Empathy for the Partnered Parent

crossposted here.

I should be reading for class, creating a confidentiality form or maybe even knitting one of the 4 projects I have on the needles, but I’ve got a venue for parenting stuffs and it’s been a while so…

When my son was just two months old, I told my now ex-husband I was leaving. Four months later, I moved out of his house and in with my parents. For two years I worked and muddled about, trying to figure out what I wanted to do with myself and my life. During this time I struggled with several things, especially my new-found identity as a single mom and divorcee. Sure single moms existed eleven and a half years ago, but so much research was being published demonizing single moms, bludgeoning our egos, repeatedly telling us we were ruining our kids. Single moms with sons perhaps bore the brunt of said research because there wasn’t a live-in adult with a penis to balance out the dynamic. It’s much the same way single dads are vilified for not having a vagina around (except that happens far less as often the female contingent step in automatically). Finally, this year, single moms have been vindicated!

So back to the title of this post: Empathy for the Partnered Parent. This, I think, is where I struggle most. As a budding clinical social worker, we are taught to begin where the client is, remain open and empathetic, and most importantly, non-judgmental. For the most part I succeed at these things…except when it comes to my own life and situations that affect me directly.

Per example: About three months ago, the husband of a co-worker accepted a six-week job in France – they were desperate after him being without a job for close to a year – and one day I inquired how things were going with the separation. She almost immediately launched into the difficulty in taking her son to football practice, attending open house once school started, taking days off when he got sick and balancing being a “single” mom with work. I remember her mentioning the amount of time off from work she needed in order to take care of these things. When this happens, I try very hard not to look at parents with partners (aka live-in support that’s around 24/7) and say, “Welcome to my world!” because I understand it is hard to have that support one day and not the next. It is a jolt to their routine and way of life whereas for me, it has been my world since the beginning.

Another example: Last summer, friends in the neighborhood just had a baby and often the husband’s job required him to leave town. One weekend, while we visiting in the dog park, the wife went on and on about not being able to get any work done, her mother-in-law had to come over to help and just wow, parenting “alone” is hard! I hope at that time I kept a flat affect, because again, inside my head I was thinking many non-empathetic thoughts!

Because when your partner goes out of town for a few days, you are not truly parenting “alone” and you know it is only for a short time and there will be an end to that “aloneness”. I don’t get a break. I don’t have someone coming home at 6pm who can help me check the kid’s homework, get dinner on the table, let the dogs out then feed them…I am all the kid’s got for better or worse.

It’s hard for me to be sociable during the week because it’s a school night, the kid needs to get fed, have his homework checked, maybe even study a bit, take a shower and get in bed at a decent time. And I can’t afford a babysitter. On the weekends he is with me, I try to do things that are kid-centered because he is, after all, a kid and our weekdays are fraught with getting things done as fast as possible. Weekends are for doing something fun and exciting as well as taking the time to enjoy each other. This often means my time with mostly kid-free people is limited to every other weekend. This means I only get four days out of every month to focus solely on me.

Four days. Of every month. Only.

Perhaps this is also why I end up shoving way too much fun into the 3 weeks I don’t have him over the summer.

This includes going to the store whenever you want, going to happy hour with friends on a moment’s notice or shoring up the anchor that keeps you at home more often than not. (Let’s not even get on the subject of dating – that’s an entirely separate blog post.)

Then there is the positive financial aspect of being a partnered parent as well, that is if both of you are working full- or part-time. I am the only one who pays our bills and if I don’t work, I don’t get paid. There are a lot of single parents who don’t have a middle class income with paid sick time, vacation time or family leave. Many single parents live paycheck to paycheck (like me) with little left over to put into a savings account. I work anywhere from 40-45 hours per week and have 4 days of paid sick time, but I save most of it if not all for times my son is sick since he can’t go to school when contagious.

And when he can’t go to school, I can’t go to work.

And when I can’t go to work, I don’t make any money to pay the bills.

