"A Harbour in the Tempest"
"You say you want
Diamonds on a ring of gold
You say you want
Your story to remain untold...
Diamonds on a ring of gold
You say you want
Your story to remain untold...
You say you'll give me
Eyes in a moon of blindness
A river in a time of dryness
A harbor in the tempest
Eyes in a moon of blindness
A river in a time of dryness
A harbor in the tempest
But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you…"
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you…"
From U2, "All I Want is You"
I was "A. Harbour" in the tempest for much of my life, starting when my stepfather adopted me just a few years after my parents' bitter divorce in the mid-70"s. My mom, eager to shed her very ethnic divorced name, married a nice man of Anglican origin and I became the first kid of three to then bear the Harbour name.
Having a Harbour on the outside and a Spagnolo on the inside proved more difficult to handle than my mom realized. I think she thought if she had my name changed, she could tame me of all of my Spagnolo traits. For example, she thought that with my dad in another home and eventually another state (she moved us away), my bond with him would diminish and I would fall in line with Mr. Harbour's biological children. What she didn't realize was that my time with my dad was sacred, a literal 'harbor in the tempest,' as a safe place from the storm of her raging and abusive parenting style. Her new husband was kind but enabling and too permissive of her rants and lashing out and he, too, eventually became a punching bag for her emotions like the rest of us. My dad didn't put up with her volatile temper (he had one of his own!) and that's why they divorced.
In some ways you could say it wasn't my mom's fault that she was emotionally abusive. She had been raised by a very strict and abusive father and had a passive, possibly enabling mother so it was all she had known growing up. Then she got pregnant too young and hadn't fully grown up herself when she was forced to become a parent. The cycle of abuse was perpetuated in a new iteration to the next generation.
Every day as a Harbour felt like being in the middle of a tempest. Though if you were combining Shakespeare plays, it was more like "The Tempest of the Shrew'" because my mom was the strong-willed antagonist attempting to tame the very tempest she created on a daily basis. Every living thing in her household--children, pets, husbands-- crept on eggshells to avoid unleashing the storm of fury that would inevitably erupt because we weren't doing things "the right way" aka not the way she wanted them done. We were constantly told how much we "ruined" whatever we were doing which instilled zero confidence in our abilities and for me, ultimately, resulted in my low self-esteem as an adult because my default voice is hers: critical and always believing that I'm going to RUIN things before I actually do something right.
What's the point of all of this and why did I start this blog? I call it "therapy blog" as a pun on "therapy dog" because it's therapeutic to write about these triggers that are coming up for me as I navigate the world of dogs. Despite 25+ years of therapy, including almost five years of trauma therapy, I still get triggered to this place of despair. While most people find enjoyment from new developments in their lives, I really struggle with change and transition. My parents divorced before I even had memories of them together and then suddenly they weren't. The safe harbor was unmoored and I was adrift, right in the middle of the tempest. When the unexpected happens and I have to adjust to "the new normal," I become unglued. While my friends were embracing the freedom of college and finding themselves and embarking on professional careers, I was petrified. My freshman year was difficult because I wasn't under mom's thumb anymore which should have been a relief but it was opposite…she had so much control over me growing up that there wasn't any freedom to know who I was or what I wanted as a person that I was rudderless. I cried alone in restroom stalls so my roommate wouldn't hear me. My 20's were a disaster because I spent more time trying to fit in so that people would like me instead of being myself and liking what I did. Like a pup that wants to please its master, I had been trained to only perform on command or do enough to stay out of trouble, but not make my own decisions for myself as an individual. I knew how to make honor roll and keep from getting pregnant or thrown in jail but I didn't know what I wanted to do, what my passions were, what I was good at or wanted to be.
Luckily, by my 30's my career and personal life started to come together when I worked as a professional with people I enjoyed in a reputable company then met my husband who shares my sense of humor and values and within a few short years we started a family complete with two kids, a cat and a guinea pig. And now we have a dog. Or should I say, a puppy, though she's growing so quickly she's rapidly turning into a dog. I don't know much about dogs because we had mostly cats growing up but we briefly had a poodle that no one took the time to train and because of this, she created enough havoc that my mom couldn't deal with it (it was one thing she couldn't control) so she didn't last very long. And that is the extent of my experience with dogs with the exception of the brief stint of taking care of a college boyfriend's dog which similarly didn't go well and went back to the boyfriend. Because of my lack of success in the dog department, I was very hesitant to get one and put it off for years even though the kids (let's face it, my daughter…my son is a cat person like me) and my husband continued to put pressure on me to bring another fur baby into the family. I had tried to appease my daughter with a guinea pig but that only bought me a year until she started asking for a dog again. I'll take care of it, she said. I'll do all of the work, she said. I didn't believe her then and our current state of affairs proves my point. Everyone is busy. They have school, work, activities, a life. I have…a dog.
