The most fascinating thing I remember from Psych class was the idea of the "Johari Window." It explains an aspect of self-concept and human nature. I believe it shows something that is common to all of us no matter where we live or where we are in life. Rich or poor, Royalty or commoner, think of yourself as a window with the following four panes of glass:
Pane #1: OPEN.
We know ourselves and what we like to show to others. You are just "you."
Pane #2: CLOSED.
This is the part of ourselves we lock away. The past is past--over and done. It's history!
Pane #3: BLIND.
This is what we just cannot see about ourselves that everyone else can. You think you're nice but you come off like a jerk.
Pane #4: HIDDEN
This is what we dare not reveal about ourselves to others out of fear of rejection and/or judgment. "What if they knew you had...been in jail? a junkie? bouts of depression? etc."
The next time you are in a group, with your friends or alone in a crowd, take a look at all the "windows" around you. Try to imagine who and what you would be OPEN to, CLOSED to, BLIND to and what you feel you'd need to keep HIDDEN from all of them.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Friday, July 19, 2013
COUGAR TROUBLE Pt. 3: "Star Trek Mode"
I am going into what I call "Star Trek Mode." I'm entering another final frontier where "no one has gone before...to find something positive." Why? Because my son's 26yr old, single mother of three children by two different daddies, roommate, boss, girlfriend is now pregnant with baby #4 by "Daddy #3." Blake is Daddy #3. As far as I'm concerned, the dreams I had for him are gone.
He won't be going to college (on a full ride) in the fall. He won't be playing soccer for a college team and he won't be pledging a fraternity. He will, however, be joining the fraternity of fatherhood.
All he does anymore is work and as he puts it, "take care of the kids." No eighteen year old boy should be raising other men's children AND preparing for his own. He 'should' be working a summer job, going to baseball games, hanging out with his friends and picking out a dorm in the college of his choice, not being an apprentice father.
I am angry at her for executing this plan for what I have referred to previously as a "manufactured relationship." I am angry at my son for being so irresponsible and I am angry at myself for allowing this to happen. I have analyzed and dissected the 'psychological deficits this woman must have to allow herself to bring children into this world time and time again.' I did the same with my son. 'Did I not provide him enough encouragement, love, opportunity, positive examples or goals? Is he trying to fill some psychological need within himself that came from growing up without a father?' How in the hell can a child spend his entire life with me and grow up to have the exact same easy-going personality of his absent father? Could there be something to that DNA business after all?
While this event has prompted a very adult discussion between my son and myself, I decided to go into "Star Trek mode" and look forward to this new future. They may not have any extra money but I choose to believe it adds to this adventure. My son has a full-time job with benefits so I choose to believe it shows a lot of foresight on his part. Even though at times I have flashes of anger and a few tears, they are private moments that I choose to believe are none of my son's business. My son is very happy and planning to marry this woman so I choose to believe this makes him more of a real man than my father and his own father ever were.
Most of all, while this is not the life I envisioned for my son, in "Star Trek Mode" I choose to believe that everything will be alright.
He won't be going to college (on a full ride) in the fall. He won't be playing soccer for a college team and he won't be pledging a fraternity. He will, however, be joining the fraternity of fatherhood.
All he does anymore is work and as he puts it, "take care of the kids." No eighteen year old boy should be raising other men's children AND preparing for his own. He 'should' be working a summer job, going to baseball games, hanging out with his friends and picking out a dorm in the college of his choice, not being an apprentice father.
I am angry at her for executing this plan for what I have referred to previously as a "manufactured relationship." I am angry at my son for being so irresponsible and I am angry at myself for allowing this to happen. I have analyzed and dissected the 'psychological deficits this woman must have to allow herself to bring children into this world time and time again.' I did the same with my son. 'Did I not provide him enough encouragement, love, opportunity, positive examples or goals? Is he trying to fill some psychological need within himself that came from growing up without a father?' How in the hell can a child spend his entire life with me and grow up to have the exact same easy-going personality of his absent father? Could there be something to that DNA business after all?
While this event has prompted a very adult discussion between my son and myself, I decided to go into "Star Trek mode" and look forward to this new future. They may not have any extra money but I choose to believe it adds to this adventure. My son has a full-time job with benefits so I choose to believe it shows a lot of foresight on his part. Even though at times I have flashes of anger and a few tears, they are private moments that I choose to believe are none of my son's business. My son is very happy and planning to marry this woman so I choose to believe this makes him more of a real man than my father and his own father ever were.
