Family · Personal · relationships

Confrontation

I have never liked confrontations, avoiding them whenever possible. I learned to tolerate conflict though. Eventually, I’d be the designated challenger of authority and the status quo.

After moving to Fort Polk and marrying my now ex-husband, I lived in a tiny rented mobile home and looked for work. We had one car (his) and a tight budget. I was totally uncomfortable spending his money on anything for myself. Since I was home all day, I contributed by managing household and financial tasks. For example, I found a much better auto insurance rate.

I eventually got the chance to take the civil service test. I scored high and got hired as a clerk in the family practice clinic at the Army hospital. We got our first auto loan, trading his car in on our Ford Escort. Since we now worked near one another with similar schedules, sharing a single car and two jobs was manageable. That management shaped our initial lifestyle clashes.

After several weeks as a working couple, we arrived home as usual and he got comfortable and sat down while I rushed to pick up things and get ready for the following day. Then I just stopped. Looking around, I asked, “Have you noticed that I am still rushing around after you’ve gotten comfortable?” His expression was vaguely, “Okay.” After dropping the things I’d collected next to him, I explained, “From now on, instead of you relaxing while I run around like a chicken with it’s head cut off, we will both scurry about and then we will both relax.” And we usually did just that. Turns out that I cared about clutter and he cared about clean.

Ethics · Family · Personal · relationships · Society

Roles and Assumptions

Over time, societal assumptions strongly influence family dynamics.

The underlying social premises are that self-employment is harder and deserves more consideration than working for someone else. Working while raising a family deserves more respect and accommodation than does a child free couple or individual. Money is the best measure of status. Living without drama is considered cold at worst and reserved at best.

This, of course, is the perspective of the divorced child free oldest sister (me) who actually lived away from home for nearly 20 years. With no family and only new friends and acquaintances available, an inclination toward reserved self-reliance was adaptive. When coupled with my independent egalitarian attitudes and a compulsion to ask “why,” my company is less than comfortable. And, I get tired of censoring myself just to keep the peace. (Probably why I’m divorced and contentedly single!) I also get tired of having the same arguments over and over again.

Fortunately, I usually find a few coworkers and friends who are interested in ideas: talking about them, comparing them, evaluating them. The trick is finding people who remain civil when their viewpoints are challenged. I enjoy a good discussion and have been known to argue against my own viewpoint just for the fun of it.

Since I don’t ask for help often, I’m taken seriously when I do. When asking for that help, I try to prioritize the other person’s circumstances. When I’m asked for my opinion, I give it. I try to do it gently and may even confirm it’s really wanted, but then I express it. I’m good at problem solving, at finding common ground and at establishing the parameters of a situation. I’ve gotten better at doing what I feel is right and letting go of the outcome. I am happy to express compassion and offer reasonable support. I will not offer platitudes or accept faulty reasoning. I don’t think assigning guilt or engendering it is helpful in relationships, especially among family. Hear both sides of the issue and then move on.

Within my family, this means I’ve assumed the roles of rebel, negotiator, advocate, critic and outcast … sometimes concurrently. I play caretaker judiciously. Since I’ve given family members persona designations, I’ve given myself one to be fair. As the family Ice Princess, I value logic over emotion and fairness over winning.

I implement my beliefs imperfectly. I slip back into consumerism. I avoid confrontation and procrastinate. I question the value of life. At bedrock though, I believe that everyone’s (and everything’s) life has value. And that includes mine.

Family · gender · Memory · Personal · relationships

The Habit of Sorry

From childhood, we start apologizing. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad. Sorry, Teacher. Sorry, World. At some point though, boys get a pass and girls just get habituated.

This conspiracy is built on a lie. The lie is that staying small (apologizing, not taking up too much space) will keep girls safe. In reality, this makes girls less safe because they don’t learn how to fight for themselves without also taking steps to ensure everyone else has had their needs met. That everyone else stays happy. Their power is muted. They try to keep the peace and minimize the danger. Staying small and saying “sorry” becomes a dangerous habit.

