my last conversation with nada

[Guest guest]

I was inspired this week by the quote, " If a crisis or any problem baffles me,

I hold it up to the light of prayer and extract its sting before it can hurt

me. " And applied it to a conversation that happened with nada.

I continue to find it irksome when my mom goads me on the telephone. Having some

time off from her has been helpful for my spirit. Nada's birthday was at the end

of August, and I sent her a timely card and small present, and also called on

her birthday and a few days later in case she wanted to talk, but the phone went

unanswered and she did not return my calls. In the aftermath, I have not even

had the urge to call nada, just watched the days and weeks go by, praying for

the wherewithal to know what to do when she called.

Nada finally rang me after over a month of no-contact, by telling me she has not

heard from me in awhile. I responded lightly, " I was thinking the same thing. "

For it is truly is she that has not responded to my phone call on her birthday.

She that has not said a word about receiving the present I sent.

She reacts as if this is a power play. Should I expect otherwise? The reasonable

part of me still wants her to be reasonable. Honest would be nice.

First she asks where my son is. I tell her he has gone shopping. Her response?

Isn't MY responsibility to shop? (I easily identify that we are already seeing

anything out of " normal " as a problem with ME). I pause so as to give myself

space to chose non-reactive response. Then I share DS is shopping with his Boy

Scout troop. She acts as if she never knew he was in Boy Scouts. Maybe I forgot

to share this with her, so I give few details. We talk about his being in

orchestra, and she seems to have forgotten completely that he plays cello. I am

sure she heard him play by phone not too long ago. But she moves on too quickly

for me to get alarmed by this.

Next she does a quick shift in topic, to interrogate: are there are " other "

Caucasians at my son's middle school? I tell her, gently, that the complete

statistics are available on the school website if she would like it. Data is

better than trying to reassure with my words. After all, she'll know better that

I have not stretched the truth of past conversations. We have talked about this

several times before.

But of course, she wanted my answer, not to be advised to do research. I am

right there on the phone, but I cannot save her from a world that is becoming

more different than the one she grew up in.

Her next story is about how the elementary school where I went to school is

all-Black now. Nearby families, she says, don't take their kids there and the

real-estate values are going down. My head now feels foggy and my gut a little

squeamish. I begin to tell her that I am confused. I choose to be

self-effacing, so I don't get effaced by her. I say, " I may be stupid. I feel

confused and would like to understand this better. "

Mom quickly reassures me I am not stupid, but is suddenly eager to change the

topic. She says, " I don't have time to explain, I have to go soon, I only have a

few minutes. " I kind of know this pattern too well. She is removing a buffet

dish whose ingredients I am questioning, so she can deliver something more

provocative. She does not want me to look too close at the fog screen she is

creating. She wants me around long enough to get in a sucker punch, and then

make it look like I am the bad person when I react.

Sure enough, her next move is to tell me, " Now, don't hang up on me! " Is she

saying this in front of my dad, to make it look like I am the bad guy? Who

knows?

But when I say to her, again very gently, " What do you mean, me hanging up on

you--it is you who has said you need to go. " she accuses me of grandstanding.

I'm quiet but I wonder, " Grandstanding? I am in my kitchen by myself. " Who

exactly is grandstanding?

I pause and listen to a barrage of words. And soon enough, I begin to hear the

old familiar, " You. " " You blah blah blah... " and I know the guns are set on

rapid shot. That is when I say firmly, " We are not going there today, Mom.

This is not Bash- day. " I use the version of my name I have used since I

was a young adult of 20. She prefers the short version. She changed it to

" Vicky. "

Since that is not the name I go by, I know that this is the beginning of a

slippery slope of disrespect. Quietly, sadly, I say, " Shall we just agree to

both hang up at the same time? One... two... three... "

Then I hear her saying, " You you you... " all over again, and now she really is

taking character shots.

I don't really want to hang up on her. I just don't want the you messages right

in my ear, so, I quickly put her on speakerphone. Once I have the phone perched

on my cutting board, I repeat myself, " Mom, this is not bash- day. "

Again the sting. The spray of insults. Likely I could have done or said

something to take charge of the situation. But I only want a no-fire zone where

she won't be goading me. I am powerless over my emotional responses.

And so, as reading shares, " I extract the sting, just before the sting can

hurt me, " by getting off the phone. I give my warning, and gently tell mom that

it is time for me to go.