Most of all, while this is not the life I envisioned for my son, in "Star Trek Mode" I choose to believe that everything will be alright.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Hello, My Name is Dyane and (apparently) I'm Co-Dependant
Does anyone remember a time when a character trait or a habit (good or bad) didn't signify you had a psychological condition? Anybody remember when drinking on the weekends didn't mean that you were going to be an alcoholic? When did keeping everything from your or your children's childhood make you a hoarder? When did being punctual and doing the very best you could to keep your word to someone make you "co-dependent"? When did "doing unto others" indicate that you were overly concerned about what others think and you should consider "seeing someone"?
Tina is a good friend of mine and she's been going to "support groups." Yes, groups. She must've started going only recently because suddenly everything we talk about ends up on the subject of
addiction and conditions. Everyone has one or the other or both. She has decided that I am "co-dependent." Here's why:
I like to be on time.
If I am supposed to pick someone up, I'll be there ten to fifteen minutes before the agreed time.
I like to listen.
I was taught to treat others the way I want to be treated.
Tina decided that since I am reliable/dependable, I have a deep-seated need to be liked/loved. I became a nurse because I "can't deal with my own problems so I deal with everyone else's." I arrive a little bit before a designated time because I want to 'go the extra mile' so people will love me. I like to listen instead of talk--because I don't want anyone to know 'the real me.' I try to follow the Golden Rule because I think that "cosmically, the universe will reward me." Meanwhile, my friend is "co-dependent," an "overeater," a "compulsive gambler" and a "social media addict." BUT...
In all the years I have known her, Tina has never had any kind of weight problem. She has never placed a bet, played the lottery or bought a 'scratch-off.' As for social media addiction, this girl only recently bought a cell phone! She's not on Facebook, Twitter or any of the millions of sites that exist in cyberspace. Truth is, she is a very nice person who has broken up with her boyfriend, gets a bit sad from time to time and has a habit of seeing problems where there are none. That's right, she's just a normal person looking for a syndrome. Know anyone like that?
Title Correction: Hello, My name is Dyane and I'm NORMAL.
You're NORMAL too!!!!
Tina is a good friend of mine and she's been going to "support groups." Yes, groups. She must've started going only recently because suddenly everything we talk about ends up on the subject of
addiction and conditions. Everyone has one or the other or both. She has decided that I am "co-dependent." Here's why:
I like to be on time.
If I am supposed to pick someone up, I'll be there ten to fifteen minutes before the agreed time.
I like to listen.
I was taught to treat others the way I want to be treated.
Tina decided that since I am reliable/dependable, I have a deep-seated need to be liked/loved. I became a nurse because I "can't deal with my own problems so I deal with everyone else's." I arrive a little bit before a designated time because I want to 'go the extra mile' so people will love me. I like to listen instead of talk--because I don't want anyone to know 'the real me.' I try to follow the Golden Rule because I think that "cosmically, the universe will reward me." Meanwhile, my friend is "co-dependent," an "overeater," a "compulsive gambler" and a "social media addict." BUT...
In all the years I have known her, Tina has never had any kind of weight problem. She has never placed a bet, played the lottery or bought a 'scratch-off.' As for social media addiction, this girl only recently bought a cell phone! She's not on Facebook, Twitter or any of the millions of sites that exist in cyberspace. Truth is, she is a very nice person who has broken up with her boyfriend, gets a bit sad from time to time and has a habit of seeing problems where there are none. That's right, she's just a normal person looking for a syndrome. Know anyone like that?
Title Correction: Hello, My name is Dyane and I'm NORMAL.
You're NORMAL too!!!!
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
The Other Side of Father's Day
I was getting my report from the previous shift at the hospital. I worked in Coronary Observation. I previously had rooms C100-104 but on this day, I was assigned rooms C100-103 then C119. That last room was all the way at the end of the opposing hall. Why would my charge nurse give me that room?
I enter room C119, gave my little nurse's introduction and then proceed to examine the patient. He didn't seem too receptive to me. Flat affect as far as I was concerned. The man HAD had a heart attack for God's sake. What did I expect?
I took his pulse, temperature and blood pressure and then I noticed the man's name. Leon C. Cox. It flashed in my mind that this name was "supposedly" my father's name. My next thought was, "this could be my father and never know it!" But how would I know? How would I know for certain?
I completed my nursing assessment and then headed to the nurse's station. Could this man actually be my father? After twenty-nine years, is THIS how I discover who my father is?
