The Tiny Tornado and I set an alarm to make sure we're up in time for school. But we mostly don't need it. He tends to wake up sometime after 7, and crawls into bed with me for a cuddle. We use the alarm to tell us it's time to stop snuggling and get moving.
He's such an energetic little person. This morning, after the alarm, I said to him, "Are you ready for another day?" He said, "I sure am!"
This morning during our cuddle I found myself thinking about my parents. I told Raider that if I'd known how liberating it would feel to be disowned by my dad, I'd have worked harder to push him to the brink years ago. We wonder, though, if it would have been possible while my mom was still alive. It makes me curious about what was going on between them, marriage being the complicated thing it is. We imagine him as a dog straining to escape, and her as the one holding the leash.
This morning, I found myself thinking about how my mom died friendless. People liked her, but she always saw the worst in everyone. When I was a child, I wondered how it could be that my mom didn't actually like any of her friends. As I got older, I realized that her "friends" were generally relatives, or the wives of my dad's friends. I think she experienced liberation as her siblings and in-laws died in recent years, and when her last surviving brother was so unethical in his handling of my Uncle Charlie's estate that she felt clear to sever ties. Perhaps this is something else we had in common: that we hung onto bad family relationships too long, and were relieved when their ends were taken out of our hands.
The wives, though--lovely women who seemed to sincerely like my mom. But my mother always chose to see the worst in everyone. Given a choice, she ascribed the least flattering motivation to everyone's actions. She magnified people's flaws and failings, and overlooked their gifts. In recent years, she had simply refused to socialize with these people anymore; my dad carried on without her. And she never, that I saw, made any effort to make friends of her own, on her own terms.
When I was a senior in high school, I became friends with a group of girls who transformed my ideas of what friendship could be. They changed my life for the better, and for good. I'd previously been part of a large, fun, and loving but messed-up crew that thrived on drama and loved to gossip behind each other's backs. It was eye-opening to fall in with a group who actually liked and supported each other. A whole new model of friendship!
My mother, of course, didn't like these girls. She never liked any of my friends, but for some reason she had a particular disdain for this group. She had a derogatory nickname for each of them, for instance, which she used whenever they weren't present. And, while I was experiencing these friendships as the first truly healthy and loving relationships of my life, my mother questioned my motives. She thought these girls were beneath me--even as I, struggling to break old habits, wasn't always sure I deserved them.
One of her favorite accusations was that I had chosen these friends because they weren't as smart as me, so that I would look better by comparison. I can remember arguing with her about it many times. For one thing, these girls were smart. I have lost track of a couple of them, but the rest turned out to be:
1. A math major in college who worked for the census bureau and is now a teacher.
2. A mechanical engineer.
3. A Sociology Ph.D. who is a researcher at the University of Wisconsin.
4. A History Ph.D. who is a professor at Kalamazoo College.
If my intention was to look smarter by comparison, well, I'm going to say that was a failed strategy.
I tried to tell her, also, that to the extent that I was choosing friends in order to look smart to some imaginary audience, it would make more sense to choose smart friends. "Hmm," someone might say, "I never though Su Penn was all that bright...but she must have something going on upstairs to be able to keep up with that crew." But she could never see another point of view than her own, and she could never see the goodness in people.
I am so much like my mother that I count it as one of the great blessings of my life that I have managed to not be like her in this way (after some early false starts and failures). My mother was a lovely woman, a raconteur, hilarious to listen to. She made a vocation of keeping and passing on the family's stories. People liked her; over the years, many people have told me of their appreciation for her sense of humor or her charm or her thoughtfulness, and I have no reason to think they were being insincere. People were ready to love my mother, but, for the most part, she did not love them back.
That is my eulogy for today.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Posted with BlogsyWednesday, January 2, 2013
LYSF: What I Like About Non-Monogamy
This is the fourth post in a sort-of series I'm calling Loving Your Slutty Friend. You can find the first three posts here, here, and here.
A friend told me that he was liking my posts about non-monogamy, but he hoped I'd write something about what is fun about it, and not just always make it sound like it's a big relationship challenge. "Hmmm, he is correct," I thought. "I should do that."
