A Woman's Son

 My labor began on a Sunday and three days later, on September 7, 1988, I had my first son.  To backtrack 9 months….My pregnancy symptoms began around Christmas 1987.  With optimism, I suggested the possibility to my husband, who was incredulous to that probability.  His skepticism was all the more preposterous as he was fully aware that our equation of M + W – C = Baby.  The positive pregnancy results were met with my husband’s responding, “It’s too soon and I don’t think you should have it.”  

We were approaching 30 years old and had been together for three years.  Categorically, we were not statistically unsuitable of becoming parents. Begrudgingly, passive acceptance of the pregnancy bordering on disdain greeted me for those 9 months.  My husband didn’t attend a single obstetrician visit.  He was uninterested in feeling the baby kick.  He mocked the prenatal classes.  He was abusive.  He was insulting.  He was selfish.  He was unsupportive during labor, eventually leaving for several hours to “get a good meal and smoke a big, fat doobie”.  When he returned to the hospital, he was so high that the labor nurses kept him from the room during my emergency c-section until my son was born.  In recovery, my husband’s first words to me were, “It’s good that you had a c-section; now you won’t be all stretched out.” 

In the years that followed my son’s birth, the abuse escalated in a cyclical manner, and two other babies were conceived.  One pregnancy was blandly accepted but the final pregnancy was met with furious insistence of an abortion, which I flatly refused and fiercely protected.  Despite three gorgeous children, my husband’s behavior consistently became crueler until I knew if I stayed with him, I would die.  However, filing for divorce was a huge blow to my husband’s narcissistic ego.  If his own wife didn’t want him, what was he worth?  The only way he could remedy that was to punish.  He had the money, the means and the burning vengeance to take everything from me.  Unsatisfied, his sociopathic need for retaliation bled into our children.  Our oldest son was devoted to me and cognizant of his father’s malice, but not savvy enough to eventually be sucked into his father’s illness, coerced by monetary devices, and cut off communication with me.  When his father mocked him, accused him and announced, “My son is gay!” because he did not need to follow his father’s philandering footsteps, my son was unable to face the vicious ridicule, met a girl and got her pregnant.

Discovering the pregnancy through gossip, my attempts to reach out to my son were in vain as he was so fully enmeshed by his father’s control.  As abuse is cyclical, I could only see a future for my son and his soon-to-be-born son mirroring his father’s destiny…a future of pain and retaliation and hurt. 

On September 4, 2010, two days before my grandson’s birth, and three day’s before my son’s 22^nd birthday, I wrote this poem.  It was recently selected as a third prize recipient in an internet poetry competition.  So, I felt it should be shared in this forum.

A woman knew a baby, growing within her, destined to be cherished.

A woman felt her baby moving, hoping to share the signs of life with his father who remained distant, cold, uninterested.

A woman knew a newborn, with eyes of melting chocolate and pink cherubic cheeks,

A woman felt her baby boy take hold of her heart, learning how deeply she could love.

A woman knew a little boy, all dimples, tight hugs and laughter.

A woman felt the pain as her son’s father turned away to pursue interests elsewhere.

A woman knew a boy, wise beyond his years, who began to see and speak the truth.

A woman felt the love whispered by her son sharing his thoughts that it was only his mom he knew he could depend upon.

A woman knew a young man, but now, only from photographs and memories.

A woman felt the severed bonds committed by the man she left, bent on revenge despite the damage inflicted on the child they created.

A woman knew a teenaged boy, nostalgic for his mother’s love, yet tainted by his father’s false words and deeds.

A woman felt the joy of reunion, mingling with the pain of the years lost through no fault of her own.

A woman knew her son, once sweet and kind and giving and embracing life’s lessons.

A woman felt the despair on the day her son revealed he had become his father.

A woman knew a father-to-be, and hoped his son would be like the little boy she once knew. 

A woman felt an ache in her heart as she prayed the baby would not follow in his father’s footsteps.

A woman knew of a young father, molded from his own father’s anger, who would someday lose his son and feel the agony of unfounded loss.

A woman felt the anguish of losing a son who remained very much alive, just without her.

Guilt

I wanted to address the issue of guilt in  my book, "...Until you Die": The Narcissist's Promise.  As this is a true story, the feelings of the characters are real and go beyond the final page.  For those of you who have not read it as yet, let me briefly introduce the protagonist, Skylar Bauers, a survivor of spousal abuse and the antagonist, John Bauers, batterer, narcissist and sociopath.  

