The Anti-Victim

Whenever we take Tiger to the dog park, I like to step back and observe the interactions of the dogs and the owners. On the best days, all are relaxed and a singular, calm and happy energy flows through the park. On other days, the energy is divisive rather than unifying, a sense of unbalance and unease transmitted from creature to creature within the fence. It only takes one anxious and unstable dog (or more often, owner) to create the seeds of chaos.

When an unbalanced dog enters the arena, the other canines are quick to assess. Most of them will seek to avoid the negative energy. While others try to correct or eradicate it through physical means, usually growls and nips. This is when the observations really get interesting. Much of the time I see the owner of the unstable dog step in to rescue his or her dog from the perceived attack followed by a coddling session. This affection given while the dog is anxious only seeks to reinforce the behavior. It is teaching the dog to be a victim. It is also preventing the dog from learning how to solve its own problems as it comes to rely on its owner stepping in and white knighting the situation.

In more successful outcomes, the owners of the involved dogs will watch the interactions, looking carefully for a potentially dangerous situation that requires intervention but remaining hands off as much as possible. When this happens, the unstable dog tends to a minor beating but it also learns. It learns where it stands in the pack, it learns how and when to fight back and stand up for itself and it learns that it can solve its own problems. After a few moments of rough and tumble and vocalizations, all involved usually trot off happily and the energy balance is restored. The instability has been corrected.

Now humans are obviously not dogs. We don’t live in hierarchical packs and we don’t usually teach through teeth and growls. And luckily, our greetings do not usually involve butts and/or noses. But we can learn from observing our canine friends, whose lessons come from a much simpler world than ours.

People perceived as victims in our society tend to face one of two reactions – blame or enable, neither of which help to change the energy balance in the interaction.

I’ve written before about the danger of victim blaming. This perspective is used to justify the attack on the victim, shifting all of the responsibility onto the damaged party. Most recognize the fallacy in this thinking and reject the idea.

But we are much more willing to accept imbalance in the other direction. When the victim is enabled, it nurtures unstable behavior. It shifts all of the responsibility to the other party. It tells the victim that he/she does not have learn how to solve his/her own problems; someone will step in for the rescue. In essence, we are like the dog owner swooping in to pick up the anxious dog before the lesson is learned.

Whatever you nurture, grows.

When we enable victims, we cultivate victims.

So, then, what do we do? How can we support victims while encouraging them to no longer be victims?

Watch Before Intervention

Just like the informed owners at the dog park, watch the interaction before donning your Superman costume. Be ready to intervene if the situation becomes dangerous but give the participants a chance to work it out for themselves first.

Support Rather Than Nurture

When interacting with the victim, especially if he/she is anxious or unstable, provide support and reassurance but do not nurture the anxiety. When someone is anxious, it is better to be clinically kind (think good bedside manner) than motherly.

Encourage Growth and Stability

When the victim is not in crisis, help him/her address the underlying issues. Teach them how to remain calm. Show them how to be centered and in control of themselves. Encourage them to take responsibility for their choices and reactions.

Empower the Person, Not the Behavior

When working with someone who has been victimized, be careful not to permit the behaviors that accompany the victim state as that serves to sanction that behavior. Rather, seek to empower the person behind the behavior so that they can learn to emancipate themselves from victimhood.

Blaming and enabling only serve to create more victims as the power is held unevenly and instability is rewarded. Whereas, if we can learn to cultivate anti-victims through support and encouragement, the great dog park of our lives can be filled with more wagging tails and fewer growls.

This post is Tiger approved.

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The Second Time Around

I am as familiar with the statistics as anyone – two thirds of second marriages are expected to end in divorce. There are many factors often cited for this depressing outcome. The family unit is more diverse and less cohesive. The children tend to be older and more independent, thus staying together for the sake of the kids is less of an issue. The ghosts of spouses past can continue to haunt the new marriage. Perhaps one or both partners moved too quickly into a new relationship rather than allowing sufficient time to heal from the divorce or to address underlying issues. Or, maybe they spent so much time single that partnered life with its compromises and complexities is no longer a fit. And, of course, there is the fact that once you have been divorced and survived, it may be easier to tread that path again.

