A day before Thanksgiving, I decided I wanted to watch The Wizard of Oz with my four-year-old grandson Brandon. Watching the Wizard of Oz was a Thanksgiving tradition when I was growing up which must be unimaginable to children who can watch anything at any time. Back in the day, however, the movie was broadcast every year at Thanksgiving and only then (as far as we knew). On Thanksgiving every morning we religiously watched the Thanksgiving Parade in New York City. In the evening as our parents and grandparents and their friends had cocktails and put a sumptious meal on the table, all the kids gathered in the one room with a TV -- my grandfather's room -- and watched Wizard of Oz. It never failed to delight, amaze, terrify...
In any event, fast-forward 50 years...I had bought what I thought was a DVD of the film and, with Brandon standing by, inserted it into the DVD player. Moments later I could hear the familiar tunes but no video appeared. Thinking I had a defective DVD, I called to my son, Brandon's father, to check it out. He surveyed the situation and in a typically condescending "Oh, Mom..." moment, he said "You bought the soundtrack, not the movie."
Totally aggravated, I immediately responded, "Bummer."
"Boumer," Brandon repeated, gazing up at me. His pronunciation was not perfect but he totally captured the mood of the moment. I broke into laughter. He broke into laughter. It was a real "bummer" moment. Watching him add a new word to his vocabulary -- one that connoted so much to a generation of Boomers was incandescent. He repeated the word several times and each time we laughed and laughed....
Friday, December 2, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
I Am Exposing Us, Now What?
I recently submitted a manuscript to be published by a mental health organization, and I am going through all the emotions a writer goes through when a publishing company says, "YES" to your memoir and accepts your contract. I have poured out my soul, made myself naked, and expressed feelings that seem contradictory yet are so deep and painful that I am left numb. The emotions I feel are many. I feel afraid, naked, vulnerable, accomplished, excited, remorseful, ashamed, proud, and most of all, relieved. I have had a story to tell for so long and to finally have it out brings forth all these emotions...some go together and some seem not so quite right to go together. Why do I feel pride and shame at the same time? I guess it is because I have to accept that imperfectioon and dysfunction were unfortunate traits that molded my inner-child. But, I am proud that the girl within grew up, sought treatment, and was brave enough to share a story that is both an honor to write yet a burden to carry.
Over this past weekend, I had to create a synopsis, bio and acknowledgment for my book. I thought carefully about how I felt about each family member and limited myself to just the most positive things I could say. We all grew up with and under a wife and mother who had a mood disorder, most likely, schizoaffective disorder. She was never treated, never confronted, and only recently diagnosed after turning 76 four years ago. Having to make sense of a life that was confusing due to my mother's violent and aggressive tendencies, I have had to find a way to heal, make a way to accept my family, and learn to focus on positivity. In doing so, I wrrote an acknowledgment to family members that have yet to grasp the impact of my mother's mental illness. They all know it was there, but they are in denial and apparently, some are hesitant about the memoir I have written which will soon be published.
Due to my fear and anxiety regarding family reaction, a good friend of mine suggested that I send my family members a copy of the acknowledgment which I thought was a great idea. So, I thought about my dad, my aunties, my niece, my nephews, my kids, my sisters, and finally, my mother. I believe it was my faith and education and desire to understand that helped me to think of how my family has been helpful to me in whatever ways throughout the years. When I finally mustered up the courage to address, stamp, and send the letters off, I thought optimistically that my family would respond with gratitude, awe, surprise, shock, or maybe even pride. Yet, I also knew that there might be expressions of fear, concern and dread too. But never in a million years did I think that anyone in my family would dare suggest that my positive gift, my acknowledgment, would be mistaken as a suicide letter...yes folks, a suicide letter.
I will not say which members of the family called me all day until I finally answered the phone, last Friday. Two in my nuclear pod thought that my letter sounded like I was checking out, despite the fact that I stated this was going at the front of a book I wrote, about to be published. After I got over the hurt, I wondered why it was that throughout my life when I actally was in pain, none of them noticed. Yet here I am today, announcing that I am about to reveal how I have healed, and this is what I got in return? Then, I had to ask myself, "Mel, are you really that surprised? You finally say nice things about your family and some cannot handle it. Could it be they don't know how because they are still blinded by denial?" So this is why I ask the two thematic questions on this blog: 1. What keeps a family blind, and 2. What do I do now that I am exposing our family's secret, that mom was mentally ill and that is why she was "off" some days in a way that scared, threatened, and harmed us all?
