Parenting

Reasons why I would be a bad mom:
1. I would insist that my child call me by my first name rather than the more socially acceptable term, “mom.”
2. I would raise him to be vegan, primarily for health reasons.
3. We would not have a television in the home, as today’s television programs and especially advertising pollutes one’s mental environment.
4. No fast food allowed, see #2.
5. We would not purchase Christmas gifts, and when his kindergarten classmates ask him what he got for Christmas, he would reply that he did not get any gifts because his family protests consumerism on Jesus’ birthday. We also observe Buy Nothing Day on the day following Thanksgiving.
6. I would frequently probe him to express his feelings about the various experiences he has each day, and we would process through them together. “What I hear you saying is that you feel distressed and pensive about the A- you received on your spelling test.”
7. I would talk to him about the love and grace of Jesus Christ, yet I would encourage him to be open-minded (as some Christians are perceived as being narrow, judgmental, and too conservative), so we would learn about the values and benefits of cultures, lifestyles, and beliefs other than our own.
8. I would strive to provide an educationally rich environment, utilizing programs such as Your Baby Can Read, so that my child would learn to read and speak at an exceptionally young age.
9. We would exercise on a regular basis for our physical well-being.

As a teenager (or pre-adolescent, since he will be so emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually mature for his age), he will rebel against his oppressive childhood. He will call me mom, he will eat junk food, he will sit around all day and watch television and probably even play video games at his friends' houses, he will buy crap he does not need at the mall, he will act surly and aloof and keep his feelings inside, and he will question his faith.

I'm Okay When You're Okay

At the tender age of eighteen, as I embarked upon my real life outside my parents’ home, as I was writing an inspired (insipid) essay for my college lit class at a local coffee shop, a charming blue-eyed gentleman engaged me in conversation. He lured me into his world with compliments and attention, and I was hooked. He turned out to be a narcissist, and I was his blossoming codependent better half.

Our relationship became increasingly abusive over the three years that we dated, both physically and psychologically. Like a good codependent, I felt responsible for his fickle moods, I caused his anger, I walked on eggshells around him, I had anxiety attacks worrying about him, I was attracted to his neediness, and I felt I had to give, give, give until I had nothing left. I often felt blindsided, bereft, guilty, lonely, and sick.

As the constant anxiety and abuse eroded what little self-esteem I had to begin with, I sought therapy for what I assumed to be a need for some help with stress management regarding my workload at college. My very patient head shrinker helped me to get a glimpse of reality. With her support, I realized that my problem was not merely an issue of stress caused by difficult course loads, my spirit was being killed by an abusive man.

After years of crying about family of origin issues in psychotherapy, after numerous subsequent failed relationships, and most importantly, after finding the grace and love of Christ Jesus, I healed. I learned who I was, and my codependency nearly vanished.

Perhaps as a result of my past (he can’t still affect me now!), or maybe because of all the feminist literature (hear me roar!) I inhaled in graduate school, I abhor the slightest notion that I may have codependent tendencies now.

In my imagination, I am this independent robot who has perfectly healthy boundaries and easily says no to unreasonable demands. While I respect the thoughts and feelings of others, I do not let them affect me. Everyone is responsible for himself, as am I. I never over-commit myself, I feel totally secure receiving gifts or compliments, I never worry how things will turn out. I certainly never feel victimized or unappreciated.

Alas, those tendencies do rear their ugly heads on occasion.

When I know I am acting with integrity, why do I let others’ reactions bother me? Why do I feel a sense of pride and self-worth when I reach out to help someone who is needy? Why do I let it affect my sense of self when someone is upset with me? Why do I doubt myself? Why would I rather someone else be comfortable than myself? Why do I worry? Why do I try to control circumstances? Why do I trivialize my own thoughts and feelings? Why do I repress my own anger?

I want to feel valued and loved, yet I feel an uneasiness that whispers that I am not deserving of love. Codependency is a shortcut to intimacy, but it is one that is not healthy and therefore does not work long term.

These symptoms reflect a lack of faith in God, the one who loves me unconditionally. It is His reaction alone that matters; it is He who gives me a sense of self-worth. He made me the way I am, and I can rest in His sovereign plan for me without worrying.

