Dance of Anger: A Woman's Guide to Changing the Patterns of Intimate Relationships (10 page)

Perhaps the reader can identify a second problematic aspect of Maggie’s fights with her mother. Maggie had not yet identified the true source of her anger. As is often the case, mother and daughter were fighting about a pseudo issue. Arguing about such child-rearing practices as feeding Amy on schedule or demand, or rocking her to sleep rather than letting her cry it out, only masks the real issue here: Maggie’s independence from her mother.

Maggie’s intense reactivity to her mother also prevented her from being able to think about her situation in a clear, focused way. Until she can calm down enough to become more reflective, she is unlikely to identify her main problem and decide how she wants to deal with it. Simply giving vent to stored-up anger has no particular therapeutic value. Such catharsis may indeed offer feelings of relief—especially for the person doing the venting—and the accused party usually survives the verbal onslaught. But this solution can only be temporary.

During one particular psychotherapy hour when Maggie was describing yet another frustrating battle with mother on some question of Amy’s care, I decided to interrupt her:

“You know, I’m struck by your protectiveness of your mother,” I remarked.

“Protectiveness?” exclaimed Maggie, looking at me as if I had surely gone mad. “She’s driving me crazy. I’m not protecting her! I’m fighting with her constantly.”

“And what’s the outcome of these fights?” It was a rhetorical question.

“Nothing! Nothing ever changes!” Maggie declared.

“Exactly,” I said. “And that is how you protect her. By participating in fights that lead nowhere and never speaking directly to the real issue. You fight with your mother rather than let her know where you stand.”

“Where I stand on what?” asked Maggie.

“Where you stand on the question of who is in charge of your baby and who has the authority to make decisions about her care.”

Maggie was silent for a long moment. The anger on her face changed slowly to a look of mild depression and concern. “Maybe I’m not sure where I stand.”

“Perhaps, then,” I responded, “we had better take a look at that issue first.”

After this exchange, Maggie began to move in a new direction. She began to
think
carefully about her situation, as opposed to expressing feelings about it, and to clarify where she stood, rather than continuing to criticize her mother. In this process, Maggie gained a new perspective on her pattern of relating to her mother. To her surprise, she discovered that she felt guilty about excluding her mother from her new family; part of her wanted to “share” her children so that her mother would not feel left out or depressed. Maggie thought about her parents’ divorce, which followed on the heels of her own marriage to Bob, and she wondered out loud whether her leaving home and getting married were somehow linked to the ending of her parents’ marriage. She then revealed a critical piece of information that she had failed to mention in all of our time working together: her mother had received electroshock therapy for a post-partum depression following Maggie’s birth. Although Maggie was not at first aware of it, she was worried that following the event of Amy’s birth, her mother would again become depressed.

In the months that followed, Maggie explored many facets of the deep bond between herself and her mother. She began to feel less angry and more empathic toward her mother as she understood better how every member of the family, including herself, had unconsciously tried to protect her mother from loneliness and depression whether, in reality, she wanted this protection or not. More important, Maggie was able to recognize her own wish to maintain the status quo—to hold on to her mother and be close in the old ways. And as long as Maggie chose to fight, or to remain silent on issues that mattered to her, she would never really leave home. Even if she moved to the moon, she would still be her mother’s little girl.

As Maggie became less scared and guilty about showing her mother her own strong and separate self, she became more ready to make a change in this relationship. She was no longer going to participate in the same old fights. Nor would she sit silently seething when she felt that her authority as both a mother and an adult woman was being questioned. Maggie was going to demonstrate her independence.

Anger welled up inside Maggie and for a moment she felt like yelling at her mother. But she was now aware that fighting was a way of protecting both her mother and herself. And silence was the same. For both fighting and silence would insure that Maggie would never declare her independence from her mother. Suddenly, she simmered down.

With as much poise as Maggie could muster, she stood up, lifted Amy from her mother’s arms, and placed her gently back in the crib. Then she turned to her mother and said, without anger or criticism in her voice, “Mom, let’s go out on the porch. I really want to talk with you about something important to me.”

Maggie’s heart was beating so fast, it occurred to her that she might faint. She realized in a split second that it would be easier to fight than to do what she needed to do. She was about to show her mother her separateness and independence. And she was going to proceed to do so in a mature and responsible fashion. Her mother was clearly nervous, too; it was unlike her daughter to speak to her in a calm but firm manner.

The two women were seated on the porch swing. Maggie’s mother spoke first, with anger that barely masked the anxiety in her voice: “Margaret” (it was the name her mother had always used when she was upset with Maggie), “I cannot stand to hear that child cry. When a child needs to be picked up, I just can’t sit there pretending I don’t hear her screaming.”

Maggie’s voice was level and sure. She looked at her mother directly and spoke without anger. “Mom,” she said, “I appreciate how concerned you are about Amy. I know it’s important to you that your grandchildren are well-cared-for. But there’s something I feel I must tell you. . . .”

Maggie paused for a moment. She felt an icy fear in her chest without knowing why. She guessed that her mother felt it, too. But she kept her composure.

