A Chick in the Cockpit (19 page)

I walked out of my first anger management class ironically relieved but with a sense of connection with a subversive group of women I never knew existed. After I got in my car, I took a moment to lay my head on the back of the seat, close my eyes, and exhale. I had been holding weeks' worth of stress in my neck and shoulders and for the first time since that first night in jail, I felt a huge rush of release. My eyes flew open as my body came alive with the thrill of letting go of the stress. Surprisingly, this class was the first ray of light, and like a sunflower seeking the sun's path, I wanted to follow it. I was already looking forward to the next class. I never needed anger management classes until now.

Each time a pilot transitions into another type of aircraft, it often feels like learning how to fly all over again. It involves many hours of study, and every aspect of the new airplane affects your thought process. For example, some airplanes have more sophisticated weather equipment, which allows you to fly in some really bad weather. But now that you're flying in really bad weather, the danger can be just as bad as trying to avoid it. The equipment gives you confidence to knowingly go into icing conditions or close to a thunderstorm, but despite the equipment, you're still in a dangerous situation.

Starting a new business required a new thought process, too, and, thankfully, gobs of time. Brad now spent long days away from home, which meant I was with a baby, by myself, day after day after day. Like a robot, I would greet the day without emotion, get through the morning routine as a wife, and waiting until I was alone to be who I wanted to be. As Brad's car backed out of the driveway, I became another person, and found joy in finding new activities to do with Lindsey.

I now had an assigned flight schedule, and had settled into the routine of my domestic violence/anger management classes on Tuesdays and being away from home as much as humanly possible with an infant. I attended every book club, playgroup, and field trip I could find. I went to story time at the library every Monday, and planned one trip into Denver every week. When the local mother's group was looking for a leader, I quickly held my hand up and managed to double membership within a year. We had seventy-five names on the Mothers and More roster, and I could walk into the grocery store on any given day and run into someone I knew. I was fanatically creating a life away from home to divert my attention from the fact that I still had to go “home.” I had lost my sense of home—that place and space that you walk into at the end of the day and know that you'll be safe and comfortable. I'd also lost my sense of home within—that connection with yourself when you look in the mirror and know that you are what you see.

Zombies are real. I was one, and that's what I saw when I looked in the mirror. I was a zombie seeking nourishment, but I was looking in all the wrong places. All this time, I know Brad was going crazy trying to figure out how to make a marriage again after what happened. He got what he wanted, he had total control, but he never realized before that you just can't fake a marriage. Oh, you can go through the motions, but it's like trying to tickle yourself. As the cycle goes, he was once again extraordinarily kind. He offered to watch Lindsey so I could go to book club, and kept telling me that he would land a big contract soon so that we could get our financial life turned around.

My inability to respond the way he wanted was propelling his frustration to the explosion level again. We both felt it this time. He honestly felt that if someone is saying and doing nice things, then all other previous grievances should be put in the past. He kept telling me to “...just get over it.
God.
Why are you still moping around? It's done and over with, so just pull your head out of your ass and get on with it. Why can't you move on? You have to have a screw loose if you can't pull your shit together over just one thing that happened. What's the big fucking deal?”

I asked myself these questions daily. The problem was that I had an answer for every question.

I couldn't move on. Every week I went to domestic violence class and learned about domestic
abuse
. It's passé to think that it takes a punch or a hit to be abusive. Abuse comes in all forms, and over 4 million women experience it every single year in the United States alone. You can imagine the world wide numbers. It includes being called bad names, public humiliation, isolation, degradation, controlling your finances, threatening your family, threatening to take away your children, forcing you to have sex without consent, as well as the classic physical abuse and threats.