All the information I would ever need was in his chart. Before I looked in his chart I thought to myself...What do I KNOW about my father? What had I overheard about him throughout the years? Well, he was an electrician, he lived in Maynardville, TN., his middle initial was "C" AND he was married to a woman named "Pearlie." How many men would fit that description?
I opened his chart and every detail I just told you was there. He was my father.
My charge nurse interrupted my thoughts and asked, "Is everything alright? You look like you've seen a ghost?"
"I haven't seen a ghost," I said, " but my father is laying down there in room C119!"
"Oh my God!" she said, "You've never seen him before?"
"No I haven't. Not until just now."
"Well, you can't tell him who you are." she said. "The hospital would be liable if you go in there and tell him who you are. He could have another heart attack."
Really? I just discovered that a patient of mine is my biological father and my charge nurse is worried about a lawsuit?
I grew up without a mother or a father. As a kid, I decided that I was going to make something out of myself so when I got old--at thirty--I'd find my father and show him what HE missed. I was two months away from my thirtieth birthday and BAM! My father is one of my patients!
I went back down to his room, walked in and said, "Mr. Cox, we have alot in common." After a couple of beats I added, "we are both from Maynardville."
He looked straight ahead at the bare room's wall and said, "Yeah."
"Do you know Lara Roberts or her sister Allie Wayne?"
"Yeah. " he said never taking his eyes off the wall.
"Allie Wayne is my mother."
"Yeah." he said with no emotion.
"It's been interesting meeting you." I said.
I walked out of his room and to the nurse's station. "If the man in C119," I said to my co-workers, " calls out, needs a medication, a drink, a straw---ANYTHING--don't bother me with it."
"Is he a difficult patient?" another nurse asked.
"No, he's my father."
This was too much of a soap opera for me to handle. I traded him to another nurse and would return to my original end of the unit: C100-104.
The next day, he had been discharged, he was gone. Gone forever.
At one time or another, every nurse I worked with on that unit came up with a reason to go in his room to see if we looked alike. Why not? This was a juicy story, right? How many nurses stumble upon the father who abandoned her twenty-nine years ago?
I never saw him again. I just meant nothing to him.
I made myself feel better by telling myself that it must've been terrifying for a man who'd had a heart attack to realize that his nurse was the daughter he had abandoned. How would she treat his life when he hadn't acknowledged hers at all?
He died four months later without ever trying to get in touch with me.
So as usual, I won't be celebrating Father's Day on Sunday. People say you can't miss what you never had but you can. I did. I missed the safety and security a father's love gives a female child. I missed the force who'd give me that safe place to fall. I missed that love. A father's love.
Don't miss that love this Father's Day.
I enter room C119, gave my little nurse's introduction and then proceed to examine the patient. He didn't seem too receptive to me. Flat affect as far as I was concerned. The man HAD had a heart attack for God's sake. What did I expect?
I took his pulse, temperature and blood pressure and then I noticed the man's name. Leon C. Cox. It flashed in my mind that this name was "supposedly" my father's name. My next thought was, "this could be my father and never know it!" But how would I know? How would I know for certain?
I completed my nursing assessment and then headed to the nurse's station. Could this man actually be my father? After twenty-nine years, is THIS how I discover who my father is?
All the information I would ever need was in his chart. Before I looked in his chart I thought to myself...What do I KNOW about my father? What had I overheard about him throughout the years? Well, he was an electrician, he lived in Maynardville, TN., his middle initial was "C" AND he was married to a woman named "Pearlie." How many men would fit that description?
I opened his chart and every detail I just told you was there. He was my father.
My charge nurse interrupted my thoughts and asked, "Is everything alright? You look like you've seen a ghost?"
"I haven't seen a ghost," I said, " but my father is laying down there in room C119!"
"Oh my God!" she said, "You've never seen him before?"
"No I haven't. Not until just now."
"Well, you can't tell him who you are." she said. "The hospital would be liable if you go in there and tell him who you are. He could have another heart attack."
Really? I just discovered that a patient of mine is my biological father and my charge nurse is worried about a lawsuit?
I grew up without a mother or a father. As a kid, I decided that I was going to make something out of myself so when I got old--at thirty--I'd find my father and show him what HE missed. I was two months away from my thirtieth birthday and BAM! My father is one of my patients!
I went back down to his room, walked in and said, "Mr. Cox, we have alot in common." After a couple of beats I added, "we are both from Maynardville."
