Gaslighters

When you grow up being abused and being told you were not being abused or that it is your fault, processing information can be a challenge. I was raised by narcissists who were expert liars. As an adult, I still question my memories. Even with several stints of therapy, I still have a hard time processing the things that happened to me. The hardest is the realization that the people who were supposed to love and protect me , didn't. 

I had a hard time with that after I became a parent. Looking at the amazing little humans the universe gave to me, I knew I would lie down in traffic to protect them. And then realizing that mine didn't do that for me. My parents, to be fair, should have never been parents. They should have never been married. They did not want the same things, they barely knew each other. They lived in a time where access to care and birth control were rate for young women. Access to mental health care was non existent. 

So two narcissists came together in life and here I am. Neither of my parents had good coping skills. Both too young to be parents, neither prepared to do so. And, they really wanted to. Neither my brother or myself were planned. Something told to us often when were growing up. Our parents wanted different lives and they did not have them because that had us so young. And my dad, lacking empathy and control, took this out on my mom. And they both took it out on us. And my brother took it out on me. And I hated myself. 

My mom tried to get out but her family and society told her to accept her fate. Go home to your husband and be a better wife. I know some of my family thought she was making it up. I can say that my dad did confirm, years later, the abuse did happen. He was young and self medicating with alcohol. He would spend a good part of my childhood in AA and I have dozens of stories about his drinking. But he was also mean and even after he stopped physically abusing people he was emotionally abusing them. 

I wish I could say that my mom left him on her own. But that would not be entirely truthful. When I was a baby my dad looked around at his life and left. His parents knew where he was, I think he was checking in from the road. But would not tell my mom where he was and they did not give us any help. My mom's parents did not help much either. So my mom was stuck with two kids and one income.   

We bounced around, my parents tried to reconcile. They were not successful. They divorced when I was three. My mom blamed me for their divorce. Something I carried with my into adulthood. I was the reason my mom did not have a better life. As if a child had that much power. My dad also disinterested in me, preferring the company of my brother. So my brother was the beloved first born son and I was the often forgotten second child. My husband once said I was raised with skillful neglect and that may have been what saved me. 

Both my parents moved on and meet new people. I think both would have preferred to forget their past lives. Only my brother and I were there constantly reminding them. My dad had a better chance, with his new wife and three step kids living 45 minutes away from us. Our visits become less frequent as my brother and I got older. We had weekend activities that conflicted with our visits with my dad. And my step mother did not like the reminder my dad had a life before her.  My mom meet my step dad and had my little brother. Something I am forever grateful for. My little brother helped me get through to the other side. Someone to remind me what happened to us was real. 

Writing again

 I don't know why I stopped writing. Somewhere along the way between kids, moves, and work it feel by the way side. I tried to start up a few times, but it felt too personal and too painful to share my thoughts with the world. So much has happened to me, my family, the world. 

And yet, so much wants to come out I felt the need to write again. For me more than anyone else. Trying to make sense out of the irrational. Trying to make sense of the hate. I feel sometimes I am seeing the world for the first time. How did that song go? I really don't know life at all? That's how I feel today.

The last 10 years have been so strange. I've learned more about human nature then I wanted to. I wish sometimes that I was still unaware of how cruel life is. But once you see, you can not unsee. The understanding that comes with self awareness comes at the cost of ignoring all the bad things that exist.

So here I sit, the world is on fire. And the people running it are holding the torches. 20 to 30% of the world seems to be in a cult of hate. And I'm not sure how we can fix it.

Orphaned at 40

When my grandpa died, I remember my aunt saying to her sister, "We are orphans now."

It was strange, to think of two women in their early 50s as orphans, a term we reserve for children that have lost their parents. The truth is, we have no word for those who lose their parents as adults. But that is what I am, an adult who lost my parents. My dad when I was 26 and my mom last year shortly after my 40th birthday.

I was a different person when Dad died. I was a few years out of college, fixing up our first house. Working on my MBA. Thinking about a family, but hadn't started one yet. In a word, I was young. A 20something with my whole life waiting to happen. And I had imagined that my dad would be there while it was happening. In losing him, I felt like I had lost the future I was supposed to have. I described it as standing in front of a bridge and watching it fall and not knowing where to go. The next year was difficult as I began to wonder if I even knew what I wanted anymore. It was a difficult time in my relationship with my older brother and my mom (who had divorced my dad when I was young). Neither could understand the depth of my sadness.

When I lost Mom a year ago (13 1/2 years after Dad), I was the mom of two girls. I was working on my MA in Econ and teaching. I was very much an adult, albeit not the one I thought I would become before Dad died. Roger was on a remote tour in Korea and Mom was staying with us helping with the girls when she got the diagnosis. While Dad had died suddenly without warning, Mom was told she had cancer. She went through Chemo and when it was time, made the decision to stop treatment. She was able to say goodbye. When it came to decisions, I was the one doctors talked to. I was the one who explained things to my brothers over the phone. This time, I was the adult.

But to me, Orphan implies a sense of being on my own. Not having a guiding force. But that is not the truth at all. I still have my grandma, my dad's two sisters, and my mom's sister and four brothers. I have so many people who were there when I was growing up. Who look at my girls and see me looking back at them. And who, for better or worse, are my family. Who drove hours to be with me when the time came. Who helped with the funeral arrangements. And who were simply there.

Facing my own mortality

As we get older, we all face our own mortality.  But most recently it hit pretty close to home.  I recently learned one of my classmates has breast cancer.

Back in November there was Typhoon in the Philippines.  When I heard, I immediately thought of my classmate, who is from there.  I saw her shortly after and asked after her family, she said they were all on higher ground and safe.  She then told me the Philippine Student Association was raising money for the relief effort by selling wrist bands for $5.  I opened my wallet and had a $20 and a $1.  I handed her the $20 and told her I didn't need a wrist band.  She almost cried.

