Holidays and Dysfunction go hand in hand.  Grown men and women get reduced to the children they once were.  Expectations are huge and many end up melting down into premeditated resentments.  Depression and suicide increase.  Loneliness is rampant.  

For many of us, we kick into auto-pilot and mindlessness becomes the driver while we take a backseat.

IT’S THE HOLIDAYS.  We are supposed to be merry.  We are supposed to be of good cheer.  We all do it while we are gritting our teeth.  Aspirin and wine become daily companions.  We are determined to gut our way through…just make it to January lst.  January lst we can be ourselves again.

Many of us return to the homes of our youths.  Though we come in adult size bodies, our parents tend to put us in boxes that are impossible to climb out of.  Doesn’t matter if you’re a CEO or a teacher—you’re Jr. to them and the labels that get attached to us as children stick with us for a lifetime.

We drive ourselves crazy during this time of year.  We mount up the debt, we eat and drink too much, we fret that what we get for those we love will not be enough.  

We go home to families so dysfunctional, we become invisible and unseen or we become obnoxious and aggressive. Some of us become Miss Manners and  go through the motions, constantly watching the clock, waiting for our moment of liberation to come.  

Confrontation doesn’t come through clear and honest communication.  It gets spit out, in the worst of moments, maybe through tears and maybe through anger.  The inevitable awkward silence ensues until someone breaks the ice with the latest weather report.

My practice is actually busier during the holiday season, even this holiday season where we are all a little more on edge, our wallets leaner.  One of my clients, a Harvard law school graduate and successful attorney, a partner in her firm, comes in trembling at the thought of being around Father.

Here she knows she will face a man who enjoys telling her that she is never good enough, she will never be enough and belittling becomes the appetizer before the holiday meal.

For myself, I moved 1000 miles away to be free of the eyes of my parents who were so blind to me.  “Yes, Mary, we know you graduated from college, but you know, Joan’s the one that really should have gone, she’s the brilliant one.”

I cocooned myself from them in the nest of Boulder, Colorado…far away from the pain of not being seen.  I healed through the creation of my own family, having my own children who I feel quite confident when I say they are seen and loved for who they are.

I realized I hated the colors green and red.  I wouldn’t wear a Christmas sweater if my life depended on it.

Several years ago, I realized I didn’t have to buy into any of it.  So I changed things, primarily my attitude.  I was an adult and I didn’t need to go into mindlessness mode.  I could be awake.  I could be “me”.

I filled my home with the colors of bright and bold reds, greens, purples, golds and orange.  I never bought another Poinsettia again.  The crab feast is what dresses the Christmas table.  Silly putty, cartoons on newspaper, and bubbles are part of the place settings.  Manners are not only NOT required on Christmas day, they are forbidden.

I love the holidays now, once I was able to shed the obligation of conformity, obligation and the expectations of others.

The world didn’t fall apart and my family didn’t disown me.  

So for those of you who know what I’m talking about…take a minute and a deep breathe.  If this time of year is painful for you, what can you do differently, what kind of a shift can you make?  How can you honor yourself while in the company of others?

For those of you who don’t suffer from this seasonal malaise, consider yourself most blessed and invite someone less fortunate to share in your holiday joy.

Several years ago, I had a much-needed get together with my closest women friends.  I’m a natural born nurturer (raised Catholic) so when you walk in, you start getting taken care of.  It’s something I do to make up for what I didn’t get enough of as a child.  That’s the beauty of being an adult.  

This taking care of others is a fine line between martyr and saint so you have to be careful.  I’m a generous person.  I’m a giver.  The downside to this (as every good side has) is that I can give with an invoice.  You better appreciate what I’ve done or I’ll store things up, like little bee stings that can turn into full blown allergic reactions.  I’ll feel taken advantage of.  I’ll feel taken for granted.

At some point, I’m capable of exploding and it isn’t pretty.  But I never explode to my friends…my husband becomes the “safe target”.  He just hates this about me.