“You see, Mom, Amy is
my
child. And I’m struggling hard to learn to be a good mother and to establish a good relationship with her. It’s very important to me that with
my
child, I do what
I
think is right. I know that sometimes I’ll make mistakes, sometimes I’ll do the wrong thing. But right now I need to take care of Amy in a way that
I
see fit. I need to do that for her and I need to do that for me. And I very much want to have your support in that.” Maggie heard the strength and maturity in her own voice and it surprised her. She continued with a warmth that was beginning to feel genuine: “Mom, when you tell me what to do with Amy, or correct me, or take things into your own hands, it’s not helpful to me. It would mean a whole lot to me if you would not do that anymore.”

There was a moment of dead silence. Maggie felt as if she had stabbed her mother with a knife. Then her mother’s voice came back, familiar and angry. It was as if she had not heard:

“Maggie, I cannot stand to see that child suffer. A child of Amy’s age must not be left to sob uncontrollably in her crib.” Mother continued to speak at length about the adverse psychological effects of Maggie’s practice.

Maggie was tempted to bolster her own position, but she refrained from doing so. Arguing, she realized, deflected attention from the issue Maggie was at last beginning to speak to—that of her being a separate and different person from her mother, with her own unique way of being in the world.

Maggie listened patiently and respectfully until her mother was through. She did not contradict her, nor did she fight back. Maggie was doing something very different, and both she and her mother knew it.

“Mom,” Maggie said softly, “I don’t think you’re hearing me. Perhaps I’m wrong about the question of Amy’s crying in her crib, or perhaps I’m right. I can’t know for sure. But what’s most important to me right now is that, as Amy’s mother, I do what
I
feel is best. I’m not saying that I’ll never make mistakes or that I have the final word on things. What I am saying is that I’m working hard to be independent and to gain confidence in myself as Amy’s mother. It’s very important to me that with
my
child, I do what
I
think is right.”

Her mother became more anxious and upped the ante: “I’ve raised four children. Are you telling me that you don’t want any advice at all? That I have nothing worthwhile to say? Are you saying that I should have stayed home? I can leave, you know, if I’m just in the way. It sounds like I’ve been making things worse rather than better!”

Maggie felt a new wave of anger rising up, but this time it disappeared quickly. Maggie had her feet on the ground. She knew she was not going to accept the invitation to fight, and thus reinstate old patterns. Instead, she said, “Mother, I very much appreciate your being here. I’m aware how much you know about raising children. And maybe at some point when I am more secure in my own independence and my own mothering skills, I’ll be asking you for some advice.”

“But you don’t want my advice now?” It was more an accusation than a question.

“That’s right, Mother,” Maggie answered. “Unless I specifically ask for advice, I don’t want it.”

“I can’t stand by and watch you ruin that child.” Maggie’s mother was becoming more irrational and provocative, unconsciously trying to draw Maggie back into fighting in order to reinstate their earlier, predictable relationship.

“You know, Mother,” Maggie said, “Bob and I have our struggles as parents. But I think that we’re pretty good at it and that we’ll get better. I’m confident that we won’t ruin Amy.”

“And you’re just criticizing me!” Mother continued, as if Maggie had not just spoken. “I’ve been trying to help you and you just throw it back in my face!”

“Mom”—Maggie’s voice was still calm—“I’m not criticizing you. I’m not saying that you’re doing the wrong thing. I’m sharing my reaction. When you do something like pick up Amy when I put her down, I get upset because I’m trying to develop my confidence as a mother on my own. I’m not criticizing you. I am sharing with you how I feel and what I want.”

Maggie’s mother rose abruptly and went back into the house, slamming the screen door behind her. Maggie had the terrifying fantasy that her mother was going to kill herself and that she would never see her again. Suddenly, Maggie noticed that her own knees were shaking and she felt dizzy. Both Maggie and her mother were experiencing “separation anxiety.” Maggie was beginning to leave home.

What might at first glance appear to be an obnoxious, unfeeling response on her mother’s part reflects her deep wish to stay close to her daughter and to spare them both the painful solitude of greater separateness and independence. Indeed, if her mother had been able to respond calmly and rationally, Maggie herself would have been left to experience even more of the separation anxiety that welled up in her from time to time during their talk. Adding to each woman’s deep-seated fear of losing the other was the fact that their old pattern of interaction was so long standing, neither Maggie nor her mother knew a different way of relating. Precisely what kind of relationship could replace this one was a scary unknown to both of them. Thus, when Maggie broke the old repetitive pattern of communicating, her mother, unconsciously sensing a threat to their relationship, rallied to keep it intact.

Although Maggie was intellectually prepared for the sequence of events that occurred, she still found herself feeling shaken and depressed. “Have I made a mistake?” she asked herself. “Is my mother acting crazy?” “Will I lose my mother forever just because I finally had the courage to state my own point of view?”

The answer is no. Countermoves are par for the course when we begin to define a stronger self in a family relationship. Maggie’s mother’s “Change back!” reaction was her way of communicating that Maggie’s act of independence—her statement of self—was a cruel rejection of her. The threats—some overt, some disguised—were that her mother would become depressed, that she would withdraw, that she would fall apart, and that the relationship between her and Maggie would be severed. As we have seen, this powerful emotional counterforce (“You’re wrong”; “Change back!”; “Or else . . .”) is predictable, understandable, and, to some extent, universal. What happens next is up to Maggie.

Maggie’s work had just begun. As her mother angrily retreated to her room, Maggie felt scared and guilty. More than anything, she wanted to get away from her mother—to “leave the field.” She had said what she needed to say and now her only wish was that she or her mother would disappear.