Dear Anita,

What you wrote hit home.  Especially this:

“unless you slow down every single day, like you did today, withstand the discomfort”

Yes, no therapist, medication, alternate universe will “fix me” unless I myself slow down. Straight forward enough – but so difficult.  Difficult because as you wrote, it is this practice everyday uncomfortable and exhausting – that ultimately rewires the brain.

The beauty of it though, is that even small steps of slowing down can often reap immediate benefits.  Of course over long term continuation is required for true re-wiring.  But as you mentioned, to feel that good feeling, or change – is most convincing.

Today I came home from work, and my husband did not look like himself.  Now he never complains, and as you can gather from all I have shared, he is the most selfless person I know.  But as you know, all of this has taken an incredible toll on him.  I see it in the form of wear on his face.  Going from no gray hairs to speckles of gray just since the wedding (something that saddens me).  It is as though it is an outward reminder of what all of this (parents) have done to not only me, but him.  Perhaps him to even a greater degree given that he went from a balanced and positive disposition to exposure to evil/hate/battering.

So for the first time EVER, I listened to him and “attended” to him without feeling pulled to be elsewhere (in mind or body).  Sure I have in the past done nice things, made dinner, provided support, etc – but my point is the mindfulness.

It was only 6 pm on a Friday, and this gave me anxiety.  It is so early, what am I going to do tonight? Wait no set plan yet – hmm should I actually join those girls for dinner, I had said I’m not sure.  Thoughts racing as always.

Then I see his face, his sullen face, and his broken spirit.  Even the strongest men crumble sometimes.  He said, I don’t feel so great.   I said to myself, listen, this is the moment – prove to yourself you are capable of slowing down, of true caring, being present with what you love.  Something that may be so second nature to someone else, may not be for me.

So I did, and over the last hour, we sat, we talked, ate dinner.  That’s it.  Only one hour – but it taught me something:

I didn’t miss anything in that hour.  And nothing missed me. 

How often we feel that we can’t disconnect and be mindful out of fear of “missing something.” An update, a phone call, an “answer”  – but I delved deep and thought, what does this actually equate to in life? Usually not much.

Sure there are those times we are anxiously awaiting a phone call, email, or some answer from someone.  Yes, during those times it makes sense it is hard to step away.  Yet, how often does that happen in a normal life (outside of say when we are on call as doctors, etc).  I see that during this times it does happen, yet when those moments pass – we do not know how to turn it off.  We are perpetually fearful of unplugging and disconnecting out of fear of missing something.  This plagues me more than anyone I know, yet it is a societal issue.

• a mother breast feeding while texting
• eating breakfast while sending emails
• checking your phone while talking to a loved one
• planning the next vacation while on the present one

The list goes on, feeling that we are saving time- but none of these things actually save us much of anything whether it be time or energy.  We don’t miraculously have extra energy to spend at the end of the day because of these habits, instead we are more burnt out given that we over-did it, tried to be super human.

Human beings can multi-task.  We can drive while talking.  We can type while listening to a conversation.  We can do a lot.  Our brains are amazing organs.  But we have limits.  Limits that are not meant to be surpassed on a daily or chronic basis.  Living to the “max” (maximal effort, multi tasking , doing) by individuals such as myself leads to severe depletion.

I see this now.  I see there’s no point.  This behavior and pattern is joy robbing, energy sucking, and floating.  Floating through life without any valid experiences.

Well this is what my anxiety has made me, and my mother never taught me to sink and savor.  She was always looking onto something else such as in Disney world.  But I have an innate ability to slow down.  We all do.  We aren’t put onto this earth as super human anxious robots.  No we smile, laugh, and observe the world when we are born. We still have the ability, but instead we don’t press pause, we press fast forward.

Forward to what? to nowhere.

Dear Anita,

Sometimes its essays, sometimes streams of consciousness.  Whatever it is – it is processing.

I like that you wrote to make it a habit to attend to my husband, I like even more that you stated to make it my first social priority.

