Reviving Ophelia (20 page)

Dale became a more involved parent. He limited himself to an hour of television a night and spent the rest of his time talking to Holly, looking at her homework or working on a hobby. He asked to see Holly’s school papers and wanted reports on her day. Most teenagers would fight involvement at this late stage, but Holly was so lonely that she welcomed his attention. He wasn’t a harsh critic and she learned to trust her dad with her failures as well as her successes. He turned out to be always on her side, supportive of whatever she did.

They went to a rock-and-roll concert at the city auditorium. Holly shared her songs with Dale and he offered to pay for guitar lessons. Her mother had a good voice and he hoped Holly had inherited that from her. Holly set her songs to music and began sharing them with a local band called Power Peach.

The school counselor called me about Klara, who was flunking math. She said, “Klara has been falling through the cracks in our system for years. She’s the kind of kid we tend to miss—well behaved, quiet and depressed. I noticed how thin she was last week when she came in with a truancy slip. I asked about her health and heard she hadn’t been to a doctor in years. That’s when I decided that she needed attention. She’s not in a crisis, just a slow slide down. If we don’t stop it, she’ll drop out of school next year when she turns sixteen.”

Klara came in with her father, Kurt. She was as the counselor had described—passive and demure. Kurt, a large bald man dressed in his work uniform, was an outspoken critic of psychotherapy. Since his wife died of cancer, he hated doctors. As he put it, “They take all your money and leave you with shit.” Besides, he didn’t think Klara needed help. “Hell, she keeps the house up fine. She does what she’s told. She’s not mouthy.”

We talked about Klara’s mother’s death, when Klara was four. Klara could hardly remember her. She had a few of her things: her mother’s wedding ring, her Bible and a fur cape that Kurt had given his wife as a fifth-year anniversary gift. She kept her picture on her dresser and had a letter her mother wrote to her that was to be read on her wedding day. In spite of being tempted, Klara hadn’t read it yet.

On the topic of his wife’s death, Kurt was originally gruff, but soon softened. His wife had been a “beautiful lady” who loved him and Klara “one hundred percent.” He visited her grave regularly. He had no interest in dating other women as there was no one like her. As Kurt talked, his eyes grew moist, but he stopped himself from crying. He balled up his fists and got mad instead. “Why are we talking about this? Isn’t school the issue today?”

I sensed that if Kurt cried in front of me he would be so humiliated that he’d never return. So I asked about grades. Kurt said, “Her grades aren’t great, but so what? She’ll get married and have a husband to support her.”

I asked Klara why she agreed to come. She looked hesitantly at her father and said, “The counselor thought it would be a good idea.”

I asked what she thought and she said, “I don’t know really.”

Klara admitted that she didn’t like school. She never spoke in class because she was afraid she’d be teased if she said something stupid. She didn’t think she was smart and didn’t believe that studying would help. She had no extra-curricular activities. Aside from caring for her dad, she spent most of her time with her boyfriend.

“And primping,” Kurt interrupted. “Klara spends hours in the bathroom getting herself fixed up for school.”

The one subject she liked to discuss was her boyfriend, Phil, whom she had dated since eighth grade. She described their relationship as close. They didn’t talk much or do much outside their homes; mostly he watched television. Both Phil and Kurt were sports fans and Klara would bring them popcorn and Cokes while they watched ball games.

I asked what Phil liked about her. She thought for a minute and said, “He would say I’m the nicest girl he ever met. And he thinks I’m pretty. He can’t stand fat girls and he thinks I have a good figure. He likes to be seen with me.”

I felt pessimistic about this case. Already Kurt had announced he wouldn’t pay for more than four sessions. I didn’t have much time to help Klara fight her depression. She reminded me of a mannequin. She looked the way women are taught to look, and she acted the way she’d been taught to act. Devoid of liveliness, she was overly socialized in feminine behavior.

I wanted Klara to talk about her mother’s death. I wanted to explore what she wanted, what she valued in herself and others, who she was. I hoped I could broaden her sense of possibilities. I hoped we could talk about her preoccupation with looking good rather than feeling good. I wanted her to stay in school.