See where I’m going?

Don’t get me wrong, I adore my kid and think he’s the most beautiful boy on the planet. I would die for him and fight someone to the death in order to protect him. But being a single-mom is super hard and draining. I crack often. More often than not I feel like I’m the mean mom and his dad gets to have all the fun. Constantly being the strong one, or as my bestie said, being everything to everyone at the same time, takes its toll. And when I blow, my kid suffers the fall out and not because I chose to take it out on him, he’s the only one around and is only beginning to understand what I mean when I ask him to leave me alone for 30min.

As a single-mom, the pressure to always be on point is enormous and sits heavily on my soul. So when you complain about not having the day to yourself ‘cause school got canceled due to snow, remember all the moms out there who either get that luxury rarely or not at all.

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You Gotta Take the Hetero Out of It...Like This

Yesterday evening, 3 classmates and I presented to our class for an hour on GLBT families, more specifically, Gay Men Wanting to Become Dads and Gay Women Wanting to Become Moms. Each of our slides had various rainbows throughout, they were very colorful. We began our topic with the video below, I’ve Got You by Mélange Lavonne:

We touched on the roles within gay/lesbian families, which come with tremendous amounts of turmoil because currently our vocabulary is based off heterocentric language. What do we call two mom’s? Who is the mom who didn’t give birth? How do the dad’s refer to themselves? To each other? Are they step-father’s despite them being an original ‘contributor’ to the child’s conception? There are so many facets to sort through and because most research on parenting is done on heterosexual couples, it leaves homosexual couples floundering through uncharted territory. Though same-sex couples make up a very small segment of the overall U.S. population, that doesn’t mean they should be left out or their experiences should be lumped in with those of heterosexual parents. Some issues, like what to call themselves, are entirely unique to same-sex couples.

Such ineptness in our patriarchal-heavy language reminded me of Hélène Cixous who suggested we scrape away at the limitations and begin again, this time including women. She said women do not have the ability to adequately tell their story through the use of language primarily because it caters to the singular male, e.g. fellowship, man, woman, guys, etc. (Sexist language anyone?)

Seemingly innocuous to those unaware, the words we use in every day life, like ‘history’, are based from the male perspective, created at a time when women were not taught to read because we were thought of as the weaker sex (and men wanted to keep us that way). Perhaps most importantly, Cixous stated women have a distinct inability to claim our own sexuality because words do not exist that are not related to the male and that allow adequate expression. Simone de Beauvoir said very nearly the same thing in her book, The Second Sex.

But I digress.

At the end of our presentation, one of my classmates had trouble understanding the concept of defining roles in homosexual relationships; she was attempting to create a definition based on heteronormative behaviors and ideology. I was proud of my groupmates as well as another classmate sitting directly in front of the one who spoke because they answered, “It’s how they define themselves, not us.” As clinical social workers, it is not up to us to define anyone but instead to help them define themselves, if this makes any sense.

The classmate referenced the above video and asked that because Mélange referred to her significant other as “wife” in the video, she wondered if it meant Mélange was a husband.

Here is where I internally sighed and rolled my eyes.

Then she asked something in relation to lesbian moms and what defines them as “mom” when only one has given birth to the child. Keep in mind that during our presentation 2 of my groupmates went into great detail about this particular topic and how difficult it can be for women to navigate specifically because we don’t have the appropriate language.

This is where I interjected and said, “Two mom’s, two wives, two parents. That is very often how they are spoken of but not always so it’s not safe to say this is the norm.”

We went around and around for another 5min or so, my teacher (who is marrying her partner in May) getting involved as well.

Eventually I stopped the conversation because I had a hunch it was going to keep pestering my classmate despite what we said and quite succinctly stated, “You’ve got to take the hetero out of it. You cannot look at gay/lesbian families through a hetero lens. You’ve got to let all that go.”