Note: I started this draft a couple of weeks ago, and then got busy with having a bad cold, and then having some seriously debilitating withdrawal effects from going off one of my headache medications because of intolerable side effects. And, of course, in that couple of weeks I learned that someone else is writing about this same thing. Aggie over at SoloPoly, whose blog I recently discovered, wrote just recently about "What's Wonderful About Being Solo, Poly, and Single," a piece of writing I really enjoyed, and I'll say a bit more about her post toward the end.
First, some disclaimers: One is that, as I started drafting this post in my head, I caught myself writing it in a negative way: "I don't worry about this, I don't have to deal with that," which made it sound like I was saying, "In monogamous relationships, there are all these icky bits that I, fortunately, have transcended." Oops. Not at all what I mean. I've made efforts to not say such things explicitly, but I don't mean to imply them, either. If it sounds like I'm making some negative generalization about monogamous relationships, call me on it so I can fix it, or explain myself better.
Also, this is my own experience, and it comes from my own inclinations, desires, and needs, and from my particular relationship with Raider. I'm not making any generalizations at all about how other people experience non-monogamy or what they find to be the good parts.
Finally, I think a very reasonable question people might ask would be, "But, if you were in a monogamous relationship, wouldn't you be getting these things some other way?" Yes, I probably would be. Or I'd be in a monogamous relationship because I didn't want or need some of these things. It's like homeschooling. One kid might learn to read through a rigorous phonics program, another by picking it up from being read aloud to, another as a side benefit of learning to write. All of those kids need to learn to read, but they do it in different ways according to their strengths and inclinations. If being non-monogamous helps me feel secure in my relationship with Raider, allows me to most fully express my sexuality, and helps me feel attractive, well, great. But I make no claim that non-monogamy is the only way a person, or even I, could achieve those things.
"Too much intro," I hear people saying. "Get to the good part." Well, OK. What makes being nonmonogamous so great?
First, and paradoxically, it makes me feel very secure in my primary relationship, because I can bring everything into it. If I develop a crush on someone, as I did a couple of years ago, I can just say so. I don't have to pretend I'm spending so much time with so-and-so because she is just the nicest person and I so long to be better friends with her. I can tell Raider right up front that so-and-so is getting my kettle boiling.
This means that no matter how steamy the kitchen gets, it's no threat to me and Raider. I'm not risking infidelity. And we can be talking about what, if anything, this crush means for us. To do nonmonogamy well, you can't be trying to figure things out on your own. You've got to talk about it. These conversations, even the ones that are sometimes hard, make you closer. They build trust.
That said, it's not all hard work. Raider likes to tease me about a crush; I love to hear it when some person crosses his radar. It's fun. It's just as much fun as sitting around with a friend dishing about the new guy at work. Only I get to do it with the person I love the best and am the closest to in the whole world.
Second, I like to flirt, and it makes me feel cute and sexy to flirt with other people. I've been with Raider a long time--coming up on 20 years in June. Raider thinks I am beautiful, cute, and sexy, but I have got to tell you that after so many years, it starts to lose its impact. Raider and I once had this conversation:
Me: How do I look?
Raider: Cute!
Me: You didn't even look at me!
Raider: I didn't have to. You're always cute.
This is great. Every woman should be so lucky. But once in awhile I like some outside confirmation. And my friends telling me I look good just can't have the same impact as hearing it from someone who is actually into me.
Writing about flirting makes me want another relationship word, for Person You Mutually Flirt With In A Totally Serious Way Because You Actually Do Think Each Other Are Hot and You Have Sexual Tension, But It's Clear Between You For Some Reason That You Will Never Have a Sexual or Romantic Relationship And You're Both OK With That Even If Maybe At Least One Of You Might Have Been Into It Had Things Been Different. Some of my best and most favorite relationships have fallen into this category. I'm a flirt, and being nonmonogamous lets me express that freely, so long as I respect the boundaries of the people I'm flirting with.
This might be a side note, but one of the reasons I like to flirt is because I like other people to know how cute and sexy they are, too. Some folks are aware that I flirt a lot, and they may wonder, "Just how often, when Su flirts, is she serious about it?" The answer is always. I flirt only with people I sincerely find attractive and hot. I find a lot of people attractive and hot. Doesn't mean I necessarily wanna do 'em. But I'm never pretending.