He looked straight ahead at the bare room's wall and said, "Yeah."
"Do you know Lara Roberts or her sister Allie Wayne?"
"Yeah. " he said never taking his eyes off the wall.
"Allie Wayne is my mother."
"Yeah." he said with no emotion.
"It's been interesting meeting you." I said.
I walked out of his room and to the nurse's station. "If the man in C119," I said to my co-workers, " calls out, needs a medication, a drink, a straw---ANYTHING--don't bother me with it."
"Is he a difficult patient?" another nurse asked.
"No, he's my father."
This was too much of a soap opera for me to handle. I traded him to another nurse and would return to my original end of the unit: C100-104.
The next day, he had been discharged, he was gone. Gone forever.
At one time or another, every nurse I worked with on that unit came up with a reason to go in his room to see if we looked alike. Why not? This was a juicy story, right? How many nurses stumble upon the father who abandoned her twenty-nine years ago?
I never saw him again. I just meant nothing to him.
I made myself feel better by telling myself that it must've been terrifying for a man who'd had a heart attack to realize that his nurse was the daughter he had abandoned. How would she treat his life when he hadn't acknowledged hers at all?
He died four months later without ever trying to get in touch with me.
So as usual, I won't be celebrating Father's Day on Sunday. People say you can't miss what you never had but you can. I did. I missed the safety and security a father's love gives a female child. I missed the force who'd give me that safe place to fall. I missed that love. A father's love.
Don't miss that love this Father's Day.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
COUGAR TROUBLE Pt. 2: The Manufactured Relationship
Since the last time I wrote on this subject, life has changed immensely. After eighteen years under my roof, my son, Blake, is now under the one "Boss Lady" shares with her three children. I hate it. This is not the life I had envisioned for my son at all. I wanted him to graduate from high school, keep working, go to college, meet a nice girl, date her, bring her home to meet me, try to win me over, change my mind about her, marry, give me grandchildren and live happily ever after. What could be better? I know we can't help who we love but that doesn't apply here. My son is just the object in a manufactured relationship.
As a woman, I know all about manufactured relationships. I know how manufactured relationships are done and have had a few myself. The principle is to evaluate the viable candidates and then choose the best one. I have cut a guy or two from the herd at my place of employment and then proceeded to "get him to like me." You know, gush to whoever will listen about how cute 'he' is, spend a little too much time trying to "accidentally" run into him in the hallway or in the parking lot, making up things to talk to him about and evaluating every glance, look, word, etc. to convince myself that we were "meant to be." While it can be done with any man if you try hard enough, younger men are always easier to get. That is exactly what Boss Lady did. She got a roommate out of it. Unfortunately, these relationships start falling apart when the woman discovers that while she was trying to get the guy to like her--she never really decided that she liked him.
It was bad enough that he was at her house after work when he was telling me he was with a friend but then he purposely picked a fight with me so he could declare, "I'm going to live with Sara!"
Not the best way to tell your mother your plans, huh? That's exactly what I'd expect from a guy my son's age. I get it. I hate it but I get it. I was just not ready to let him go and I certainly wasn't ready to turn him over to another woman...not this woman...not a twenty-six year old mother of three. Not yet. Now yet. Hell, not ever!
As a woman, I know all about manufactured relationships. I know how manufactured relationships are done and have had a few myself. The principle is to evaluate the viable candidates and then choose the best one. I have cut a guy or two from the herd at my place of employment and then proceeded to "get him to like me." You know, gush to whoever will listen about how cute 'he' is, spend a little too much time trying to "accidentally" run into him in the hallway or in the parking lot, making up things to talk to him about and evaluating every glance, look, word, etc. to convince myself that we were "meant to be." While it can be done with any man if you try hard enough, younger men are always easier to get. That is exactly what Boss Lady did. She got a roommate out of it. Unfortunately, these relationships start falling apart when the woman discovers that while she was trying to get the guy to like her--she never really decided that she liked him.
It was bad enough that he was at her house after work when he was telling me he was with a friend but then he purposely picked a fight with me so he could declare, "I'm going to live with Sara!"
Not the best way to tell your mother your plans, huh? That's exactly what I'd expect from a guy my son's age. I get it. I hate it but I get it. I was just not ready to let him go and I certainly wasn't ready to turn him over to another woman...not this woman...not a twenty-six year old mother of three. Not yet. Now yet. Hell, not ever!
