Tag Archives: control freaks

Duggars, narcissists

“He’s just a little boy… let’s not condemn him to a life of fundie drudgery yet!”

Yesterday, I was hanging out in the Duggar Family News Facebook group when someone shared a cute picture of two of the Duggar grandchildren. I believe it was a picture of Josh’s second daughter, Meredith, and Jessa’s eldest child, Spurgeon. I think both kids are very cute, but Spurgeon appears to be especially adorable, despite his unfortunate name, which alternately reminds me of sturgeon or spooge. A lot of the people in the Duggar group called him “Spud” for short.

Anyway, I posted that I think Spurgeon is super cute and will be a “heartbreaker” when he gets older. Innocent enough comment, right? It’s the kind of thing people often say about attractive children. I didn’t realize what I wrote was controversial, but apparently, it was.

Here’s the conversation that ensued:

I was a bit non-plussed that my original comment, that I think Spurgeon is a “cutie” and will be a heartbreaker, turned into a prediction of the boy’s future. Spurgeon is only four years old; he turns five in November. And yet people in the Duggar group are already condemning him to a lifetime of being his grandfather’s “slave”.

“Here’s you some candy…” (actually, I have seen the candy challenge done by a lot of Mormons, too.)

Frankly, I find that thought very depressing. People in the Duggar group follow the pregnancies of the Duggar children with intense devotion and seem to cheer whenever a new pregnancy is announced. However, it seems that a fair number of them believe that the offspring of the Duggar “kidults” are doomed somehow. What a sad and limiting thought that is. Basically, a large group of people strongly believe that these kids have no minds of their own and no ability to make their own choices.

And yet, here’s Jill Dillard, wife of Derick Dillard and once considered the biggest Kool-Aid drinker of the bunch. She’s sending her son, Israel, to public school. She has a nose piercing, wears pants, and has even been photographed wearing shorts, sleeveless tops, and swimwear. Yes, it’s true that she and Derick are no longer welcome to come to the Duggar compound uninvited, but they are clearly making their own choices.

Jeremy and Jinger Vuolo, likewise, were able to escape Arkansas and live on their own out in California. They’ve been married a few years now, yet Jinger is only on her second pregnancy. She wears pants, has cut her hair, and colors it. It’s obvious that Boob no longer completely runs her life.

And finally, there’s Joy Anna Forsyth, who married her husband Austin a few years ago. Austin makes his own money flipping houses. It looks like they’ve largely removed themselves from the hopelessly dull Counting On series and are putting up their own videos on YouTube, for which they probably get paid directly.

I think these two might be living their own lives now.

But even if I’m wrong about Jill, Jinger, and Joy Anna, and their lifestyles are still completely under Boob’s control, I still think it’s within the realm of possibility that Spurgeon or any of the other Duggar grandchildren will bust out on their own and make their own choices. It’s happened in many families that are mini-cults.

Look at the people who have managed to escape Warren Jeffs, and other FLDS sects. I know I read a lot of books by women who were once sister wives– Irene Spencer’s excellent book, Shattered Dreams: My Life as a Polygamist’s Wife, comes to mind. She was the second wife to Verlan LeBaron. Her sister wife, Susan Ray Schmidt, wife number six to Verlan, also wrote a book called His Favorite Wife: Trapped in Polygamy. I’m sure many people thought that Irene and Susan were trapped for life in the Colonia LeBaron FLDS polygamist nightmare, but they weren’t. They escaped and made new lives for themselves. There is absolutely no reason to believe that any of the Duggar grandchildren or children can’t also escape. In fact, if I were a betting woman, I would bet there will someday be a scandalous tell all about life as a Duggar. I bet there’s already a book in the works as I type this.

If there’s one thing I have learned from Bill’s experience with his hyper-controlling, narcissistic ex wife, it’s that people who are caught in these kinds of controlling groups DO sometimes wake up and take control over their own lives, even if the source of control is a close relative. My husband’s daughter did not speak to him for many years, mostly because her mother told her not to and she’d been fed a lot of lies. A lot of people thought it was hopeless that Bill would ever speak to his daughter again, let alone know his grandchildren.

I always somehow knew younger daughter would eventually come around. I figured she would do it before her older sister would, simply because she had a stronger personality. But I knew it would happen someday that she and Bill would speak again. I’m grateful that my initial predictions weren’t completely what came to pass. I figured she’d get in touch to spite her mother, because I was under the mistaken impression that she was just like her mom. I thought that she would try to use Bill, like her brother did. It turns out that, as far as we can tell, she’s much more like Bill, which is a wonderful blessing.

I still have hope that older daughter will also come around someday… but if there’s one thing Bill and I have BOTH learned, it’s that being “disowned” is not the end of the world. Yes, it’s extremely hurtful to be cast out, but the pain is definitely survivable. Some people truly would rather go through the pain of being disowned than surrender their free will to someone else. Many people are determined to make their own decisions in life, and choose to break out of extremely controlling family systems and do what they want. There is absolutely NO reason to believe that one of the Duggar grandchildren won’t do that.

