Acknowledging Good Men

My blogging friend Bill Howdle at Dying Man's Journal recently wrote that he has heard quite a bit of male bashing lately, so he asked his blogging friends to write some good things about particular men or men in general. I am happy to do so. Bill was sensitive to the possibility that this might be difficult for me due to my current personal situation. Actually, it isn't.

Overall, I have been quite blessed in my associations with men. My earliest experiences with men were very positive ones, starting with my father. He was kind and loving, (more nurturing than my mother). I saw him as a leader and protector who valued the simple pleasures of life and cared about his community.

My brother is also a good man. He's a hard worker who has been married to his high school sweetheart for nearly 40 years. He is dedicated to his career, but understands that providing for his children emotionally is just as important as providing for them financially. Spending time with family is a high priority for him.

I have been privileged to know several men who have volunteered at rape crisis centers and battered women shelters. They did so not only to help men and boys who are victimized, but also because they knew that these were not just "womens' issues". They understood that violence is everyone's problem because there is no man whose life is not affected by women. Women are their wives, girlfriends, daughters, mothers, and friends. These men hoped that the presence of a gentle, supportive man, might help a woman who had experienced a brutal assault against her by a man.

It is all to easy to generalize a bad experience with one gender, to all men or all women. I think it is sad when women give up on even dating anymore after a bad experience, (although the wicked part of me thinks "okey dokey -more for me"). Perhaps it is easier for me to see clearly that men aren't the problem because of my good experiences with men and because, in my opinion, my husband's hurtful behavior stems from his childhood experience of being verbally/emotionally abused by his mother - a woman.

I'm not tempted to see men as the enemy. Far from it. I love men. I love their strong arms. I love their deep voices and their whiskers. I love that they can open tight jar lids and get stuff off the high shelf. I love that a man will always kill a spider for you even though he knows you could do it yourself. I love the goofy, 'aw shucks' grin men get when you tell them how smart or strong they are. I love the little boy mischeviousness that men seem to keep no matter how old they are. I love how excited they get about sports. I love that they think there are only five colors.

I feel sad that I am not writing about how great my husband is here, although, I could write quite a bit about his good qualities and loving things he has done. I think that is an important point. The world isn't divided into guys in white hats and guys in black hats. I didn't marry the guy because he is a jerk. Most of us who find ourselves in emotionally abusive relationships know that the mean things he does are not the totality of who he is. If it were, it wouldn't be so hard to leave. And for most of us, there was a time - marriage in my case - where the man changes. Maybe I'll explore this idea further in a later post.

I too am dismayed by male-bashing. I wish there were more visible , positive portrayals of men. I don't watch much television, but my recollection is that men are portrayed as either in-charge tough guys or clueless, bungling fools. In real life, most of the good guys are the everyday heroes that you never hear about. Thank you Bill for raising this issue. We need to shine a light on the everyday greatness of good men.

Remembering who I am

This past weekend I went to a party at the home of a mutual friend. I knew that it would be mostly a group of people I had lost touch with over the past several years, partly due to my self imposed isolation, but also because the old gathering spots had closed. As the price of gas goes up, the cash available for entertainment goes down. A few drinks while listening to live music at the neighborhood watering hole is one of the first budget items cut.

I knew these people before I met my husband and I had many fun evenings with them - listening to live music, dancing, talking, and generally acting like college students although most of us are a few decades past college. Hey, why should fun be limited to people under twenty-five? We are baby-boomers, we won't go quietly.

I am introverted by nature, but also enjoy socializing. I had never been nervous about going to a party, until this time. I even contemplated, (briefly), not going. I was surprised and puzzled by the anxiety I felt as the evening approached. What was it? Was I afraid that my husband's treatment of me showed on my face? That I had turned into a timid wallflower? Would people say, "Jennie, what happened to you?" Had I lost my confidence because my husband called me names? Because upon having obtained me, he failed to even notice me? Maybe this was an experience of shame, the sense that one is exposed to the world as lacking in some way.

Obviously I needed to change my head, so I went shopping and bought a flirty little polka dot dress and painted my toenails.

Bob had asked me "Are you going to go to the party?" Odd, for a husband to ask that I thought. Isn't it usually, "Shall we go to the party?" "Yes, I'm going I told him." He said he might. I went on ahead.