I find the current idiom of “sorry, not sorry” a useful transition. The recipient is disarmed. On the other hand, passive aggressive isn’t the best coping skill. I’ve learned to use disengagement. In a few memorable instances, I’ve said, “I’d only have this argument if I cared about your (fill in the blank). And I don’t.”

When my marriage was ending, criticism and control was so common that I slipped back into the automatic “sorry” habit to avoid constant conflict. The incident that made me realize it was:

My spouse was on overnight duty one summer weekend. Our duplex had no air conditioning and retained heat. We used fans to create air currents by pulling from the coolest side. We commonly left windows and doors open with screens only. I left the front door open and double locked the security screen door. I went to bed.

I was awakened early the next morning by banging and shouting. He was waiting at the door with a bunch of military gear. He wasn’t happy. He wanted to know why I’d locked up when I knew he’d have all his stuff with him. Still groggy, I started with “sorry” and began to explain. Then I stopped myself and asked, “Would you want to sleep alone in a house way out here with unlocked doors?” I got only an,”Oh, yeah.” I realized I’d been making myself smaller and letting him take up more and more space.

Habits are hard to break, especially when they are being reinforced. Trying to replace them with something else, like a question, helps.

Family · History & Mission · Memory · Personal

Memory – A Story Interlude #1

How does a midlife crisis and a spiritual crisis tie together? In my case, they were sequential.

Huddled in my waterbed alone in a Fairbanks winter, I realized that I hated my job and had wound up where I’d vowed never to be. I’d done none of the things I’d planned to do and most of the ones that I’d sworn not to. I was married before 30. I was putting my husband’s needs and accomplishments first. I’d stopped writing. I hadn’t finished my college degree.

We were supposed to be living in Anchorage. We came to Fairbanks as a last minute change to my husband’s Army assignment. I brought my Pomeranian puppy, Corry, and a short work history with me. I felt uneasy spending money I didn’t earn and unable to put my own needs first, so I needed to work. We shared a single car, so we did a lot of coordinating and solo spontenaity was negligible. I was, essentially, dependent.

Being dependent was one of the biggest reasons that I’d sworn off marriage. To this day, I stand by this. If the Army hadn’t made it nearly impossible to be together unless married, we’d have stayed partners not spouses. My mom was 13 years old when she met my dad and his parents became her surrogates because hers were alcoholics. They married when she graduated from high school. She was 20 when I was born and 22 when my sister was born. She never got her driver’s license or worked after marriage.

Technically, that isn’t completely true. She got her license with me when I took driver’s training. She went to work at Montgomery Wards once my sister and I were both in our teens, but someone drove her to and from the Triangle Mall. Did I forget to mention? We lived next to my grandparents, Dad’s parents, and they joined us in our home after dinner just about every evening.

I loved it as a child. I had four adults available at all times. Mom got up each morning to see Dad off to work and then I went back o bed with her. We normally got up after we heard the school bus leave. The stop was right outside our house on the corner. If you discount my health issues, I had a picture perfect childhood. We were a little rural, so I played outside. My grandpa planted a garden. My grandma taught me how to crochet and knit. My dad taught me embroidery. I became the shared household baker. My mom taught me how to sew and was always trying new things with me. We always had pets, especially cats. My grandpa had chickens when I was young. He even caught and released a mama o’possum and her babies because I couldn’t let them be killed. He taught me to drive because Dad and I made one another too nervous.

As I got older, I saw how uneven these relationships were for my mom. Three other adults were always vetting her actions. Without money of her own, every purchase had to be approved. Dad paid all the bills, signing them after she wrote the checks. We all went grocery shopping together. Whenever she started acting too independent, she was brought up short. She was questioned about every moment she spend outside the house. She was discouraged from having friends beyond other couples, including spending too much time with any independent wives. More than once, I saw Dad reduce her to tears in social settings by belittling her, sometimes subtly and sometimes not.

As the oldest child and a girl, I fought for my freedoms and independence. As an adult, I intend to keep them.