Ten weeks into taking classes, I told myself that I had to devise a way to get out. I didn't know where to begin, but I knew I had to at least plant the seed of thought. About the same time that I shifted my thinking, Brad announced that we needed to attend marriage counseling to find out what was “wrong with me.” I was blown away, along with being impressed that he'd made this decision. He had already found a counselor, and had even secretly met with her. My thoughts were derailed at this announcement, and since I had nothing to lose except more money, I agreed to give it a try. Marriage counselor. What a great example of an oxymoron—emphasis on the moron. There was nothing to do but continue trying to fly the airplane.

18
Approach to Landing Checklist

1.
Thirty minutes out – stretch and wake up. Ding FA for coffee

2.
ATIS – listen and set up STAR arrival route

3.
Pilot voice – turn on and update passengers

4.
It gets busy in the cockpit very quickly so plan ahead

5.
Be ready for missed approach and alternate airport

Pilots begin the approach phase of flight many miles from the airport. The faster and higher you are flying, the father out that you begin getting information about the upcoming landing environment. At least fifty miles out, most pilots have started dialing in the Automatic Terminal Information Service (ATIS). This is a looped recording that broadcasts essential information about the wind, active runways, precipitation, visibility, altimeter setting and any unusual situations at the airport. If the weather is lousy, pilots must verify if they have enough visibility to legally land, in which case they need to get their Jeppesen or NOAA approach plates (electronic, too) out to shoot an instrument approach or plan on flying to their alternate destination.

ATIS also gives information about the condition of the runway—especially important in the Midwest because it will explain snow conditions on the ground. Don't forget, besides performing the landing, you also have to be able to get the aircraft to a complete stop, preferably on the runway.

Instrument flying is also called “flying blind.” It just means that you are completely in the clouds and do not have the horizon to verify your position in space. Instrument flying, and especially landing during low cloud decks and low visibility, requires withdrawing every penny of training sunk into the brain of the captain and crew.

To add to the fun of flying in the clouds, there is a crazy phenomenon in the cockpit called spatial disorientation, or vertigo. Simply put, it means that without a visual reference or horizon to confirm your attitude, your body can send you the sensation that you are turning, but your instruments say you are flying straight-and-level. It can be completely disorientating and requires that every pilot develop a total sense of reliance on the flight instruments, and disregard other indications of motion from within.

Because of this intense reliance on instruments, it's also important to not hone in on just one indication. During flight training, pilots are constantly trained to cross-check all indications and not just rely on one instrument. Many a pilot has focused on an inoperative instrument and loyally followed it into the ground because it said to do so. Pilots must remember to pay attention to the big picture and what all of the instruments are confirming together as a committee. When they are giving the pilot mixed signals, the trick is figuring out which instrument to ignore. You must ask yourself, “Who is giving you the correct information and which one is feeding you bullshit?” Knowing the difference could be the difference between life and death.

The black box of the Air France (Airbus A330) flight from Rio de Janeiro to Paris demonstrates how one instrument, an airspeed sensor, malfunctioned and caused an “error chain” of events that brought all 228 people into the Atlantic Ocean. Just
one
wrong indicator can mess up everything. Mechanically, the aircraft was just fine, but since the pitot tubes iced over, the pilots were told by the onboard computer the incorrect indicated airspeed. The onboard voice responded by calling out “Stall!” followed by a loud and intentionally annoying sound called a “cricket.” The pilots reacted over and over without thinking about
all
the possible causes, and within fifteen minutes, all those thousands of hours and flight training disappeared into the depths of the ocean. One wrong indicator.

I had just one wrong indicator, and I followed her guidance into the ground.

Brad said the therapist he was seeing was named Lynn. He thought she'd come from hippie parents because she dressed the part and he thought I'd like her. I liked her just by listening to her description. I had been in my diversion program therapy for about three months and was getting so much out of it that I was looking forward to this next step of healing.

