghostbusters, Stripes and Groundhog Day. Cut down in his prime, like Mr. Hoffman, but this one makes me sad.

Aftermath, Rolling Stones about Valium


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Ebay and Conflict Resolution

Every day, if we stay awake, we learn lessons in all kinds of ways. As in, people are people, no matter where we meet them. But if it feels like a duck. . .Not that people are ducks, but their behaviors can be predictable if you trust your instincts about them.

Ebay, like most other websites,  lets users know what’s going on with their sales by email. It can be annoying, but constant notices are one way to inform sellers and buyers about inquiries, things that might matter or not, and possible fraud. 

When my father passed away a few years ago, he left me a few things that weren't worth all that much. Out out of respect, because he was a business man and he liked to make deals, I made a few myself, sold a few of the items left over from his gift shop on Ebay, that flea market in the sky. It was great fun, in its way, taking pics of the merchandise, listing items to sell, packaging and mailing them off. I got pretty good at it and met a bunch of people. Almost everyone values, to one degree or another, what they buy and sell on Ebay. 

Nowhere close to the end of the inventory, the game got old. My mother needed help moving and adjusting to her new residence, and my job never lets up. When the last of the auctions ended, I didn't notice. The whole chapter was over without fanfare. In retrospect we called it a grief exercise, holding the things he bought but never sold, and selling them. 

When Mom passed away it seemed a good time to pick it up again, if only for a little while. She was in the business, too. So I half-halfheartedly put a few things up for auction, even sold one or two of them, sent well-packaged merchandise to the right addresses and promptly forgot about it all. 

Then last week, well after I thought the game had ended, I received an Ebay notice. The signature Ebay colors, red, blue, orange and green, announced a copy of a past buyer's message, the beginning of a stressful correspondence.  

Let's make JustHondle my Ebay name (to hondle is to bargain, in Yiddish), and the buyer's store name Rick3456711. In conversation I become "Lee," and the fictional buyer, "Richard Smith." Richard ostensibly bought a Pentax camera with two lenses, but there is no Pentax camera and in reality, no "Richard Smith" ever corresponded with me on Ebay or anywhere else.

Ebay email starts things off. Had I logged into my Ebay account that day, it would have been a "message".

Subject: From Rick3456711 about your Pentax camera, two lenses #99988888777

Dear JustHondle,

Hello. On December 20, 2013, the post office left a notice at my door to pick up a package. I missed the delivery. When I got there they couldn't find the package you sent me. Did you send with a signature request ?

Sincerely, Richard Smith - Rick3456711

This means that I have to check my files, because I don't really remember much about this. Data in hand I write back:

Dear Richard,

Yes I sent the camera with a signature request. Attached are photos of the tracking info and the signature confirmation. Are you sure you didn't get the camera? I assumed you did since it has been six weeks, no word to the contrary. Most buyers would have complained by now!

Best,

Lee at - JustHondle 

Richard is very specific about this and is flipping the problem back to me in no uncertain terms. He doesn't have a systems grasp, that it takes two to tango.

Dear Lee at JustHondle,

I have not received the camera or the lenses, and I paid for them on PayPal. You have the money, but I have no goods. I checked at the Post Office and am told they tried to deliver it, but I wasn’t home and you required a signature. Attempts at Post Office to retrieve the package were negative and the people there suggested it may have been returned to you. Time has gone by! Now you say it was not returned to you. Please take care of this.

Here is the direct contact phone number to the Post Office in MadeUpTown, Iowa 555-999- 5555. I suggest calling early in the morning.

- Rick3456711

A hassle, for sure, but I call as he suggests and have a very good experience. I write him immediately.

Dear  Rick ,

Wow, they are nice over there in Iowa! A representative tells me said that the search is on, they are aware of the situation, and that she, personally, is invested in finding the package. If she does, she will deliver it directly to you. If she doesn't, I am supposed to complain to USPS and then they take it from there. I’m pretty sure I didn’t insure it, unfortunately. It wasn't worth much to me and I was confident it would arrive in one piece. I packed it very nicely. So maybe we’ll get a nice apology from the government.

I'll keep you in the loop,

Lee at - JustHondle 

He didn't see it quite that way, positive. 

Dear Lee at JustHondle,

Then you're not sending me my money? That's it?!