Our neighborhood, town, world seems extremely dog-centric. Dogs are considered social animals and they get introverts like me out of the house. BM (Before Maddie, or Bowel Movement, both applicable here,) I had a routine that included a daily workout, managing various kid activity requirements, committee commitments and keeping the house in relatively neat shape. AM (After Maddie, or AllAbout Maddie, also either applicable,) my productivity has gone down 90% and my stress level has gone up 100% but the family now has its precious dog. And she is a cutie. My husband grew up with and wanted to have a cocker spaniel. I always admired golden retrievers but didn't want as large of a dog…so we compromised. We found a hybrid breed called Dakota Sport Retriever that is part golden, part cocker spaniel. She is beautiful, friendly, sweet and all I can think in my head is how much I don't know about dogs and how much I'm going to ruin her. "Dogs love you unconditionally, you can't ruin her!" my husband says. He doesn't see her looking at me with sad eyes when I don't have time to take her out for the 90th time that day or her accusing glare as she's sulking from a pup play date gone wrong with a rogue bully dog. It's all Mom's fault, she seems to say. She doesn't know what the hell she's doing. And she's right.
"Feed 'em and love 'em" is the standard advice that was given to me as a new parent and I guess the same applies here as a newly minted pup master. "I am the Master," my new mantra offered by a wise friend who knows dogs. "They need to know their place," advises my dog trainer. "Don't let them eat poop," the vet warned. All good advice but not hitting the crux of the issue: my own lack of confidence. "Believe in yourself," luckily from the same friend who knows dogs also doubles as my on-call psychologist. It reminds me of the line in The LEGO Movie (yes I am quoting the LEGO movie here) when Morgan Freeman says, "Believe! I know it sounds like a cat poster, but it's true." Now I'm quoting cat posters when pondering advice about dogs. [Insert contemplative emoji here.] When faced with things I didn't grow up with like country clubs and swim teams and dogs, I get extremely anxious because I don't have a reference point or confidence in my abilities. Instead of visualizing a positive outcome, my mind defaults to the worst case scenario aka "You're going to RUIN it, Alicia."
What I really need is a copy of "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (And it's All Small Stuff)" for dogs. Thank God for Amazon Prime. I can order that book and books by Cesar "The Dog Whisperer" Millan at the same site where I can get bully sticks, Fromms gourmet dog food, the easy walk harness (as recommended from a mom at a pup playmate), Nutro soft dog treat chews (the only ones she likes) and all things Dog. Or feline. Poor cat, she is mostly forgotten until she cries for food or it's time for bed and she's been waiting for me upstairs all day. But one thing you can't order online is confidence. I wish I could just "go with it more." Story of my life. Everyone else just goes with the flow but Alicia needs to keep her therapist on speed dial and continually upps her meds. Living in fear keeps me from being free so I'm really trying to "fake it 'til I make it" and put on a brave face even though on the inside I'm screaming, "I knew this would happen! I didn't want this!" I'm trying to grow from the experience and learning as much as I can about all things Dog. Maybe as I'm teaching her to "heel," she will help me heal. Maybe I won't ruin her after all.
For now I'm keeping her on a short leash and she is doing the same to me in some respects. I told my husband I feel like my wings have been clipped. Just when I was starting to enjoy things I wanted to do instead of always doing the things I had to do, my schedule now revolves around making sure the dog's needs get met. But she's also a reminder to be more in the moment and that the housework won't always get done but maybe I should nurture myself and our fur babies more than the house. Everything else falls away when I'm walking or playing with Maddie. I'll admit it's hard to stick to the training program when it involves slamming the crate door on her face when she doesn't follow the "WAIT" command or yelling, "NO!" when she does something she's not supposed to do or stepping on her leash to keep her submissive because it triggers me to that shaming place so frequently felt in my childhood. Today's trainers emphasize positive reinforcement with treats and praise but they still employ those other tactics when a dog gets out of line. Though not as bad as rubbing a dog in its own feces during house training in days of old, these tactics seem overly harsh to me because my own "master" was rubbing my nose in it all of the time.