Boob can’t control them all forever, and who’s to say that someone even more narcissistic or toxic won’t come along push him out of power? There are simply too many of them. Even Fred Phelps, creator of the damnable Westboro Baptist Church, was eventually ousted from his own family created church fiefdom. It takes a lot of energy and stubbornness to control people, and the older and weaker a controlling person gets, the more likely it is that they’ll eventually be pushed aside by someone younger and stronger. Everyone– even Jim Bob Duggar– has a match. Moreover, most of us have never met the Duggars and only know about them what we’ve seen on TV and read in the media.

I truly hope that any of the Duggar children or grandchildren who want to live life on their own terms will eventually be able to do so. I refuse to sell any of them short. I disapprove of making predictions about how a child will turn out, particularly when the child is as young as Spurgeon Seewald is. He’s only FOUR. A whole lot can happen in fourteen years, when Spurgeon will be considered an adult. Let’s give him a chance to grow up a bit before we make predictions about his future.

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book reviews, narcissists

A review of My Mother, the Psychopath: Growing up in the shadow of a monster

Before I get too cranked up with today’s book review, I want to express appreciation to my mom, who is most definitely NOT a psychopath. The older I get, the more I appreciate her… and the fact that she doesn’t have an overwhelming need to control me, especially since my father passed. If you have a parent who isn’t a control freak, you may feel even more appreciation for him or her after reading Olivia Rayne’s book, My Mother, the Psychopath: Growing up in the shadow of a monster. I have known people whose mothers were much too controlling and did horrible, cruel things to their children. As difficult as it is to grow up, especially nowadays, I think it must be so much harder when one of your parents is toxic and downright cruel. Now… with that out of the way, on with today’s book review.

I’m not sure what exactly possessed me to download Olivia Rayne’s book about her psychopath mother, which was released in January 2019. I love true stories. I am fascinated by psychology. I’ve also been close to people with overcontrolling parents with psychological problems. Indeed, my father was an alcoholic, and his problems with alcoholism brought out some control freak tendencies in him and my mom, who was mostly trying to keep things functional. They also brought out a tendency in them to be neglectful. However, after reading My Mother, the Psychopath, I feel pretty damned fortunate. My parents never tried to sabotage me in any way. They never harassed me with constant phone calls, emails, and texts. They didn’t become involved in my love life, nor did they encourage me to be involved with a psychopath. They were happy when I succeeded, and they were supportive when I needed help, even if they were sometimes reluctant to help me.

Olivia Rayne did not have a good mother. Her mom, a French artist named Josephine, was downright poisonous. Far from the nurturing, caring, kind person a mom is stereotypically supposed to be, Josephine was the mother from hell. In her book, My Mother, the Psychopath, twenty-something Olivia describes growing up with a mom who did cruel things almost on a whim. Josephine was cunning, charming, beautiful, and elegant. She could sell ice to Eskimos if the mood suited her. But underneath that gorgeous, exciting, and charismatic exterior was a woman who did everything she could to destroy her daughter, short of killing her.

Josephine was married to Olivia’s British father, Clive, a man who meekly tolerated his wife’s ridiculous shenanigans. Although Olivia apparently saw him as the saner, less abusive parent, Clive was complicit in his wife’s abuse of their only daughter by supporting her when she decided on a whim to move to different countries around Europe– from Martinique to England to Germany to France to Monaco, Olivia was moved whenever her mother decided she needed a fresh start. Olivia would lose her friends, lose ground in her schoolwork in different countries as the requirements and languages were different, and her sense of familiarity within her environment. Her mother would give her things– a new puppy or a pond full of wildlife– only to take them away. The puppy would be rehomed in just months. The pond and all of the wildlife within it would be destroyed by liquid soap in the water placed there by a mother who couldn’t stand to see her daughter attached to anything besides her.

When Olivia grew older and had more of a say over her life, her mother would continue to try to control her. She’d sabotage her schoolwork by forcing sudden, drastic moves. She’d call up her co-workers and bosses at different jobs, accusing her of being in trouble with the police for stealing or even being unsafe around children. She’d tell outrageous lies to Olivia’s friends and love interests in an attempt to get them to abandon her. There was only one boyfriend of Olivia’s that her mother approved of– Sean– a cocaine addict and dealer who was abusive, unfaithful, and prone to rages. Strangely, Josephine was supportive of Olivia’s relationship with Sean, even though Sean ran up huge debts in Olivia’s name, sold and abused cocaine, and cheated on her with many other women.