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Something to Get off my Chest

Weeks ago I read the series from The Sexist on groping. They talked about why men grope, women's reactions to being groped and so on. They did a thorough job covering a topic where men seem to think they have indeterminable rights to a woman's body, that our bodies are without boundaries, seen or unseen.

I have been dating a guy-type ( J*) for almost a year now. J* likes to pretend the world is a happy place and nothing bad happens. He also has a daughter who is going to be 10 very soon. I've often mentioned he should talk to her about the birds and the bees, but most importantly, enforce the notion that her body belongs to her and no one else.

As J* and I started getting serious, and my conscious self began to comprehend I could one day be partially responsible for his daughter's well-being, all the times I have been touched by strange boys/men began to resurface. Call it PTSD or whatever diagnosis you want, realizing her life experiences with the opposite have a 50/50 chance of being similar to mine brought on a sense of urgency.

Because J* is male and hasn't had the pleasure of experiencing intense vulnerability with a dose of feeling out of control over his own body, he doesn't understand why I push him to talk to his daughter about her body. I could do it, and I've offered, yet ultimately it would mean so much more coming from him as he represents the gender who might very well become the offender.

So I started sharing stories of my experiences with him.

I told him of the time I was about 11 or 12 years old and playing in this large area of dirt and trails (eventually condo's were built and the dirt was taken away). This area was only a few blocks from my house. On that particular day, me, my sister and our friend rode our bikes so we could travel faster and get the rush from going up and down the "hills". At some point we stopped and 3 boys joined us for whatever reason. We chatted, they bragged, then one of them got off his bike and walked around our group, grabbing my ass in the process. He and his friends chuckled, his friends high-fiving him when he returned to his original spot. What happened next I'm not sure, because all I remember is feeling very afraid. I got on my bike and hauled ass home, the boy who grabbed my ass hot on my tail. As my house came into view, I remember feeling relief when I saw my dad was outside. I rode into my driveway and the young pervert rode off to find his friends. To this day I wonder what would have happened if he caught up to me or if my dad hadn't been outside.

Unfortunately, my experiences with groping didn't stop there. Throughout my life beginning at that point I've been poked, prodded, picked on, touched, felt up and then some all because boys' (and eventually men) have believed they have that right to my body. It hasn't happened nearly as much these past handful of years, but it still happens.

Another story I shared with J* was when I was in the 7th grade. We were allowed to hang outside for 30min or so after lunch and since we are kids, many of us partook of this luxury. One of the boys who apparently had taken a liking to me, decided to graze my not-quite-formed breast as he walked passed. I believe it was when he threatened to do it again that I took off running, hiding behind trees and eventually near a group of teachers, hoping that would stop him. It did. I did not move from that spot until it was time to go back inside.

I've tried expressing in words the intense loss of control, and huge vulnerability, having a stranger or friend grope you presents. I think it's much more damaging to one's psyche when someone you know does it because you live in fear that it could happen again.

A few weeks ago, me, J* and the kids were leaving the roller skating rink. J* had my keys in his pocket and I kept asking for them as I wanted them in my hands before we got to the car. He couldn't understand my urgency which is understandable because I realized I was freaking out due to the vulnerability I felt for not having my keys in my hands ready to unlock the doors once I got to the car. Because for a woman, this hesitation could get her raped and even killed.

And then I realized I hate that I have to at-risk myself for a dude's inability to control urges to which I did not contribute.

Yet I still cannot seem to impress upon J* that girls grow up experiencing life in a completely different way because, very simply, we have vagina's. His daughter has a personality that makes her more susceptible to this type of thing happening as she is more introverted and keeps a lot to herself.

So I worry. And worry. And worry some more.

Then today I sat in on a MDT (Multiple Disciplinary Team) meeting where 6 cases were discussed, all of them girls who had been sexually molested or assaulted by their mothers' SO's, 5 of them under the age of 7.

So I worry. And worry. And worry some more.

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Consuming Kids?