I digress.  My favorite women friends invited over for my favorite fall meal—country beef ribs and garlic-mashed potatoes.

My good friend Renee calls me the night before in a dither.  Would I mind if she brought the main course?  I ask her why.  She says with hesitancy that she would like to bring a friend of hers.  I said, “Sure, the more the merrier.”  She then says, “Well, my friend is a Vegan and you really can’t have any kind of meat anywhere in sight.  She’ll leave if she sees it.”

Living in Boulder can be a big pain in the ass I will tell you.  There’s vegetarians.  That’s fine.  That’s simple.  But then there’s dairy intolerant, gluten intolerant, wheat intolerant (yes there is a difference), sugar intolerant, soy intolerant, and now this…A Vegan.

I take a deep breath and say, “Renee, what is going on here?  I don’t know this woman.   I’m happy to have her in my home…but I’m not going to tiptoe around her.  I can give up the country beef ribs, but I was planning on serving a salmon appetizer.  Is that considered meat?”

Renee exclaims with great concern, “Oh Mary, you just really can’t have any kind of fish in sight.  Trust me, it just won’t work for her!  I’m going to make a wonderful main dish, side dishes,a kick-ass dessert and WINE, lots and lots of wine.”

I did find it a little nervy for Renee to be telling me what kind of protein I could have in my home, but being in a nicey nicey mood I said yes (the bees are beginning to sting).

However, wine was my weakness and that cinched the deal.

Vegan Valerie comes and DOMINATES the entire evening espousing the importance of veganism and all its virtues.  She was the Christian born again version of the salvation and redemption of vegetables.  No one could get a word in edgewise.  Like her, the food was bland.

As she was blathering on and on, I was secretly salivating for a slab of bacon.

I asked her what restaurants she likes to go to in Boulder as there are some fine vegetarian restaurants.  I quickly learned that there is a BIG difference between vegetarian and vegan restaurants!   Vegan Diva yells loudly,  “NONE!”

Curious, I ask, “Oh, are there no vegan restaurants in Boulder?  That’s hard to believe.”

She responds in a matter of fact way, “There’s a couple.  But part of being a vegan just isn’t about what you eat.  It’s about knowing the INTENTION of the person that prepares and cooks the food.  Since my husband and I don’t know the moods or the intentions of the chefs as they are preparing the food, we don’t go out.”

I was speechless (a rare phenomenon).  I could feel the bee stings swelling up…I could feel the rash developing, the hyperventilating, the difficulty breathing.  

Since I’m a trained professional, I remained calm.   I couldn’t wait for the evening to end.  

I had sudden cravings for buffalo wings dipped in blue cheese dressing.  

I wanted to self-medicate with salami.

The end of this story? I’m not making this up.  Renee recently told me that Vegan Valerie left her husband, ran off with a Texas cowboy and now eats steak on a regular basis.

I’m not a researcher and I’m not going to throw statistical analyses at anyone.   And I’m not going to throw out the fact that I’m a therapist who has worked for over 15 years with couples, families and individuals.  I’m talking from my heart and my own experiences on this one.  You may not like it, you may disagree.  Go for it.  But because it comes from my heart, you won’t win any arguments with me.

I love men.  I love my men friends.  I love my men clients.  The same could be said for the females in my life but I’m not talking about them right now.

I have two sons who are 25 and 26.  My sons are great young men. They may not want to talk about it, but they have all the love and respect for the women in their lives, their sisters and me.  They’ve been in relationships with different women and it’s been my honor and pride to watch the care and concern they have felt and shown for these women.  I do not find them to be anomalies, no more so than the many young men I’ve worked with their age.  Young men who anguish over how to please the women in their lives.

I’ve had the good privilege and honor to be allowed access into the interior of men’s lives for many years.  I’ve sat and listened to the young, the old, the restless, the heartbroken.  When I talk about the objectification of men, I speak to the way our culture pressures them in many ways.