A healthy person would not stand for this kind of treatment, but when it’s delivered by a parent, and that parent has done everything in his or her power in an attempt to retard their child’s development, it becomes especially difficult to break free of the abuse. Olivia had loving relatives in her grandparents. Josephine’s French parents recognized that their daughter was toxic and cruel. Clive’s mother, Granny, was despised by Josephine, probably because she could see right through her and refused to tolerate as much of her bullshit as other people did. But it was Olivia who bore the brunt of the abuse, and it was Olivia who had to make the heartbreaking decision to go “no contact” with her own mother. Every time she thought she’d made strides toward independence, her mother would find a way to be in contact and screw everything up again.

I liked the way Olivia Rayne and her ghost writer set up this book. Each chapter begins with a symptom of psychopathy and a description of the behavior. Then the chapter would show how Josephine displayed those characteristics, all in a readable, page turning fashion. I found My Mother, the Psychopath fascinating, but it’s also well-written and insightful. I formed pictures of the people involved in the story, as well as the places Olivia described. Yes, it’s a book about a psychopath, but it’s also a hell of a compelling story. It might even make an interesting film.

Part of the reason this book was so compelling to me is that I think my husband’s ex wife is much like Josephine. Many of her behaviors are very similar and, in fact, as Bill talks to his younger daughter more and more, he’s hearing stories about what it was like for her to grow up with a mother who did her best to sabotage and control her. I must admit, since those stories have come to light, my opinion of my husband’s daughters has changed drastically. This book didn’t have much to do with my change of opinion toward my husband’s children, but it did give me another shot of empathy toward their situation. Growing up with healthy parents is hard. Growing up when one of your parents is a psychopath is much, much, harder. Every success is hard won, and every success, even if the parent did his or her best to squelch it, will be shared with the narcissistic parent, who will do their best to take all the credit. Of course, when things go wrong, that same parent will not take any responsibility at all, even if the failure is entirely due to something they did or didn’t do.

I think this is an excellent book for those who are interested in true stories, particularly if they are also interested in psychology. It’s a very good example of what happens when a child grows up with a toxic parent, although so far, Olivia’s story has a somewhat happy ending. Unfortunately, her ending is not necessarily the norm– and honestly, I can’t even say that the story has ended. She will have to stay no contact with her mom, which is very sad and will be quite difficult. As of the book’s end, Olivia had been no contact for a couple of years, but there’s no telling if she might fall into her mother’s clutches again. Psychopaths and narcissists are cunning, charming, and always angling for control. It takes a lot of will and strength to stay out of their crosshairs.

If I were rating this on a five star scale, I’d give it five stars. I think it’s a great read.

As an Amazon Associate, I get a small commission from Amazon when anyone makes Amazon purchases through my site.

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rants

There is no “we” in he…

One of my greatest pet peeves is when people include themselves in another person’s singular event. For example, I can’t stand it when people say, “We got pregnant.” Um… biological males do not get pregnant. It’s impossible. A man deposits his sperm into a fertile woman and she gets pregnant. Once she’s pregnant, his part of babymaking is over until the baby is born.

I know people say “we got pregnant” so that the man feels like he is a part of the pregnancy. But until that fetus is dancing on his bladder from the inside, he has no idea. Until his nether regions are ripped up or his abdomen is cut open to get the baby out, pregnancy is not an experience he can relate to. Hey… until he has a positive pregnancy test, and it’s not because he has a disease (testicular cancer), he’s never been pregnant and, therefore, is not a part of “we” in “we got pregnant”. Fuck that. Incidentally, a man doesn’t “deposit his seed”, either. Sperm is fertilizer, not seed. If one is going to use the euphemism “seed”, it makes more sense for it to refer to the woman’s egg. Fertilizer isn’t the same thing as seed.

But I realize that’s just me… and I am a lot more uptight about language than most people are. I am also an irritable person, especially as I get older. This morning, I encountered yet another annoyance. This time, it was in the Duggar Family News group. Someone had posted a screenshot of Sierra Dominguez and her baby, who was just diagnosed with RSV bronchiolitis. Sierra, who despite having been helicoptered with her baby boy to Children’s Hospital in Little Rock, Arkansas, had the time and composure to write a lengthy Instagram post complete with several pictures regarding her son’s medical condition. Behold:

“We were diagnosed”? Is she sick, too?

I have to admit, I stopped reading when I read “we were diagnosed”. Yes, I’m that uptight about language. I get that momma Sierra is concerned about her baby, but unless she’s also coughing, wheezing, and feeling horrible, there is no “we” in this case of RSV bronchiolitis. The baby is sick. You’re not, Sierra… at least not yet. Hang around the hospital for awhile, and that could change. Unless she actually is sick… which maybe she is.

Anyway, that’s just me and my pet peeves. I do hope baby Merrick recovers quickly and no one else gets sick. I’m sure Sierra is scared, and posting on Instagram is one way she gets moral support. Still, while she’s understandably very worried about her son, he’s the one who’s sick. She doesn’t have a diagnosis of RSV; he does. Correct pronoun use is essential.

