Couple Stress, the “Woman Who Didn’t Know If She Liked French Fries”

Fusion and the “Woman Who Didn’t Know If She Liked French Fries Incident”

Dateline:  Bergstrom Interantional Airport, which is deep in the forests of northeast part of Germany or in south Austin.

Fusion is the emotional process that occurs when the way one person feels is automatically absorbed by another person. Every close relationship includes a certain amount of adaptation to calm the other, the question is, to what degree?  It’s only with too much fusion that we get into trouble.

For example:  the family member who avoids going home for Christmas because he or she feels like a different person (less confident) when around family. The usual rationalization is to claim nothing in common or to have a list of past injustices.)

The horse I had once who wouldn’t eat at horseshows unless his buddy in the next stall at home came along with him on the road. (Fusion can get expensive.)

The cheerleader’s mother who tried to murder the mother of one of her daughter’s rivals so that the girl would be too upset to be competitive.

The wife who longed to tour Italy but stopped bringing it up after a few years to avoid the anxiety in her that was stirred up by her husband’s anxiety at the thought of shaking up the routine.

The student who can only perform well when ‘liked’ by the teacher.

A loved spouse who only feels safe when his or her partner is happy.

and…

The Woman Who Didn’t Know if She Liked French Fries:

A college roommate, we’ll call her K, met an wealthy older man who promised her a new life.  Not all that happy with the life she had, she married him. K gathered up her country-raised self and welcomed the makeover into an upscale wife.  Three years later the new look wasn’t worth putting up with the all the other women her husband provided with new lives.  The night of their last big fight, K and I met at midnight at a 24 hour café.  I ordered the burger and fries, but K told the waiter she needed more time.

K picked up the menu and stared.  “I don’t know what to order,” she said.

“Burgers and fries are good here,” I said.

“That’s the problem,” K said. “Dave thinks I should lose weight, so I always order what I know he thinks I should eat. I don’t remember if I like French fries or not.”

The emotional process of calming self by calming the anxious other has many names and faces. The term co-dependent, no longer in vogue since insurance won’t pay for it anymore, was defined as calming self when next to an anxious other by ‘helping’ that person. The co-dependent is the person who lies for the addict, supplies money, and sometimes takes on responsibility for locating the ‘drug of choice’ for them.  In this situation the addict is very clear about what will calm them down—for the moment. He or she is good at promising that if the other doesn’t do what he or she commands worse consequences are to come.

The addict turns responsibility for his or her life over to the other. The addict learns to be very good at convincing others to listen to his or her claims about life and to ignore their own beliefs.  Through this process, a person can end up “living” another person’s life.  Much like the woman who didn’t know if she liked french fries.

Next: Anxiety and Potatoes Part Two, the “Woman Who Used Two Potato Peelers at Once” Incident.

 

 

 

 

 

Two Chicks on a Mexican Highway, Final Episode

How the Worst that Can Happen Could Be the Best that Could Happen

Dateline:  Toll Road into Mexico City, after midnight, raining. And we are out of gas. Stress.

This episode will make no sense unless you read Episode One and Episode Two. Even then, the true story will make only marginal sense.

After a whispered confab and a prayer, Sam and I, okay Sam, asked the truck driver to follow us until we ran out of gas, She told him both of us would climb in for the ride.  Less than ten minutes later the inevitable came to pass.  What was said during those ten minutes Sam and I never talked about again, but each of us knew the other’s final wishes should only one of us survive. Even El Sanborn was part of the deal as we both forgave him for not warning us about the gas situation, which Sam still contended was my responsibility, but I forgave her because I’d heard nuns could be stubborn.

Stress Management:

I hit the hazard lights and rolled to a stop on the shoulder.  The trucker stopped as promised, but on learning that we both were coming along, said there was only room for one in the truck cab.  The other one could ride in the back.  Which is how Sam and I ended up coming into Mexico City in a driving rainstorm at two in the morning on a pile of mangos.

Now, wait.  Remember how the worst thing that could happen can turn out to be the best?

We made it to the Pemex station and did find a return ride (surprise, surprise given my pink see-through pants) in the cab of a Pemex hauler with two tanks behind him.  Sam and I were squeezed between the driver and his helper with six long and scary looking gear shifts mingled amongst our legs.  Sam had gone mute while I couldn’t shut up telling the truckers how we were the nieces of the president of the United States and most likely plenty of people were out searching for us already. Though she’d made her position clear, I kept elbowing Sam in the ribs telling her to translate while I peered up through the windshield pretending to look for search helicopters.  We politely declined the suggestion we all stop for a drink. Or, I did. Like I said, at this point, Sam only stared straight ahead.

