My parents screwed up my life!
Sara looked upset when she finally showed up at the gym.
“What’s with you?”
“Ugh,” she said in disgust. “It’s not me. It’s my sister.”
Sara’s sister, four years older, is one of those people who always has some sort of drama going on — a breakup, financial ruin, an illness, a fight with her BFF, DUIs, a surgery, a job loss.
“What now?”
“She and Greg split up.”
“Oh, I though they already were split.”
“No, they got back together in February, but now he’s moved out, for good he says. He just can’t deal with her passive-aggressive crap anymore.”
“I don’t blame him; you hate it, too.” 
“I know. But now she’s on a rampage again about the affair and the divorce and blah, blah, blah.”
“She’s still blaming your Dad’s affair and your parents’ divorce when you were kids for her problems?”
“Yep.”
“She’s how old again?”
“53.”
“I thought you guys have the same parents …”
Sara rolled her eyes and shrugged as she popped her iPod earphones in and stepped on the treadmill.
I know affairs and divorce can often be devastating to kids — Trent has made it very clear to his dad and me how he feels about some of the stuff that’s gone down in our family. But he’s a teen; when you’re 53, shouldn’t you be past it? At some point, shouldn’t you have figured things out, or at least spent some serious time on a shrink’s couch, bought an Amazon-like warehouse of self-help books, been an audience member of the Dr. Phil show, hired a life coach, adjusted your chakras, consulted a psychic, sat zazen, found Jesus — something, anything, to help you get over your past?
You can’t blame your parents forever.
OK, some parents are pretty crappy — they abandon, they cheat and lie, they manipulate, they scream and smack; you know, the Mommy Dearest kinds. Then there are the ones who make the perv in “Silence of the Lambs” look like Mother Teresa in comparison — the abusers, the raging alcoholics, the ones who lock their kids in basements and feed them scraps.
We all can bitch about our parents, and we do. Just watch Oprah; wasn’t supermodel Naomi Campbell the latest one, blaming her mom for her anger, addictions and general infantile behavior?
But, what’s the point? We can’t undo the past and the more we obsess about how we didn’t get all that we wanted — and, yeah, maybe deserved — the more we hurt ourselves, and everything we’re trying to do and everyone we’re trying to love now.
When are we responsible for our own behaviors?
We may become legal when we’re 21; I say we become adults when we stop blaming our parents for screwing up our life.
My parents were far from perfect; they said and did hurtful things. I can still hear a lot of their fear messages — “you can’t …” “you shouldn’t …” — and even after they stopped saying those things, I started telling them to myself! Still, my folks gave me a lot. They were once kids who didn’t get everything they wanted for their parents, either. And, I know they meant well, even if they didn’t always deliver. I’m gonna cut them some slack for that.
We’re all walking around a little wounded.
The only thing we can change about the past is how we allow it to mess with us now. (Not to get all Buddhist on you … although I am from Northern California, and you know how we are).
And you know when I “got” it? When I became a mom myself.
Thank goodness my parents are still around and it wasn’t too late for me to thank them — yes, I have and still do — and to have compassion and forgiveness for them.
Which, by the way, The Kid will never have to stress about because I have done no wrong! (His dad? Hmm …) But, if I have (or, if he thinks I have, perception being reality and whatnot), well, at least I’m helping to keep a few shrinks in business; they can thank me later.
- Do you still blame your parents?
- What do you think about adults who can’t stop blaming their parents?
- How have you moved on from childhood hurts?
Photo © Marem – Fotolia.com
She hit him so he must have deserved it
“You know,” Sara to me as watched taped snippets of the Masters on the bar TV, “I’m kinda regaining a certain respect for Tiger.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“No, actually not.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re buying the spin at his press conference or that calculated Nike ad, are you?”
“Of course not! I just like the fact that he’s never ratted on Elin.”
“Meaning?”
“He protected her.” 
“You mean he denies that she hit him?”
“Right.”
“And that’s good?”
“Well …”
“What if she denied he hit her? Would that
be good?”
Sara was silent.
But I know what most of us would say — no,
that wouldn’t be OK. We wouldn’t believe her, anyway. We know men hit women.
But is it OK if a woman hits a man?