Moving on…

Looking at the photos from Sierra’s Instagram post just reminded me of another unpleasant memory. It’s unrelated to Sierra’s situation or the fact that I hate it when people include themselves in someone’s individual experiences (ie: “How are WE doing today?”). Sierra has included a photo of her baby boy, wrapped up in blankets and hooked up to machines. And that reminded me of the summer of 2014, when my father was dying after he’d had emergency gallbladder surgery.

I have three sisters. They’re all significantly older than I am. They were 13, 11, and 8 years old when I was born. Because of the age gap, sometimes my sisters treat me like I don’t have any sense. They become manipulative to the point of insulting my intelligence and my character. This has happened so much in my life that I have become exquisitely sensitive to it, to the point at which I get really angry when it happens. I think being manipulative, rather than being straightforward, is the height of disrespect.

In the summer of 2014, Bill had just left the Army and was job hunting. Just before my dad’s gallbladder attack, he was in talks to join Cubic, a government contractor, on an assignment in Stuttgart, Germany. We were living in San Antonio, Texas at the time, while my parents were in Hampton, Virginia. We didn’t have a lot of money to spare, nor was it the greatest time for us to drop everything and fly to Virginia. We had just a few weeks to plan our international move.

One of my sisters, who is worse about being manipulative than the other two, went to Virginia and took a picture of my father lying in his hospital bed, tethered to machines and covered with a huge CPAP mask (he’d had severe sleep apnea). She sent me the photo with a very shitty two line email about how I needed to come to Virginia to see him. Naturally, I was extremely pissed off at her for taking that photo and sending it to me as if I needed convincing that the situation was serious. I didn’t need her to send me a picture of my dad in that condition, nor was I taking orders from her. I was in touch with our mom, who had been keeping me apprised of the situation. I didn’t need her input or “help”. However, because we were already stressed out and I knew ripping my sister a new one would make things much worse, I simply replied with “Thanks for the update.”

I don’t know why my sister felt it was necessary to take a picture of our father on the brink of death as a means of convincing me to come to Virginia. I found it very hurtful that she’d assume that I needed that kind of “proof” that he was that ill. She basically sold me short, assuming that I’m that much of a selfish asshole that I needed to see a photo of him on his deathbed. By sending that picture, she implied that I didn’t care about our dad. I did care about him. In fact, I loved him. I didn’t always like him very much, but I had good reasons for feeling that way. It was neither appropriate for her to send that picture of him to me to try to convince me to visit, nor was it even really her business.

My sister is a controlling person, and I think she has trouble trusting that people will do the right thing. I don’t understand why she feels so free to be such an asshole to me, since I’m sure she doesn’t do this shit to everyone she encounters. In retrospect, maybe I should have sent her the seething, scathing email I had composed in my mind and in a blog post that I later deleted, because I was so hot with fury when I wrote it. Maybe she would have gotten the point that I’m now a grown woman and she would get a lot further with me if she’d simply make respectful requests or suggestions rather than manipulative demands. I can’t stand manipulators. They really piss me off.

Incidentally, I don’t remember if I told our mother that my sister took the photo. I don’t think I did, because I knew it would upset her. I’m sure she would NOT have approved of it. It was unnecessary, disrespectful, and just plain RUDE— and more to him, than to me.

But then, as if the tasteless photo of our dad wasn’t enough, when it became clear that my dad was going to die very soon, this same sister sent me instructions on how to speak to our mother! She wrote, “If you call Mom, please be kind…” As if I wouldn’t have been kind to our mother under these circumstances. She seems to forget that speaking to people in crisis was to be my career. I actually have professional training in it. Aside from that, I’m not such an asshole that I would deliberately pick a fight with our mom, especially as her husband of 56 years is on his deathbed.

Once again, I resisted the strong urge to tell my sister, in no uncertain terms, to go fuck herself. However, I ultimately responded, once again, with “Thanks for the update.” That’s all that really needed to be said, although the temptation to escalate the situation was definitely there. I was really pissed. What sucks is that the situation doesn’t escalate when I respond calmly, but I’m still left furious that, once again, I’m being forced to interact with an asshole… because I assure all of my readers, I don’t start this shit. I do my very best to avoid people who piss me off. They contact me, and usually with ill-conceived emails, unexpected visits, private messages, or public comments on Facebook or my blog. 🙂

I had actually forgotten about that incident involving my sister sending our dad’s photo… but Sierra’s Instagram picture of her baby in the hospital brought it all roaring back to me. I think if my sister does something like that when it’s time for our mom to pass, I will give in to the urge to tell her that it’s not appropriate to send pictures of people who are on their deathbeds as a means of getting other people to do your bidding. I think I will also tell her that if she thinks so little of me that she feels the need to be manipulative, she can count herself minus a sister. Life is much too short to have to deal with that crap.

Ah well… it’s Sunday, foggy, and chilly. Guess I’ll quit writing this post and go work on a puzzle.

