Posts Tagged With: emotional abuse

art is not created in a vacuum

I’ve always been open about my love for all things Joss Whedon, though I’ve never been clear that I love the art more than the creator.
Over the years we’ve learned that Joss is notoriously difficult to work with. He is obstinate and demanding. Obsessive and overbearing.
Kai Cole, who was married to Joss for nearly twenty years wrote that he is a “hypocrite preaching feminist ideals

Last week Charisma Carpenter took to her social media to discuss her experience as a member of the Buffyverse.
(this is the post from her Instagram account)

She stated she felt compelled to share her story after Ray Fisher discussed his experience with Joss on the set of Justice League.
Since Charisma’s post, actors, writers, and producers from Whedon lead vehicles are speaking out in support.
I’m seeing words like:
Unprofessional.
Hostile.
Cruel.
Abusive.
Toxic.

Jose Molina who worked as a writer on Firefly said Joss bragged about making female writers cry. That he thought being mean was funny.
Michelle Trachtenberg stated Joss wasn’t allowed to be alone with her on the set of Buffy. She didn’t go into any further details, but know that she was fifteen years old when she started on that show in 2000.

So it seems to me it isn’t just that Joss Whedon is difficult to work with, he’s a shit human.
That doesn’t mean I don’t love his art any less.
Buffy and Angel. Dollhouse and Firefly. The Avengers (not created by, but brought to life in the MCU as director)
These are truly some of my favorite characters. Some of my favorite stories.

Once again I find myself wondering if a shit human and their art can be separated?

I say once again because I asked this question in 2017 when Kevin Spacey became persona non grata when all his horrible deeds came to light. Not only was he accused of sexual misconduct, but also creating toxic work environments.
His behavior is abhorrent.
He’s also a pretty shit human.
But his talent though. The art he created is beautiful.

I’m not the only one thinking about this. I read quite a bit about separating art from the artist when I set out to write this post.
I read articles the New York Times to the Guardian. From the BBC to reddit.
Here are a couple I especially liked.
For WBUR Boston’s the ARTery, Maria Garcia wrote: “Art does not exist in its own altruistic, alternate universe. It’s part of the world — and the patriarchy.”
Constance Grady wrote this tagline for her Vox article: “I don’t know what to do with good art by predatory artists. So I asked some literary critics.”

Nora texted me “Joss Whedon is gross” early Friday morning.
I shared with her I was trying to write this post. I mentioned Spacey. I asked: Can you separate individuals from their art/talent?
She sent this reply

She’s right, y’all. How much of what we’ve read or seen or heard was created by shit humans?
Does knowing something was created by a shit human change our opinion?
Should it?
Should it not?

We are all human. We are all flawed.
But I truly believe we’d be worse off without art.

I can’t ignore the fact Buffy and Firefly were created by a shit human.
But it doesn’t make me love them any less.
I’m not sure how to feel about that.

Artists do not exist in a vacuum.
Art is not created in a vacuum.

Can the art and artist exist separately?
Can the art be appreciated for the art it is?
Can the art remain unsullied by the reputation of it’s creator?

Please share your thoughts.

Categories: me | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

covert narcissism and emotional incest syndrome

I learned the term emotional incest syndrome last week. It is sometimes referred to as covert incest.
I know the word incest is a trigger. Reading it makes me anxious and shaky. That word is icky.
What’s even more icky is that parents actually do this to their children.
What’s even more icky is that the other parent of my children did, and continues to do this.

The Things father is a classic covert narcissist, and there’s no two ways about it. He is masterful at manipulating situations to shift the blame, embracing the rage, and twisting words in such as way as to seemingly impact reality.
Nothing is ever his fault, and he buys his own delusions to the point of borderline insanity. It’s only gotten worse as he’s aged, so much so that he is trapped in this fantasy of his own design without any real ability to see the world as it actually is.

When Thing 1 was about twelve years old, I would ‘tuck her in’ at night with a quick, loving conversation and a hug or kiss. Her dad started following me in the night time ritual so he could ‘talk with her’.

To be abundantly clear: I was truly never concerned with him being physically inappropriate with her, he is the least sexual human with whom I’ve ever come in contact.

Their bed time talks became longer and she became more sullen and withdrawn. I mean, she was a tweenager and all, but this seemed different to me. When I encouraged her to talk with me about how she was feeling, she shared that her daddy was telling her things that made her uncomfortable.
He talked with her about his grief after the death of his mother. About his dissatisfaction in his personal and professional life. Even about his marriage to me.
I reassured her that her discomfort was appropriate, that his behavior was not. I promised her I would handle the situation. I encouraged her to tell him that she didn’t like when he talked with her about these things, gave her some tools and encouraged her to build healthy boundaries.
I had many conversations with him about the inappropriateness of him oversharing to a child.
I remember saying these exact words, “She’s a little girl and you cannot talk to her that way. Get a therapist. Get some friends. Please stop using her as your confidant.”
Like any good narcissist, he twisted the truth and manipulated us all, but never acknowledged or changed the behavior. I began to find excuses not to leave them alone at bedtime.
Nothing I did made a difference and the only way it slowed and then stopped was when she left home for college.
His current relationship with her is strained because she’s married another man and he can’t control her anymore.
Neither does he like that she and I are close, he actually told Thing 2 that Thing 1 is ‘drinking the Robyn koolaid’ and that’s why she didn’t love him anymore.