What is Guilt?  According to the Encarta Dictionary of North America, there are four definitions of Guilt. 

Awareness of Wrongdoing: an awareness of having done wrong of committed a crime, accompanied by a feeling of shame & regret

Fact of Wrongdoing: the fact of having committed a crime or done wrong

Responsibility of Wrongdoing: the responsibility for committing a crime or doing wrong

Legal Culpability: the responsibility, as determined by a court or other legal authority, for committing an offense that carries a legal penalty

For a narcissist, who never believes there is anything wrong with them – it’s always someone else, so how can they feel guilt, responsibility or remorse for their actions?

The victim looks inward and wonders, have I done anything wrong?  After she unfairly and without reason lost custody of her children, Skylar Bauers posed that question to her mother, who answered truthfully, “The only thing you did wrong was marry John Bauers”. 

I know of a man who had custody of his children, believing it was in their best interest.  Regardless of the circumstances of that decision, he remained compliant regarding visitation.  His relationship with his ex-wife was extremely cordial with effective co-parenting   His rationale was that the children needed their mother and he wanted to foster as much “normalcy” in their maternal relationship as possible.  This case is an anomaly of what usually occurs within our legal system.

Although many of the stories I’ve heard, the case of Skylar Bauers v. John Bauers shows a woman who was never labeled as unfit, incompetent or having a personality disorder.  A Guardian ad litem & psychologist was brought into court by John Bauers unethical attorney.  This was not due to a request by the judge and he was not court appointed to this case.  Even so, Steven Shapse attempted to interrupt a court proceeding in order to pin a label of personality disorder on Skylar, without ever meeting her. His attempts were pathetically in vain and held no weight in court.         

How can a court look at someone who vehemently denies a relationship between the children and their estranged spouse and see fairness?  How can a judge continuously punish a non-custodial parent whose life outside of court is drama-free, without scratching his head in confusion when faced with accusations of contrary behavior?  Isn’t that judge just as guilty as the narcissist?  

Skylar Bauers does not fit into any of the above definitions of guilt.  However, one synonym of guilt is remorse.  Skylar is not guilty, as she did nothing wrong.  But she does feel tremendous remorse at marrying and having children with John Bauers.  She is not guilty of doing anything which caused her to lose custody of her children, except to create them with someone as contemptible as John Bauers.  And that awareness is can weigh just as heavily as guilt.

Inscription Interrupted

Wow – it’s been a long time.  Shortly after my last blog, I was let go from my job.  I was working as an executive assistant for the Vice President of Marketing.  As with most business, the crunch in the economy was an axe ready to fall.  Therefore, with a restructuring of the department, my position was eliminated.  It was “timely” for the company as I had almost hit the 5 year retirement bonus.

It was also timely for me as I had the opportunity to help my 13 year old returning from Israel and experiencing the bittersweet final weeks of middle school.  I had plenty of time to help her as she endured the transition, to work with career counselors on my job search, and go to the gym to sweat off those 5 sedentary years.  But just as I was getting back into the routine, a silly accident injured my knee, which placed me on the couch with an icepack everyday.

In addition, my mom was in rehab again.  To briefly digress, in September of 2010 (at 81), she fell and broke her hip.  To compound that – she had to begin dialysis. That began a downward spiral for her as a pleasingly plump woman who carried her age well, became an old lady as her weight dropped from her body and her hair turned white.  She never should have gone home, but she insisted although she was far too frail.  And four days after she went home, she had her final fall – this time breaking her pelvis, ribs and hitting her head.  Five days later, her doctor advised hospice, as her bones would never heal.  I saw her the following day in the hospital.  Unable to swallow, she nodded in agreement to eat her favorite orange sherbet later that evening.  That night, I sent e-mails to 2 Rabbis asking how to make a decision, in the role of her healthcare proxy.  The wishes she conveyed to me after her first fall were to be “kept alive”.  But that would mean the discomfort of dialysis, physical therapy and occupational therapy.  Hospice was keeping her comfortable for the possible few weeks she had left.  Do I make a decision according to her wishes as the dutiful daughter?  Or do I choose the compassionate option?  I never had to make that decision because mom made it for me, when she simply stopped breathing.      

It’s time to move forward as I know I should do and I know that’s what mom would have wanted.  Thank you for following my blog and thank you for letting me share.

Displaced Anger

     As a preface of spring, today my post will be a little bit different.