So what keeps a family blind?
Could it be faith? Our beliefs as Christians (in my family and many others) is that the power of life and death are in the tongue and nothing cannot be overcome without faith and trust in God. We must pray. We must believe. We must accept. There is no room for "but's". But, I used to ask myself as a child why it was that my mother hit me for no reason and why did she always say I had no rights? Why did she call me names and make me feel ashamed to be a woman? Why did she deny part of our ethnic heritage and ignore that her daughter was disabled? These questions challenged my faith. But at the same time, the faith we had kept my family from accepting that something was wrong. And in doing so, we lost faith because how can you have faith to undo something that you are not willing to admit is there? So no one knew how to pray for mom's healing. And no one would accept it if I said I needed psychological help. I want to tell my family that faith does not equal IGNORANCE and DENIAL.
Could it be shame? We all know that mental illness carries with it a stigma. I totally get that. It is evident in our silence. It is evident in our lack lustre policies regarding mental health. it is evident in the expressions that cross people's faces when you tell them, your mother has schizophrenia, or bipolar disorder, or major depression, etc. But why is it that no one judges a family or a family member when someone has some physical ailment that is chronic, such as high blood pressure, cancer, or diabetes? We look at mental illness and fail to see that the brain is an organ that can be "sick" too. I have read that because mental illness affects behavior, we have a hard time looking at it for what it is...a malfunction of the brain. And so, we see how other's act and when they cannot control themselves, we make judgments. I get that. But how do we change it?
Could it be denial? Pain hurts. We cannot heal the pain. So we ignore it and its root case. And in doing so, we say it isn't there. If I pretend this person has not caused me harm, or is not broken, then I can ignore my pain and act like everything is fine when it is not. My family fell under my mother's spell. I did too for a long while. But I could not deny any more what my mother was doing to me, and to us, and I chose to get help and speak up and speak out. Why was I able to see and others in the family undable to see?
Could it be their ignorance? I was the first in our family to go to college. My sister followed years behind me with one of those "on line" degree programs, but prior to that, I was earning degrees up the ying yang at University. Education was part of my escape and one of the positives in my life which i used to win over and please my mother. Interestingly enough, it was my education that led me to therapy as I learned from being around other intelligent and open peers, that ignorance IS NOT BLISS. How could my family stay ignorant for so long to the point that they would choose to see my acknowledgment as my cry for help when my cries for help were ignored years ago? And instead, I am crying out to share the news that for me, I have broken a cycle. I am yelling from the rooftops that I am a survivor and I am triumphant even if plagued by sadness over the past I can do nothing about.
So, I have told my family to write their own darn books and not to tell me that my work is "fiction" when they have yet to read it. Could it be fear? Fear is a reaction to what bad can happen to us from some potential harm. I think there is fear that the truth will have to be faced, whether they choose to read my book or not. The word will get out and they will have to face themselves and their pain and their lack of ability to do anything to understand our mother. I know some will find what I have done to be disrespectful, or dishonarable, but these two things I want back: my self respect and my honor. For they were snatched from me at a young age. And as a child, I did not know what I was being robbed of. But, now as an adult, I know what to do to get back what I lost.
I wonder if my family will ever join me?
Melisande Randall
Over this past weekend, I had to create a synopsis, bio and acknowledgment for my book. I thought carefully about how I felt about each family member and limited myself to just the most positive things I could say. We all grew up with and under a wife and mother who had a mood disorder, most likely, schizoaffective disorder. She was never treated, never confronted, and only recently diagnosed after turning 76 four years ago. Having to make sense of a life that was confusing due to my mother's violent and aggressive tendencies, I have had to find a way to heal, make a way to accept my family, and learn to focus on positivity. In doing so, I wrrote an acknowledgment to family members that have yet to grasp the impact of my mother's mental illness. They all know it was there, but they are in denial and apparently, some are hesitant about the memoir I have written which will soon be published.