How to be a Genius

Keep your mouth shut.
Unless you are extremely knowledgeable on the subject.
And even then, just be quiet.
Read a plethora of books and literature.
Do not watch television. Watching TV burns fewer calories than sleeping.
Learn obscure vocabulary words, but never use them solely to impress others.
Communicate almost exclusively in written form.
Overanalyze everything until it means nothing.
Throw out all the information you “know” about everything.
If “everyone” does something a particular way, do it differently.
Beware of things you feel you are “supposed” to do.
Doodle during business meetings or lectures.
Give yourself a weird and unique hair style. It’s best you do this yourself rather than go to the salon so you do not become one of those people who conform to the non-conformists.
Get to know yourself really, really well.
Turn all thoughts into metaphors.
When you do speak, which should be very rarely, talk in rhymes.
Ask questions and spend much of your time listening.
Do not take anything at face value.
Be obsessed with your work. Geniuses have to put out a lot of crap to produce the pearls.
Have serious emotional issues. Be clinically depressed or addicted to something. If you need help getting depressed, read a lot of existential literature (the writings of Jean Paul Sartre, Henry Rollins, and Chuck Palahniuk can give you a place to start).
Get a lot of therapy, but do not get too psychologically healthy.
Realize that you will get more criticism than accolade for being a genius.
Relentlessly pursue some artistic or creative venture, such as painting, drawing, writing, or playing an instrument.
Constantly tell yourself you are a genius.
Do not expect recognition for your genius in your lifetime.

Parent Trappings

When I was young, my main goal in life was to NOT be like my parents in any way, shape, or form. Everything they did got on my nerves, especially my mom’s pithy sayings like, “well, life’s not fair,” or “no, you can’t have dessert before dinner.” Bedtime at seven? Ludicrous! Let’s face it, parents are just weird and quirky, and they make no sense. They don’t understand anything about real life or about their children, never mind the shared genetic and environmental material.

In retrospect, my parents weren’t all bad.

One good thing about my mom was that she provided a lot of educational materials and puzzles for me as a young child. I read my first word at the age of three and was reading literature (well, children’s books) by age four. I attribute these accomplishments to my mom’s time reading to me every evening, as well as the provision of intellectually stimulating toys and games (if you could call such lofty items as a stethoscopes and chemistry sets toys!). Of course, if my parents had lobotomized me as a youngster, I would have fit in with normal society more seamlessly. Intelligence is a double-edged sword, kids.

Dad, you paid for glasses and braces, all the normal childhood vaccinations; why not toss in a little zap to the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex?

Still, my mom was weirder and way more annoying than most moms. She was and still is very frugal about certain household items. For instance, plastic baggies and paper towels were rationed out cautiously, only after a four-page application and formal interview were approved. Paper towels, for instance, were absolutely not to be used to wipe up a spill. And if the paper towel was used for a minor issue, it was to be re-folded and placed next to the dispenser for re-use. If a fresh towel was utilized when a partially-used one was sitting right there, an egregious crime had been committed, subject to a lecture at the very least and probable doom.

Worse yet was her whole Gum Rationing Program. To even consider chewing a whole piece of gum was inexcusable. A half piece of gum at a time was not only sufficient but was more than generous.

My mom and I have very different personalities and communication styles. We have struggled to get along. In all seriousness, I never really felt loved by my mom. This fundamental relationship has affected every other friendship and relationship in my life, as well as my own identity and self-image. I carried around a lot of anger and resentment for many years. Depression and anxiety were staples of my existence.

After some false starts and unproductive talks sprinkled among long periods of avoidance and denial, our relationship came to an impasse last Christmas. I’ll spare the gory details, but suffice it to say that her behavior during the most depressing time of the year was a metaphor for our entire history of dysfunction. She really knows how to push my buttons. After all, she was the one who installed them in the first place. I then decided to cut her off for the better part of a year.

After this extended period of estrangement, she randomly showed up at my office one day, Christmas presents in tow (it was late summer by this point). With the power of the Holy Spirit working in both of our hearts, I spilled my guts to her that day in the hot shade of the parking lot. Only by the grace of God, she listened, and it was a profound day, as the anger and resentment have been completely removed from my heart.

We have been able to start afresh in our relationship. This reconciliation will pervade every other relationship and friendship I have.

As I write this, I ever-so-carefully tear a fresh stick of gum in half, placing one piece on my tongue as I carefully place the wrapped other half back in the pack. I just can’t stand to chew a whole stick of gum at once.