The Origins of Abandonment Anxiety

He's in there somewhere, being four years old.

The blanket is the original Hide and Seek tool, and everyone loves Hide and Seek, which is surely all about working out abandonment issues.

My daughter and her partner took a work vacation to a far away land, and FD and I volunteered to babysit for a several days.  That meant I was a single mother for the first time in a long time.

FD entertained the three boys by day, when he could, but the life of a family practitioner is defined by paperwork and long nights at the office, figuring out what in the world Medicare wants from him. Our lives have always been this way. Bring it on Affordable Health Care Act.

Parenting, of course, is like riding a bike.  So the ways I had with my own children carried over, bridged a twenty-five year gap.  Prone to giving children as much space and as much intimacy as they oddly indicate they need works best for me, communicates respect and understanding. We had no problems, during these past ten days, with the exception of dangerous open drawers and cabinets, as well as an occasional toilet that needed attention.

One night I'm putting the littlest-on- legs to sleep, following the routine, one that mirrors the routine I had with his mother. Either young parents have some type of subliminal unconscious memory, or people in their thirties really do remember the original bedtime drill. Ours works like this:

dinner,
bath,
pajamas,
books in bed, a story,
a prayer,
eyes closed.

The dim light from the hallway makes it hard to read, but is a soporific. The little guy tires early, but that doesn't mean he wants to sleep.

I stay.  Meaning, just because the routine ends doesn't mean it is time to go. I read my own book or nap, play Scrabble on my phone, check Facebook.  I use this time in the dark to plan the next  day, too, or obsess about my problems, stretch, do leg lifts at the end of his bed.  He trusts that I will stay with him. He wants me to stay with him. He has won this war, the Stay With Me War.  We even have a song, one sung a hundred years ago, passed on to future generations.

Stay with me.
Don't go away.
Stay with me.
HaShem (God) Please stay!
Stay with me.
Don't go away.
Stay with me. Please stay.

Fairly simple, and children of all ages seem to get it. The tune is from Damn Yankees, pretty sure. Can't remember which original song.

Quite contrary to the Ferber method, isn't it, this way to get kids to sleep. It is at odds, even, to the ghost method discussed elsewhere in this blog.  Ferber (and I haven't read the best seller, wish I wrote it, having used it so many years ago) upon hearsay seems to recommend that at a certain age perhaps whenever a baby has object constancy,* you let the kid "cry it out" in a crib.

They don't usually head-bang, babies, and if they do, need rescuing. Crying it out merely express consternation at being alone. Adults do it, too. And when they realize there is no one coming to save the day, we all give up and go to sleep. We can flex our muscles very young, however, given that chance, as babies who have to deal with being alone, abandoned, and probably, because they are pre-verbal, mostly, in that first year, somehow forget the ordeal. Their little bodies, minds, remember however, and bedtime gets easier with every passing test.

This is great when they are captive, in cribs. When they appear in the family room and interrupt your show, their legs many inches longer, some of us feel they can be treated as ghosts. One partner says to the other,

 "I hear a ghost."

 And the other partner declares,

 "Well, if we ignore ghosts they go back to bed. If we pay attention to them then they won't go to bed. They will stay up and annoy us. So let's pay NO attention to this ghost. Pretend he's not there."  

This worked for me and FD and none of our offspring ever actually feared ghosts, so it kills two birds with one stone.

Makes sense, assuming no china is broken. At that age, Stay With Me is over, is counter-indicated, assuming a parent has done an emotional check in during those hours before the kids go to sleep, has heard a recap of the day, attended the child, really listened, did fake it, allotted Special Time, somehow banning other children, interruptions, from the airspace.

Ghost is another game of Hide and Seek, really, except the seeker won't play. But between, say, 9 months and 4 years, it is all about staying with the little tykes in their beds, or in the same room, and it can be for a long time, up to 90 minutes, crazy as that seems, two 90834's as we think of time in the therapy biz, quite a commitment. It probably only works for a therapist if she doesn't mind a longer day, or merely likes to relax in the dark, doze off to the sound of a pre-schooler complaining, chattering.  I've always liked this time, took no calls. And stayed.

Have the cup of water ready.

So here I am, in deep Routine with my grandson, only four years old, a sliver of my age, not statistically significant, waiting to see who falls asleep first.

Then, one night, while stretching to leave, the bed creaks too loudly. He opens his eyes, recognizes me, knows full well what is going on. He waves at me, dismissing me with his little hand, then closes his eyes again, as if to say,

 "You can go now."  

But I stayed.

therapydoc

* object constancy-- knowing someone, something, exists even if it isn't visible.  The Piaget test is a ball rolling under the sofa, whether or not the infant attempts to retrieve it.

It's a Free Country

In America, the Fourth of July is a celebration of self-rule. The first settlers (now a bad word, settlers) suffered under taxation and fought a war to break free of British rule.  They won.