The moment I walked in, all anxiety vanished. I was greeted warmly by many people. I did lots of catching up with old friends, and there were new interesting folks to talk with too. I didn't notice when Bob arrived. I was too busy enjoying myself. I first noticed him when he sauntered over as I was engaged in a tete 'a tete with a funny and attractive man. Since I was not wearing my wedding ring, perhaps Bob just wanted to establish that I had a husband. Don't know. Don't really care.

I had a fabulous time. There's nothing like a fun party on a perfect August night. Best of all, I remembered who I was. I remembered I can have fun. I remembered that even at my age, men are interested in me. It felt really good.

There are many roads to healing, becoming educated about the nature of the problem, connecting with others who understand, dealing with your own feelings. All those things are important, but never underestimate the healing power of a wearing a new dress to a great party under the stars on a perfect August night.

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Aftermath

Nearly two days later, I still feel shaky. My last post was the first I had written immediately after a nuclear abuse incident. It's always shocking, but Sunday even more so because I thought there had been progress.

I know that I have progressed. I've learned a lot about how an abusive person sees relationships, handles feelings etc. I've adopted new strategies. I've learned to handle my own feelings much better. Bob had pretty much stopped with the defining statements, i.e., telling me what I was thinking, doing, and feeling. He started to speak for himself, and only himself. There was no more ordering, only polite requests, and he began to ask about my life. Certainly not great, but progress. So I was doubly shocked that this occurred.

Upon reflection, perhaps it shouldn't have been surprising. For many months I had been so distant, basically living a separate life. When you are distanced from someone, they don't have much power to hurt you. So maybe as the divide narrowed, there was greater potential for Bob to feel hurt. And when he gets hurt or scared, he sometimes says hateful things, much as a child would, because that is where he seems to be stuck emotionally. Not an excuse, just an explanation.

My objective with this blog was to keep it personal, rather than theoretical, and to write honestly about my experience. There is quite a bit on the internet about verbal abuse in general, mostly from a psychologist viewpoint, but there don't seem to be that many personal narratives. Even though I am blogging under a pseudonym, it was still uncomfortable to write that raw post, with the ugly words as the title. But I vowed to keep it real.

Even now I am a bit shaky. I left the house for a while Sunday, checked the "For Rent" ads, contemplated going to a motel. It is hard to think at those times and thankfully I have a few internet friends, women also in verbally abusive relationships, who helped keep me centered and thinking. After weighing the pros and cons, I decided to spend the night home. The abuse was a single devastating blast, not a continuing battle, so thankfully I could get away from him.

Leaving can be a tricky time I've heard. There can be explosions and/or continuing petty battles. I want to make it as easy on myself as possible. How to do it best? Even blogging under an assumed name, I don't think it is a good idea to reveal too much, but changes are underway.

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I hate you,you fucking bitch!

That's what he said to me last night.

I have to leave. I don't know where. I didn't sleep last night and I am so tired. I don't know how it will work out. I only know that I have to protect myself from abuse whatever it takes. I trust God to help me.

Please pray for me.
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The Power of Words

I recently came across a web site, wordle.net, where you can create "word clouds" with any text. It takes the words and arranges them randomly in various ways. Common words like prepositions are thrown out, and words repeated often appear larger. I was playing around with it by copying and pasting snippets of text from various websites. It was pretty interesting to see the words thrown together out of context.

I decided to try a snippet from Bill Howdle's Dying Man's Journal. I copied and pasted a paragraph from his post Words Helping Others and added a few other words he uses frequently. The above "wordle" was the result, (click here to see larger size). Makes me feel good just looking at those words. So I'm looking at them a lot.

I have always known that words have great power to help or to hurt, yet I did not fully appreciate the power of words until my exposure to verbal abuse. Perhaps one positive result of this experience will be that I become more mindful of the impact of my words on others, and on myself for that matter.

A woman named Juanita posted this comment on Bill's blog:

"I want to thank you for helping me want to go on living. Your words, on this site, has done more for me than anyone. From your words I have been given hope, encouragement, and love. I had forgotten that there were loving people in the world, but more than anything I had forgotten I was one of them. Thank you for giving me back my life. You will always be one of my hero’s and always in my prayers.”

I can relate to that. Last May I left a comment on Bill's blog about how his post about making changes had helped me. He replied:

"I am proud of you for taking the small steps to improve your life. Way to go, and good for you Jennie, keep that thought process going, it will get you to where you want to be."