The pressure men feel to “perform” is staggering.  There is a reason for the high rate of heart attacks among men.  We may feel that Gloria Steinem and Bettty Friedan brought on the age of equality, but for many men, they feel no release from the burdens of theses pressures.

They come into my office quietly full of shame.  They feel nothing they do is good enough, ever enough.  They don’t talk enough, they don’t please their mates enough, they don’t make enough money…money is a big deal.

For most of them, sex is the way they connect.  Sex is the way they feel loved.  Often times women are flippant about their man’s need for sex, dismissing it with a wave of their hands lamenting that their man is just being “horny”, that their men come to them to scratch their itches and nothing more.

A wise woman knows that sex is the way that many men feel valued and needed and SEEN.  Yes, men need to be seen as much as women.  But the way in which they need to be seen is not necessarily the way women do.

 “I’m on my period”, “I’m hormonal”, “I’m tired”.  I hear my female clients say this a lot and I just look at them and say, “Do you gotta hand?  Do you gotta mouth?  Does it always have to be about YOU?”  Get adventuresome I tell them.  Go outside the box.  I’m not talking about threesomes here (although show me a man who doesn’t have that fantasy and I’ll show you someone who’s lying).  Give them some adventure, some fun, some imagination, some role play.   I assure you, it won’t take much. And it won’t take long (10 minutes max).  Just kidding, don’t get your panties all in a wad.

When a woman says, “We need to talk”, most men instantly shrink away.  They feel overwhelmed and full of shame.  “Now what? What have I done wrong?   Women want to talk as way to connect, to feel a part of.  Many women fear abandonment while not knowing her man is withdrawing because he is ashamed that the woman he loves is not happy.

Steven Stosny, a therapist and renowned researcher on the profound and transformative work he does with men and domestic violence, believes that marital therapy goes wrong with its constant attention to “communication skills”, “I statements” and the like.  He, along with another marital therapist, have written a ground breaking book called “How To Improve Your Marriage Without Talking About It”.  The theory is that much of traditional couples counseling has been based on communication that works best for women and not for men.

When I work with couples and the woman is inevitably complaining about the lack of communication between her and her husband, I will say, “Stop talking about it so much.”  There is instant horror in many women’s faces, while the men’s visible sighs of relief melt into the walls of my office and smiles stretch across their faces.

I will tell you that I work with the most liberated of women, and yet many of them carry the age-old expectations of men to provide financially, even when they themselves make more then enough money for both.

This is the objectification of men I am talking about…the size of the wallet is what many women look for.  And most men I know take the responsibility of providing financially for their families very seriously.  It is an area they feel they might actually be able to succeed in but they pay a high cost for the relentless demands that only money can buy.

 In another post, I theorize about the PAWS women:  Penis and Wallet Seekers.  If you’ve ever traveled to Aspen or LA, you’ll see these couples.  Of course, total judgment on my part, but I don’t think I’m far off.  And when it gets right down to it, the penis is optional for many of these women.

Women don’t hold the market on being used or being objectified.  It just looks a little different.  And I would suggest that the next time you want to TALK to your man, take the wise and sage advice of Chris Rock who says (and I’m paraphrasing):

“When a man gets off work, he needs to smoke something, he needs to drink something, he needs to drive around for awhile.  He does this because he knows that as soon as he walks in the door, his woman’s gonna be right there saying, “I need to tell you about my day, you won’t believe what my friend did to me, you won’t believe what the kids did, etc. etc.”  Give the man a break!  Give him 5 minutes and whatever you do, GIVE HIM THE BIG PIECE OF CHICKEN!”

How many of you know about THE SECRET?  You know, the DVD now New York Times bestselling book sensation made famous by Oprah and company?  

Yes, that one.  Hey, I bought THE SECRET way before it still was.

I’ve seen THE SECRET twice.  I’ve taken notes.  I’ve bought copies for my children and friends.  I watched all the creators of THE SECRET on Oprah and Larry King.  I live in Boulder, Colorado where THE SECRET is required by law to read.