- Rick3456711 

Before I can reply, Ebay relays information to me that Rick has left negative feedback on my Ebay seller account for the world to see.  JustHondle has been dinged, which is never a good thing, even if a person doesn't make a living off of the sales. Negative feedback is not cool, a no-no in Ebay culture, especially while in the negotiations stage. Feedback is always supposed to be positive and informative. Sellers and buyers are supposed to work things out to make it so.

A quick look at PayPal and I learn that Rick's financial issue is beyond the time frame to make a formal complaint over there. The case is well past the 30 day resolution deadline. This is why he has probably taken to the dark side with negative feedback on Ebay. 

Being a people-pleaser, this turn of events has upset me very much, especially because I take the customer is always right very seriously. But he's got me going now with his cultural impropriety, has hurt my feelings. So I push back.

Dear Rick ,

I'm very disappointed that you would give me negative feedback without first trying to work this out with me. This isn’t how it is supposed to go, not until all efforts to rectify the situation have been tried and failed. Then, when all else fails, maybe. Maybe then, negative feedback.

I sent this camera and the extra lenses well over a month ago, and this is the first I'm hearing about a problem. I would gladly have discussed ways to negotiate a solution, probably would have offered to refund you the money, even if the post office search turned up nothing. But I'm not in that kind of mood anymore because of the aggressive nature of your response. 

In case you are new to Ebay, the fun is not only in the sale for all of us, it is in the relationships. One man’s silver is another man’s gold. We find value in what we have because others see value in it. The stories of how we acquire the merchandise, how it is appraised, etc., are rich, interesting, and the problem solving, even about lost or broken merchandise can be fun, too.We always seem to find ourselves chatting with one another about our lives at some point.

You make it sound as if I intentionally cheated you. (See Rick's feedback below). 

Just so you should know, negative feedback can go both ways.

-  JustHondle 

He is contrite, or at least reconsiders, and is no stranger to negative feedback.

Dear Lee at JustHondle,

You can request feedback revision on Ebay. You have to request it for me to change it.

Sincerely, Richard  - Rick3456711 

It did look as if he would revise his negative review. But then,

Dear JustHondle ,

I don’t want to revise the feedback until I am paid. It is really too bad that the camera means nothing to you. It means a lot to me, and so does the 25 dollars I paid for it. If you don’t have it, it is probably lost. This is a long saga with the Post Office. They searched for quite some time before you even called. So another search isn’t going to be productive.

What I want to know is when you will refund my money. Don’t you think you should? 

Sincerely, Richard Smith - Rick3456711 

Now I am thinking: Who has time for this? And, he is holding my Ebay name hostage. Wanting it to be over I write:

Dear Richard,

This is what I propose. I will call the post office again tomorrow and ask that they send the camera back to me, assuming they find it, that they not deliver it to you.
Then, after they assure me that it will be returned to me and not to you, assuming it is ever found, I'll refund your money whether they find it or not. Sound fair? I honestly don't care about this camera.

 - JustHondle 

He is pleased with this solution. 

 Dear Lee ,
Thank you.  I had really hoped the post office already returned it to you and that you would be sending it back to me. The worst part, though.You know what this means? There’s a thief at my Post Office!    -Rick

A day goes by. I forgot to call the post office. But I hear from Rick again.

Dear  JustHondle ,

I revised the feedback. Don’t refund my money or pursue this anymore. I’m really embarrassed, and with egg on my face, apologize for everything and the inconvenience I may have caused you.

I just found the camera. My memory is slipping lately. I'm really not so young anymore, is the truth. Again I apologize,

Sincerely, Richard Smith

 - Rick3456711 

Well, I'll be.  

Dear Rick,

Wow. Your apology brought tears to my eyes, naturally, everything does, but it is another crazy Ebay story! I'm not so young that I don’t forget things, too, misplace them, think someone broke in and stole the ring, the watch, whatever. Meanwhile, I hide it from myself.

I thought about what my late father would have done under the circumstances, since it was his camera. He sold coins on Ebay well into his late eighties. I wasn't sure if he would just refund your money or not, feeling badly for a fellow camera enthusiast who needed the $25. Or maybe he would want to refund only half the money. He might have returned negative feedback with more negative feedback, which, although I considered it, I probably wouldn't have done. It doesn't matter any more.

I always love a happy ending, don't you? Wipe off the egg and forget about it.

Peace,

Lee

He's not finished. He wants a heads up before I sell anything else on Ebay.
But that's not happening. This conversation is over.