It is failure. I know only too well, that the next time we talk, she will act

as if I am the person who is to blame for our " issues. " I'll be to blame in her

mind, because I was ready to hang up when I answered the phone. She will take no

responsibility for her part in creating the fracture line between us.

" God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change... " The

reassuring mantra does not mean I have to be happy about what has happened.

" ... the courage to change the things I can... " I don't think it took courage

for me to hang up the phone. For me, hanging up was my admission of

powerlessness. By hanging up, I simply acknowledged the obvious-- that I

don't know what to do to effect positive change. That admission is the only

power I have right now.

[Guest guest]

I admire your fortitude. Your insight and tactics are superb, and you have

incredible stamina and compassion. When you describe having these phone

conversations with your nada, I picture the Roman Colosseum and gladiators

facing wild boars and other deadly opponents. Each time you've described one of

these phone calls with your nada, they're very similar in pattern: you exert

superhuman efforts to have a nice, rational, pleasant conversation with her, but

she is out for your blood.

If I were subjected to what you describe from my nada (yours is blatantly

hateful, mine is much more subtle) I'd be crawling toward the bathroom

afterward with a blinding headache, unable to hear from the loud ringing in my

ears, unable to stand because the room would be spinning, and hoping to reach

the bathroom before the vomiting from the nausea started. (That's what happened

to me the last two times I was caught unaware by a phone call from my nada.)

We each have to find the path that works best for us; I'm glad you've found

something that works for you.

-Annie

>

> I was inspired this week by the quote, " If a crisis or any problem baffles

me, I hold it up to the light of prayer and extract its sting before it can hurt

me. " And applied it to a conversation that happened with nada.

>

> I continue to find it irksome when my mom goads me on the telephone. Having

some time off from her has been helpful for my spirit. Nada's birthday was at

the end of August, and I sent her a timely card and small present, and also

called on her birthday and a few days later in case she wanted to talk, but the

phone went unanswered and she did not return my calls. In the aftermath, I have

not even had the urge to call nada, just watched the days and weeks go by,

praying for the wherewithal to know what to do when she called.

>

> Nada finally rang me after over a month of no-contact, by telling me she has

not heard from me in awhile. I responded lightly, " I was thinking the same

thing. " For it is truly is she that has not responded to my phone call on her

birthday. She that has not said a word about receiving the present I sent.

>

> She reacts as if this is a power play. Should I expect otherwise? The

reasonable part of me still wants her to be reasonable. Honest would be nice.

>

> First she asks where my son is. I tell her he has gone shopping. Her response?

Isn't MY responsibility to shop? (I easily identify that we are already seeing

anything out of " normal " as a problem with ME). I pause so as to give myself

space to chose non-reactive response. Then I share DS is shopping with his Boy

Scout troop. She acts as if she never knew he was in Boy Scouts. Maybe I forgot

to share this with her, so I give few details. We talk about his being in

orchestra, and she seems to have forgotten completely that he plays cello. I am

sure she heard him play by phone not too long ago. But she moves on too quickly

for me to get alarmed by this.

>

> Next she does a quick shift in topic, to interrogate: are there are " other "

Caucasians at my son's middle school? I tell her, gently, that the complete

statistics are available on the school website if she would like it. Data is

better than trying to reassure with my words. After all, she'll know better that

I have not stretched the truth of past conversations. We have talked about this

several times before.

>

> But of course, she wanted my answer, not to be advised to do research. I am

right there on the phone, but I cannot save her from a world that is becoming

more different than the one she grew up in.

>

> Her next story is about how the elementary school where I went to school is

all-Black now. Nearby families, she says, don't take their kids there and the

real-estate values are going down. My head now feels foggy and my gut a little

squeamish. I begin to tell her that I am confused. I choose to be

self-effacing, so I don't get effaced by her. I say, " I may be stupid. I feel

confused and would like to understand this better. "

>

> Mom quickly reassures me I am not stupid, but is suddenly eager to change the

topic. She says, " I don't have time to explain, I have to go soon, I only have a

few minutes. " I kind of know this pattern too well. She is removing a buffet

dish whose ingredients I am questioning, so she can deliver something more

provocative. She does not want me to look too close at the fog screen she is

creating. She wants me around long enough to get in a sucker punch, and then

make it look like I am the bad person when I react.

>

> Sure enough, her next move is to tell me, " Now, don't hang up on me! " Is she

saying this in front of my dad, to make it look like I am the bad guy? Who

knows?