Due to my fear and anxiety regarding family reaction, a good friend of mine suggested that I send my family members a copy of the acknowledgment which I thought was a great idea. So, I thought about my dad, my aunties, my niece, my nephews, my kids, my sisters, and finally, my mother. I believe it was my faith and education and desire to understand that helped me to think of how my family has been helpful to me in whatever ways throughout the years. When I finally mustered up the courage to address, stamp, and send the letters off, I thought optimistically that my family would respond with gratitude, awe, surprise, shock, or maybe even pride. Yet, I also knew that there might be expressions of fear, concern and dread too. But never in a million years did I think that anyone in my family would dare suggest that my positive gift, my acknowledgment, would be mistaken as a suicide letter...yes folks, a suicide letter.
I will not say which members of the family called me all day until I finally answered the phone, last Friday. Two in my nuclear pod thought that my letter sounded like I was checking out, despite the fact that I stated this was going at the front of a book I wrote, about to be published. After I got over the hurt, I wondered why it was that throughout my life when I actally was in pain, none of them noticed. Yet here I am today, announcing that I am about to reveal how I have healed, and this is what I got in return? Then, I had to ask myself, "Mel, are you really that surprised? You finally say nice things about your family and some cannot handle it. Could it be they don't know how because they are still blinded by denial?" So this is why I ask the two thematic questions on this blog: 1. What keeps a family blind, and 2. What do I do now that I am exposing our family's secret, that mom was mentally ill and that is why she was "off" some days in a way that scared, threatened, and harmed us all?
So what keeps a family blind?
Could it be faith? Our beliefs as Christians (in my family and many others) is that the power of life and death are in the tongue and nothing cannot be overcome without faith and trust in God. We must pray. We must believe. We must accept. There is no room for "but's". But, I used to ask myself as a child why it was that my mother hit me for no reason and why did she always say I had no rights? Why did she call me names and make me feel ashamed to be a woman? Why did she deny part of our ethnic heritage and ignore that her daughter was disabled? These questions challenged my faith. But at the same time, the faith we had kept my family from accepting that something was wrong. And in doing so, we lost faith because how can you have faith to undo something that you are not willing to admit is there? So no one knew how to pray for mom's healing. And no one would accept it if I said I needed psychological help. I want to tell my family that faith does not equal IGNORANCE and DENIAL.
Could it be shame? We all know that mental illness carries with it a stigma. I totally get that. It is evident in our silence. It is evident in our lack lustre policies regarding mental health. it is evident in the expressions that cross people's faces when you tell them, your mother has schizophrenia, or bipolar disorder, or major depression, etc. But why is it that no one judges a family or a family member when someone has some physical ailment that is chronic, such as high blood pressure, cancer, or diabetes? We look at mental illness and fail to see that the brain is an organ that can be "sick" too. I have read that because mental illness affects behavior, we have a hard time looking at it for what it is...a malfunction of the brain. And so, we see how other's act and when they cannot control themselves, we make judgments. I get that. But how do we change it?
Could it be denial? Pain hurts. We cannot heal the pain. So we ignore it and its root case. And in doing so, we say it isn't there. If I pretend this person has not caused me harm, or is not broken, then I can ignore my pain and act like everything is fine when it is not. My family fell under my mother's spell. I did too for a long while. But I could not deny any more what my mother was doing to me, and to us, and I chose to get help and speak up and speak out. Why was I able to see and others in the family undable to see?
Could it be their ignorance? I was the first in our family to go to college. My sister followed years behind me with one of those "on line" degree programs, but prior to that, I was earning degrees up the ying yang at University. Education was part of my escape and one of the positives in my life which i used to win over and please my mother. Interestingly enough, it was my education that led me to therapy as I learned from being around other intelligent and open peers, that ignorance IS NOT BLISS. How could my family stay ignorant for so long to the point that they would choose to see my acknowledgment as my cry for help when my cries for help were ignored years ago? And instead, I am crying out to share the news that for me, I have broken a cycle. I am yelling from the rooftops that I am a survivor and I am triumphant even if plagued by sadness over the past I can do nothing about.
So, I have told my family to write their own darn books and not to tell me that my work is "fiction" when they have yet to read it. Could it be fear? Fear is a reaction to what bad can happen to us from some potential harm. I think there is fear that the truth will have to be faced, whether they choose to read my book or not. The word will get out and they will have to face themselves and their pain and their lack of ability to do anything to understand our mother. I know some will find what I have done to be disrespectful, or dishonarable, but these two things I want back: my self respect and my honor. For they were snatched from me at a young age. And as a child, I did not know what I was being robbed of. But, now as an adult, I know what to do to get back what I lost.
I wonder if my family will ever join me?
Melisande Randall
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