And I was healing, but the marriage was still in ruins, and I had no ambition to try and fix it. Brad knew it and pointed out that it was a flaw in my character that I couldn't learn how to forgive and forget. On many levels, I agreed. What was wrong with me that I couldn't get over this? I had a baby, a marriage, a husband, and it was my responsibility to get my entire flight crew to their destination. Since I was locked in the marriage like being locked in the cockpit, I decided I might as well troubleshoot the problems until I had it figured out. Pilots can't really
fix
anything, they can only put the airplane in a condition to continue flying and wait for the mechanic to fix it once they're safely on the ground.

Lynn's office had warm colors, soothing music, incense, and comfortable chairs. At this point, Brad had met with her about twelve times. Yes, that many. Since he was a “victim” of abuse, he was entitled to a state funded victim's counseling program. He was getting counseling as the
victim
. To complete the image, he greedily lined up for this free service, doing what he needed to do to seal my fate and hide his deceit, but I often wondered if deep down, he knew he needed help.

Lynn wanted me to meet with her alone for the first session, and then she'd bring Brad in with me for couple's counseling. During my first session, she spent most of our time leaning back in her chair with her mouth open. What I was told her was completely different than what Brad had said, and she kept saying so. Brad had told her his story of my arrest, but the story that Brad gave her was obviously far removed from what I was explaining, and I could tell she was struggling to keep up. She was scribbling furiously on her notebook and kept having me wait while she checked on her notes from Brad's session.

I still could not talk about what happened without crying. I told myself that I would detach myself and just tell the story so that I could set my emotions aside and hear what she had to say. I gave myself the lecture during the drive to her office, but I still cried. Hell, I was crying in the lobby before I even was in her office because I knew I had to retell it again.

Accompanying the tears was a new twist that hadn't been there in my first recalling of the event—anger and resentment. Each time I talked about it, the emotions changed from where they came. Instead of my heart, it was coming from my brain, and all of a sudden my brain rankled and festered each time it had to tell the story. This time when I told Lynn the story, I did sound like I needed anger management classes—and rightly so.

Lynn sat back and said, “Erika. There are so many things wrong here; I honestly don't know where to begin. The first thing we have to do is get you both in the same room so I can hear you explain your story in front of each other. Your explanation is so vastly different than what Brad told me that I think that in itself is the first issue. One of you is not telling me the truth, so we have to start there. Maybe that's a bit harsh. Let me rephrase that and say that one of you is remembering it the way they want to and disregarding the facts.”

She also asked if there were any physical issues (weight gain/loss, etc.) I was dealing with, and I admitted to her that I hadn't slept for more than a few hours each night for the last seven months. Actually, I had not had eight hours of sleep in a row for almost a year. It's no wonder why they use sleep deprivation as a form of torture in war. I was too tired to feel anything. In a way, my body and mind had reacted like being in a bad accident. You look at the injury and know it's there, but you really don't feel it, yet. It's only later, when your body and brain is over the initial shock and has begun to get down to the business of healing, that you actually start to feel it, and dang, it hurts like hell.

After dropping Lindsey off with a friend and telling her that I had a work related event, rather than marriage counseling, Brad and I met together with Lynn for the first time. She began by explaining her bewilderment at the striking contrast of explanation as to why our marriage was in shambles. She admitted that since she spent an enormous amount of time with Brad that she had a preconceived notion of who I was all about, but that my short time with her has made the situation more mystifying.

She backed up the situation by starting at the beginning. “Talk about your parents, siblings, extended family. Why did those people get divorced? How was your experience when your own parents got divorced? How did that make you feel...?”

During these sessions, I learned amazing details about Brad I never knew. I heard about the specific behavior problems he had starting from when he was very young. He was always in trouble, and from the stories it sounded like he just couldn't stop himself from acting out in frustration. He admitted he'd have moments of rage in high school so intense that he'd black out or forget what he did. He had punched holes in drywall and threatened his mom with physical violence. He said he had made a motion to punch his mom one time, but didn't actually go through with it. It was more to simply intimidate and threaten—to remind everyone that he was his own person and no one could stop him anymore.