     It was a beautiful Sunday and we had incredible weather for March; warm, sunny, with the promise of spring is the gentle breeze.  It was the type of day that you cannot help but feel happy.  I was doing errands with my daughter in preparation for her trip to Israel and we popped into CVS for some travel toiletries.  On the way out, I crossed the small parking lot to my car.  To preface this, my car was parked front end in, against a small curb on the side of a grassy area that ran parallel to a secondary road, albeit labeled Route 135W. 

     As I backed out, I heard this horrific honking.  I looked around…no one was behind me.  I wasn’t blocking anyone.  I was pulling into the correct traffic placement for this small lot, on the right hand side, preparing to drive to the exit.  In front of me was a car, in my lane, however it was facing me.  Traveling in that direction, that car rightfully should have been parallel to me in the lane to my left.  Behind the wheel was a fairly young looking man – perhaps about 30.  Leaning on his horn, he grabbed the handicapped sign that hung to his window and began shaking it.  OK – he was handicapped.  But as far as I knew, a handicapped sign gives you permission to park in the handicapped spaces.  It doesn’t give you permission to have fantasies of driving on the opposite side of the road, pretending you are in London.  Nor does it give you permission for unnecessary rudeness.  And he’s honking his horn and shaking this sign and yelling.  Hmmm…WTF???   

     Still, I couldn’t be mean to this poor delusional man, confused as to the meaning of his handicapped sign.  So, I “illegally” pulled to the left lane and blew him a kiss before driving off.  OK – perhaps it was a little antagonistic, seeing the unexplained rage he was putting out…but it defused any anger he may have provoked with his unreasonable display of temper.  And maybe he would contemplate it later and be grateful that someone blew him kisses instead of blowing him off with a well displayed finger.  

Get A Life, You Stalker - ‘Cause You Can’t Have Mine

Stalking??  I mean, really???  For over 16 years??  He didn’t show this much fascination with me when we were married….so why now?  The life a narcissist…..they just cannot wrap their head around how someone could not want them.   My ex is the consummate narcissist – in fact, I truly believe if you look up the word “narcissist” in the dictionary – you will see his picture.  

During our marriage, he was in constant search of replenishing his narcissistic supply….i.e. looking for other women.  Perhaps they were more suggestible, or more willing to stroke his ego, as he only revealed his charm.  But they weren’t his wife…the mother of his children, the one he was legally committed to and the one who eventually threw him out of his bed and home.

As with personality disorders, they sometimes merge.  It’s call comorbidity.  It this particular case, my ex’s narcissism merged with anti-social personality disorder; and often referred to as a sociopathic narcissist.  It’s a frightening amalgamation of two highly destructive conditions. It can cause a mere stalker to seek more vengeance than just knowledge of what is going on in the life of the one who rejected him.

But how much energy can one put into focusing on someone else’s life?  After 16 years, why hasn’t the stalking and harassment ended?  What is the goal of this narcissistic sociopath??   Many lie awake in fear of the next move but I couldn’t just waste time, thinking of him thinking of me.  I live my life and consider his stalking and harassment, just a little bump in the road, as I live my life with gusto, except for that pesky little irritating mosquito of a man.  It takes a little bit of savvy awareness to avoid getting stung…but after that, the feeling is just to swat this annoyance away.  

My favorite music group is the Beatles.  One of their lesser known pieces is the perfect anthem for the pathetically empty shell of a man who cannot get his own life because he only wants the life of the one who he has lost.       

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ukWRRNqMAZ4

With thanks to Lennon/McCartney

I'm a loser, I'm a loser, And I'm not what I appear to be

Of all the love I have won, and have lost;  There is one love I should never have crossed
She was a girl in a million my friend; I should have known she would win in the end

I'm a loser; And I lost someone who's near to me
I'm a loser ; And I'm not what I appear to be

Although I laugh and I act like a clown; Beneath this mask I am wearing a frown
My tears are falling like rain from the sky; Is it for her or myself that I cry?

I'm a loser; And I lost someone who's near to me
I'm a loser; And I'm not what I appear to be

What have I done to deserve such a fate?; I realize I have left it too late
And so it's true pride comes before a fall; I'm telling you so that you won't lose all

I'm a loser; And I lost someone who's near to me
I'm a loser; And I'm not what I appear to be

The Meaning of the Blog Title

As there seemingly is a reason for everything, there is an explanation on why my blog is titled, “No More Fearful Whispers”.  A synonym for whisper is a rumor.  Terrified is another synonym for fearful.  When you are whispering, there is doubt in your words.  Fearful whispers result in perhaps not even believing what you are saying, as the terror of being discovered is so great.  If you can’t believe your own words, how can anyone else?