Regardless of the reasons, the numbers are clear. Second marriages are more likely to fail than first unions. But, when it comes to relationships, I don’t care about statistics. I care about individual marriages, including my own. And, rather than focus on the added challenges that can impact subsequent marriages, I choose to acknowledge the ways that a marriage can be better the second time around.

Value

I took my first marriage and my first husband for granted. He was always there and I assumed he would always be there. It wasn’t that I treated him poorly or neglected the marriage, I just didn’t understand the fragility of it and that it could disappear so easily. Read the rest on The Huffington Post.

Dishonorable Mention

“What’s your biggest fear?” I asked my teenage boyfriend as we lay side by side on the top of a picnic table, looking up at the night sky ablaze with unmolested stars.

His body, once subtle and molded to mine, became firm, rigid even with anger and intent, as he replied,

“Turning into my father.”

His father was a man who was once successful but squandered it away. His father was a man feared by many but respected by few. His father was an alcoholic who courted drink at night rather than his wife. His father was a man who went from top billing in his career to collecting unemployment. His father was a man who was unreachable to his son, there but not there.

I looked over at my boyfriend, recalling his openness, his resolve, his capacity for intimacy and couldn’t imagine him turning into his father.They were polar opposites in my view and I assured him as such.

I should have listened.

Fast forward a few years and that boy became my husband. He worked hard and found success. He created a life he could be proud of, a life worlds apart from his father.

And then something happened.

I’ve had to make educated guesses about this part, since this is where the lies began. It may not be entirely accurate, but it certainly feels right.

His company closed. He lost his job. He couldn’t find another. This happened when those around him were finding success. He probably saw echoes of his father’s fall from grace when he plummeted from the tops of the working ranks.

He let his job tell him what he was worth. So when he had no job, he had no value.

He felt ashamed. And scared.

As before, he worked doggedly to carve out a path different than his father. Only this time he was desperate. Blinded by fear and shame.

And his desperation led him along a path parallel to that of his old man.

He lied about employment, using credit to create “income” where there was none.

And the shame grew.

He began to drink, turning to alcohol to try to hide from the truth.

And the shame grew.

He created an alternate persona and introduced him to people that didn’t know his past. That persona never faced failure. Never felt fear. Never experienced shame.

But the real man was buried deeper. Each action making it harder for him to ever come out of the hole in which he found himself.

Shame told him he was broken. Worthless. Unworthy as he truly was.

And he listened.

And his greatest fear came true.

Because he was too ashamed to look vulnerable.

Too ashamed to ask for help.

Too ashamed to face his choices.

He gave up the fight.

He gave up himself.

A dishonorable dischange from his own life.

When he left, some of that shame latched on to me. I felt a fool for being blind. I felt like I failed by not stopping the descent. I felt stupid for trusting.

These mantras wrapped through my mind like the stock updates in Times Square.

That was bad enough.

But it was private shame. Bearable.

But when I had to face others with financial reality of it all?

It still stops me in my tracks.

Every time I have to act on a bill from him or face the reality of my piss poor credit, I cower. I tremble. I feel sick, my insides churning.

I feel unworthy.

I feel dirty, broken.

I feel ashamed.

I allow the numbers on the accounts to dictate my value and I feel judged for their balances.

It should be improving. I have a house (even though it’s not in my name) and the debt from him that I’m still paying is down to an amount that feels doable. By 2015, I should be free.

It should be improving.

But it’s not.

I still let money, or the lack thereof, tell me what I’m worth.

I’m listening to shame.

And she lies.

She tells me to hide rather than face.

Conceal rather than reveal.

Which is precisely why I share.

Shame is like a vampire, exposure to the sun can weaken or even kill it.

I know her tricks. The fear she uses to try to bury her victims.

And I won’t be one of them.

Notes From a Week Away

It feels strange sitting here in front of my computer again. It’s been a solid week since I have sat here, my fingers on the keyboard. It’s good to take breaks sometimes – a needed pause to restore and a break in the routine.

But it also feels good to be back. After all, I like my routine:)

Between the cold that hijacked my body midweek and the cobwebs of vacation brain, I’m filled with snippets of the past week. They are not yet ripened into stand alone blog posts (although I’m sure some of them will after proper fermentation), so for now they are simply notes from a week away.