This is the struggle I've faced since becoming a parent 12 years ago, when excessive discipline seemed tantamount to abuse in the recesses of my brain from the trauma I endured in my own family. "Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me," kids taunted on the playground. Not true. Words can hurt very, very much. Especially when they are words meant to hurt you from the very person who is supposed to protect you. My mom's words were her weapons, expertly sharpened over years of practice, she could level me with one quick lashing of the tongue and then it would be over, like it never happened and she would go on with her day and I would be left holding that feeling of unworthiness and despair. It was crazy making. She could annihilate me just like that but once she got it out of her system, she felt better and I felt worse. Then she'd pay me some superficial compliment to make up for it but she would never, ever say she was sorry or back down from saying she was right. Classic narcissist, she was superior, she called all of the shots and she alone was the only one who could do anything right in our household, according to her and we had to deal with it. No one could tame the shrew, especially not her husband who thought by playing the role of her Yes Man would keep him in her good graces. It didn't. She got bored, frustrated and ultimately divorced him, too.
When I became a mother, I doubted my abilities because I felt that I didn't have a strong role model for the kind of mother I wanted to be. I certainly didn't want to alienate and punish my children so that they would fear me to respect me. So I swung the pendulum in the other direction and I consciously ended the cycle of senseless abuse. A friend of mine commented that I never yell at my children, not completely true but there is some truth to it. I usually only really yell when I've reached my absolute limit and when they've really disappointed me or when I'm just overall stressed. Yelling feels too much like how every day in my mom's house felt. With my own kids I try to talk things through, to make them understand how their actions affect others instead of shaming them and making them feel subhuman. A friend asked if it's because I'm "over-therapied" but I think it's more that it's always been my personality to be empathetic because I can relate to how it feels when being "put in my place." One manager I had triggered me so badly, I quit on the spot. She treated me like a dog, barking orders at me and making me feel like a complete idiot, the way my mom used to do.
In my life, when choosing whether to be right or to be kind, I always choose to be kind. It means not berating a waiter for failing to bring out the butter on time (as kids we hating going to restaurants with my mother because the experience was never to her satisfaction and she always said she could do it better) or threatening to "rip someone's throat out" at your daughter's wedding because they demand to see the manager or waiting in line a few extra minutes because the person in front of them is taking their sweet time instead of handing them their ass. Maybe it's being patient with someone who is stubborn or annoying more than is really necessary or listening to my kids more than telling them what to do. Some could say that makes me a "teacup kid" or a snowflake, that it sets me up for annihilation and I'm too fragile for this dog-eat-dog world. But at least I'm not an asshole. And maybe, just maybe, my empathy will be a harbor in the tempest for my family when they need it the most. I certainly hope so. If a dog is capable of unconditional love, so am I.
"Feed 'em and love 'em" is the standard advice that was given to me as a new parent and I guess the same applies here as a newly minted pup master. "I am the Master," my new mantra offered by a wise friend who knows dogs. "They need to know their place," advises my dog trainer. "Don't let them eat poop," the vet warned. All good advice but not hitting the crux of the issue: my own lack of confidence. "Believe in yourself," luckily from the same friend who knows dogs also doubles as my on-call psychologist. It reminds me of the line in The LEGO Movie (yes I am quoting the LEGO movie here) when Morgan Freeman says, "Believe! I know it sounds like a cat poster, but it's true." Now I'm quoting cat posters when pondering advice about dogs. [Insert contemplative emoji here.] When faced with things I didn't grow up with like country clubs and swim teams and dogs, I get extremely anxious because I don't have a reference point or confidence in my abilities. Instead of visualizing a positive outcome, my mind defaults to the worst case scenario aka "You're going to RUIN it, Alicia."