Whitney Houston (sniff, sniff).

So we shoot rockets into the sky and sing our national anthem.  Some of us walk around all day singing God Bless America,  The Battle Hymn of the Republic,  America the Beautiful,  and My Country ‘Tis of Thee.   I love them all, American classics.

The skies light up at night, throughout the week, even in cities where private ownership of explosives is  illegal.  I could see four separate fireworks displays from my balcony last night.  All to celebrate independence, theoretically, something therapists discuss every day.

NPR, to keep it in perspective, has a nice discussion of what July 4th really means.  We should think about freedom as the freedom to walk the streets, heads up something not everyone has.  Some of us are in real prisons, penitentiaries.  Other prisons are virtual; they're in our heads.  Some of us are prisoners in our own homes, at the mercy of whims of dominant partners, parents, guardians, institutional staff, and care-givers.

So here's another short spin on it, because we all have to get to the pool or the beach, begin the potato salad.

Volunteered slavery, doing what the doctor, parents, or other authority figures tells us to do, feels like the opposite of independence.  Since it is our choice, follow orders or not, we'll often procrastinate, or deliberately act out, not follow at all.  This deludes us into thinking we’re in charge, independent.

Nobody is the boss of me. I can do what I want, when I want. Whatever it is can wait. It's a free country, America.

The paradox is that if we don’t want to do what's good for us, we'll find a reason not to do it, and of course, nobody is forcing us to do anything.  We can lie in bed as long as we wish in the morning. Our parents might throw a glass of water in our faces, our spouses or partners may flip off the covers.  But we can decline to cooperate, nevertheless.

True psychological independence is separating out the pleasure of what we want to do, which is slack off, from the pleasure of doing what is good for us. The pleasure of saying No! You can’t make me! versus Oh, that sounds like a good idea, actually.  I should, I will.

No, can be a stubborn pleasure, won't necessarily please us in the end or make us better people, not stronger physically, nor psychologically.

Saying I’ll pass on the pie, but save me a piece is good for us (how we hate those people).  That kind of control is a source.  Every anorexic knows this, which is why it's good to qualify control.  In fact, in therapy we're not all that big on control, a famous line from the movie Ordinary People. But self-control feels good, feels like independence, assuming we're not doing it to spite anyone.  If we are, psychological dependence factors in.

Getting change to be a choice is beyond difficult.  Convincing others that they are hurting themselves, not doing what is in their best interest, impossible.  It is what therapists work at so much of the time, but ever so subtly. Really?  Please build on that.  I’m so interested. That’s working for you, is it?

Very mild spoiler:

Saw The Amazing Spider-Man last night. I won't give away any plot, suffice it to say that the new Peter Parker, Andrew Garfield, is handsome and engaging, as is the entire cast, especially girlfriend Gwen, played by Emma Stone.  The writing is good, too.

In this film Peter (Spider-Man) is put in the position of rebelling, seemingly, but he doesn't want to  rebel, he just can’t help it.  He's always coming home late, making Auntie May and Uncle Ben worry. They try their best to tell him that it isn’t cool, making them worry like this, and not necessary.  Peter has a cell phone.  You could call, you know.

At one point Uncle Ben lectures Peter via voicemail.  Peter starts to listen then turns the message off.  Most kids do this, right? They don’t listen to our lectures, aren’t interested. To really listen, a person has to elect to listen. If you have had the privilege of going to college, you know that the good lectures at school are in classes called electives.   We choose to take electives, as opposed to those other classes that we have to take, requirements. Electives get our rapt attention.

Thus it is electing to choose what is healthy, what is good for us, that turns volunteered slavery into independence, more so in life than in the movies.  Only then, when we choose, does it feel we’re in charge, in control. And control feels like real freedom because it is not submission. Control is often about having the feeling of independence, if not the reality. Again, think anorexia or any eating disorder in which we choose to eat-- or not to eat.

Happy July Fourth, Happy Independence Day.  Don't drink and drive.

Not that we're telling anyone what to do.

therapydoc


A couple more patriotic songs before we go:

Celine Dion, God Bless America

And Marian Anderson, 1939, at Lincoln Memorial, after being denied the right to sing at Constitution Hall by the DAR, Daughters of the American Revolution.

No Reservations: How NOT to talk to your kid

Don't read on if you think it might spoil the movie for you. I'll spoil it from the top, but no more than any advertisement or other review you've seen. Maybe.

No Reservations

Catherine Zeta-Jones is the perfect Kate, an egotistical chef in a psychotherapy that her boss (Patricia Clarkson, wonderful) has insisted on. This happens more often than you'd think in real life, usually for anger management.