I would need to be careful and not set her up for her dad’s anger. He expected her to do as she was told. We would have to discuss when it was safe for her to be assertive. She would still have her chores to do, but perhaps Klara could formulate some new goals for herself.

I asked Klara to do one thing a day to make herself happy. She looked skeptical but agreed. As they left, Kurt said, “This wasn’t as stupid as I thought it would be. I might come back, but don’t get your hopes up.”

I wished Kurt would come in alone. I wanted him to examine his assumptions about feminine and masculine behavior. His views of women were hurting his daughter, and his views of men were keeping him from dealing with his own grief and moving on. He looked frightened of losing control, which for him meant crying or admitting he was scared about Klara. Even though Kurt seemed set in his ways, I suspected that he might be willing to examine his life if properly approached. He loved his daughter even though he had a very limited sense of who she was or could be. I thought of his earlier experiences with doctors and I wanted this time to be different. Last time he lost his wife. This time I wanted to introduce him to his whole daughter.

As Kurt saw progress he relented and let Klara come beyond the four sessions. Klara was a shy, humble person, but like most people, she responded quickly to respect and interest in her opinions. We worked on a variety of issues. Klara managed pain the way her father did, by denial and repression, and my first goal was to teach her some new coping strategies.

I encouraged her to face rather than avoid things that scared her and to talk about rather than bury upset feelings. Like many oversocialized females, Klara had a hard time expressing anger. I asked her about times she was angry or upset and she talked in a low-key, tentative way. Little by little, Klara learned she could talk about feelings and neither of us died of shock.

As often happens, once negative feelings are expressed, clients recover their capacity for joy. Klara laughed some in sessions now, a lovely musical laugh. She reported enjoying experiences at school, with her dad and with Phil. Her grades didn’t pick up, but the quality of her relationships improved. She talked more. One day she told me that she insisted that every other Sunday Phil take her out to eat or to the movies instead of watching televised sports with her dad.

Klara continued to care about her appearance, but our talks about lookism gave her a new perspective. She wanted to be valued for more than her appearance and she no longer let Phil make negative comments about heavy women.

Klara loved her bald, sexist dad and remained fiercely protective of him. I was careful not to say anything critical about Kurt, who was Klara’s shelter from the storm. She wasn’t ready, and maybe never would be, to examine her relationship with her father.

Kurt came in for one more session at the end of my work with his daughter. He said to me, “I thought this was a racket at first, but the proofs in the pudding. Klara’s a hell of a lot better. No doubt about that.”

He paused and said softly, “She laughs like her mother used to.” I offered to see him again, but he adamantly refused. “That’s girl stuff. I’m fine.” He thanked me for helping his daughter and gallantly ended our session by saying, “Not all doctors are money-grubbing quacks.”

DIVORCE

Jean, an animated woman dressed in a business suit, reported that her daughter had been arrested for being a minor in possession of alcohol. Julia, dressed in pink stretch pants, an oversized sweater and shark earrings, groaned and folded her arms across her chest. “I had one beer.”

I listened as Jean explained their complicated family. Julia’s parents had divorced two years ago after her father became involved with a younger woman. He had since married the younger woman and moved to a nearby town. They had a baby girl born three months ago. Since the birth of his new daughter, Julia’s father hadn’t seen Julia. He called a couple of times, but was busy with the new baby and his new wife. Jean hadn’t even told him about Julia’s arrest.

Jean had been the custodial parent since the divorce. She worked at an accounting firm and they’d scraped by on her earnings. Jean, Julia and Reynold, Julia’s ten-year-old brother, had moved to a smaller house in a less expensive part of town. The children had to change schools and Julia had been cut off from her closest friends.

A year ago in Parents Without Partners, Jean had met Al, the owner of a small printing company. Right away she had liked his kindness and sense of humor. He liked her efficiency and common sense. For several months they met on Saturday nights for dinner and a movie. They combined their children for some family picnics and miniature-golf outings. Three months ago they were married.