THE REVISED FEEDBACK, an email from EBAY:

Dear JustHondle,

Rick3456711 has revised your Feedback for Pentax vintage camera, two lenses.

Original Feedback rating (2-February-2014):   Negative Original comment:  Mailed with signature needed, and I wasn't home when the mailman arrived. The post office hasn’t got it, but recorded 0 weight. Really!?  

Revised Feedback rating (4-February-2014):   Positive Revised comment:   Good sellers, honest, great deal. You can trust them!  

If you have an Ebay story, would you share it with me? Or leave it in the comments, that’s fine.

therapydoc

Transparent

It isn't everyday that Amazon makes you feel your opinion matters. Well, actually it is.

Yesterday's reach out was about a pilot for a new show, Jill Soloway's Transparent. I think because I watched three and a half seasons of past Parenthood within six months, the robots assumed I would like it.

Who wouldn't? The selling points are (a) this is a family in Los Angeles; (b) the family is enmeshed, has terrible boundaries; and (c) there is no (c).

I assumed it would be about transgender issues, a welcome change, no pun intended, and got that right. Had the show lived up to it, and maybe it will in the future, I would have raved. The transgendered people I see in my practice hurt from our cultural lack of understanding, and they have the same needs and wants as everyone else. Feeling accepted is an impossible dream in "ordinary" social circles.

And it is very hard, seriously, to be a woman trapped in a man's body, wanting to shop, wanting to talk girl talk about hair and shoes and make-up. People don't understand, but they should.

But in the pilot, nothing beyond a difficult coming out, which is important, of course. Yet what sticks out? What cheapens the show? The lack of clothing, a transparency. First scene, gratuitous, nudity. Josh (Jay Duplass) wakes up a bit before his wife, or paramour, we're not sure. Feeling frisky, he tickles her breasts with a corner of the sheet. We see all of her lovely chest, a surprise, maybe it shouldn't be. She finds Josh's stinky breath to be stinky, but delightful. Meanwhile we see skin that maybe we didn't want to see, and a lot of it.

Jeffrey Tambor in Transparent

The queen in the closet, Mort (Jeffrey Tambor, brilliant as usual) is Josh's dad. Josh has two sisters: the seemingly "normal" one, Sarah (Amy Landecker), and the depressive, Ali (Gaby Hoffman). This is an engaging ensemble, add to the four the wonderful Judith Light as Mort's ex-wife, ministering to her second husband with Alzheimer's. Those are the types of scenes we're looking for, some of us.

And yet. I'm glad I didn't switch to Netflix (House of Cards is promising, and there's always Freaks and Geeks), a natural inclination for some of us when the camera just can't let go of the flesh. Transparent is a title of multiple meanings, physical and psychological transparency will become thematic, no doubt. Clothes can't hide the man, the woman. Ali, one of the three sibs hates her body and stares at herself nude (naturally) in a full-length mirror. She hires an abusive trainer to help her reach her goals, better arms, for one. Is this necessary, seeing every inch of Gaby Hoffman? We see all of her; she sees flabby arms. Apparently it is.

The coming out process is presented as difficult, as it often is, and handled skillfully. When it \finally happens, we see it coming. We're sure that Mort, in full dress, will walk in on Sarah and an old girlfriend who are kissing in his bedroom. He isn't the only one outed. If only it were that easy.

All of this has great potential, really, if the psychological conflict rises to the top, not the sex. Transparent hints that this will be the case. The group therapy scene in particular is so well done. But as is, there's no way I'll be back any time soon.

Sorry Amazon. Three stars. Should have been five.

therapydoc

Why Can't People Listen?

On Love and Power (the previous post) there's a great comment and I think it deserves a decent answer.

Mound BuilderFebruary 5, 2014 at 4:44 PM

I know that you've written this post in terms of committed, intimate relationships but to me, much of this also applies in work relationships, too, and probably in other settings as well. Though I do understand that in a work setting there is someone who is ultimately accountable and may have a final say (the boss), there are ways that I think even in a work setting a person should be sharing power. I think an individual who is working should have some capacity for self-determination and should, therefore, be able to share power. In theory. 