I am not a violent woman, or so I believed And yet, when I first discovered Rob’s affair, I absolutely lost it — just like I imagine Elin did. And I hit him. Not hard because, honestly, I didn’t even have the strength, I was crying so hard. But I wanted to hurt him — just like he’d hurt me.
It was the first — and last — time I hit a man, but it still scares the crap out of me to think I was able to do that. It was a “crime of passion” as so many relationship crimes are. Sadly, there’s often a gun in the house, too, and we all know where that leads. Still, I make no excuses for it; I did it, I have to live with it, I have learned from it.
But as a society we seem to be much more OK with a woman hitting a man than a man hitting a woman — why?
And why does it seem noble that a man would protect a woman, as Tiger supposedly is protecting Elin? Many men don’t want to admit that they’ve been abused; after all, they’re supposed to be the stronger sex. What would it feel like to admit that you’d been smacked by your 5-foot-2, 100-pound sweetie? That’s why many men don’t talk about it. That’s why you don’t see fundraisers for abused men shelters. But it doesn’t make it any less real.
If we’re seeking equality between the sexes, then abuse should be treated equally, no matter which sex is the one doing the hurting. A man protecting a woman wouldn’t be seen as a good thing, and we wouldn’t think, as most of us do, that a woman abusing a man means he somehow deserved it.
- Have you ever hit your partner?
- Have you ever been hit?
- Do you react differently if you see a woman abusing a man than the other way around?
More ramblings on abuse:
Confession: good for the soul and your career
“What would you do about Jesse?” Mia asked me as she, Sara and and I biked our way around the Headlands one last time before it was closed off for road work.
“You mean if I were Sandra?”
“No, I mean if you’d slept with him.”
“What are you getting at?” Sara asked, sounding slightly annoyed.
“Would you go to E! or TMZ and come out?”
“Oh, you mean kiss and tell? Absolutely not! I don’t know
why women do that,” I said. 
“Kat, you’re so naive. Can’t you figure it out?” Sara snapped.
I hate to sound naive, but, no I couldn’t quite grasp it. Let’s
see — I screw a married guy and then I’m going to blab
my story all over the news? Why? If anything, I’d want to lay really low. I mean, the last thing I’d want is for my mom and
dad — not to mention their neighbors, book club ladies and poker pals — to see me on the cover of People with this headline: “Woman No. 3: I made a mistake with Jesse.”
Sure, confession is good for the soul — but in public? I’d be
so embarrassed.
Does no one else feel like that anymore?
It’s no surprise that ex-wives of philanderers might want
to cash in on their misfortune, like Nicolas Sarkozy’s (most recent) ex and Dina Matos McGreevey. I guess that’s one way to set aside some college money for the kiddies.
But, really, you don’t even have to go through all the
hassle of getting married to get a book deal or modeling contract — you just have to sleep with a high-profile guy once or twice (or save the dress with the stain) and you’ll be a media darling for your 15 minutes. And, pocket a few thou to ease your heartbreak.
Why didn’t I think of that?
Here I’ve been, sleeping with guys for years and feeling pretty damn lucky if I got a glass of red wine, a shared plate of fried calamari and an orgasm out of it. I just didn’t see that it might a smart career move.
And it’s more than just that — it’s power. It’s a woman using her beauty, sexuality and charm to fell a man. Who says women can’t be as manipulative as guys?
I used to think that the rabbit scene in “Fatal Attraction” was a wake-up call for cheaters; now that seems almost refreshingly innocent compared with what happens if one of your babes decides to open her mouth. And, Glenn Close’s character didn’t get anything out of it, either — well, except death. If the movie came out now, she’d have an eight-page spread in Playboy.
And how come you don’t hear from any men who’ve been providing stud service (well, except for other men)? Still, I live in constant fear that one day I’ll turn on E! and see some hottie talking about his wild fling with a certain cartoon blogger …
None of this gets the cheaters off the hook; maybe this public confessional is just what they deserve.
But our obsession with fame at any cost, talent be damned — and what people are willing to do for it — makes me feel sad. On the other hand, I just may have discovered a fall-back plan if I ever get laid off …
- Has kissing and telling gone too far?
- Or, do you feel that if everyone else is doing it, why not?
- Guys, does this make you nervous?
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