>

> But when I say to her, again very gently, " What do you mean, me hanging up on

you--it is you who has said you need to go. " she accuses me of grandstanding.

I'm quiet but I wonder, " Grandstanding? I am in my kitchen by myself. " Who

exactly is grandstanding?

>

> I pause and listen to a barrage of words. And soon enough, I begin to hear

the old familiar, " You. " " You blah blah blah... " and I know the guns are set on

rapid shot. That is when I say firmly, " We are not going there today, Mom.

This is not Bash- day. " I use the version of my name I have used since I

was a young adult of 20. She prefers the short version. She changed it to

" Vicky. "

>

> Since that is not the name I go by, I know that this is the beginning of a

slippery slope of disrespect. Quietly, sadly, I say, " Shall we just agree to

both hang up at the same time? One... two... three... "

>

> Then I hear her saying, " You you you... " all over again, and now she really is

taking character shots.

>

> I don't really want to hang up on her. I just don't want the you messages

right in my ear, so, I quickly put her on speakerphone. Once I have the phone

perched on my cutting board, I repeat myself, " Mom, this is not bash-

day. "

>

> Again the sting. The spray of insults. Likely I could have done or said

something to take charge of the situation. But I only want a no-fire zone where

she won't be goading me. I am powerless over my emotional responses.

>

> And so, as reading shares, " I extract the sting, just before the sting can

hurt me, " by getting off the phone. I give my warning, and gently tell mom that

it is time for me to go.

>

> It is failure. I know only too well, that the next time we talk, she will act

as if I am the person who is to blame for our " issues. " I'll be to blame in her

mind, because I was ready to hang up when I answered the phone. She will take no

responsibility for her part in creating the fracture line between us.

>

> " God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change... " The

reassuring mantra does not mean I have to be happy about what has happened.

>

> " ... the courage to change the things I can... " I don't think it took

courage for me to hang up the phone. For me, hanging up was my admission of

powerlessness. By hanging up, I simply acknowledged the obvious-- that I

don't know what to do to effect positive change. That admission is the only

power I have right now.

>

>

[Guest guest]

> It is failure. I know only too well, that the next time we talk, she will act

as if I am the person who is to blame for our " issues. " I'll be to blame in her

mind, because I was ready to hang up when I answered the phone. She will take no

responsibility for her part in creating the fracture line between us.

>

Doesn't sound like failure to me--more like success! Good job protecting your

boundary.

Of course, if you are trying to change your mother into someone who can behave

like a civil and respectful, rational and loving human being, you will always

fail. You know that's not possible. But if your goal is rather to show her that

you will not be spoken to in a certain way, I'd say you're already well on your

way.

Sveta

[Guest guest]

((())) you handle your nada with such grace. I admire you for it.

She sounds like my nada, the Interrogator, the Extractor of my faults, failings,

and Comparer of me and anything related to me to Others more successful or

attractive than me.

Man, it's like being in a boxing ring with them, even on the phone!

>

> I was inspired this week by the quote, " If a crisis or any problem baffles

me, I hold it up to the light of prayer and extract its sting before it can hurt

me. " And applied it to a conversation that happened with nada.

>

> I continue to find it irksome when my mom goads me on the telephone. Having

some time off from her has been helpful for my spirit. Nada's birthday was at

the end of August, and I sent her a timely card and small present, and also

called on her birthday and a few days later in case she wanted to talk, but the

phone went unanswered and she did not return my calls. In the aftermath, I have

not even had the urge to call nada, just watched the days and weeks go by,

praying for the wherewithal to know what to do when she called.

>

> Nada finally rang me after over a month of no-contact, by telling me she has

not heard from me in awhile. I responded lightly, " I was thinking the same

thing. " For it is truly is she that has not responded to my phone call on her

birthday. She that has not said a word about receiving the present I sent.

>

> She reacts as if this is a power play. Should I expect otherwise? The

reasonable part of me still wants her to be reasonable. Honest would be nice.

>

> First she asks where my son is. I tell her he has gone shopping. Her response?

Isn't MY responsibility to shop? (I easily identify that we are already seeing

anything out of " normal " as a problem with ME). I pause so as to give myself

space to chose non-reactive response. Then I share DS is shopping with his Boy

Scout troop. She acts as if she never knew he was in Boy Scouts. Maybe I forgot

to share this with her, so I give few details. We talk about his being in

orchestra, and she seems to have forgotten completely that he plays cello. I am

sure she heard him play by phone not too long ago. But she moves on too quickly

for me to get alarmed by this.