You wrote the following, "Interestingly, Gottman found that when women expressed anger they could influence their partners, and this predicted happiness in the future. Perhaps it is the only way they are heard in these cases." and what strikes me about this is that I know when I make clear statements about what I need, without anger or drama, mostly what I say tends to get ignored. I don't really understand this, because to me it seems that most people would prefer not to have a lot of drama and would prefer to hear clearly what a person's wants/needs are. 

Yet an awful lot of people don't seem to want to take it seriously or ignore or otherwise refuse to hear what's said. A long time ago, I remember warning, repeatedly, a boyfriend I was in a bad relationship with, that if certain behaviors didn't change (his drug use and his tendency to use me as his verbal punching bag) then I would leave. And when I did as I said, it seemed to be a complete surprise to him. I've had that experience in other situations, too. I'm not sure why people will only hear when a person gets angry, visibly, and maybe even loudly, angry. That makes no sense to me. If I say that I have a need or that something hurts or that I can't tolerate a situation, and I do it without a lot of drama, I still mean it. I haven't made those remarks idly. I really don't understand people.

Why don't people listen to one another? So many reasons, but here's a snapshot.

The ego, primarily, that self that talks to us constantly, but isn't really very obvious about what it wants or why it wants it. That self, which houses what we perceive our identity to be, is threatened by the suggestions of others, often perceived as criticism.

That ego (for all of us) is born an infant and is supposed to mature over time such that we consider the egos of others, important, too. But occasionally the ego is really slow to mature like that, and will only face itself, reconsider its default construction of life and the way it should be, when forced to mature. Parents do this in enumerable ways. We call it the civilizing of the child.

But it can happen as an adult, personal growth, like when someone leaves, sick of a partner's (or a parent's) immaturity. Even then it is a crap shoot, whether or not trauma will inspire growth, consideration of the other's point of view, seeing it as valid and not a threat to one's sense of self-worth. It is easier for the ego to criticize and reject the person who left. This is why there is so much emphasis upon validation in therapy, inundating that other ego with

 You're okay, I totally respect your point of view; you are amazing, I see where you're coming from, I like this about what you said in particular, brilliant, you are such a good  boss, father (whatever), could you take just two minutes, sit down with me, and help me with this problem of mine . . . 

Sometimes that works. Not always.

How does an ego become so sad and reactive? It would be easy to pinpoint it on failure in the past, rejection, learning disabilities, abuse, and all of that doesn't help. But to look at it psychodynamically for a minute (blame the parents), having had parents who didn't listen, who neglected and didn't validate, couldn't have helped a seedling ego grow, and served as a poor listening role model.

If those guardians were controlling or had a children should be seen and not heard world view, that increases the likelihood a person will need to do things  my way. They developed an attitude, my way or the highway, probably because they never had their way when it mattered, when they needed to try out their own ideas, make decisions that would have fostered maturity, self-esteem, self-worth. When we make decisions, for better or worse, at least we're living, having a say.

Why do people respond to anger? It is naturally intimidating, scares us, teleological to attend to it. And also, if parents were angry, if they shouted to intimidate, a good shout, amplification of the volume, turns on a time machine. The shouter becomes the angry parent and gets to have a complacent child, if only for a little while.

Thanks Mound Builder,

therapydoc

Love and Power

I shlepped the February issue of Psychology Today to Miami in January (we can discuss that trip another time), which is why the pics here are so crumpled.

The Love and Power article will get you CEU's, that's how relevant it is.

There's always something interesting inside, a summation of research, and this time it is about power. Feminists have known all along that having too much can dilute intimacy. Shared power is the ticket to happy and satisfying intimate relationships, and heterosexual couples tend to err on the side of poor distribution.

Control, not power, has been the focus in the archives on intimacy, but power is really a better word. Control implies that the power distribution is intentionally lop-sided. When it comes to power, the latest studies confirm, women yield control far too easily and their partners don't even want them to, necessarily. Then, powerless, no surprise, not having it makes us feel badly, affects the intimacy of our relationship,and not in a good way. Not to blame women, notice. This is a psychological system.

Caveat: this is not the case when a relationship is consciously, mutually, sado-masochistic,and one of the two consistently, voluntarily assumes a subdom role, although it might be in certain contexts. Let's just say that if a partner accommodates and doesn't feel good about it, this is a barrier to intimacy. It is why we say that when you win, you lose. So nice to be validated by the research.

photo by Yasu+Junko

photo by Yasu+Junko

Hara Estroff Marano summarizes the research nicely and interviews the relationship experts while taking us back to the historical roots of intimacy, if not so far back. But we get it that intimacy between marrieds in the past didn't have to surpass the intimacy of other relationships, closeness between girlfriends, cousins, mothers and daughters, fathers and sons, the proverbial bf best friend forever. What we have now is the ascent of couple intimacy to the detriment of other relationships,which isn't necessarily a good thing, not if the power in the relationship is what matters, not the sharing.