I haven't watched the whole series yet, but I'm partial to marketing being heavily geared toward kids, they know it and it's only getting worse. Unlike what many in the comments have said, I don't think its the parents responsibility at all unless they choose to begin a call for real reform.

Consuming Kids: The Commercialization of Childhood

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Peanut, the 9 year old who knows all

Yesterday, while brushing our teeth, Peanut looked up at me and said, with great distain, "My school doesn't know anything."

Me: Explain.

Peanut: Isn't Daylight Saving Time over?

Me: Well, sort of.

Peanut: My school set their clocks ahead an hour! (now scowling)

Me: (chuckling) Do they have it straight now?

Peanut: Yeah, but it took them a while.

Me: You didn't say that to anyone who works at your school did you?

Peanut: (laughing) No....

Then I thought to myself: "Wow, he's been hanging around me way too long 'cause I just saw myself only 2 feet shorter." And then I also realized it was very likely his school forgot to turn their clocks back at the appropriate time.

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Palin as martyr?

I'm glad Palin has 5 children as that's her choice. However, I don't like this "martyrdom" she and others have created for herself because she has a kid with Downs. Is it really admirable for a woman to choose to carry a child with a disability to full term? Or is it their own personal responsibility to do what is right for themselves, their family and their particular situation at the time the news is given?

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Being Raised up Biracial

Monday, during recess, a schoolmate went up to Peanut and proceeded to call him a “white n*****”. Peanut and his friends immediately launched into the, “But I’m/He’s not white!” defense, to which I agree. Then I told Peanut that is when you tattle, to let the teachers be aware this phraseology and supposed insult is being used and hopefully a talk with the child’s parents will come out of it. After all, the kid didn’t pull it out of thin air; he had to hear it from somewhere.

Charlie was astounded when I said I wasn’t angry, which got me thinking, “Why am I not?”

Peanut is biracial: his dad is Filipino and I’m Caucasian, or Euro-American if you want to break it down that far. We live in a very urban neighborhood, far from being suburbia it is. We live in a city that has a prominent African American/Black population and in Peanut’s school, he is the only Filipino kid with the majority attending being African American/Black and maybe even biracial.

The kid who referred to Peanut as the racial epithet has probably never seen a Filipino person, much less been subjected to the influence of said culture via a 4th grader. Peanut’s hair is straight and a very deep chestnut with skin a shade of russet. (There are a ton of pictures in my flickr pool to the right.) So to him, Peanut is either white or black, there is no in between as no experiences have taught him otherwise.

Which brings up another issue entirely: How do we teach kids racism transcends all boundaries that once seemed solid but now are becoming fluid-like? With the increasing population of biracial children, how are they to learn who they are and, unfortunately, where they belong?

I did a quick goggle search using the term “raising biracial children”. I didn’t expect to be alone in this strife and was not disappointed.

As the mother of biracial children, I am well aware of racism in America and how subtle it’s become. Although we like to think of ourselves as evolved, there are still many among us whose actions reveal attitudes about those they consider different from themselves.

As I stated above, I am white. How do I prepare Peanut for a world of racism that I don’t experience daily but he will? Taken a bit further, how does the occasional white guy I date take this on as well? More importantly, how does me dating the occasional white guy affect Peanut when many strangers assume he was adopted and yes, at times talk to both of us with that assumption in mind (or does it matter since either way he is my son)?

When discussing the incident Monday afternoon, I informed Peanut that, regrettably, now is when he is going to start experiencing and being aware of the attitudes of those who think everyone belongs in a box with 4 sides and no way out. That our society places people into categories, whether we like it or not, and that eventually, someone is going to put him in a position where he will feel like he has to “choose sides”.

Before you can offer biracial children guidance, you must explore your own experiences of racism in America.

Oh how spot on this is. Your children are a mirror of your true self, reflecting your own idiosyncrasies, prejudices and quandaries. Just listen to them talk sometime, I mean really listen. I find often that Peanut repeats a lot of the same views I have and that’s obviously because he thinks I’m right and awesome enough to emulate. However, through his repetition, I have often realized just how flawed my way of thinking can really be, not to mention my desire he think for himself.