What I really need is a copy of "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (And it's All Small Stuff)" for dogs. Thank God for Amazon Prime. I can order that book and books by Cesar "The Dog Whisperer" Millan at the same site where I can get bully sticks, Fromms gourmet dog food, the easy walk harness (as recommended from a mom at a pup playmate), Nutro soft dog treat chews (the only ones she likes) and all things Dog. Or feline. Poor cat, she is mostly forgotten until she cries for food or it's time for bed and she's been waiting for me upstairs all day. But one thing you can't order online is confidence. I wish I could just "go with it more." Story of my life. Everyone else just goes with the flow but Alicia needs to keep her therapist on speed dial and continually upps her meds. Living in fear keeps me from being free so I'm really trying to "fake it 'til I make it" and put on a brave face even though on the inside I'm screaming, "I knew this would happen! I didn't want this!" I'm trying to grow from the experience and learning as much as I can about all things Dog. Maybe as I'm teaching her to "heel," she will help me heal. Maybe I won't ruin her after all.
For now I'm keeping her on a short leash and she is doing the same to me in some respects. I told my husband I feel like my wings have been clipped. Just when I was starting to enjoy things I wanted to do instead of always doing the things I had to do, my schedule now revolves around making sure the dog's needs get met. But she's also a reminder to be more in the moment and that the housework won't always get done but maybe I should nurture myself and our fur babies more than the house. Everything else falls away when I'm walking or playing with Maddie. I'll admit it's hard to stick to the training program when it involves slamming the crate door on her face when she doesn't follow the "WAIT" command or yelling, "NO!" when she does something she's not supposed to do or stepping on her leash to keep her submissive because it triggers me to that shaming place so frequently felt in my childhood. Today's trainers emphasize positive reinforcement with treats and praise but they still employ those other tactics when a dog gets out of line. Though not as bad as rubbing a dog in its own feces during house training in days of old, these tactics seem overly harsh to me because my own "master" was rubbing my nose in it all of the time.
This is the struggle I've faced since becoming a parent 12 years ago, when excessive discipline seemed tantamount to abuse in the recesses of my brain from the trauma I endured in my own family. "Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me," kids taunted on the playground. Not true. Words can hurt very, very much. Especially when they are words meant to hurt you from the very person who is supposed to protect you. My mom's words were her weapons, expertly sharpened over years of practice, she could level me with one quick lashing of the tongue and then it would be over, like it never happened and she would go on with her day and I would be left holding that feeling of unworthiness and despair. It was crazy making. She could annihilate me just like that but once she got it out of her system, she felt better and I felt worse. Then she'd pay me some superficial compliment to make up for it but she would never, ever say she was sorry or back down from saying she was right. Classic narcissist, she was superior, she called all of the shots and she alone was the only one who could do anything right in our household, according to her and we had to deal with it. No one could tame the shrew, especially not her husband who thought by playing the role of her Yes Man would keep him in her good graces. It didn't. She got bored, frustrated and ultimately divorced him, too.
When I became a mother, I doubted my abilities because I felt that I didn't have a strong role model for the kind of mother I wanted to be. I certainly didn't want to alienate and punish my children so that they would fear me to respect me. So I swung the pendulum in the other direction and I consciously ended the cycle of senseless abuse. A friend of mine commented that I never yell at my children, not completely true but there is some truth to it. I usually only really yell when I've reached my absolute limit and when they've really disappointed me or when I'm just overall stressed. Yelling feels too much like how every day in my mom's house felt. With my own kids I try to talk things through, to make them understand how their actions affect others instead of shaming them and making them feel subhuman. A friend asked if it's because I'm "over-therapied" but I think it's more that it's always been my personality to be empathetic because I can relate to how it feels when being "put in my place." One manager I had triggered me so badly, I quit on the spot. She treated me like a dog, barking orders at me and making me feel like a complete idiot, the way my mom used to do.
In my life, when choosing whether to be right or to be kind, I always choose to be kind. It means not berating a waiter for failing to bring out the butter on time (as kids we hating going to restaurants with my mother because the experience was never to her satisfaction and she always said she could do it better) or threatening to "rip someone's throat out" at your daughter's wedding because they demand to see the manager or waiting in line a few extra minutes because the person in front of them is taking their sweet time instead of handing them their ass. Maybe it's being patient with someone who is stubborn or annoying more than is really necessary or listening to my kids more than telling them what to do. Some could say that makes me a "teacup kid" or a snowflake, that it sets me up for annihilation and I'm too fragile for this dog-eat-dog world. But at least I'm not an asshole. And maybe, just maybe, my empathy will be a harbor in the tempest for my family when they need it the most. I certainly hope so. If a dog is capable of unconditional love, so am I.
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