To ground us here, family therapists have always considered intimacy between partners to be primary, one objective of a couple's therapy. The couple is even labeled the primary dyad. If one partner is more intimate with her mother, or with an office colleague, the other is likely to feel left out. We call it triangled out. Thus we might take issue, those of us trained in this way, even say that good couples have both: primacy and emotionally intimate relationships outside their commitment to one another.

Marano wisely cites social historian Stephanie Coontz that having upped our expectations for the couple in the twentieth century, all of the feelings and expectations of other relationships become piled on top of that dyad, a poor distribution of feelings and expectations. Yes, absolutely, and a shame, explains the popularity of television shows about with girlfriends talking We instantly clamor for more of these, miss it. Let's not do that, a therapist would say, make our partners solely responsible for our intimacy needs.

The real gripe about power is that values and priorities are compromised when one partner gives in too often under relationship pressures. A person loses self, and at some point it feels like there's nothing left, as if identity has merged, someone has lost one. It isn't a good feeling. Thus shared power has to be the new paradigm. It isn't that power is lop-sided, necessarily through manipulation and coercion, but for many there is an unconscious agreement that one has more influence than the other. That agreement has to change; the two need to influence one another. Each must assert, hear and respond, not take automatically take the advantage, not automatically capitulate.

I take away from this that if a couple is codependent, and one of the two usually makes the decisions, then the one who ruled heretofore has to wake up and give it over. Therapists find it isn't all that hard, giving up control, and it feels good for everyone. The group hug.

Lucky for us, the full article, the definitive study about power is online, see Family Process, (Vol 52, Issue 1: Why Power Matters: Creating a Foundation of Mutual Support in Couple Relationships, by Carmen Knudsen-Martin. The author provides examples, too, which is why we don't need them here. Her research group at Loma Linda University is on fire.

We learn that power differentials are maintained because:

(1) once people can get their own way, they don't consciously want to relinquish control,
(2) many of us are attracted to confident people and let them lead, latching onto their confidence. We seek someone to make decisions, gladly accommodate, go with the ideas and proposals of the other, at least initially. The one with the power may not even know this is even happening;
(3) gender-assumed power is unconscious,and even those of us who disagree with that paradigm still fall into interactions that maintain it.

. . . women and men say that they do not use gender to determine roles and responsibilities, but women end up listening to and accommodating their partners much more than the men. A smaller number of couples, which we labeled “postgender,” made conscious efforts to resist stereotypic gender patterns and demonstrated relatively equal accommodation, attending, and status in their relationships.

How to change things?

Direct communication, asking for what we want, the first step (assertiveness). Forget the hints. They don't work.

Validate one another as valuable, this confirms a separate identity, puts the less powerful partner on the map, a beginning). In couple work (see John Gottman, Seven Principles for Making Marriage Work), that simple, seemingly obvious step,can be a month's worth of homework.

Influence, influence, influence, it has to be shared. The ability to influence a partner to respond to our needs is what builds trust and relationship resilience. Interestingly, Gottman found that when women expressed anger they could influence their partners, and this predicted happiness in the future. Perhaps it is the only way they are heard in these cases.

Mutual attunement, a word we've not all heard before, but will be hearing again. Consistently working toward an emotional connection, feeling understood, valuable, respected, and heard. When we have that, there is shared responsibility for a balanced, equal relationship. Equality, really is the new paradigm.

In more technical terms, the ideal relational model looks like this:

(1) shared relational responsibility, being accountable to the effects of our actions on our partners (getting out of denial).
(2) mutual vulnerability (sharing emotions is not just for women any more)
(3) mutual attunement: responding, communicating, understanding the other
(4) mutual influence: letting the other influence us, not always easy, but can feel very, very good, especially if it is new.

It's going up on my white board today.

therapydoc

I Read the News Today, Oh Boy

(1) Curtis Reeves and the Popcorn Shooting

Curtis Reeves

Many of us have been known to throw popcorn.