While in the throes of an abusive relationship, you live in fear and solitude, unable to utter your secret except some furtive whispers to someone you’ve managed to keep close.  

In my book, “…Until You Die”: The Narcissists’ Promise, there are so many times for whispering…the fear of being discovered for breaking the rules, talking on the telephone, confiding in someone else, the stressful sadness of the situation, the helplessness of being almost being forced into an unwanted abortion…and the brave planning to not allow that to happen.     

A very wise quote from Oprah Winfrey says, "In speaking the words, you release the shame.”   Thus my book; thus my blog.   

And I am most sure that you escape from the control your abuser has tried to maintain as you boldly reclaim your own spirit and fearlessly shout out, “I am a survivor of a batterer!”    

The last time I spoke to the batterer, he asserted, “I never abused you,” uttered randomly over the phone.  Did he read my mind… or just hear the confidence in my voice?  To quote the late John Lennon, “I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me.”  Since a sociopathic narcissist considers his partner property or chattel, and the realization that although he may have had her once; ultimately she left him…and that drains his narcissistic supply no matter how vehement his denying declarations may be, agonizingly confirming that yes indeed, this bird has flown.

So boldly proclaim yourself as a SURVIVOR.  Never call yourself a victim.  There is no need to fearfully whisper about the abuse you endured…because you are here and you survived.    

LOL

LOL - this wasn't a word or acronym when I was growing up.  Meaning “Laugh Out Loud” was something we just did years ago, and with gusto.  But, LOL has become more than just an acronym used by the youngest to the oldest...even by my 73 year old Uncle when he wants to express amusement.  Not sure if he also uses or is even aware of ROTFLMAO - another acronym that I admit to using...albeit mentally thinking of each word, as it doesn't just roll off my typing fingers as easily as LOL.  But, I've digressed...

What I really wanted to "blog" about is how useful LOL can be in confrontational e-mails or posting.  As a writer, I am very cognizant of creating a post/message/response that can later come up and bite me in my proverbial ass.  I firmly adhere to the old adage, “if you wouldn’t write it and sign it – then don’t say it”.  

Which brings me to my topic, and how three simple letters – LOL – quelled intense anger and a gut wrenching ache to carve some vile verbiage as an answer to a post entirely capable of growing monstrous rows of butt-biting teeth.  It began with a response to my book promotion on a neighboring state’s facebook page which addressed unfairness in the family court; however, undisclosed was the routine denial of the existence female victims of domestic violence.  Instead, the general belief was that women were vengeful liars; and any story, documentation, article, picture, announcement, attestation, or death certificate of a female victim held no weight.  Thus, began an unwarranted attack against me, (by a woman!) for my book advertisement; first with false accusations of owning a male-bashing facebook page, then advising against purchasing my book, and finally rapid fire interrogatory.  I took the high road and kindly explained that my book was a case study of someone (yes, a man) with personality disorders (and a disclaimer that the P.D. didn’t have a monopoly on just the male species.)   Despite my non-confrontational attempts, the woman was incapable of ingesting anything other than her programmed agenda of “women lie and men are victims”, as she snidely remarked my polite efforts were merely a “nice try” and advised seeking therapy.  Wow!  I felt some heat (not associated with my “tropical moments”) but I kindly posted my condolences and wished her a nice day.  I've learned that people with unbridled and unfounded anger also have a need to "get in the last word".  So, when Miss CB replied by calling me “defensive” and patronizingly suggested I "needed to confront my feelings”, my blood reached its boiling temperature.   Did it really matter to me who got in the last words?  No – not really. But her haughty remarks, despite my hopes for solidarity on tragedies inflicted on women AND men within an unjust judicial system and defusing a gender war, had me fuming.  Although her remarks weren’t bright or insightful – they were solely meant to encourage anger and the words of a fool were doing just that.  After a few deep cleansing breaths, I realized how ridiculous I found her words and I had to respond, and convey my feelings.  And that's exactly what I did; with a simple LOL and a wink.  

That was 54 hours ago.  Is she too angry to write back?  Has the steam has gone out of her sails.  Maybe she realized that we really are on the same team of fighting judicial injustice.  In truth, I really don’t care…because of part of me, imaging her face after reading LOL ;) ….is ROTFLMAO.