This is key, as nothing was ever enough for my mother, we were never enough, her life was never enough. what everyone else had, however, was always more than enough.

so what is it that THEY had?

• if they were poor, they had contentment despite poverty, lucky them, more than enough
• if they had a big family, they were lucky to always have companions, more than enough
• if they were happy on their own, they were lucky enough not to feel lonely, more than enough
• if they had a husband who attended to them, they were lucky enough to be a priority for someone
• if they were divorced, but fine, they were lucky enough to be independent on their own

What they had was always more than enough.  But if we insert here here into any of those scenarios, suddenly the perspective changes.  She is unlucky in any of them, always.

Today, my biggest decision was when to go to the lake with my dog.  This doesn’t happen much as my days are much busier and filled with “decisions.” Like many people

But the difference is, unlike most people, this is out of habit.  This is out of being raised in a way that having down time without many decisions, is boring, sad, and lonely.  It is unlucky.

So today I actively sought out this disposition.  A perfect summer day where there are many activities.  The beach, and fairs, and nyc outings.  So much to do,  yet, I chose none of them.  I woke up at my usual early hour, and did some cleaning and organizing.  It was interesting because these things are usually dreaded tasks, performed under a time constraint.  But today my day was endless.  I observed.  I observed how this made me uncomfortable throughout the day.  The concept that the day was endless, up to me, and I chose it this way.  It felt unsettling.  But this goes along with what we spoke about yesterday, sit through the discomfort.  It is the fear that makes me run, continue to run.  Run into oblivion.

I recall lazy summer days during break as a child.  I recall how hard my mother would try to make sure my sister and I were never lonely.  Open up the phone book and make play dates.  Think about day trips, and events.  From the outside, this is thoughtful, and perhaps one range off normal.  But if I close my eyes, the energy is palpable.  It is a nervous energy, a worry.  Oh gosh will they be lonely.  Yes they will. The other people on the block, their kids all have each other activities and each other. What will mine do?

Sure, there was some truth,  I was left out in my neighborhood many times by the group of kids.  Yes, this did include an element of racism, subtle.  I was the only non-white child in the neighborhood, and this was before my town was as diverse and open minded as it is today.  So sure, that is sad, and unfortunate.  I often looked back at these memories and thought of that first.  Oh, that’s kinda sad that kids can be mean and leave others out, so my mom had to find ways for me to have fun.

The idea of a child all alone during the summer is not pleasing to anyone.

But there’s more to it now.  What I see now is that there was no protection.  See, the world can be bad, downright terrible.  It can be this way to good people and bad people alike.  So if something such as negative childhood experiences happen, it is the job of the parent to protect us.  It is no matter what.

My mother felt so hurt  by all this herself, she was in no condition to protect me. But – you know what.  It doesn’t matter.

If I am insulted in front of my (make believe) child. Yes, I will be hurt and offended.  If my child is left out, I will be even more hurt and offended.  But I will be sure that my child doesn’t believe that the world is always like this.  That this is in indication of the world being a sad and bad place, and that people do this.  No, that is my job to make sure she doesn’t think this.

Quite the opposite.

So back to summer.  I recall so much deliberation about plans.  I recall playing with a friend Elise until high school.  I remember when I was 12 years old or so, her family was doing a day trip to a theme park.  My mother had called them earlier that week and asked if I could join.  The mother had stated something along the lines of sorry it’s a family day.

My mother was hurt, she says to me later that week, look at these American people.  They don’t like to invite others.  See they’re enjoying but what difference would it make if you would go along, we would pay and everything of course.

It made me sad, it made me feel like others don’t need us – but we need them.

Wow – A theme of life (my life)

Others don’t need us – but we need them. 