It could be that Chad Oulson, out with his wife at the movies in sunny Wesley Chapel, Florida, after texting the babysitter, really did throw popcorn at an irate 71-year-old retired police officer. The retired cop, Curtis Reeves, shot and killed him.

The two men had an altercation about noise in the theater and the illegality of texting just moments before Lone Survivor was about to begin. Lone Survivor is a film about the Navy Seals. Shots rang out. Violence in vivo.

The victim happened to be a former U.S. Naval officer who served his country from 1990 to 1997. The perpetrator, a retired captain of the police. Two veteran officers facing off, only one carrying a .380 automatic pistol.

Blood gushing from his mouth,Oulson cried, "I can't believe I got shot!"

Incredible. It could have been a mint or a peanut butter cup, just a theory, not popcorn, because Richard Escobar, the defense attorney, insists a heavy projectile hit Reeves in the forehead, triggering his reach for the trigger. Not one to be disobeyed, Reeves popped off that .380 pistol, and dutifully shot Oulson in the chest, ending the argument.

It is a story worthy of The Onion. Ridiculous. How could such a thing really happen?

Police records praise Reeves for his work ethic and leadership. One evaluation from 1979, however, indicates a show of temper when dealing with supervisors. This is all we need for a quick and dirty assessment and diagnosis, keep in mind, purely conjecture.  Reeves had a critical father, worked hard to please him, but displaced his own anger upon other authority figures, even as an adult. The choice of career is not unusual for those born to such family dynamics.

The psychiatric diagnosis is likely to be Intermittent Explosive Disorder, 312.34 (F63.81), based upon the history. But we need much more information to make this call.

The criteria for Intermittent Explosive Disorder (for full details, read the DSM-5):
A. Recurrent behavioral outbursts representing a failure to control aggressive impulses
B. The magnitude of aggressiveness expressed is grossly out of proportion to the provocation or to any precipitating psychosocial stressors.
C. The recurrent aggressive outbursts are not premeditated.
D. The recurrent aggressive outbursts cause either marked distress in the individual or impairment in occupational or interpersonal functioning, or are associated with financial or legal consequences.
E. Chronological age is at least 6 years
F. The recurrent aggressive outbursts are not better explained by another mental disorder, a psychotic disorder, antisocial personality disorder, borderline personality disorder, and are not attributable to another medical condition or the effects of a substance.

Mrs. Oulson, now a widow and single mother, instinctively tried to block the bullet intended for her husband with her hand, but the bullet went right through that. She wanted Oulson to stop arguing with Reeves. She could probably sense something going on behind the glare, real trouble.

Reeves has neighbors who had no idea. Perhaps they never saw him angry:

"I just can't imagine," said Elnora Brown. "I can't imagine what happened that he would do that." Brown has been a family friend of Reeves for the past 45 years. She described him as a good Christian man and a loving grandfather. "I thought it just can't be. He's just not that kind of person," Brown said.

The sentiment echoed down the Brooksville street where Reeves and his family has lived for years. "Curtis is a good guy. He's always been very nice to my wife, myself, "said Reeves's next door neighbor Bill Costas. "Personally, I'm very shocked."

"You just never know what's going to happen anymore. The world is getting more and more evil." said neighbor Joann Spence.  Read more: http://www.abcactionnews.com/dpp/news/wesley-chapel-movie-theater-shooting-suspected-gunman-curtis-reeves-jr-makes-first-appearance#ixzz2qPR1gCAW

You never know. Watch the video of Circuit Judge Lynn Tepper patiently hearing out the defense. She isn't buying Escobar's claims that this is not murder in the second degree. Escobar tells the judge that Reeves is a model citizen who regularly attends bible study, who has been married forty-one years, who has raised two fine children, one a police officer. Reeves is a grandfather. He has arthritis. A regular guy. He retired way back in 1993, after 27 years of service.

It isn't clear if he's still working security at Busch Gardens. Likelihood is that now he'll be let go.

Retired, yet still carrying a .380 pistol. And a toddler has no father.

Remember James Holmes, the man with schizophrenia who dressed up as The Joker and killed a dozen people, injured seventy, in a Colorado movie theater? We doubt Curtis Reeves suffered such psychosis. All we know is that he didn't like being thwarted. And he didn't like that Oulson scoffed at the rules, at authority. 

There were twenty-five other people in the theater. He could have moved.