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healthcare

A little TMI from T.I. and yours truly…

A good morning to everyone. There’s nothing like waking up, reading the daily news, and coming across a dishy item about a 39 year old rapper who takes his teenaged daughter to the gynecologist and demands that the doctor check to see that her hymen is still intact. I rubbed my eyes and wondered if it was true. But I’m sitting here listening to the podcast, Ladies Like Us, with Nazanin and Nadia, and T.I. Tip Harris is the guest. He’s talking very frankly about his life… and that of his children. And then I saw an article in the Washington Post about these revelations, which are just so completely fucked up that I can’t even fathom it.

T.I., otherwise known as Clifford Joseph Harris Jr., has made it an annual habit to accompany his 18 year old daughter, Deyjah Harris, to the gynecologist. Apparently, this began when she was 16. After Deyjah’s birthday party that year, he put a sticky note on her bedroom door that read “Gyno. Tomorrow. 9:30.”

He continues: “So we’ll go and sit down and the doctor comes and talk, and the doctor’s maintaining a high level of professionalism. He’s like, ‘You know, sir, I have to, in order to share information’ — I’m like, ‘Deyjah, they want you to sign this so we can share information. Is there anything you would not want me to know? See, Doc? Ain’t no problem.'”

So as I’m reading about this, I picture this poor teenaged girl lying there on the table, no doubt in a flimsy hospital gown, and wearing no undergarments. It’s her first time being examined, which I remember from my own experience was very nervewracking and embarrassing. Her father and a male doctor are standing there talking about whether or not she still has her hymen intact. The male doctor, to his credit, lets T.I. know that the hymen can break for a lot of reasons that have nothing to do with sex. Lots of women have lost theirs riding horses and bikes. I participated heavily in both of those activities when I was a teenager, but I remained a virgin until I was 30 years old and married for two weeks. I don’t think I still had a hymen when Bill and I finally consummated our marriage, but I sure as hell was a virgin. Just ask Bill!

But then T.I. says, “Look doc — she don’t ride no horses, she don’t ride no bikes, she don’t play no sports, man — just check the hymen, please, and give me back my results expeditiously.” He added: “I will say, as of her 18th birthday, her hymen is still intact.”

What the fuck! Where the hell is her mother? If I had a daughter and her father tried something like this, I would kick his ass. And what is up with the doctor, allowing this to happen? HIPAA (Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act) allows for patients to give permission to medical professionals to share their private information with others. However, it seems to me that if T.I. is comfortable enough to force his daughter to go to the gyno with him in tow, she probably wouldn’t be comfortable in asking him to GTFO of the exam room. If she had, she would likely pay for it later at home. It saddens me that the gynecologist didn’t do a better job of advocating for his patient, whose private medical information is now international news.

“Women are even murdered for want of a hymen”… and yet, a lot of women don’t have them, even if they’re virgins. Hymens are like baby teeth. They serve a purpose before puberty. At age 47, I still have a baby tooth myself, but I don’t think I had a hymen when I had sex for the first time.

Speaking of gynecologists, Canadian OB-GYN Dr. Jen Gunter, author of The Vagina Bible, has also weighed in on this. She shared the above video on Facebook. I see it was uploaded on November 1, which makes it especially timely today. She also posted on Twitter about why hymen testing is not a “thing” and T.I.’s actions are so completely inappropriate and abusive. Included in Dr. Gunter’s tweets is this screenshot from the World Health Organization.

I hope T.I. is paying attention to this and won’t subject his younger daughter to hymen exams. And I hope the doctors who see his daughters insist that he leave the room.

The first gynecological exam can be very stressful. It certainly was for me. Here’s where I will share even more TMI, so if you’re squeamish, you may want to stop reading. I have no shame, so I’m going to write this very personal story for the interested. Regular readers may have already read this.

I am 47 years old and, to date, I have only had two “gyno” exams. Both were done at the behest of the U.S. government, because I was going to be moving overseas. The first exam happened when I was 22 years old and needed a Pap smear and pelvic exam prior to joining the Peace Corps and moving to Armenia for two years. At the time, I was still considered a “dependent”, since I was under age 23 and my dad was a retired Air Force officer, so I was able to get my physical done for free at a military treatment facility. Actually, I probably could have had it done for free anyway, since this was for a government assignment. But I spent my whole young life going to military doctors, so I wasn’t particularly afraid. In retrospect, I wish I had sprung for a civilian doctor.

Anyway… it was April 1995, and I had to drive all the way from Gloucester, Virginia to Hampton, Virginia– city of my birth. Fort Eustis, which is in Newport News and was closer to my parents’ home, has medical facilities, but did not do women’s exams at the time. In fact, the doctor at Fort Eustis told me that I didn’t “need” an exam, since I was sexually inactive. However, the Peace Corps required that I have one done, so off I went to Hampton– probably a good hour’s drive from home.