At this point, I’m wishing THE SECRET was a secret.

Blasphemous you say?  Sacrilegious?  Bad intentionality?

For those of you who aren’t familiar with THE SECRET, it’s basically a new age rewrite of the power of positive thinking.  It’s about the “law of attraction”, a newer version of the scriptural “you reap what you sow”.

And there’s a part of THE SECRET that is good.  In therapy world, it’s called a “reframe”—finding positive meaning in something that may not appear too positive, like missing a plane and running into a long lost lover in the airport.

 My 23-year-old daughter had a brief phase of THE SECRETISM.  I picked her up from the airport.  She was on fire for THE SECRET.  I was trying to ask questions.  She cut me off.  She didn’t like my skeptical intentions.  We went to dinner in crowded downtown Boulder.  She told me there would be a parking space right in front of the restaurant, she had put out the intention.  I gently reminded her NO WAY.

We pulled up to the restaurant…yes, you guessed it…a parking space followed by a perfect rare place by the window.  My daughter was smug.  “What about your luggage that didn’t make it on the plane?” I innocently asked.    “No problem,” she said with confidence.  “It’s my fault…I just forgot to make the intention that it wouldn’t get lost.”  She had an answer to everything.

She decided to go to Vegas with big time roller intentions.  She lost 100 bucks.  She left her losses and her intentions in Las Vegas and came back with a nice balance of being a positive person who has the good sense to also use her brains.

A lot of my work with my clients is to help them find “richness in the messiness”, to find treasures in the ashes.  But like anything else, a good thing can go way too far, and THE SECRET is a prime example of that.

Let me name a few:

1)    When one of the creators of The Secret was on Larry King, he was asked about the 9-year-old girl from Florida who was kidnapped, raped and buried alive.  When Larry King asked this person if the little girl had put out this intention, the guy said YES (if I knew how to do videos, I’d put it up, but I don’t…haven’t made an intention to learn this).

 2)    A client of mine, a grieving mother whose 11-year-old daughter died in a house fire 3 days before Christmas, was told by a SECRET fanatic that her daughter must have put out the intention to die in a fire.

 3)    One of my best friend’s daughter and her friend are going to travel in South America.  The friend is insisting on going to Columbia, despite strong government warnings not to do so.  When my friend tried to reason with this young woman and her mother who approved of the plan, the mother said, “I’ve seen THE SECRET so if they put out positive intentions, nothing will happen to them.  If something happens to them, it will be YOUR fault because you put your fear out there.”

 New age legalism.

New age fundamentalism.

Not a whole lot different then my back in the day born again Christian days when I was told if anything bad happened to me, it would be because I didn’t have enough faith.  Or when Iwas told that my father didn’t have to die from a malignant brain tumor…he just didn’t believe enough in God’s healing power.

Anyone remember prosperity teachings?  They’re still out there…usually promoted by televangelists who are living high off their parishioner’s hogs.

I’m really trying not to sound too negative.  If you know me, you know I’m not that way at all.  If you know me, you know I am full of positivity.  If you know me, you know that I try to approach each day with gratitude and a curiosity to see all the good that is out there.

But I’m also a passionate mother, a loyal friend, an advocate for my clients, and black or white, believe or pay, all or nothing beliefs cause a lot of suffering to a lot of people.  And that’s not only not right, it’s downright traumatizing.

I think my mother was right when she taught me, “Everything in moderation”.

And I have a feeling the creators of THE SECRET have secret Swiss bank accounts.

This may sound terrible…but if I’m going to be really honest with you…I can’t remember when my mother died. I really can’t.  It’s not because she died when I was really young.  She died I think in the spring, maybe 3 or 4 years ago, maybe 5 or 6.

This may sound terrible…but I don’t remember because she suffered from Alzheimer’s for so many years.  I lost my mother more than a decade before she died.

My mother was young, 59, when she started forgetting things…things we ignored because who would ever have thought of something like Alzheimer’s for one so young.