(I'd love to know the punishment in that house if Little Curtis accidentally on purpose spilled popcorn or had a popcorn fight with a sibling.) 


(2) A 12-year-old Shoots Two Other Middle School Children, One in the Face

In other news, a student opened fire this morning at Berrendo Middle School in Roswell, New Mexico, critically wounding a 14-year-old boy, his intended victim. He put a 13-year old girl in the hospital, too, in serious condition, a bullet to the shoulder. A student witnessed it. Odiee Carranza described the shooter as a "smart kid and a nice kid."

A sociopath, probably, a child with Antisocial Personality Disorder, we might think, initially. (Search APD here on the blog, we've talked about it before). But no, he was likely depressed, and turned his rage outward. There's some discussion (Robin Meade, HLN Morning Express) that he had been bullied. The most interesting part of the story is that a social studies teacher, John Masterson, talked him down, walked into the barrel of the gun and talked until the boy put the shotgun down. He's a boy, after all.

Police said the 12-year-old suspect, whose identity has not been released, entered the middle school gym, pulled a shotgun out of a bag and opened fire on students waiting for school to start. Two were wounded.

"We've confirmed that it is a 20-gauge shotgun," Kassetas said. "That the wood stock was sawed off."

A 13-year-old girl, Kendal Sanders, was in stable condition Tuesday night following surgery, New Mexico Gov. Susana Martinez said. Kendal suffered injuries to her right shoulder.

Oh, just one more story. It has been a busy day in January.

(3) William Golladay is Fed Up with People Who Abuse the Express Checkout Line

William Golladay

In yet another southern town, Punta Gorda, Florida, William Golladay, a 77-year-old grocery checker, fed up with people who check more than fifteen items in the Express Lane, finally let loose. He unleashed his rage by yelling at, then hitting a 65 year-old man in a motorized cart. Not finished, he pushed an empty metal cart at the object of his wrath. (FD says the seventies are tough for men).

The victim isn't denying his guilt for going over fifteen items; he had twenty. He noticed the employee counting before the altercation began. 

Enough stories, the lessons are obvious.
(a) if someone tells you to quit texting, maybe quit texting.
(b) best not to mess with 14-year-olds who may be nice but have access to guns, 
and finally,
(c) never, ever go over 15 items at the Express Lane. 

How I wish this were funny.

therapydoc

Two Snapshots: The Cold and Promise Land

Before we begin: Are the ads on this blog getting in the way?  I had to ask. Anything I shop for on Amazon automatically is advertised here! And what about this Dynamic Views Blogger format? Yes? No? Who cares? 

It's been awhile since we had any snapshots.

(1) The Cold and Saving Lives

Chicago Cross-country skiing

The wise among us, I am told, will not leave home today. That's how cold it is.Nobody's flying to Florida; the planes are grounded. Subzero temps cut a wide swath and it is dangerous, moving about out there.

I was at a birthday dinner last night for a couple of really small but well-padded toddlers, and it was all anyone could talk about, think about, worry about, surviving the deep freeze on its way.

I can't help but text my daughter (I am a Jewish mother, after all):

Please tell me you aren't driving downtown tomorrow to work.

She quips back:

No, gonna WFH.

The salt is getting annoying

This makes me happy. Then again, only a day or two ago, at three degrees below zero, her father and I trotted out our cross country skis and had an amazingly great time. We heated up within minutes.

This morning, predictably, television news people shivered outside to tell everyone else to stay inside. It will be 45 below if we factor in the windchill, and in Chicago, we do.

FD has his towel in hand, ready to swim at the community center nearby. We both try to swim several times a week, rain or shine. Swimming keeps us young and one of us is sorely in need of young.

Never one to waste energy, I suggest we call to make sure the pool is open, rumors have circulated to the contrary. Yes indeed! I bundle up to go out, because frankly, if I'm doing therapy on the phone all day (nobody's coming to the office and everyone seems to need therapy) the prospect of eating uncontrollably between patients (because I can! WFH!)  is very likely. Maybe I will bake.

I meet someone new in the locker room, always a good thing, and do something I have never done before, try out the shvitz. I stand in the center of the tiled steam bath in my bathing suit and wait, thinking no matter how hot it gets in here, I won't sweat, it is too cold outside to sweat and it isn't what I do, anyway. Then it happens, beads, oceans of salt water, and this feels better than anything else possibly could on a day like today.

the Schvitz, a wet sauna, winter self-help

Predictably, I am one of two people in the pool and the lifeguard chats idly with me as my feet dangle in the water. She likes it, she says, when it is empty and there aren't many lives to save.