Thirdly, I like sex. I like it with Raider. I love it with Raider. Whenever I have reason to honor a new relationship, say at a wedding, I write in the card, "I wish you every happiness." And one of the things I mean by this is, "I wish you good sex." And what I really mean by that is, "I hope your sex is as good as mine and Raider's." I wish this sincerely for the whole world.
But I like sex, once in awhile--not really that often, in the grand scheme of things, but once in awhile--with someone else, too. Because sex is one of the ways I relate to people. I enjoy the kind of connection you have with someone when you are physically intimate. Back when I was a young free agent, sex was one of the ways I got to know people.
Fourthly, or maybe this is a subset of number three: Sex is different with different people in ways that are fun and satisfying. Oh, man, there are stories I wish I were free to tell you. Let me just say that people bring different energy to sex. Where one is serious and intense, say, another is laughingly playful. And they bring out different things in their partners. Sex with a new person is also a process of self-discovery.
Fifthly! There is nothing like New Relationship Energy. In a previous post, I talked about NRE as something that might challenge an established relationship. But New Relationship Energy can also feed back into your old relationship, bringing a very welcome spark of freshness. It can give you a taste of the days when you were bathed in limerence, couldn't stop thinking about each other, couldn't keep your hands off each other. I'm trying very hard not to tell this story, but it's too good an illustration to keep to myself: there was this time that Raider and I had some very nice sex, and we were lying there basking in the sweaty afterglow, and he turned to me and said with a grin, "Thank [name redacted] for me."
Penultimately, non-monogamy gives you a lot of practice at establishing and respecting boundaries, and taking responsibility for your actions. When there are more than two people involved, you can't coast along for too long without talking explicitly about how this is going to work, or things get messy. I'm realizing I already touched on this up-top, so I'll repeat myself: To do nonmonogamy well, you can't be trying to figure things out on your own. You've got to talk about it. These conversations, even the ones that are sometimes hard, make you closer. They build trust.
Finally, this just seems to be how I'm wired. I don't know why. It is clearly not essential for me to have more than one partner at a time, as evidenced by the many years during which I have happily had just the one. But when the time comes that I am pulled toward someone specific, or pulled more generally toward the new, it is healthy and honest for me not to have to pretend otherwise.
As a coda, I'm going to build on what Aggie said in the post I linked above:
And a final note: I think it was last year sometime when I updated my relationship status on Facebook from "In a Relationship" to "In an Open Relationship." My motives were prurient; I was dropping a hint on someone I was in a flirtation with. She didn't take the bait, but I started getting e-mails. I have been astonished--filled with wonder and amazement, as the dictionary says; filled with the emotional impact of overwhelming surprise--by how many of my friends and loved ones are also in non-monogamous relationships of various kinds. I have been surrounded by my peers and never knew it. I thank every single one of the people who have shared their experiences with me.
A friend told me that he was liking my posts about non-monogamy, but he hoped I'd write something about what is fun about it, and not just always make it sound like it's a big relationship challenge. "Hmmm, he is correct," I thought. "I should do that."
Note: I started this draft a couple of weeks ago, and then got busy with having a bad cold, and then having some seriously debilitating withdrawal effects from going off one of my headache medications because of intolerable side effects. And, of course, in that couple of weeks I learned that someone else is writing about this same thing. Aggie over at SoloPoly, whose blog I recently discovered, wrote just recently about "What's Wonderful About Being Solo, Poly, and Single," a piece of writing I really enjoyed, and I'll say a bit more about her post toward the end.
First, some disclaimers: One is that, as I started drafting this post in my head, I caught myself writing it in a negative way: "I don't worry about this, I don't have to deal with that," which made it sound like I was saying, "In monogamous relationships, there are all these icky bits that I, fortunately, have transcended." Oops. Not at all what I mean. I've made efforts to not say such things explicitly, but I don't mean to imply them, either. If it sounds like I'm making some negative generalization about monogamous relationships, call me on it so I can fix it, or explain myself better.
Also, this is my own experience, and it comes from my own inclinations, desires, and needs, and from my particular relationship with Raider. I'm not making any generalizations at all about how other people experience non-monogamy or what they find to be the good parts.