Aaron Eckhart is Nick, the perfect guy, you can look at him all day and you do. He has perfect timing, is believable through and through, loves opera, food, and is slow to go in relationships. Abigail Breslin, Zoe, is Kate's niece, the very same child star you saw in Little Miss Sunshine. She doesn't disappoint here, either.

Such a feel good/feel bad/feel good movie, what a surprise. Add an extra feel bad if you're me and just HATE matricide or reminders that mothers die and leave small children. I can deal with it any day of the week in the office and do, but when I'm off, would rather not. Not at the movies. (But CZJ, food, no contest)

It's one of those films that didn't know where to end, so we get a third act (thanks #1 son for pointing that out to me) to make it even longer. It's like a good read. We like 'em long, more pages, please. With lower back issues you're fine without Act Three, but like many second endings, the real second end is better, so you might as well sit back and enjoy it. Oh, and finally, finally, finally, a little conflict.

There are all kinds of ways to do reviews, and my way is to take a look at the scenes that make me want to stand up and scream, "NO, NO, NO! It's just WRONG to say that! Or, WHY OH WHY would you say that in THAT WAY!" Either the content or the process is lame and I'm always wanting to correct errors in either/or.

For your edification.

The script is just fine. The cringe is that dysfunction is bound to happen, something WILL go wrong when people deliver bad news badly. In this case because Kate's character is vulnerable yet altogether tactless, when she delivers poorly, it's unintentional, but painful to watch. She has this, I-really-don't-get-it-ness, a pathetic lack of social sensitivity.

Examples, just two.

Kate's at work and gets a phone call in the kitchen. Her face drops and she dashes off to the hospital to see her niece Zoe, who is still alive, but all bandaged up, attached to machines with tubes. The doctor tells Kate that her sister, Zoe's mom, didn't make it in the car accident. It's going to be Kate who has to tell Zoe.

Kate is in a chair by the hospital bed. The kid wakes up. Her eyes well up with tears. Kate looks at her. Hi Zoe.

I want my mom. I want my mom. Where is my mom???@@!!! (tears stream)

Kate's silent.

IS MY MOM DEAD?

From the chair: Yes. She's dead.

She doesn't move in close, doesn't take Zoe's hand, doesn't soften the impact (as if you really can but you have to try).

She's dead from three feet away.

Wooden human wake up call here. I know, I know, how hard it can be to make that moving in close move, but there are so many times, so many times you have to move in, maybe touch someone.

I tell students: There are times to move in. There are times I move my chair closer. I don't take anyone's hand, but I move in.

Okay, the next scene I hated, and I'll stop. Seriously, I loved the movie and would totally rent it with the girls.

Kate drops Zoe off at school but the school principal (Stephanie Berry, great) calls her over to talk. Zoe's been nodding off in class, according to her teacher, and when asked, has mentioned working at the restaurant and going to bed really late.

There are laws against that sort of thing. We'll have custody revoked if it continues. Great.

So how does Kate tell Zoe? Does she say, Honey, let's talk about working at the restaurant, I know you love it, but you're falling asleep at school, and that's not good, and I have this fantastic babysitter who will watch movies with you, or maybe even cook with you, tell you a bedtime story. . .

No. She says, Zoe, you can't work at the restaurant or they'll take you away. I don't want them to take you away. Now Zoe's most catastrophic fears are realized, You don't want me. I want my MOMMY@!@!

Enough said. A therapist that only sees individuals is going to look at Kate's personality and think. . .borderline. . .narcissism. . .A family therapist looks at it and says, tweak here, tweak there. She can do it.

Best parts of the movie are the therapy scenes, not too many, just enough. All I can tell you is that it's not good form to eat food that your patient has prepared for you, not usually, not really. Unless, of course. . .

Copyright 2007, therapydoc

Work !

Let's get to something lighter.

One of these dreaded, but necessary decisions, going back to work, was a strategically planned option for me when my first progeny (twins) would hit the nine month mark. Fresh out of graduate school (MSW, don't know how anyone has a baby without one) knew enough to know that since the boys would have something called "object constancy" at 9 mos., that that was the magical age.

I could leave when the twins were 9 mos. old and they'd REMEMBER me. The babysitter wouldn't be a preferable surrogate. Maybe boring and unoriginal, but a source of real anxiety at the time.

But these days the 9 month theory is probably out of favor (I'd love some feedback, having been out of the psycho-dynamic loop now for many years). And there are so many parent magazines and so many women who have DONE IT and so many advice columns and now television shows and even MOMMY BLOGS, that I am sure the strategies and rationalizations are legend and the subject is beaten to fine baby powder.

Whaddaya need me for?

There are even DADDY BLOGS on how to do it.

Speaking of which, it always galled me that women had to have this angst but men were supposed to chirpily head off to work every day. Kiss the wife, pat the baby on the head and out you go. Chirpily anything, really. Chirp. Just chirp, guys.