I’ll have to let this one sink in.  What a sad, pathetic, and desperate way to live…

Dear Anita,

I will continue my reflection here as it is serving me well on this Saturday, feel free to read at your leisure as the rest will be reflections of my childhoos

We spent a summer in Chicago once.  Perhaps when I was in middle school.  who knows, those summer breaks were so long, you could do so much in 2.5 months.  speaking of, i remember the adults discussing how it was too long for kids to be out of school as it required planning of keeping them entertained.  well, i hear this now amongst my colleagues too. somethings may be universal.  however, my mom’s thinking is never universal.

we stayed with my aunt (mother’s sister) in chicago.  she is in a terrible marriage (with a man who overtly cheats on her with a mistress, who the whole family has a relationship with – as though she is my aunt’s friend) bizarre, that’s a story for another day. well one summer my whole family was there because it was my cousin’s birthday party. aunts and uncles and cousins came in for a week or so.  my mother, sister, and I stayed longer, around a month since we had summer break, and my mom doesn’t work. my aunt did not not have much money at the time.  She lived in a complex of a lot of immigrants in a more urban area. this was in contrast to our big beautiful home in the suburbs of NJ, that was not diverse and urban.  so on the outside, my parents had a more successful life, better house, better town, etc.  of course, however, the town in chicago was much more fun.  everyone sitting outside after dinner.  tons of Indian immigrants people for my aunt and mom to relate to and speak with.  noise and chaos and kids everywhere.  that’s how it goes.  my mother felt these places were the happiest.  and where we lived was cold and alone.  sure there was some objectivity to that.  there is a difference between the energy level of the Bronx versus an upscale suburb outside of the city.  and yes, many people do feel isolated in the suburbs.  but my mom took this concept to a whole new level.

another summer, perhaps when i was 10, we spent the whole summer in India.  now, my mother has always glamourized her life in India.  It was fun, and authentic – people were kind and open and supportive, the perfect life of a girl from a small village where everyone knows you, and neighbors have open doors.  So much of this is true in comparison to America.  the culture in Asia and even Europe can be very different when it comes to community, neighborhoods, friendliness, and openness.  Yet it can be.

But once again my mother took this to a whole other level.  I remember one of my last days of being in India, I was sitting on a swing writing.  I was always huge into reading and writing (something that continues to this day).  I was inquisitive and thoughtful beyond my years.  So I was sitting and writing a letter, it went something like this:

Dear India,

I will miss you.  You are the only place in the world, where people are kind and the world shines bright.  Neighbors love each other and help each other.  There is no loneliness…

I was around 10-13 years old.  I also recall returning from this trip, and going up to my room and crying for the rest of the day that I was back to sad, lonely America.

Fast forward some years, I went to Harvard summer school in between 10th and 11th grade or so.  I think I was 16. It was a summer program for gifted children, where we took some college courses, and had an experience living on the campus.  This was something I wanted to do, and my parents were supportive.  In context, my life was good.  I had a lot of friends, I did well in school, and even had a boyfriend (the first boyfriend I wrote about)

I had a wonderful summer, met people from all over the world. became especially close to my roommates, a girl from Texas, and one from Japan. It was an enriching experience.

I returned in the fall, and fell into what I can explain best as a melancholy state.  I recall being despondent, sad.  “What an amazing experience in Boston – now I’m back to my normal life.  No one here is as amazing of a friend.  The friends I have here do not come close to the amazing people I met there.” I felt sad to be back, I felt upset at the caliber of the friendships I had at home.  I felt what I had at home was not good enough.

Dear Anita,

Yes it was always we. It was her assumption that she and I (and sister) felt the same in the world as her. She forced this identity into us. Instead of I am unlucky and sad it was we. Thus it is hard for us in our adulthood to remove the subconscious belief that all that is true. It is deeply ingrained

Dear Anita,

Yes, one singular person.  Her always..

Oh how confusing it was for me growing up.  Yes, it was all about her, but it made sense to us – for she was a victim herself.  victim of her own family emotionally abusing her, isolating her.  Victim of my father’s physical abuse.  This “poor woman” was so beaten and battered, she didn’t know how to cope.  Of course she is sad and angry.