The Pemex honchos refused to accept any money after they dropped us off and poured in the gas, but we gave them each a cola as a thank-you.  Of course, five miles down the road while we were still hugging each other and congratulating ourselves on being alive, we realized just what kind of surprise our friends would have when the still over-heated cans were opened.  Now, here comes the good ending.  We’d planned on staying the night with a distant aunt of Sam’s in Mexico City which obviously wasn’t going to work out.  Thus, I checked us into the Maria Barbara Motel, a place I’d stayed with my family on the northern outskirts of the city, and by now hungry and thirsty, we hit the bar where food was still being served.  Also, a little combo was playing.

A little combo with a cute bongo player who noticed Sam the minute she came in.  After a couple of chicken tacos, I crawled away from the table and passed out in our room without even changing out of my wet clothes.

When I woke up, Sam hadn’t been to the room.  I found her when I went down to breakfast.  She and Bongo Boy were still at the table from last night. Still talking and giggling like six-graders.  That was as far as the romance went, they never spoke again, much less ever kissed.  Yet, Sam forgave me everything from the night before declaring it had turned into the best night of her life.

As she climbed into shotgun she said, “I can do this. I’m pretty. Guys are going to like me.”

We consulted El Sanborn and carefully mapped the way to the relative’s house in Mexico City.  Then we drove around lost for almost five hours, consulted El Sanborn for a nice restaurant, then followed a taxi to the address.

 

 

How the Worst that Can Happen Can Be the Best, in Three Episodes

Stress, How the Worst that Can Happen Can Be the Best, in Three Episodes

The “Riding into Mexico City on Mangos” Incident

Dateline: Mexico City Hilton Reforma Branch Office. Being here in this fine high rise hotel, I can’t help comparing this visit to another when accommodations were not quite so lovely. And a night when I learned an important life lesson.

Sometimes the worst thing that can happen turns out to be the best thing that could happen, only you don’t know that, of course, when everything is going wrong. But something good can come out of a mess. After all, we didn’t end up raped and murdered on the side of that toll way coming into Mexico City after midnight that rainy night.

Every word of this story is true, though portions have been toned down and presented in fictional pieces since no one would believe me except my family and they choose to focus on my better qualities. The ride into Mexico City began the day before the night when everything happened, indeed a very special day. First, at ten in the morning, the judge in Houston brought the gavel down on my bizarre ten-month marriage to my stepbrother. Then at four in the afternoon my friend, Sister Victoria Marie, turned in her final papers at the convent in San Antonio. Exiting the limo my lawyer had hired for the overnight trip from Austin and back (thinking teenage divorcees had to be easy), I hopped in the used Mustang I’d purchased through the student credit union, picked up the Sister, who was now back to being Sam (Sonia), and we did what every early loser in Texas does on the weekend after their first failed attempt at adulthood.

We headed for the border.

We loaded up the trunk with diet drinks and blasted all the way to Monterrey the first night since she had rich relatives there. They took us out to KFC where we christened our journey the Freedom Celebration Hayride, a name which would later seem a haunting omen. The next day we cut south for Mexico City, just Sam, me, and El Sanborn, sucking up our freedom.   El Sanborn, a point-by-point guide provided free with Mexican auto insurance, was the man giving all the directions and the only man we were listening to on this trip.  The August day was hot and perfect even after mid-afternoon when we’d retrieved a couple of diet root beers from the drunk which had exploded in our faces.

Everything was funny and fun. Sam and I had been given a second chance. We couldn’t possibly mess up our lives again, at least not any time real soon. Not long after we congratulated each other with that thought, the tequila started to kick in. Around four we’d stopped into this lovely ex-hacienda hotel on El Sanborn’s recommendation and had what we referred to as a stylishly late adult lunch. Then back on the freedom highway kicking on the past and planning limitless futures.

Ready to roll the dice one more time. Then, again, thinking building a life could be accomplished by throwing dice at all was what landed us this highway in Mexico in the middle of the night.

Tune in tomorrow when the Freedom Celebration Hayride takes a terrifying detour.

How to Stay Miserable…And Chase People Away

How to Chase Away Love, the “Wallpaper Lady Incident”

Remember the Emotional Maturity Seeker’s Pledge:  I am just as crazy as every other human on the planet.  When I give examples of other’s behavior, I am not, for a moment, suggesting I could handle another person’s life better.