Endings

My last post was about the health and future of Ms Kitty. We found out last Sunday that she is indeed in early stage kidney failure. We are currently working on trying to get her to eat a special lower protein diet that will help to extend her life. It hard – she doesn’t want to eat and I see her getting sicker every day. She may have weeks or months, but the clock is winding down. Meanwhile, we try to enjoy every moment we can have with her.

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Maddy and daddy

That Reminds Me

Trying to tempt the cat to eat reminds me of the year I lived with my friend and her new baby. The little one was premature and had digestive problems. Our days that summer were spent trying to drip formula into her mouth one mL at a time. That sick baby is now a robust 4 1/2 year old. I spent last Saturday with them and the not-so-little one kept the laughter flowing and helped distract me from kitty.

I can SO embarrass her with this one when she starts dating!
I can SO embarrass her with this one when she starts dating!

Speaking of Distraction

I jumped on a plane Sunday morning to meet up with a childhood friend in New Orleans after 15 years without contact. I don’t think I’ve ever hugged anybody so hard:) We picked up right where we left off. We stayed at the Melrose Mansion, a renovated old house just east of the quarter. My friend even managed to score us a free room upgrade with a bathtub as large as my entire bathroom at home!

The early bird gets the tub!
The early bird gets the tub!

We were pretty tame as far as New Orleans is concerned (i.e. we only saw Bourbon St. at 8 in the morning!). Some of that was due to the weather (cold and raining) and some due to the fact that we’re old and lame:) Apart from long conversations and giggles in bed (I told you we picked up where we left off!), we also visited a cool choose-your-own-adventure wine bar and an adult arcade where we could feel like kids again!

Wine Institute of New Orleans - Where the coursework requires a wine glass:)
Wine Institute of New Orleans – Where the coursework requires a wine glass:)
I went for the the pinball games, which were always my best, while my friend went for Ms. Pacman and Frogger. Just like the old days!
I went for the pinball games, which were always my best, while my friend went for Ms. Pacman and Frogger. Just like the old days!

Rain, Rain Go Away

The weather in New Orleans was a bit of a bummer (the heated swimming pool had to go untested), but it really through a wrench in the plans once I returned home. Brock and I were supposed to leave Wednesday morning for a three night camping trip at Cheaha State Park in northeastern Alabama. Except the forecast called for snow, ice and wind, oh my. And no thanks. Basically, it was guaranteed to be a miserable trip with a decent chance of it becoming a live action version of some of our favorite survival shows. We reluctantly decided to axe the idea of camping and substitute two day hikes instead. Our first outing was Red Top Mountain State Park on Thanksgiving. The fresh air and warm sun felt so good.

Tiger protecting us from the infamous Red Top Monster. I'm happy to report that we all escaped unscathed.
Tiger protecting us from the infamous Red Top Monster. I’m happy to report that we all escaped unscathed.

Yesterday, we decided to go to Cheaha for the day. Brock used to rock climb here and he enjoyed showing me the cliffs he used to climb. Usually, we plan our hikes carefully. This time, we approached it like an adventure. The destination was unimportant (in fact, it was nonexistent). It was all about the journey.

A Black Friday that reminds you that what really matters cannot be bought or sold:)
A Black Friday that reminds you that what really matters cannot be bought or sold:)

I’ve never been to that part of the state and I was struck by how much the soil and vegetation reminded me of Texas – just MUCH more mountainous! We only hiked 6 miles or so but I think our elevation change was at least that much.

Tiger also enjoyed the views.
Tiger also enjoyed the views.

Uphill Climbs

We weren’t the only ones facing uphill climbs this week. We visited with two friends who are both in the early stages of starting over after divorce. One is living with her mom with her three kids. The other is in a rented space whose empty rooms speak to the life left behind. It was a stark reminder of where I was just a few short years ago. Of how thankful I was for the small guest bedroom that was my home for a year. At how empowering it was to rent my own space for the first time. At the possibilities presented when you start over.

The last step of every journey is the first step of a new adventure.

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Hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving whatever your adventures:)

Journal to Hope

Sorry for the poor formatting- posting from a cafe in New Orleans on my phone with frozen fingers. It feels more like Seattle here today than the south. Brrr….

I wanted to share a guest post I did over on The WritinThe Writing Whispererg Whisperer. Enjoy and stay warm!