When my mother was 60, my father, her partner and best friend, was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor.  He was the person her life centered around.  He adored her and spoiled her and filled her life with many good things in gratitude for her years of loving him.

My parents had a very traditional marriage.  When my mother lost my father, she lost her anchor, her rudder, her compass.

This may sound terrible…and as much as we all grieved the loss of our father, we were hoping our mother would eventually move on to find a new life without him.  She was still young and had the charm of an imp and the beauty of a fairy child.

This may sound terrible…but I always thought that my mother getting Alzheimer’s was the perfect disease for her.   My siblings and I took my father’s place shortly after he died.  This happened when one of my brothers went to see her after my father’s death and found her refrigerator devoid of food, and her, unshowered and confused, pacing the house, whispering who knows what to keep herself company in those lonely terrible days.

This may sound terrible…but having Alzheimer’s is like being an enlightened Buddhist.  My mother only had the now.  Only had the present.  Only had this moment.

Once, when my mother was staying with me, I took her to see Jerry Seinfeld.  She and I laughed and howled the entire show.  I was so happy to look over at her and see how much she was enjoying herself and I was looking forward to the car ride home, for more giggles and reminiscing.  

She didn’t remember a thing.  Not a trace of it…nothing, nahda, zilch.  That was one sobering drive as I ached for my mother and not the stranger without a memory who was sitting next to me.

This may sound terrible…but my mother with Alzheimer’s could be absolutely hysterical.  Like the time we were flying on a 747 from North Carolina back to my home.  In mid-flight, she turned to me with a big smile and said, “This is the most realistic flight simulator!”

Or the time we were driving around Boulder with the beautiful Flatirons in the background and she exclaimed, “That is the most wonderful backdrop!”  She thought we were on a movie set.

Years and years went on.  We could no longer take care of her in our homes so she went to assisted living.  After awhile, she went on to a nursing home.  This went on for years and years.

This may sound terrible…but I was relieved when she died.  She hadn’t known who any of us were for years…she didn’t even know she was a person.  

This may sound terrible…but at her memorial I felt numb.  I felt disconnected.  In that quiet church, the people remembering her and giving us their condolences, I was struggling with the finality.  What finality?  I had lost her years before.

This won’t sound terrible…I hate this disease.  I hate how it robs wonderful passionate intelligent people of themselves, their thoughts, their memories, their connections.  I hate what it does to families, year after year after year.

And it just seems to me that there has to be a better way to deal with this insipid disease.  A more humane way, a more honorable way, a more dignified way as opposed to the years and years of nothingness my mother spent being spoon fed and unaware.  

Mary

In an unprecedent move never before seen on national television, and not to be upstaged by Tina Fey, Obama the Uniter and Sarah the _____(fill in your own blank), have agreed to appear on Dancing With The Stars.

This couldn’t have come at a more welcome time.  

I, like many of you, am on political overload.  My mind is swirling 24/7 and will be until the polls close on November 4th (I’m an optimist).

The MSM has become a mouth frothing feeding frenzy on anything political.  We are all in a manic phase buzzing, pontificating, pleading, whispering, arguing, blathering and predicting.  There are the few rare souls of dissent but they are squished quickly with the giant fly swatter of our liberal wisdom and rapid fire posts.

Couples are having severe marital problems, friends are fighting, neighbors aren’t talking, road rage is at its highest.

Time for a much needed diversion…back to the time honored tradition of the couch potato, the boob tube and America’s latest obsession, DANCING WITH THE STARS.

Tune in  tonight 900 PM EST, 7:00 Pacific.

I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed that Sarah falls on her douche, I mean tush, tush!...only for comedic purposes of course (she’s so gifted at that).  Maybe she’ll even wink at us as she’s tumbling to the ground.

And can I  say this, just once, just to even the score, just to be a teensy bit shallow, a smigden sexist and a whole lot honest:

OBAMA IS HOT! HOT! HOT!  And can that man dance!

Mary