Finally, I think a very reasonable question people might ask would be, "But, if you were in a monogamous relationship, wouldn't you be getting these things some other way?" Yes, I probably would be. Or I'd be in a monogamous relationship because I didn't want or need some of these things. It's like homeschooling. One kid might learn to read through a rigorous phonics program, another by picking it up from being read aloud to, another as a side benefit of learning to write. All of those kids need to learn to read, but they do it in different ways according to their strengths and inclinations. If being non-monogamous helps me feel secure in my relationship with Raider, allows me to most fully express my sexuality, and helps me feel attractive, well, great. But I make no claim that non-monogamy is the only way a person, or even I, could achieve those things.
"Too much intro," I hear people saying. "Get to the good part." Well, OK. What makes being nonmonogamous so great?
First, and paradoxically, it makes me feel very secure in my primary relationship, because I can bring everything into it. If I develop a crush on someone, as I did a couple of years ago, I can just say so. I don't have to pretend I'm spending so much time with so-and-so because she is just the nicest person and I so long to be better friends with her. I can tell Raider right up front that so-and-so is getting my kettle boiling.
This means that no matter how steamy the kitchen gets, it's no threat to me and Raider. I'm not risking infidelity. And we can be talking about what, if anything, this crush means for us. To do nonmonogamy well, you can't be trying to figure things out on your own. You've got to talk about it. These conversations, even the ones that are sometimes hard, make you closer. They build trust.
That said, it's not all hard work. Raider likes to tease me about a crush; I love to hear it when some person crosses his radar. It's fun. It's just as much fun as sitting around with a friend dishing about the new guy at work. Only I get to do it with the person I love the best and am the closest to in the whole world.
Second, I like to flirt, and it makes me feel cute and sexy to flirt with other people. I've been with Raider a long time--coming up on 20 years in June. Raider thinks I am beautiful, cute, and sexy, but I have got to tell you that after so many years, it starts to lose its impact. Raider and I once had this conversation:
Me: How do I look?
Raider: Cute!
Me: You didn't even look at me!
Raider: I didn't have to. You're always cute.
This is great. Every woman should be so lucky. But once in awhile I like some outside confirmation. And my friends telling me I look good just can't have the same impact as hearing it from someone who is actually into me.
Writing about flirting makes me want another relationship word, for Person You Mutually Flirt With In A Totally Serious Way Because You Actually Do Think Each Other Are Hot and You Have Sexual Tension, But It's Clear Between You For Some Reason That You Will Never Have a Sexual or Romantic Relationship And You're Both OK With That Even If Maybe At Least One Of You Might Have Been Into It Had Things Been Different. Some of my best and most favorite relationships have fallen into this category. I'm a flirt, and being nonmonogamous lets me express that freely, so long as I respect the boundaries of the people I'm flirting with.
This might be a side note, but one of the reasons I like to flirt is because I like other people to know how cute and sexy they are, too. Some folks are aware that I flirt a lot, and they may wonder, "Just how often, when Su flirts, is she serious about it?" The answer is always. I flirt only with people I sincerely find attractive and hot. I find a lot of people attractive and hot. Doesn't mean I necessarily wanna do 'em. But I'm never pretending.
Thirdly, I like sex. I like it with Raider. I love it with Raider. Whenever I have reason to honor a new relationship, say at a wedding, I write in the card, "I wish you every happiness." And one of the things I mean by this is, "I wish you good sex." And what I really mean by that is, "I hope your sex is as good as mine and Raider's." I wish this sincerely for the whole world.
But I like sex, once in awhile--not really that often, in the grand scheme of things, but once in awhile--with someone else, too. Because sex is one of the ways I relate to people. I enjoy the kind of connection you have with someone when you are physically intimate. Back when I was a young free agent, sex was one of the ways I got to know people.
Fourthly, or maybe this is a subset of number three: Sex is different with different people in ways that are fun and satisfying. Oh, man, there are stories I wish I were free to tell you. Let me just say that people bring different energy to sex. Where one is serious and intense, say, another is laughingly playful. And they bring out different things in their partners. Sex with a new person is also a process of self-discovery.