Thing 2 is his current child-wife. He sucked her into his emotional incest hook line and sinker. And she bought into it for quite some time.
She’s said, Poor daddy, nobody should have to die alone.
Um…your daddy actively chooses to be alone.

But of late, Thing 2 is empowering herself. She is actively in a healthy pattern of growth for her emotional and physical life. She’s begun dealing with her childhood trauma. Her emotional baggage. Unraveling her own augmented reality.

I don’t feel like what she is doing, or how she’s going about this is my story to tell, but when she shares her efforts and progress with me, I am truly awed by the difficult and serious work she is doing.

She shared with me that someone recommended a book about this phenomenon and she told me “I’m very curious about it, I want to research on it but I think it’s going to be really helpful with dealing with (her father’s given name) using me as his therapist.”
I shared with her a quick version of how it played with her sister, how I tried and failed to protect either of of them.
She said to me, “You have to remember that I chose this, you didn’t put me here. I did.”
Talk about owning your stuff.
But I’m her momma, I will always have a desire to protect her. Especially from her father.

I once overheard my girls sharing that their father told them (independently) that if he had been more willing to have sex, I would never have left him.
I literally stopped in my tracks.
I went back to where they sat, and told them I couldn’t help but overhear them and asked them to verify if what I thought I heard was correct. They confirmed.
I sighed and said, “First of all, I’m so sorry that happened to you. You didn’t need to hear that. And secondly, that’s not why I left your dad.”
What the actual fuck, yo?

When Baby K was born, Thing 2 and I left the hospital in Savannah and went home to Thing 1’s house. We cleaned the house top to bottom. Did all the laundry. Grocery shopped. We wanted everything to be ready to rock when Thing 1 and Husband N brought Baby K home.
Their dad actually told Thing 2 that he was jealous that she was spending time with me alone, he was worried she would drink the same koolaid as her sister and love me and not him.
He even told her before she left, “Now, I know you’re taking care of your sister, but make sure you take care of yourself too. I need you to come back to me. You’re my rock.”

So. Fucking. Icky.

I get so frustrated!
You’re her parent, you emotional fucking cripple! You’re supposed to be her rock!

I know I am guilty of sometimes saying, “I wish you could be my mommy”, and perhaps that means I’m just as guilty as him.
Is there a difference?
I mean, I hope so. I don’t actually expect my twenty-two year old daughter to be my mommy.

I love that we have an open and nurturing relationship based upon love and respect and genetics. And it feels nice sometimes to be loved by a female who doesn’t want anything from me, who isn’t going to shame me for wanting to be loved. But I am her momma and she is my daughter and that means it’s my job to nurture and provide help and do a bit of protecting even though she’s a grown ass person.

My daughters and I have had our own share of chaos in our relationships.
Good. Bad. Ugly. And indifference.
I have worked to create and maintain healthy boundaries, and if ever I overstepped, I corrected and made every attempt to discuss and apologize where appropriate.
We have been to hell and back, my daughters and I. And from my point of view, this strengthens our love, our bonds, and our boundaries.
And though we talk about any and every thing, and they’re as engaged and (for the most part) supportive of me, and my decisions, and my life as I am of theirs, I can’t fathom using them as ‘sounding board’ (one of their father’s favorite words) for inappropriate things.
I can think of one specific time I did that to Thing 2. She claims to find it humorous, especially because I was inebriated, but I am wracked with guilt and have apologized with every fiber of my being.

This covert incest thing has eaten at the very heart of me since that quick conversation with Thing 2 on Monday last.
Knowing it exists.
Knowing the only other person in this world who is meant to protect them is the perpetrator of this abuse.
It makes me sick. Truly and deeply sick.

I can’t protect them from him.
I never have, I never will.
That cuts my momma heart to a depth that may never heal.
Only I’m not worried about healing my heart. I worry about them healing theirs.
I can’t protect them.
I can’t take away their pain.
All I can do is listen. Offer guidance and support. But above all, love.
And sweet baby Jesus, do I love them.
I love them as they learn more about themselves, the world, and their place in it.
I love them as they struggle and fight the good fight.
I love them as they call me out on my failings.
I love them as they accept and forgive.

I am awed by their resilience as they do the hard self work to discover, and heal, and become whole.
I know I made them and raised them, but this is not selfish pride of ownership, this is the awe of faith, and pride for them, and their ability to continue to learn and grow and love.
I am overwhelmed by their capacity to love.
I cherish being a part of their lives.

These women.
These absolute marvels.
They are truly awe inspiring.

Categories: on being a mom | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 17 Comments

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