I arrived at the hospital on Langley Air Force Base, which is where I would have been born, had the hospital’s maternity ward not been full on the day I entered the world. I was totally unfamiliar with the place, since I had always gotten my routine medical care done at Fort Eustis or the Naval Weapons Station in Yorktown, Virginia. I finally found the women’s clinic, which had pictures of babies all over the dingy walls. I filled out a typewritten form about the particulars of why I was there. I was alone and very nervous. A kind nurse tried to reassure me that the female doctor, an Air Force major who was an OB-GYN, would be gentle. I wasn’t so sure, but I tried to relax until I was called into the exam room.

The doctor was a white woman wearing an Air Force uniform. I still remember her name, but I’m sure she’s long forgotten me. She seemed older and kind of masculine to me, although she was probably in her 30s. I was directed to pee, then get naked. There was a paper sheet on the table that I was to get under. A black nurse was also in the room, supposedly to “chaperone”. I remember thinking she seemed kind of over it and unsympathetic to how nervous and upset I was.

So there I was, lying on the table as this doctor also told me I didn’t “need” an exam, since I wasn’t sexually active. I told her I needed to get it done for my Peace Corps physical. She said “Very well,” then proceeded to use a metal speculum that was too big. It hurt, and I let out a surprised yelp of pain. Noticing that the speculum was too big, she removed it and used a smaller one, which also really hurt. I screamed and felt very lightheaded– I was probably hyperventilating a bit, but it also hurt so much that I seriously thought I was going to faint.

“Hon, if you can’t be quiet, we can’t do this exam.” the doctor said in a stern tone of voice. I HATE being called “Hon”, probably moreso now because of this incident. But since I didn’t want to go through this again with another doctor, I bit my lip and she finished. She told me to get dressed and see her in her office, which I did.

I sat across from her at her desk as she told me that she hadn’t gotten “world’s best exam”, because I had been so tense and uncooperative. However, despite that, it looked like “everything was okay down there”. She advised me to lose weight, since she somehow knew I would be gaining weight in Armenia (I actually lost a lot of weight in training, but gained some back). Then she asked me if I wanted birth control. Since I wasn’t having sex at that point and my periods weren’t a problem, I said no. She sent me on my way, and I drove all the way back to Gloucester feeling totally humiliated and violated. My parents– particularly my mom– were quite unsympathetic. I was very happy when I got a postcard in the mail, indicating that my exam results had been normal.

It took another twelve years before I had another “gyno” exam done. I had tried to have one done by the Peace Corps Medical Officer at the end of my Peace Corps assignment in 1997, but I ended up freaking out and refused. That was a similarly embarrassing incident that I’ll save for another blog post, since this one is getting long. For now, I’ll fast forward to 2007, when Bill was in Iraq and I was preparing for our first move to Germany. The Army required that I have a physical and be screened for the Exceptional Family Member Program (EFMP). I did end up having to enroll in EFMP because I was once treated for depression, but again– another rant for another day.

So in 2007, I was fortunate enough to have a kind friend who was very familiar with the medical staff at DeWitt Army Hospital (now defunct) at Fort Belvoir, Virginia. She helped me choose a very understanding physician’s assistant who, at that time, was doing well women’s exams. She has since moved on to cardiology.

Anyway, this P.A. was gruff at first, but then I explained what had happened at my first and only gyno exam in 1995. She then proceeded to give me a completely painless exam, which caused more tears– partly because I was so relieved to be done with it and partly because I now knew that the first exam shouldn’t have been so painful and traumatic! There was no chaperone when the second exam was done.

After the exam, the P.A. gave me a big hug and talked to me for a few minutes until I calmed down. The exam had been so stressful that my blood pressure was sky high. She was convinced that I had high blood pressure, and I had to prove to her I didn’t by submitting to a 24 hour blood pressure test which involved wearing a monitor that took my blood pressure every twenty minutes. I was left with a bruised arm and a diagnosis of white coat hypertension. To this day, simply walking into a military hospital makes my pressure shoot into the stratosphere. That’s why I haven’t seen a doctor since 2010, even though I know I could use some screenings.

I think about those times having those exams done, as bad as they were– and how much worse they would have been if I had been a teenager and my dad was in the room with me, demanding to know if my hymen was still intact. I don’t have a problem with the fact that Deyjah’s doctor was a man. I saw a female doctor and she turned out to be horrible. I think male doctors are capable of being kind and sensitive when they do pelvic exams and Pap smears, just as I know some women doctors are insensitive and cruel when they do them. Doctors who are treating teenagers should be mindful that teens aren’t always in a position to say no when their parents demand to be there for an exam. Deyjah Harris probably didn’t feel like she could refuse to allow her dad to supervise her gyno exam. BuzzFeed notes that Miss Harris liked several tweets criticizing her dad for not giving her appropriate privacy. My guess is that she would have preferred that T.I. not have inserted himself in the exam room and demanded a “hymen check”. And shame on the doctor for not telling T.I. that hymen checks are not a “thing”!