At that time, when it had been so long since I had received any encouragement, Bills' words were like rain in the desert to me. I'm getting teary eyed just remembering how it felt when I read those words. I understand more than ever how much words matter. I am making an effort to speak more lovingly and positively. And that includes what I say to myself, by my thoughts.

I am reminded of a post by Avi at husbandabuse about a time when he was in the hospital for a heart condition.

Although the nurse is paid to do her job I could not help but be touched by the fact that after leaving the room she took the time and made the effort to stop, turnaround, and say “Have a good night”. Oh! How many nights did my wife NOT do that for me. I honestly cannot remember her EVER initiating those final few words one would think would be exchanged by a “loving” couple as they fall asleep for the night. Hmmm, gets me thinking about the tenderness of our hearts both circulatory system wise and perhaps just as importantly, emotionally.

In writing about verbal abuse, one must necessarily write about the negative impact. And the flip side of that is the positive impact of loving words. As Bill said:

How many times have I heard or read that verbal (emotional) abuse can have a must longer and deeper impact on a person than even physical abuse. Physical scars and bruising heal much more quickly than emotional ones.

Emotional bruises and scarring take much longer to heal and can stay with a person for their entire life time. Not always but often this time of long term hurt is caused by words. Depending on where and who these words come from they can cut down inside to our very soul.

I would imagine most of us at one time or another have at least heard of this, the terrible power that can be contained within a few words. We know of how words can be just devastating, we realize that. We know that “mere” words can have such a devastatingly negative impact. I ask then wouldn’t it just stand to reason, if we look at the flip side of the coin, that “mere” words could have a wonderfully healthy healing power to them. If words can tear us down then obviously words can build us up in a healthy positive way.

http://hudds53.wordpress.com/healing-power-of-words/

As usual, Bill's message is simple, true, and powerful.

Language is funny. Take the word 'heart' for example. Medically speaking, Bill has a "bad heart", in layman's terms. Yet in human terms, it is clear that he has a very good heart. His good heart is abundantly clear from his efforts to reach out to others, and the supportive, encouraging, caring words he uses.

Words are powerful, yet sometimes seem so inadequate. How do I say "Thank you Bill" in a way which conveys the gratitude in my heart?

It's Mostly his Stuff

On her excellent blog, "Rebellious Thought of a Woman", Laura recently wrote about the ways in which her husband took over the physical space of their home, crowding her into one small area without regard for her needs: When a House is not a Home

Coincidentally, I had just created a draft for an entry along similar lines. I had not heard of this "taking over" the house, as a feature of abusive relationships, but perhaps it is. Consideration for the other in common areas and allocation of common and private space, may mirror the dynamics of the relationship. I lobbied valiently for an equal say in the use of our house, but I finally dropped my appeals to the wisdom and benefits of joint decision making and focused on maintaining the minimum necessary toe hold for myself.

In some common areas of the house, I keep some "defensive clutter". I call it defensive clutter because it serves as a placeholder to block him from occupying 100% of the area. For example, most of the dining table is covered with his papers. I won't cede the entire table because I want to sit there to eat. I keep two piles of books on the table. When I want to eat, I move the books. When I finish, I replace them. If I were to put the books in a bookcase, he would overrun my little area.

In some areas of the house, I long ago relinquished any claim. My husband is a pack-rat and his stuff goes wherever he wants it to go. Often, he dumps it in the first room through the door - the living room. And it stays there. Even though I asked, coaxed, and bargained, the mess remained and proliferated. I could either clean it up myself or live with it. I chose the latter. I took out the few things I had in there out so they wouldn't be lost in the chaos and learned to avert my eyes from the disturbing mess upon entering the house.

From time to time, Bob inexplicably becomes suddenly upset by the presence of clutter that has been there for months. He gets frantic, as if clearing the clutter were now a matter of life and death. When he gets the impulse to deal with a longstanding problem, he expects me to be instantly available to jump in and help him, despite months of ignoring my repeated requests.

This time, it was the condition of the living room that he was suddenly obsessed with. He assumed, that it was our stuff clogging the room. Or more accurately, since there is no "our" in this so-called marriage, that it was a 50/50 combination of his stuff and my stuff.

In the old days, I would have helped him. I have helped him go through mountains of his stuff. This time I told him that I had other priorities, but if he found anything of mine in there, let me know and I would put it away.

A few hours later, he had things pretty well put away. Some of it was my stuff after all - a lipstick and an earring.