The Wallpaper Lady was in her late thirties and had never been married, though she really wanted to have the experience.  She hoped psychological insight work could help her discover why she always seemed to choose “losers.”  The Wallpaper Lady was very attractive and had experienced many short-term relationships. 

Warning:  If you are in the market for a date or a friend and a new prospect claims to have met many people who start out looking good then turn unsatisfying or nuts….Run, baby, run.

I warned Wallpaper Lady that, while I could possibly help her improve her self-management skills, I’d had scant luck in changing the way friends and family respond to a person.  I warned that I, too, could prove less than satisfying as her previous therapists, friends, family, and boyfriends had done…and end up on her list of wackos who had failed her.

She’d give it a shot, she said.  Nothing else had worked.  And we were off.  Hours were spent on family and anxiety and what relationships are about.  Wallpaper Lady turned out to be pleasant and open to working very hard on managing her anxiety.  During the process Wallpaper Lady found a new man who was “perfect.”  

They’d dated for several months, rocking along quite well.  Thus, I was surprised to hear Wallpaper Lady wanted nothing more to do with the man.

She had discovered his fatal flaw.  Wallpaper Lady explained that she had recently re-decorated and up-dated her kitchen dining area.  She was excited about the improvements and about accomplishing the decorating work on her own.  After she’d finished her project, she’d invited her beau inside her place (he’d been there several times before) following an evening concert.  She led him into the kitchen and she had asked, “Well, what do you think?”

Man with the soon-to-be-revealed fatal flaw had responded, “What do I think about what?”  Wallpaper Lady said, relating their conversation to me.

Then, Wallpaper Lady looked at me and said, “You can see why I got rid of him.”

I said, “Not sure…”

She said, “There’s no way I’m putting up with a man who doesn’t appreciate what is important to me.”

“Oh,” I said, and, in an effort to suggest a more optimistic interpretation of her man’s response, I said, “His response might not have been anything personal.  I probably don’t notice when people make home improvements….I’m just not tuned in…I’ve never spent much thought…”

Wallpaper Lady said, “Great! First he’s a self-centered butt-head, and now ..now you are not agreeing with me.  I’m not putting up with a psychologist who doesn’t validate my feelings!”

Oh well.  Actually, Wallpaper Lady gave the guy and her psychologist another go.  In fact, she found comfort in realizing that holding other people responsible for our feelings is a waste of time and actually drives other people away. 

Wallpaper Lady could see that, since this was a nice guy who liked her, if she’d met his less-than-hoped-for response by telling him how much fun she’d had with the project and pointing out details…maybe even kidded him about being an interior design flop, he’d have enjoyed the trip.  Wallpaper Lady could see that most of the time when other people fail to respond exactly like we’d like them to respond, it’s not because they do not care…but because their brains are trapped in their skulls paying attention to their lives…managing their own anxiety…. the nerve, the absolute nerve of those other people.

What Would You Give Not to Feel?

celebritydreamstime_9555425First, DIETBABBLE ALERT: New Scientific Breakthrough! The reason you’ve had a hard time losing weight is because you haven’t been eating according to your DNA!  That’s right, folks.  Now you can send in a saliva swab, the “lab” reads your “sample” and POOF… the exciting secret foods you need to avoid will be revealed and the weight just falls off.  Of course, you have to coordinate this amazing scientific breakthrough with dieting according to your blood type and the phases of the moon.

Also, a thermos maker cashing in on “going green” by showing piles of plastic bottles (gallons) lists both ’saving the planet’ and ‘weight loss’ as results you can expect by using the thermos.

Still the favorite in my heart:  the man walking along the beach with a split piece of metal, ending his spiel saying, “And my wife can’t stop talking about the weight I’ve lost since I’ve had my new metal detector.”

Anxiety. How far will you go to push down your anxiety?

It’s interesting to notice that recent celebrity drug deaths are overdoses … not of a drug that would make a person ‘high’… their deaths have not been the result of going too far with a substance known to make a person ‘happy’.  Their deaths have been the result of taking drugs which make a person numb, even unconcious.

Anxiety. 

Anxiety is the fuel and the product of the Emotional Guidance System.  Anxiety is powerful, powerful enough to make a mess of a person’s life.  We are all anxious.  Dogs and cats and cows are anxious, too.  Some dogs chew through doors when left alone, some cats hide even when hungry, cows stampede sometimes.  People chew (overeat), hide (avoid), and stampede (run away), too.