Now that Deyjah Harris is eighteen and in college, she is legally an adult. Why her father is still so interested in her virginity is beyond me. I truly hope someone understanding talks to her and lets her know that her body belongs to her, and that her self worth isn’t tied to virginity. It’s extremely inappropriate, possessive, controlling, and just all around fucked up that her dad cares so much about virginity, even pointing out that “virgins are no fun”. I just can’t stand it. It’s just totally creepy and misogynistic. Yuck.

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psychology

“Do what I want, or I’ll kill myself!” Sounds rational… NOT!

Or… the sad tale of the reluctant Mormon missionary…

This morning, Bill and I were having breakfast and I read him a post that recently showed up on the Recovery from Mormonism message board. You can read it here.

For those who don’t want to click the link, here’s a brief synopsis. A poster writes that his or her brother is currently serving a Mormon mission in England. The missionary is very depressed and wants to come home, but his mother has insisted that he must stay on the job. The young man’s mission president also refuses to let him leave, and says that the missionary will be prescribed antidepressants.

The missionary’s sibling explains that their family is very dysfunctional. Their parents are divorced, and while dad is “healthy” and lives in Utah, their Montana based mother is extremely toxic and manipulative. When she doesn’t get her way, Mom threatens suicide. This causes everyone to get concerned and do her bidding so that she doesn’t follow through on her threats. Because of Mom’s dramatic bullshit, everyone is kept in line, even though it’s not in their best interests. No one wants to be responsible for Mom’s early death by suicide, so they give in to her manipulative demands.

As I read this post to Bill, I asked him if it sounded familiar. Sure enough, it did. My husband’s ex wife is not the woman in this story, although she certainly could be. Ex has never been above resorting to extremely dramatic threats to get her way. She never threatened or attempted suicide when she was married to Bill, but now that her eldest children are grown, she has since gone there more than once. When younger daughter decided to leave home, Ex reportedly attempted suicide and actually wound up in the hospital. Supposedly, she did this because she “loves” her children and can’t bear to have them leave her. Because she “loves” them so much, she tried to off herself when they decided to claim healthy self-determination. Very logical, isn’t it?

I don’t know much more about the details of this suicide incident, and don’t really care to know. The point is, Ex is a very manipulative person who will stop at nothing to get what she wants… even to the point of threatening self-destruction. As we can see from the RfM post and certain other situations we’ve been in, this kind of dramatic reaction is not uncommon when you’re dealing with a toxic person and co-dependents ensnared in their emotionally manipulative traps.

The one story Bill does remember about his ex wife’s manipulative habits is about how she broached the subject of their divorce. I’ve written about this a few times on my old blog, but I know I have some new readers and the old blog is currently closed. So here’s the brief backstory…

Back in 2000, Ex unilaterally decided that her relationship with Bill needed to change, and her manner of forcing Bill to “rock bottom” was the only way to change it. She was convinced she was entirely correct, and there was absolutely no room for compromise or discussion. It was her way or the highway, and she was completely inflexible about her position. So, Ex presented Bill with divorce papers and said, “I’m serious. You do what I demand, or our marriage is over”.

Bill was totally blindsided. He knew they were going to have a discussion about the future of their marriage, but he didn’t realize his ex wife had made all of the preparations to try to force him to sudden action. That weekend, they happened to be celebrating Easter at Bill’s father’s house. Ex’s three eldest children were there, although Bill’s dad and stepmom had taken them out for ice cream.

Ex, who had planned everything in advance, cooly presented Bill with an ultimatum– “Either admit you’re a “sick” person who hates women, go into counseling with the LDS bishop, and change into the man I think you should be, or we’ll get a divorce and your life will be over“. She was reportedly very confident that this threat would set things in motion. It never occurred to her that he might actually call her bluff. And because she was so “dead serious” about what she claimed she wanted, she’d even gone to the trouble of lining up a notary public who was available on a major holiday, and she’d drawn up the divorce agreement herself. She let Bill know in no uncertain terms that he must give in to her high pressure tactics, or there would be hell to pay.

Well, Ex was right about one thing. Their marriage needed to end. But she was wrong about everything else. Most importantly, Bill’s life definitely didn’t end when he accepted her proposal to divorce. And my husband certainly does not hate women. He’s also not “sick”. In fact, he’s a very level-headed, kind-hearted, reliable, decent person who goes to work, pays his bills, and does his very best to do the right things. He’s generous to a fault, and very quick to acquiesce in a confrontation and admit when he’s wrong. The fact that he’s like this sometimes makes him attractive to narcissistic, manipulative, abusive people. However, he does have a red line, and if you cross it, he will deal with you. In Ex’s case, he broke down in tears. Then, when she suggested divorce, he asked, “Where do I sign?”