Brad also explained that his parents divorced when he was very young, so he acted out to get attention. First and foremost, he despised being told what to do. All the way through elementary and junior high school, he struggled. He butted heads with teachers and anyone else who might have an opinion that differed from his. He was also picked on by classmates and, in return, he lashed out and misbehaved. He said he despised bullies.

When his family moved, he switched schools upon entering high school. With a new school and fresh start, he vowed to be a different person. It worked. He never got into trouble at school. He was still the victim of bullying on a regular basis, but it didn't land him in the principal's office for anything significant. Simply growing up had a lot to do with it, but he also gave enormous credit to his stepdad, James, who, with his Ph.D in child psychology, was calm and patient. The marriage didn't last, but James left an indelible mark on Brad that helped him grow.

All these little stories put the pieces of the puzzle together for Lynn. She explained how all of these events of our past affect who we are now and how we behave.

The review of my history was actually pretty boring. We talked about my being adopted, a latchkey kid, a child of divorce, my mom's depression, and how that all might affect my marriage. I explained that my only anxiety when I got married was having kids—because I was adopted. I just didn't know what genetics lurked in my DNA, and I didn't want to pass on anything weird besides blue eyes.

Lynn's ultimate summary was that I was detached and that my instinct was to run away and ignore confrontation instead of facing it and working it out. That didn't sound too crazy. I thought,
hey, what the heck? I'm sitting here
—
isn't that trying to face it?
She said it was passive aggressive behavior. She said when I walked away from Brad on that fateful day that it was passive aggressive. She said I knew that he'd be angry if I called him a “dick” and walked away—yet I chose to walk away. Yep, I'll take ownership of that. In addition, I agreed with her detachment analysis. I'd been working on detaching myself from myself every single day lately, and the thought of standing up to confrontation of any sort made me nauseous. I've never liked confrontation, but then again, there aren't too many people who thrive on it. They are the exception. Besides, when I had gone the confrontation route, it got me tossed down the stairs, or an elbow to a new C-section incision...and falsely arrested. Who wouldn't want to detach from that?

Brad and his mother had confrontations on a daily basis while he was growing up and he was accustomed to it. Lying, threatening, and manipulating were normal to him. Lynn said because I knew that, my behavior of being detached was upsetting Brad, yet I continued to do it. This was also a form of passive aggressive behavior which made me a co-combatant.

My analysis was that I was absolutely ordinary, boring, and still fucked up. There were common mistakes of judgment, but no giant skeletons in my past. Despite this, the shell of a soul I had put in my closet a few months ago was decaying and, as in a Poe story, the heartbeat was getting louder, so I simply kept turning up the noise to block it all out.

At the end of the first session, Lynn asked us both if we wanted to try and save this marriage. My heart and head screamed NO! RUN AWAY! But, my passive aggressive behavior towards myself ignored their combined effort, so I simply said, “Yes, sure...” Of course I said I'd comply. What did the counselor think would happen if I said no? She should have known that I was in an environment where it was not safe to express dissent, frustration, or anger, so I had to find other channels to express it. Passive aggressive behavior was the best I could do, but because I couldn't perform it on someone else, I just turned it inward, which preserved my body, but destroyed my soul.

Since I had said “yes,” we began by concentrating on teaching me how to forgive. Sticking with my strict agnostic beliefs, I adored the teachings of Buddha, Confucius, Allah, and Jesus. I wanted to live my life as an elevated person who could do extraordinary things, and forgiving this would give me enlightenment. If I could do this, I could do anything. Right?

Lynn said part of the healing process was that Brad would have to discuss what happened that day, in front of both of us. His story began by explaining how I had triggered him by making him think he was stupid. Since he couldn't figure out the QuickBooks program, he felt stupid, but Lynn pointed out that I hadn't said or done anything to make him feel that way. He was frustrated on his own and just didn't want to look stupid in front of me, so he “balanced” the situation by taking physical control of it.