I have been doing a tremendous amount of reading this weekend.  I am now going back to the roots. Ever since I had this awakening, i.e. first wrote on Tiny Buddha about what was going on – it was focused on now, the present day.  Of course it was.  I was writing to you about present day events, and a lot centered on my wedding.

Of course those patterns are deep rooted, and started from birth.  I now see that my level of suffering is from a lifetime of being treated this way, but only the most recent events register the most.

In fact, I was reading a lot about mother’s with narcissistic personality disorder.  It was reading about this over 2 years ago that made me clue in to the fact that “something” might be wrong with my mother.  She fit all of the criteria to a T – it was jaw dropping that such criteria could exist – how could general criteria fit my mother so well! And that means there are others?! This is a true disorder.

Diagnosis or not is not my point, it does not matter what her label is – the fact that is a true abuser and has characteristics known to be objectively abusive is key.

So I am going back to that, and the more I read the more I see that children born and raised into these households not only suffer severe anxiety and/or depression, they suffer PTSD.

Now once again, I am not going to attach myself to a diagnosis or a term.  especially  given that I am a physician I see many people cling SO tightly to diagnostic terms, in order to validate what they feel.  “see look i have PTSD.” That is not my goal here. But it was quite eye-opening to read about the complex PTSD that adult children of these narcisstic mothers suffer from.  Why? because it describes me.

See I always knew something was off balance.  Maybe just some anxiety.  Maybe I am hyper-aware.  Maybe I am depressed (I mean very likely because my maternal grandmother had severe depression and committed suicide).  Maybe I have ADHD (I always do have trouble focusing on one task at a time). Yes I have insomnia. Yes I have chronic pain complaints over the last 10 years (neck tension and headaches).

Yes, all the above.  But what i see now is something hard to put into words –  I will try my best.

I am not an anxious or depressed person.  No.  What I am suffering from is a lifetime of repressed emotions from the abuse I endured.

I am not a person with attention issues. My body and brain are constantly reacting to the years of abuse.

Everything that I am, every negative thing I feel, every moment of myself not feeling good – is all mirrored from the abuse I suffered.

It is from the trauma.  I may not have active trauma now, it doesn’t matter.  My parents could be dead, it doesn’t matter.

Call it post-traumatic stress disorder, call it a lifetime of abuse starting in childhood hiding in the adult child manifesting itself every second.

So how is this treated? First recognizing the trauma.  Then slowly releasing it.

I started yesterday remember a lot from my childhood, things that weren’t particularly outrageous, but “normal life.”

Things like the disney world example.

Things like how it was so normal for every time my dad was stressed or angry, for him to blame the family for his heart attack.  But then a second later, for my mom to join his side, and curse the daughters that caused his heart attack.

Things like being in medical school and just finishing an exam, walking to my car.  Answering my mother’s phone call. It was my father on the phone, asking for advice.  My mother had an “emotional affair” with one of the workers at our house.  (cliche much – so much more on that later, not sure if I ever talked about this).  And somehow in this disgusting web of what is my parents, my father was involved.  My mother was distraught over the fact that this guy, N we will call him, was no longer answering her phone calls and wanting to see her.  So she would stop eating and lay around, failure to thrive.  Like I said I would like to elaborate on this later. So it went something like, she now wanted my father to protect her from this sadness she was experiencing.  They were on their way to drive to where N was going to meet them.  And my mother was going to tell him, no more, I don’t want to be hurt – or something like that.  So they are calling me on their drive there, and pretty much asking me what they should do…

Yup just another day leaving the medical school campus after an exam.

Dear Anita,

there are a lot of typos in my previous post as I was using voice text (speaking of talking too much!). What I mean to say is that I want the ability to sink and savor. To stop and think before speaking. It will help me and it will help my relationships. I often use my husband as a punching bag, blurting out anything that comes to mind without assessing if it is the time and place. Just to feel guilty after realizing how I stressed him (even though he likely won’t express it). It is a vicious cycle.

It it reminds me of my mother outpouring on me without any regard for what was going on in my life at that time.