Jean, Julia and Reynold had moved again, into Al’s home with his three boys. This fall Julia attended her third junior high in two years. Jean said, “Reynold hasn’t had much trouble. He’s a jock who found friends right away on the softball team. But the divorce hit at a bad time for Julia. She was just beginning seventh grade. At her first new school she was shy and didn’t make friends. At her next school she made friends with the kids who were smoking and drinking. I’m sure her arrest is connected to all the changes.”

I thought to myself that most teenagers, like plants, don’t do well with moves.

Julia curled her feet under her and nestled into the couch. “I know Mom and Dad weren’t getting along, but I was fine. I haven’t been happy since the divorce.”

She looked at her mother. “Al’s not a bad guy—he’s good to Mom—but I hate his sons. They’re spoiled rotten. I have to pick up after them and do their dishes. Al lets them get away with murder. They’re jerks.”

“It’s true that Julia does more than her share. Al’s boys never have had chores. Al’s a softy,” Jean said.

“Most step-families need some counseling, especially if there are teenagers,” I said. “Making a new family is so difficult that everyone needs a consultant.”

Julia said, “For a long time I wished my parents would get back together. Now I just wish that Reynold and I could live alone with Mom. I don’t like all the noise and mess at Al’s.”

Jean touched her daughter’s arm. “You’re not home very much.”

“I try not to be,” Julia said.

Jean said, “Last week Julia was busted at a party. Afterwards one of the mothers suggested we parents get together and make rules. We all work and no one is home after school to supervise. There are always empty houses available.”

Julia said, “Mrs. Snyder’s a creep. Don’t you dare get involved in that. Everyone drinks. You don’t know anything about it.”

Jean sighed. “Kids are different now. I had a roller-skating party for Julia’s eighth-grade birthday and it was an eye-opener. The kids talked filth. The rink had security people to check for drugs. Believe me, the rinks were different when I was a kid.”

Julia said, “Of course things are different. Why do you treat me like they aren’t? You have the same stupid rules for me that your mother had for you. Don’t you understand that I can’t live by those rules and have any friends?”

Jean looked hopelessly at me. “I want her to be safe.”

Clearly Julia had too much to handle—her parents’ divorce, the loss of her father, the new house, the new schools and the new stepfather and stepbrothers. Plus, she had all the issues that hit girls with puberty. Like many adolescent girls whose parents divorce, she turned to friends. She found a crowd who kept her away from home and gave her a sense of belonging. She used alcohol to forget.

Julia needed a place to talk about all of her losses. She needed to reconnect with her father. I suspected that she needed some guidance about sexuality, a drug and alcohol evaluation and maybe a support group for teen users. If she could sort through the pain she wouldn’t need to medicate it away.

I recommended family therapy. The rules regarding housework should be fair. Al’s boys could use more discipline. Jean agreed to discuss this with Al.

I asked Julia if she would like to come in alone. Julia uncurled her legs and looked hard at me. “Yes, as long as you don’t lecture me.”

I promised I wouldn’t.

 

My own thinking about divorce has changed in the twenty years I’ve been a therapist. In the late 1970s I believed that children were better off with happy single parents rather than unhappy married parents. I thought divorce was a better option than struggling with a bad marriage. Now I realize that, in many families, children may not notice if their parents are unhappy or happy. On the other hand, divorce shatters many children. As one girl said when I asked her how she felt living with her dad and seeing her mother once a month, “I try not to think of it; it hurts too much. I try not to feel anything.”

A Peruvian friend of mine who is studying in the United States commented on the number of children she knew in America whose parents were divorced. She said, “They are needier than Peruvian children. They have more material goods, but they all cry out for adult touch and attention.”

Of course, some marriages are unworkable. Especially if there is abuse or addiction involved, sometimes the best way out of an impossible situation is the door. Adults have rights, and sometimes they must take care of themselves, even when it hurts their children. Living in homes with unhappy parents who have stayed together for the sake of the children is by no means ideal for anyone. But divorce often doesn’t make parents happier. Certainly it overwhelms mothers and fathers, and it cuts many parents off from relationships with their children.