In couple therapy it hurts me when I hear women complaining to men about not second shifting hard enough (change genders if you're gay where applicable). Both of you, don't you know, are supposed to get home from work, shoo out the baby sitter, and HIT THE FLOOR RUNNING. Get to work, d(expletive) it.

Six months ago, when Empath Daught went to work the boys were 4 and 2. It was hard leaving them, but she was pumped. And she was sick of free-lancing, having to beg people to pay her and having to redesign a perfectly wonderful web-sight because, it's great, but can't you just tweak this page right here, because I really, really think you've missed what I'm trying to do here.

She was valued by a high end store with high expectations and she fully intended to meet them and eventually make high end money.

She knew we were proud, but she called me and asked me honestly, How did I do it? How did I handle my separation anxiety? Wasn't it horrible handling their tears and their fears? Kids can make you feel so so guilty.

Flattered I was, Yoda said, that she asked.

And so happy, too. I don't like giving unsolicited advice to my kids or anyone else. Even when someone asks me straight out for advice I'll think about it and say to myself: this is an ego trap. beware. ego trap. do not step in. get more information. don't bite. trap.

That is, when I have my head on straight.

But I did have a system, and Empath Daught was interested. I'd stop the car in front of the house and brace myself for a second, hear the end of a song. Then gather my things, click that key in the door, hang up my coat, kick off the shoes and nylons (first thing), sit down on the floor with them, and play. Just play. For as long as I had until those guys tuckered out and went down for the night, I played. (I supposed there was some feeding and changing and bathing going on, too, but I can tell you for sure, there was no television.) And so many, many books. So many books.

The phone? Ignored it.

Tomorrow? Who cared.

The mess? Again. Gave it over to the sheer powerlessness of it all.

I remember this now because yesterday I heard that song on the radio by Kenny Loggins, the Christopher Robin song.

You'd be surprised
There's so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh

It's an old song and I so love it. It got me back to thinking about those days. One of the things I remembered was that I needed to let go of the need to CLEAN. It wasn't that hard when I got into it, and of course, I was very into it, reconnecting with those kids. As I told my friend Mimi in an email the other day:

i liked it when the kids were little, giving into disorder and just watching them when i got home from work, sort of marveled. let the leggos take over.

best story

got burgled once. cop said, uh, lady, hate to ask, but was it this way before you left the house, or did the burglars do this to the bedroom?

uh, actually..

Giving into the disorder. I'd be terrified when people came over but didn't show it, or tried not to. Did say, if I recall, hold him while I clear away a place for you to sit down :)

So it's nice to know that Empath Daught is following in my footsteps. But I gotta' tell you. Somehow she gets those toys put away. I don't know how she does it.


Copyright 2007, Therapydoc

By Kenny Loggins (© 1969,1994 MCA Music Publishing, a division of MCA Inc.c 1969,1994)
Christopher Robin and I walked along
Under branches lit up by the moon
Posing our questions to Owl and Eeyore
As our days disappeared all too soon
But I've wandered much further today than I should
And I can't seem to find my way back to the Wood

So help me if you can
I've got to get back
To the House at Pooh Corner by one
You'd be surprised
There's so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh

Winnie the Pooh doesn't know what to do
Got a honey jar stuck on his nose
He came to me asking for help and advice
And from here no one knows where he goes
So I sent him to ask of the Owl if he's there
How to loosen a jar from the nose of a bear

It's hard to explain how a few precious things
Seem to follow throughout all our lives
After all's said and done I was watching my son
Sleeping there with my bear by his side
So I tucked him in, I kissed him and as I was going
I swear that the old bear whispered
"Boy welcome home"

Believe me if you can
I've finally come back
To the House at Pooh Corner by one
What do you know
There's so much to be done
Count all the bees in the hive
Chase all the clouds from the sky
Back to the days of Christopher Robin
Back to the ways of Christopher Robin
Back to the days of Pooh

Alternate Version -- House at Pooh Corner- Christopher Robin and I walked along under branches lit up by the moon. Posing our questions to owl and eeyore as our days disappeared all too soon. But I've wandered much further today than I should and I can't seeem to find my way back to the wood. So, help me if you can I've got to get back to the house at Pooh corner by one. You;d be surprized there's so much to be done, count all the bees in the hive, chase all the clouds from the sky. Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh. Winnie the Pooh doesn't know what to do, got a honey jar stuck on his nose. He came to me asking help and advice and from here no one knows where he goes. So I sent him to ask of te Owl if he's there, how to loosen a jar from the nose of a bear So, help me if you can I've got to get back to the house at Pooh corner by one You'd be surprized there's so much to be done, count all the bees in the hive, chase all the clouds from the sky . Back to the days of Christopher Robin and Pooh, back to the days of Christopher Robin, back to the ways of Pooh