Being aware of who you are, why you are that way and of course taking on a heavy dose of self-responsibility, help you better see yourself in someone else’s eyes. Empathy is something definitely worth obtaining the rights to as well. Just a little bit of self-awareness can really go a long way; kids will show you the way whether you wanted to go there or not, but it’s up to you to pay attention.

For example, I was brought up to believe everyone was the same no matter what and they deserved to be treated as such. I don’t recall my parents ever saying a discriminatory word toward anyone though I do realize now my mom thought them on occasion. But no matter what your parents teach you, being in school around a diverse group in terms of thought and practice is something else entirely. I remember kids in high school, white kids for clarification purposes, stating black girls were to be feared because they were mean and angry (oh yes, this stereotype has existed for decades). My high school was predominately self-segregated. After hearing this belief repeated over and over yet having no direct contact with anyone other than my handful of white friends, I internalized this prejudice, fighting hard years later to rid myself of them.

This is what racism feels like. Someone exerts their power over you because they want to and because they can. You are judged for what, rather than who you are. The sense of injustice is overwhelming. Although sometimes the oppressor is someone who holds no true power in the world, it’s an experience that leaves the victim feeling dehumanized and shamed. Imagine feeling this way every day of your life.

Which makes me wonder where the kid got the phrase from and what place from inside him was it coming from. Being 8 years old, I doubt he’ll know, but kids are wondrous little people and can be talked through the process of discovery over time.

Then the question prompted is what does that mean anyway? Is this the “reverse racism” people erroneously purport exists in this day and age? Or was its use misunderstood? Perhaps the kid was joking around with Peanut, but something tells me he wasn’t.

Either way, racism is a power play and in the very depths of the individuals soul who is the racist, they are afraid. We crave power because it means we can be better than someone and in order to feel superior, someone needs to feel inferior whether honestly or ill-begotten.

But how to explain this rather large deeply rooted problem to a 9 year old?

Explain to biracial children that racism is based on fear and insecurity. Extremists and hatemongers are fearful bullies at heart. Hating others because they don’t share the same ideas or views gives birth to intolerance.

If there is one thing Peanut has had hammered into his head, it’s the fact that people are human beings first, and everything else secondary. We bleed the same; have all the same organs, facial structure and body parts. We are one until someone sets themselves apart.

And unfortunately, because he has the benefit of looking much more like his dad, Peanut will always face some sort of racism based solely on his skin color then again when they find out he has a white mom.

(I highly recommend reading the rest of the article quoted here and I added this book to my wish list.)

via

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Mean Mom

This morning Peanut tells me, but only after I asked to look in his agenda, that he needs $12 for a field trip on the 24th.

He needed the money by today.

I told him too bad.

Then I added how I don’t have the time run around the morning of, rushing to the bank and back to him as I have to work. We leave our house at 7:25, are at the daycare by 7:45 then I’m at work by 8, which is me being on time. Not much wiggle room is there?

Peanut springing this same day stuff on me makes me late to work so at some point, as a parent whose job it is to teach her child a hard lesson in responsibility, I have to draw the line somewhere.

School has only been in session for a month and a half yet this kid has repeatedly shown he is unable to tell me anything until the day of or several days after, like when he was $4 in the hole on his lunch account.

Upon further investigating the muddle that is his homework/slash agenda binder, I found an assignment he has due by the 14th, a bookmark that is to serve as a book report for a book his class just finished reading together. I pulled the paper out, looked it over and then announced to Peanut I knew what he was going to be doing this weekend.

Sad face ensued.

This morning, I told him I was going to start going through his book bag daily and if I had to start wasting a lot of time following behind him with regards to homework and schoolwork, I was going to make his life real hard.

So yeah, today I’m the Mean Mom.

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