For 40 years I have experienced a nightmare in which I am lost, disoriented, displaced, penniless, parent-less, and friendless. At 22 I was Girl Interrupted.

I didn’t need an analyst to decipher the meaning of my distressing dreams. On May 4, 1970 Boston University banished all students from campus in the wake of the Kent State Killings and ensuing protests and tumult.  Numb, and  traumatized by the callous murders and injustice , I was not about to concern myself with the cancellation of a graduation ceremony I no longer felt right about attending.

My dad drove  from New York to Boston to pick me up. In a prior post  I described the ride, the mood and the rancor. There was no time for goodbyes, collective processing of  Kent State and the questionable actions of the National Guard.

Any relationship between Boston University and I was severed and I looked back in anger for years. History was altered with an email I received from BU Alumni Relations asking my class if we would be interested in a graduation 40 years later. I responded immediately and within a month received an invitation. Next came an article in the Boston Globe in which I was interviewed as a member of the class.

BU Article

Part II will describe the incredible event and the lives it touched by bring this incredible class together.

The question a simple one.  In conversation with a close friend about  the difficult relationship I experienced with my mother she asked, “What did your mother like best about you?”  My answer,  “not a thing.”  I   have mulled this over for weeks wanting to come up with at least one thing she liked about me.  For most of my childhood and adult life I struggled for my mother’s approval and worked hard at being more likeable. As she aged her dislike and disapproval grew even stronger making our relationship untenable at times.

My mother died in February of 2001 and the loss was significant despite our alienated relationship. The craziness  is that I loved her and in her own way she loved me. Translating the love into a viable and sustainable relationship never happened. In my deepest dreams my mother surfaces as an ageless shadow figure, hauntingly beautiful, and with  a low guttural voice.  As I step towards her wispy visage with wide open arms  she steps back and bows her head. It’s  both painful and impossible.

My life with mother is the stuff that “tell-all” memoir is made of. I can  jump on the “Mommy Dearest” bandwagon and  regale any reader of this genre with dark but hilarious vignettes  of dialogue stranger than most fiction. I always knew that my mother was less than pleased by just about everything about me from my  appearance to personality to goals, to values, and in the heady late 60’s my politics.  “Oh Marshy,” was her usual preamble to a scathing critique of my outfits, make-up, hair, inflection of voice, body weight, vocabulary, grammar, sense of humor and my choice of friends and lovers.

“Oh Marshy, YOU”RE not wearing that tonight, are you?” This whispered at the moment I nervously descended the spiral staircase to meet a first date.

“Oh Marshy,  promise me you’ll never wear that skirt again.” This at a packed high holiday service at our Westchester temple;  provoking looks and frowns of one too many congregants. Impervious to the reactions she rasped on, ” It cuts you in all the wrong places. You look like a house.”

When she died I thought that I would be free of her powerful  impact upon my compromised self-image. Was I ever wrong. Like  most children of narcissistic parents  I instinctively  internalized her negative judgments as she lives on as one hell of a “”looking-glass self”.
Constantly editing and criticizing  things I say, frowning  upon my choice  of a particular outfit, begging me not to make an unwise business decision,  or asking when will I toughen up or why did you do that?

At the ripe old age of 64 it is time I pop the question. “What is it that I like most about myself?”

I have made some progress on this and now talk back; countering her judgements with my newly discovered confidence about what I do, how I act, how I dress, how I relate and how I parent my children. It’s a journey but a journey worth taking as I contemplate the last chapter of a life worth living.

While the holidays are a very special time of year for most families they can also be a source of tension, disappointed expectations and stress. As parents we can take certain steps to make sure our children have a mostly positive experience.

1. Being really present for your children trumps even the most lavish of presents.

2. In-laws do not have to be out-laws; take the time to dig down deep and listen, invest and connect at the holiday dinner. Try to avoid controversial topics and too much alcohol. #small eyes are watching.

3:Try to not overbook and stay calm.  Maintaining routines is essential as the holidays can be stressful for children. Adhering to normal bed, meal and rest times is both assuring and calming.

4.. Tis the season to assess and rejuvenate tired family scripts and roles that make holiday gathering, tense, predictable and inauthentic.

5. Showing family members  love, gratitude and admiration has so much more oomph than declaring it. #Show don’t tell.

6.. Make sure to find a quiet time to connect with the children amidst the flurry of expectations and activity

7. Find ways to include your children in meaningful participation in holiday activities,traditions and preparation of meals..This is the stuff that childhood memories are made of.

8  Be clear about holiday behavioral expectations. .Our expectations for our children while  traveling and having meals at the homes of friends or relatives must be carefully delineated and explained.

9. Maintain a sense of humor and don’t forget to laugh. Try to keep perspective and worry more about the hands around the table than what is or isn’t on the table.

10. Think about toting along a care package of activities, toys and healthy snacks  for your child. Gatherings can be long, noisy and boring.

Back in the Saddle again. A WW veteran of over 25 years I returned to a Saturday morning class with a  reluctant husband in tow. We negotiated the weigh-in without gasping, bought some expensive two -point WW products and picked up  the weekly WW propaganda and food diaries and made the wise decision to stay for the meeting.

It might be the last place on earth we wanted to be on a promising sun-lit Saturday morning. Lots of deja vu as the  leader a savvy veteran we have studied with for years greeted us warmly. We have cycled in and out of many classes with our dedicated leader.  I even hit goal in the early 90’s. Convinced that I was a “civilian” and cured of my eating issues I ignored the attendance/weigh-in rules for members reaching goal. I believed that I I had the eating crazies nailed. Within a  year all of the weight  I lost was back on. It was both devastating and humbling.  Have been back many times since and never even close to reaching goal again and playing half-heartedly at being a member more than committing to the endless tracking and tedious counting of points. For some reason I sabotaged my own success and was not really interested in losing weight.

A few weeks age I decided I was ready to begin anew and convinced my husband it was time to try again now that we were grandparents and “up the ladder of years.” Something about being a grandparent makes one think about longevity and doing something to prolong it. We actually enjoyed the class and found some of the discussion very encouraging and  helpful. The group was  open, committed and smart. Significantly, there was a large number of members who had impressive success with weight loss and reformation of eating habits/patterns. By the conclusion of the long class my husband and I agreed to follow the program guidelines 100 % and to actually track on a daily basis. We left with the best of intentions.  To be continued…….