Later she wrote a wonderful thank you note, that I still have in my desk in my office at school.  My friend and I had started the program together, but had drifted apart when I dropped out of the PhD track and she continued on in that track.  We no longer had classes together, so this happens.  So I was touched by the note.  Shortly after I received another note, this time from our program director.   My friend had been diagnosed with cancer and they wanted us to know and the department was also collecting donations to help with medical bills.  I did cry.  It just doesn't seem fair.  She is younger then me, 30.  Not an old timer at all.  I went back to my office and just sat for the longest time.

You don't think about all of these things.  You don't think it will happen to you or anyone you know.  And when it does, you are reminded that we are mortal.  It can happen.  And it did.

37 in the land of 20 somethings

I have mentioned many things about school and dealing with 20 somethings is one of them. On average a Econ Grad student is 26 and most of the department is 23 to 29. Both of my main study partners are 24, so I've had some interesting conversations.

Most of the time it is cultural references. Many times I reference songs and movies from before my friends were born. I once mentioned Risky Business and most people in the room had never seen it. I talked about the fall of the Berlin Wall and the break up of the Soviet Union, one friend pointed out he was 2. Yeah, I'm old. It is funny, most people are surprised to learn my age. And after awhile you forget. But then you talk about things, and it becomes painfully obvious I'm old.

Most recently I was in the computer lab with one classmate, printing out a paper that another classmate asked me to proof read. My classmate thought it was strange that I was printing it just to read it. I like to print out things to read and to write on them with pencil. Its just how I work. I also mentioned when I was in college I often wrote papers long hand first and then typed them. I no longer do that and it is easier now to type papers since I have a computer. In this conversation my classmate asked it I used a typewriter then. I told him about the word processor I had at UD and how it wasn't much different from an electric typewriter, except I could type it and spell check it before printing. My dad paid almost $300 for the word processor, a computer was nearly $3,000 then. I paid $400 for the laptop I am using to type this blog. Talk about a different world.

First Semester on the Books...

Well, its been awhile since I've updated this blog. My classes start tomorrow for Winter Semester, so I feel I should update on the last one. I have been very busy with classes, but to be honest it was a difficult semester and I had a hard time writing about it. But, as many wise people have advised, I've decided to cut myself some slack.

Each one of my classes had three exams, so I will break down the semester that way.

I started the semester with 3 classes, 9 hours a typical graduate school load. Only I am not a typical grad student. I am an old timer with kids. It had been 8 years since I finished my MBA and a few years since my last Calculus class.

The first set of tests were a mixed bag. An A and two Cs. Cs are not acceptable in grad school and my Math class was killing me. After the first round of tests, I dropped my Microeconomics class. It was the only class not required for my PhD, so I felt it was the best choice. I was not able to keep up with the work load for three classes. The A was in Stats, no surprise there since I had a lot of stats in business school. The C was in Math Econ. I was devastated by that. I truly felt like my time here was over. I was lucky that after the first test our study group picked up a new member, one who was actually studied during the day as opposed to in the evening as half our group did. So thanks, Andrew and George, for all those mornings in the library.

Second set of tests did not go well in spite of my decreased work load. I increased the time I was studying for Math but not Stats and got in trouble on my second Stats exam. Both of my second tests were Cs. Not much improvement overall. I struggled to find a good routine and was feeling highly inadequate. Even though I had increased my efforts in my Math Econ class it wasn't translating to the tests. I will say I am very thankful for my friends that helped pull me through this month. Especially my friend Melissa, who watched the girls during my Stats exam when my sitter had a emergency.

Finals were not spectacular. I began to buckle under the pressure of my classes. In the end I feel I did as well as I could on my Stats exam but beat myself on my Math exam. I studies the material and was a prepared as I could be. But I panicked on my Math exam and did not do as well as I know I could have. I ended with a B in Stats and a C in Math Econ. In graduate school, a 3.0 is required so I will begin next semester on academic probation. Not the best showing, but now that is has happened and the world has come crashing down on me I know it will be okay.

I would like to take a moment to thank all of my classmates who helped me through either by studying with me or just listening to me when I was having a hard time. And to those few people that did both. I really feel like at this level we learn as much from each other as we do our professors.

Two weeks down...

Well, today marks the end of my second week of grad school. So far I'm surviving.

I love the classes, though there is a lot of reading. And at times the math is a little much. I can't tell you how good it feels though to be here doing what I always wanted to. I've always loved the graphs in Economics. The movements almost seemed like a dance to me. I love learning more about them and what makes them work. And to be with others who get that is wonderful.

My fellow students add to the experience. At this level most of us are hear because we love to learn. They are an amazing group. So many are from all over the world. I am learning a lot about their cultures, mainly through food. We have formed a study group for all our math problems. And there are a lot of math problems!


Last Friday I was able to attend a party held by the grad students in my department. It was great to meet the students further along in the program and learn more about the program. One of the second years is from Atlanta. We talked about all the things we missed from the southeast and all they places we had been. And, his name is Ben just like my brother. I told him I'd never be able to forget his name. Marcy, a 4th year, went to Wake Forrest for her undergrad. Small world! And Mark, another 4th year, grew up an hour away from me in Nebraska. Bonus, his wife grew up in the town where my grandma did. We laughed about playing 6 degrees of Michelle (Sorry Kevin Bacon!)


All in all, its been great so far. The work is challenging, but I expected that. Everyone is nice so far and all of the students have been helpful. And I continue to feel that this is the place I am supposed to be.