Monday, May 20, 2013
COUGAR TROUBLE Pt. 1
Blake, my eighteen year old high school senior son, got a part-time job after school in January of this year. Flexible hours. Money in the pockets. What could be better? Pretty soon, he was going to and from work with his friend "Sara." Another kid from his high school was working there, too. They were dating?.. intimate? Maybe. Got to be realistic. Horrifying thought for any mother.
One night a very sexy message was sent "accidentally" to my phone. It was from Sara. I showed it to him the next morning as he was getting ready for school, he just rolled his eyes. High school girls are bold these days, huh?
Two days later, Sara called to tell me what a great employee Blake is and apologize for that text.she had sent. Sara is no teenager. She is my son's boss!
Sara is a twenty-six year old, single-mother of three children who are all under the age of six. Two boys by one father and a girl by another man. That's just a fact, not a judgment. Things happen. She is however, known to "pursue the new guy" at work. Blake was just the latest. By the way, that text was sent to me on purpose.
Blake and his date went to the prom two weeks ago. Sara called me to find out where 'they' were and said, "If you'll give me his date's cell number, I'll call and find out where they are--for YOU." What?
Friday night was graduation and Sara shows up with her two little boys, moves people around, in and out of their seats so she could sit in the ONE available seat next to me. Three people in one seat. During the ceremony the youngest became uncomfortable, began to cry so Sara moved everyone around again and spent the rest of the evening watching from the hallway.
I tell myself Blake is eighteen, has a job and is responsible. He'll get over this, It's just a phase. He's flattered by the attention etc.. I do, however, have the occasional vision of Blake with Baby #4 as Daddy #3 or Sara sneaking into our house and boiling Blake's dog, Rascal! (He doesn't have a rabbit.)
I'll let you know what happens.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Value YOUR Mother
Mom and I were inseparable for the first nine months but we split one day and went our separate ways! That's the joke I like to make to explain away the fact that my mother was absent from most of my life. It's easier to take when I make a joke about it.
She was one of those free-love 60's kind of gals who chased after drugs, the latest political cause and men. "Make love not war" was the slogan of the day but she forgot the rest of it..."and be prepared for BOTH." That's how I got here. I was an inconvenience she had to dump and dash. She left me with her mother.
She'd breeze in and out of my life as the years passed. In a previous entry, I wrote of her sex talk. "All men want to do is stick their..." That's Mom. No boundaries, no filters and no idea how to talk to her child. No desire to, either.
So when Mother's Day rolls around, she expects me to take her out, give her a gift and listen to her gripe about how SHE should've been the one to go to college, get a degree and have a career...not me.
I play along and rationalize in my head that doing this crap will get me a place in Heaven! Gotta have a sense of humor about it, right?
Her absence spoke louder than words. From it, I learned that we are all meant to be here. Love yourself. Admire yourself. Forgive yourself. Value family. Always be there for your child. Teach what you know. Learn what you can. Get silly. Get that blessing. Get that college education. Get that career. Get that heart's desire. Get hurt. Get rest. Get relief. Get back up. Get an attitude. Get that life you are meant to have. No matter what it is GET IT.
If you were blessed with a loving mother, take today and let her know. Admittedly, I envy those who do.
Happy Mother's Day
She was one of those free-love 60's kind of gals who chased after drugs, the latest political cause and men. "Make love not war" was the slogan of the day but she forgot the rest of it..."and be prepared for BOTH." That's how I got here. I was an inconvenience she had to dump and dash. She left me with her mother.
She'd breeze in and out of my life as the years passed. In a previous entry, I wrote of her sex talk. "All men want to do is stick their..." That's Mom. No boundaries, no filters and no idea how to talk to her child. No desire to, either.
So when Mother's Day rolls around, she expects me to take her out, give her a gift and listen to her gripe about how SHE should've been the one to go to college, get a degree and have a career...not me.
I play along and rationalize in my head that doing this crap will get me a place in Heaven! Gotta have a sense of humor about it, right?
Her absence spoke louder than words. From it, I learned that we are all meant to be here. Love yourself. Admire yourself. Forgive yourself. Value family. Always be there for your child. Teach what you know. Learn what you can. Get silly. Get that blessing. Get that college education. Get that career. Get that heart's desire. Get hurt. Get rest. Get relief. Get back up. Get an attitude. Get that life you are meant to have. No matter what it is GET IT.
If you were blessed with a loving mother, take today and let her know. Admittedly, I envy those who do.
Happy Mother's Day
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