>

> Next she does a quick shift in topic, to interrogate: are there are " other "

Caucasians at my son's middle school? I tell her, gently, that the complete

statistics are available on the school website if she would like it. Data is

better than trying to reassure with my words. After all, she'll know better that

I have not stretched the truth of past conversations. We have talked about this

several times before.

>

> But of course, she wanted my answer, not to be advised to do research. I am

right there on the phone, but I cannot save her from a world that is becoming

more different than the one she grew up in.

>

> Her next story is about how the elementary school where I went to school is

all-Black now. Nearby families, she says, don't take their kids there and the

real-estate values are going down. My head now feels foggy and my gut a little

squeamish. I begin to tell her that I am confused. I choose to be

self-effacing, so I don't get effaced by her. I say, " I may be stupid. I feel

confused and would like to understand this better. "

>

> Mom quickly reassures me I am not stupid, but is suddenly eager to change the

topic. She says, " I don't have time to explain, I have to go soon, I only have a

few minutes. " I kind of know this pattern too well. She is removing a buffet

dish whose ingredients I am questioning, so she can deliver something more

provocative. She does not want me to look too close at the fog screen she is

creating. She wants me around long enough to get in a sucker punch, and then

make it look like I am the bad person when I react.

>

> Sure enough, her next move is to tell me, " Now, don't hang up on me! " Is she

saying this in front of my dad, to make it look like I am the bad guy? Who

knows?

>

> But when I say to her, again very gently, " What do you mean, me hanging up on

you--it is you who has said you need to go. " she accuses me of grandstanding.

I'm quiet but I wonder, " Grandstanding? I am in my kitchen by myself. " Who

exactly is grandstanding?

>

> I pause and listen to a barrage of words. And soon enough, I begin to hear

the old familiar, " You. " " You blah blah blah... " and I know the guns are set on

rapid shot. That is when I say firmly, " We are not going there today, Mom.

This is not Bash- day. " I use the version of my name I have used since I

was a young adult of 20. She prefers the short version. She changed it to

" Vicky. "

>

> Since that is not the name I go by, I know that this is the beginning of a

slippery slope of disrespect. Quietly, sadly, I say, " Shall we just agree to

both hang up at the same time? One... two... three... "

>

> Then I hear her saying, " You you you... " all over again, and now she really is

taking character shots.

>

> I don't really want to hang up on her. I just don't want the you messages

right in my ear, so, I quickly put her on speakerphone. Once I have the phone

perched on my cutting board, I repeat myself, " Mom, this is not bash-

day. "

>

> Again the sting. The spray of insults. Likely I could have done or said

something to take charge of the situation. But I only want a no-fire zone where

she won't be goading me. I am powerless over my emotional responses.

>

> And so, as reading shares, " I extract the sting, just before the sting can

hurt me, " by getting off the phone. I give my warning, and gently tell mom that

it is time for me to go.

>

> It is failure. I know only too well, that the next time we talk, she will act

as if I am the person who is to blame for our " issues. " I'll be to blame in her

mind, because I was ready to hang up when I answered the phone. She will take no

responsibility for her part in creating the fracture line between us.

>

> " God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change... " The

reassuring mantra does not mean I have to be happy about what has happened.

>

> " ... the courage to change the things I can... " I don't think it took

courage for me to hang up the phone. For me, hanging up was my admission of

powerlessness. By hanging up, I simply acknowledged the obvious-- that I

don't know what to do to effect positive change. That admission is the only

power I have right now.

>

>

[Guest guest]

<<hugs>> I've had that conversation many times with my own nada. There simply is

no way to win, no way to de-escalate the mission of madness, no slight of hand

to change the subject. Always calculated to make us into the bad guy, as if they

are carrying on a conversation with someone else other than ourselves, some

persecutor they have made up in their minds.

>

> I was inspired this week by the quote, " If a crisis or any problem baffles

me, I hold it up to the light of prayer and extract its sting before it can hurt

me. " And applied it to a conversation that happened with nada.

>

> I continue to find it irksome when my mom goads me on the telephone. Having

some time off from her has been helpful for my spirit. Nada's birthday was at

the end of August, and I sent her a timely card and small present, and also

called on her birthday and a few days later in case she wanted to talk, but the

phone went unanswered and she did not return my calls. In the aftermath, I have

not even had the urge to call nada, just watched the days and weeks go by,

praying for the wherewithal to know what to do when she called.