As with the living room clutter, Bob is fond of saying that that the problems in our relationship are 50/50, both overall and in any given incident. He says he will own his 50% of an argument, (like calling me a bitch), if I'll my 50% (not doing what he told me to do). So silly.

My point of view is that in a healthy relationships, each person owns 100% of their own stuff. In a particular incident, there are often joint contributions, but sometimes it really is one person's stuff. There have been incidents when it has been my stuff only, and I don't have a problem with acknowledging it. But that concept is totally foreign to Bob. He thinks the mess is always at least half mine.

It takes two to make a relationship work. It only takes one, to make it not work. One person cannot create a relationship of mutuality with a win/win orientation. If it is not a shared orientation, the person acting as if it were win-win, will lose.

Our marriage is like the living room. It's a mess. It's not half my stuff and half his stuff. It's mostly his stuff. And I can't clean it up for him.
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Teddy Check

I am doing much better at ignoring his craziness. For months, I felt tense and on edge around him. I don't anymore. I've come to expect that he will become unexpectedly and irrationally angry from time to time. (Irrational because he is angry about what he makes up about what I'm thinking, implying and intending rather than the truth of me). I pretty much just ignore it now. I decided I will not be afraid. He is merely annoying to me now. I am so emotionally distant from him that I simply don't care. But I am still thrown off balance by the "Teddy check"

In her book Controlling People, Patricia Evans uses the analogy of how a child relates to his teddy bear to describe how a controlling person tries to create a pretend relationship with a spouse.

A teddy bear is inanimate and compliant. A child plugs his thoughts and moves into the teddy making it "do and "say" what he wants. Teddy is comforting. A child talks to Teddy, and responds for Teddy. Teddy always appreciates you and never minds if you leave her sitting around for a while. Teddy gets things done, agrees with you, and think of things to do for you, even before you ask.

I think that Bob was attracted to me because of the ways in which the real me resembles his 'dream woman'. The problem is, he does not accept those ways in which I am not his dream woman.

In adulthood, the controlling spouse, i.e. The Pretender, is trying to plug his pretend person into the body of the partner. When the authentic woman speaks up the Pretender may think "Sometimes Teddy talks about stuff but it doesn't have anything to do with you, so you just nod now and then." Teddy wants what you want.

One day Teddy is upset by something you did. How could this be? Delivering a barrage of diverting and and countering finally silences Teddy. Teddy stays quiet for a few days so okay, maybe everything is back to normal. Teddy malfunctioned briefly but maybe now she is back.

In the old days, I would always inquire about Bob's important business meetings. I was interested in his work and his successes and frustrations. Even now, I have no wish for him to fail. He is talented and I wish him well. It's just that I stopped giving that kind of attention to someone who was showing very little interest in my life and well being.

I have repeatedly and clearly spelled out the issues that need to be addressed and have been ignored. A few days ago I told him I would prefer that he would address me by my name, rather than with terms of endearment such as "sweetie" because such terms imply a degree of closeness that is not present between us. This upset him and he said sarcastically "Fine, I'll just drop this fantasy that everything is okay." "That would be great." I said.

It really would be great if he would drop the fantasy and relate to me as a real person.

As usual, after a few days have passed, Bob does what I call a "teddy check". I've been through this cycle with Bob more times than I care to remember. Even though it was late at night and I was in my room, he sought me out to tell me about his meeting that evening. I thought something out of the ordinary that I needed to know about must have happened. After listening politely for a few minutes, I realized he simply wanted to talk to Teddy. I politely told him he would need to leave because I was going to sleep now. It is so maddening that he expects a loving wife to be there for him when he has shown a near total disregard for my needs. Unbeleiveable.

If you have never been treated as Teddy, it probably sounds weird if to feel annoyed when your spouse comes to you to share their good news. In a healthy relationship, spouses share their good news with each other. However, in a healthy relationship spouses also listen to each other when the other is upset about something. They try to understand each other. They try to reach and follow through on fair agreements with each other.

Perhaps I am having a hard time seeing the reality of him as well. The idea that relationships are reciprocal seems to be hardwired into my brain. I have to remember that he doesn't see it that way. I am Teddy to him. Teddy doesn't require reciprocation.

I feel like I am caught between bad choices. Must I growl at him each morning to remind him that we don't have a relationship? If I do, he will become surly. Yet when I am simply polite, as I would be to any stranger, he thinks Teddy is back.
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