Ex’s next reaction made it clear that this was not the result she had anticipated. She grabbed the divorce papers and retreated to the guest room at my in-laws’ house. There, she spent hours locked away, crying, raging, and generally making a huge scene. When she finally emerged from the guest room, Bill forced her to follow through on her threat. They went to the notary public Ex had arranged. It was Easter Sunday, when most people would be celebrating Christ’s resurrection. Bill was about to start celebrating resurrection of his life.

Many years later, when Ex’s eldest kids were finally ready to fly the coop, she went there with similar drama. But this time, she couldn’t threaten divorce. Instead, she went there with a suicide threat and subsequent attempt. Fortunately, two of her three adult children were smart enough to save themselves and get out of that trap of manipulation. They’re on their own. The third child is still kind of stuck, but reportedly has a clue that her mother has “issues”. With any luck, one day she’ll accept the life ring that has been tossed to her by family members who understand her predicament and want to help. She doesn’t have to stay mired in the quicksand.

A few days ago, I wrote about Dr. Les Carter, a psychologist who makes very useful YouTube videos about narcissistic, manipulative people. Another psychologist I’ve written a lot about is Dr. Tara Palmatier, who helps men who are victims of abusive women. Both of these mental health professionals are well worth exploring, since they offer assertive solutions on how to deal with manipulative women. I would also encourage that missionary’s sibling to explore these two psychologists for ideas on the mindset behind narcissists. “Dr. T”, as she’s nicknamed, tends to take a harsher, more cynical view of narcissists than Dr. Carter does. Dr. Carter is very rational and compassionate, while Dr. T is much more “no nonsense”. Dr. T has often advised that when a manipulator threatens suicide, the thing to do is call the authorities and let them handle it. I am inclined to agree with her.

A person who threatens suicide when they lose control of a situation is engaging in the height of manipulative behavior. It’s pathetic, but more importantly, it’s potentially dangerous. I liken it to a child who holds his or her breath when he or she doesn’t get their way. Often, the threat turns out to be empty, but sometimes the manipulative person will take action out of spite or simply because he or she really has reached that level of frustration. Regardless of why a person makes a suicide threat, the point is you’ve now entered a situation that could result in injury or loss of life. That requires professional assistance.

Someone who is driven to make a suicide threat is obviously on the verge of losing control. So, if the mom in the RfM story says, “If you come home from your mission early, I’ll kill myself”, take that threat seriously. Call for help. Get it documented. At least you’ll know you took steps to help her, even if she’s just trying to force your hand. She won’t like being hauled off to the hospital, sure. It will be expensive, embarrassing, and probably humiliating. But maybe it will also give her pause the next time she decides to make a suicidal threat when someone makes a decision she doesn’t like… or, if she really does need help, she’ll actually get it.

As for the young man on his mission, perhaps he needs a reminder that, first and foremost, he’s a volunteer. He doesn’t have to stay on a mission if he doesn’t want to. He has a say in his own life. He’s very fortunate, too, since he has loving family members who are willing to help him escape. A lot of people in his situation don’t have that. When I was in the Peace Corps, my mom told me not to come home early, but at least I knew I could leave if I wanted to. Ultimately, it wasn’t her decision. I think, when it comes to religious missions, particularly in cultures where it’s considered a rite of passage as it is in the LDS church, members are conned into believing they don’t have a choice. They DO have a choice. Anyone over 18 is a legal adult and can make decisions regarding their own lives.

It’s possible that his mission president has the missionary’s passport. Maybe he doesn’t have any money for a plane ticket. Fortunately, he has friends and family who can help him. I certainly hope they will, especially since the original poster writes that he’s depressed. I know firsthand how paralyzing depression is. It makes you feel helpless, hopeless, worthless, and like there are no alternatives other than the way things are right now.

Antidepressants certainly can be helpful. They helped me immensely. However, taking them is a personal choice, and should not be forced… particularly not by a mission president who likely does not have the expertise to determine if that is what is required. Many people can get over depression just by getting out of a toxic situation. It’s possible that the missionary simply needs to be with people who love him. Or, maybe he does need medication. But that is not for a mission president with an obvious agenda to decide. It’s not his life and it’s not his choice.

Someone who is so on the edge that they’d actually kill themselves over your decisions is not someone whose orders you need to be following. Obviously, this person is not thinking clearly about their own issues, let alone yours. If you saw a mental health counselor who said, “Take my advice, or I’ll kill myself,” would you think that person was competent? I would hope you wouldn’t. If your lawyer said, “I’ll kill myself if you don’t plead guilty (or not guilty),” you’d probably think he or she was batshit nuts, and certainly isn’t offering advice based on your interests. The same goes for a family member or friend who threatens self-harm if you don’t do what they want. That person doesn’t even have his or her own best interests in mind. They sure as HELL aren’t thinking of yours!

Threatening self-destruction in the name of “love” is not at all a loving thing to do. So you should do what is best for you… and if someone threatens self-destruction, call for professional help. Let the pros deal with that person. You get on with your own life, and don’t let their craziness muddy reality any more than it already is. Figuring out life is tough enough without that shit.

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