>

> Nada finally rang me after over a month of no-contact, by telling me she has

not heard from me in awhile. I responded lightly, " I was thinking the same

thing. " For it is truly is she that has not responded to my phone call on her

birthday. She that has not said a word about receiving the present I sent.

>

> She reacts as if this is a power play. Should I expect otherwise? The

reasonable part of me still wants her to be reasonable. Honest would be nice.

>

> First she asks where my son is. I tell her he has gone shopping. Her response?

Isn't MY responsibility to shop? (I easily identify that we are already seeing

anything out of " normal " as a problem with ME). I pause so as to give myself

space to chose non-reactive response. Then I share DS is shopping with his Boy

Scout troop. She acts as if she never knew he was in Boy Scouts. Maybe I forgot

to share this with her, so I give few details. We talk about his being in

orchestra, and she seems to have forgotten completely that he plays cello. I am

sure she heard him play by phone not too long ago. But she moves on too quickly

for me to get alarmed by this.

>

> Next she does a quick shift in topic, to interrogate: are there are " other "

Caucasians at my son's middle school? I tell her, gently, that the complete

statistics are available on the school website if she would like it. Data is

better than trying to reassure with my words. After all, she'll know better that

I have not stretched the truth of past conversations. We have talked about this

several times before.

>

> But of course, she wanted my answer, not to be advised to do research. I am

right there on the phone, but I cannot save her from a world that is becoming

more different than the one she grew up in.

>

> Her next story is about how the elementary school where I went to school is

all-Black now. Nearby families, she says, don't take their kids there and the

real-estate values are going down. My head now feels foggy and my gut a little

squeamish. I begin to tell her that I am confused. I choose to be

self-effacing, so I don't get effaced by her. I say, " I may be stupid. I feel

confused and would like to understand this better. "

>

> Mom quickly reassures me I am not stupid, but is suddenly eager to change the

topic. She says, " I don't have time to explain, I have to go soon, I only have a

few minutes. " I kind of know this pattern too well. She is removing a buffet

dish whose ingredients I am questioning, so she can deliver something more

provocative. She does not want me to look too close at the fog screen she is

creating. She wants me around long enough to get in a sucker punch, and then

make it look like I am the bad person when I react.

>

> Sure enough, her next move is to tell me, " Now, don't hang up on me! " Is she

saying this in front of my dad, to make it look like I am the bad guy? Who

knows?

>

> But when I say to her, again very gently, " What do you mean, me hanging up on

you--it is you who has said you need to go. " she accuses me of grandstanding.

I'm quiet but I wonder, " Grandstanding? I am in my kitchen by myself. " Who

exactly is grandstanding?

>

> I pause and listen to a barrage of words. And soon enough, I begin to hear

the old familiar, " You. " " You blah blah blah... " and I know the guns are set on

rapid shot. That is when I say firmly, " We are not going there today, Mom.

This is not Bash- day. " I use the version of my name I have used since I

was a young adult of 20. She prefers the short version. She changed it to

" Vicky. "

>

> Since that is not the name I go by, I know that this is the beginning of a

slippery slope of disrespect. Quietly, sadly, I say, " Shall we just agree to

both hang up at the same time? One... two... three... "

>

> Then I hear her saying, " You you you... " all over again, and now she really is

taking character shots.

>

> I don't really want to hang up on her. I just don't want the you messages

right in my ear, so, I quickly put her on speakerphone. Once I have the phone

perched on my cutting board, I repeat myself, " Mom, this is not bash-

day. "

>

> Again the sting. The spray of insults. Likely I could have done or said

something to take charge of the situation. But I only want a no-fire zone where

she won't be goading me. I am powerless over my emotional responses.

>

> And so, as reading shares, " I extract the sting, just before the sting can

hurt me, " by getting off the phone. I give my warning, and gently tell mom that

it is time for me to go.

>

> It is failure. I know only too well, that the next time we talk, she will act

as if I am the person who is to blame for our " issues. " I'll be to blame in her

mind, because I was ready to hang up when I answered the phone. She will take no

responsibility for her part in creating the fracture line between us.

>

> " God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change... " The

reassuring mantra does not mean I have to be happy about what has happened.

>

> " ... the courage to change the things I can... " I don't think it took

courage for me to hang up the phone. For me, hanging up was my admission of

powerlessness. By hanging up, I simply acknowledged the obvious-- that I

don't know what to do to effect positive change. That admission is the only

power I have right now.

>

>