The goal of this mysteryshrink journey we are on is to get a little better hold on anxiety. (See Wildebeest entry)..2 percent…a shift of only 2 percent can improve life experience.

What would happen if you could manage a 2 percent improvement in your ability to manage your anxiety when someone else is saying something that makes you anxious?  Aha!  Of course, no one can “make you anxious”… No one else can even reach your EMOTIONAL GUIDANCE SYSTEM button… I was just giving you a little test…

Situation: The spouse and I are having breakfast in Kansas City during the Big Twelve Basketball tournament.  As it happens, several team members are enjoying the same hotel buffet.  My special other, being much better than I at realizing his importance or lack of importance in the world, is nudging me in the shin and teasingly suggesting I make up some story about a young nephew and collect a bunch of Texas Longhorn autographs.  Since my Emotional Guidance System is always ready to exaggerate things, always ready with the caution, ”Don’t call attention to yourself!  People will think you’re crazy! Your complete hick-dom background is going to show and you’ll never recover!  What complete strangers think of you is incredibly important!  A frown from a stranger will ruin your whole day!”  “When your special person does something that he thinks is cute and you think is embarrassing after you’ve TOLD him how he’s supposed to behave to keep you calmed down…his continuing to be himself means he doesn’t love you!” 

Okay, there I am, exposed for the sucker FUSION (See Fusion, think ropes twisted together.)  And how do I FEEL?  To what degree do the actions of another change (signal you to change) what’s going on inside you?

Anxiety 101.  Tune in tomorrow for miraculous 2 percent victory in the terrifying autographing incident!

 

 

Valentine Psych Trip

 What have I learned studying FAMILY SYSTEMS and the importance of family that can help out people who are dating?

Easy. The key is–get to know his family really well . . . and keep yours hidden in the basement.  I’m kidding.  There are very few basements around here and, if your family’s like mine, something like a cement door to the basement isn’t going to hold them back.   Actually, the key is to listen to what your potential mate has to say about his parents, sisters, and brothers. If he claims he doesn’t have much of a relationship because he has nothing in common with the rest of his family . . . read: “My tastes, interests, and values are superior to theirs” . . . expect to being hearing soon of the ways you do not measure up.  If your man was married to a woman who seemed nice at first, then went crazy (like his sister and his mother),  plan on having a psychiatric history before you’re through. If he believes his only contribution to less than optimal relationships is poor judgment in falling for the wrong women, or because everyone BUT HIM n his family “has problems,” don’t expect much commitment to working on the relationship when things get rough.

What are the people around you like?  Pretty nice or pretty awful?  What would they reveal about themselves in what they would have to say about you? 

Remember, no matter what they might say, IT’S NOT ABOUT YOU, even when it is about you. It’s still them coming out of their day, them telling you or the world what’s going on in their brains and their chests.  If “their world” isn’t lovely, you are not lovely in their sight.

There’s an old joke about a couple driving through the New England countryside planning on moving to a nearby town. Seeing a farmer alongside the road, the couple pulled over and said, “Say, we were thinking about moving to this area. What are the people around here like?”

The farmer replied, “Well, I don’t know.  What were the people like where you came from?” 

  You will be seen through the other’s distorted lense.  So, when he offers to buy you a drink, ask what the people were like where he came from.

What’s Love Got to Do With It?

  While we’re tacking up things-that-don’t-exist on our PSYCHOBABBLE WALL OF SHAME, we might as well step up and face the TRIPLE MYTH about LOVE. 

Perhaps, you best snap on some sunshades.  The facts about TAKING RESPONSIBILITY for the WAY WE EXPERIENCE people, ourselves, and the world, are pretty flipping glaring to face.  Isn’t a psychologist supposed to help you out with identifying who messed you up and who’s messing up your experience now?  I know.  I’m disappointed myself. 

Myth One:  If my parents had loved me enough, I wouldn’t be having a hard time with life today. 

Myth Two:  If my spouse loved me enough, I wouldn’t be having a hard time with life today.  Excerpt from the next Jessica LeFave mystery“Las Vegas…the city of glitz and irresistable impulses…what better place to talk about love and addiction? After all, while Vegas is selling a dangerous fantasy, so is Cinderella.”

Myth Three:  If YOU (my therapist,   my friend, my sister, my brother, my boss, my teacher, my whomever) loved me enough, I wouldn’t be having a hard time with life today.

Tomorrow:  Self-Confidences, Part 2, Why praise can be the most dangerous thing that can happen to you.