(2) Promise Land

This is a self-help blog, I suppose, and people find it looking for almost anything. A topic is Googled, a link is followed, the searcher finds the answer (or not) at this smorgasbord, an all you can eat, help yourself to whatever proprietary knowledge you can swallow. Over seven years worth, it can add up.

The title is Everyone Needs Therapy, not The Self Help Diner, although that seems like a trendy name. The paragraph following the title advises readers not to consider this therapy, and certainly not to rely upon this advice, ostensibly protecting me from a lawsuit. I just learned that most real self-help writers post this type of warning in the front pages of their books, too. And to think I never even thought of this as self-help, not so much, until reading a new book. Oy vey.

For hundreds of years, we learn in Promise Land: My Journey Through America's Self-Help Culture, the self-help industry has provided a cheap alternative to real help, going to the doctor. (The doctor is expensive and inconvenient, comparably, getting grouchier by the moment at the thought of new healthcare proposals, how these will affect her profession.)

The self-help alternative, albeit interesting, really is the subtext of Jessica Lamb Shapiro's memoir. Ms. Shapiro didn't have it easy as a kid, to put it mildly, and as an adult took stabs at different therapies, cures for her anxiety-riddled, depressive psychology. The inside jacket, an appetizer:

“In writing this book I walked on hot coals, met a man making a weight-loss robot, joined a Healing Circle, and faced my debilitating fear of flying. Of all of these things, talking to my father about my mother’s death was by far the hardest.”

Can't wait, right? It does sound good, and it is.

The author comes by an interest in the self-help biz honestly, her dad a paragon of the industry. A child psychologist, Dr. Shapiro is the guy behind psychology board games for little and big kids, the games boasting to build self-esteem, teach children to identify and express emotions. Now he's making suicide prevention apps for the United States Armed Forces. His daughter wonders if self-help apps are destined to become the wave of the future.

I will be obsolete.

What me worry, Alfred E Newman might say. There is nothing like the human touch, a subtle glance. The slow nod.

This is a wonderful book, full of wry, compassionate (you can tell) personality folded into the snark. There will be belly laughs. Her best lines make you want to interrupt anyone who will listen. "Listen to this," you might shout to a wall, then read the entire paragraph aloud. Her story is proof positive that people need therapists, not self-help books, but she doesn't bang you over the head with that, indeed never even says it, not once.

A professional reading of her story thinks: Had the Shapiros had the right kind of therapy (family therapy, naturally), they might have been spared twenty years of sadness, avoidance, and anxiety. They could have talked to one another. But family therapy isn't an East Coast thing.

The findings of the author's research are spectacular, full of references to self-made self-help gurus such as: Mark Victor Hansen (the Chicken Soup books and The One Minute Millionaire, Samuel Smiles (Self Help, 1859), Benjamin Franklin (his autobiography), Zsa Zsa Gabor, those women who insisted that to get married depends upon following The Rules (Fein and Schneider), The Secret, Phineas P. Quimby (positive thinking ala Mesmerism), Norman Vincent Peale, Ralph Waldo Emerson (Self-Reliance and Other Essays), Henry David Thoreau, and a dozen or so others.

But it is her story that makes this a page-turner. How do you lose a mother and never talk about it with the one person who knew her best? It is a respectful distance they keep, father-daughter, mutually afraid to stir up the other's sadness. This love, too great a sacrifice.

Funny, but a few months ago a fellow by the name of Leif Gregersen wrote to me asking if I might want to read his story, Through The Withering Storm: A Brief History of a Mental Illness, about growing up with bipolar disorder. As opposed to the Simon and Schuster expensive, glossy, freebee, this work had less initial appeal for me. It is what a therapist does, frankly, during working hours, listen to stories of severe mental illness. Some feel like audiobooks, stories of illness unfolding over a lifetime. Nor did his offer come with the rave reviews on the back cover.

And yet. I am about half-way through, and must thank Mr. Gregersen for sending me his book. He has a nice voice. I like him, and I think most readers like him, and his interests are interesting (collecting army uniforms, for one). And from what we read, most of his peers did not like him, did not appreciate his sense of humor as his story unfolded. That's how misunderstood mental illness can be.

therapydoc