Fifthly! There is nothing like New Relationship Energy. In a previous post, I talked about NRE as something that might challenge an established relationship. But New Relationship Energy can also feed back into your old relationship, bringing a very welcome spark of freshness. It can give you a taste of the days when you were bathed in limerence, couldn't stop thinking about each other, couldn't keep your hands off each other. I'm trying very hard not to tell this story, but it's too good an illustration to keep to myself: there was this time that Raider and I had some very nice sex, and we were lying there basking in the sweaty afterglow, and he turned to me and said with a grin, "Thank [name redacted] for me."
Penultimately, non-monogamy gives you a lot of practice at establishing and respecting boundaries, and taking responsibility for your actions. When there are more than two people involved, you can't coast along for too long without talking explicitly about how this is going to work, or things get messy. I'm realizing I already touched on this up-top, so I'll repeat myself: To do nonmonogamy well, you can't be trying to figure things out on your own. You've got to talk about it. These conversations, even the ones that are sometimes hard, make you closer. They build trust.
Finally, this just seems to be how I'm wired. I don't know why. It is clearly not essential for me to have more than one partner at a time, as evidenced by the many years during which I have happily had just the one. But when the time comes that I am pulled toward someone specific, or pulled more generally toward the new, it is healthy and honest for me not to have to pretend otherwise.
As a coda, I'm going to build on what Aggie said in the post I linked above:
I'll pull out this bit: I'm always seeing relationship options. That doesn't mean I'm looking for sex with every person I like even a little. Mostly, in fact, I am not looking for sex even with people I'm sexually attracted to. But I like that my only two relationship options aren't "platonic friend" and "monogamous lover." I mentioned above the Ongoing Flirtation. I also like its cousin, the Short-Term Flirtation. One of my favorite non-Raider relationships of the past 20 years fell into that category. I like kissing, I like touching, I like cuddling. I am sometimes intrigued by things people tell me about their sexual practices and I like that show-and-tell could be a possiblity. I see a lot of options, and I'm not even aware of all the options that are out there.For me, one of the best perks of being poly is that I’m always seeing relationship options. If I click well with someone who is available to connect with me on an honest basis, we usually can figure out some way to make it work.
And a final note: I think it was last year sometime when I updated my relationship status on Facebook from "In a Relationship" to "In an Open Relationship." My motives were prurient; I was dropping a hint on someone I was in a flirtation with. She didn't take the bait, but I started getting e-mails. I have been astonished--filled with wonder and amazement, as the dictionary says; filled with the emotional impact of overwhelming surprise--by how many of my friends and loved ones are also in non-monogamous relationships of various kinds. I have been surrounded by my peers and never knew it. I thank every single one of the people who have shared their experiences with me.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
An Answer is a Useful Thing Even if It's Not the One You Wanted
When Quakers are going on and on about way opening, my friend Sally will sometimes remind us that a clear No is as useful as a clear Yes. Sometimes even moreso. I have been thinking about Sally's words a fair bit lately.
My mom died two days before Thanksgiving, after a short stay in the ICU. It wasn't entirely unexpected; she had intractable heart problems and we'd known for awhile that one of these days she'd take a turn for the worse and not turn back. Those days in the ICU were a rollercoaster of family drama, both good and bad. On the one hand, my always-sensitive dad took the opportunity to tell me once again, as we stood by my mother's bed together, what a disappointment I'd been to him. On the other hand, my brother and I had a late-night conversation in the hospital cafeteria that was the most honest, intimate, and hilarious talk we'd ever had--a hint of what might have been if we'd grown up together in a different family.
Ever since the doctors told us a couple of years ago that there was nothing more that could be done for my mother's heart, I've been wondering how things would end for us. There are some questions I've carried my whole life: Will my mother ever say she loves me? Will she ever suggest that she is pleased with me, or proud, or even simply, for heaven's sake, approves of me? Will she ever get interested in my life and who I am?
The answer to these questions, it turns out, is No.
That's not the answer I wanted. I never could stop hoping. Since she died, I have been alternately (and sometimes at the same time) hurt, sad, angry, grieved. But I have also been relieved. Those questions, that futile hope, have been a heavy thing to carry and I've been carrying them for almost fifty years. It is, in its way, a gift to be able to set them down at last.
My brother and sister-in-law hosted the remains of the family for lunch on Christmas Eve. At this lunch, my father told me that if we didn't stop treating the Tiny Tornado as a boy, he wanted nothing more to do with me. I'd have gotten up and left right then, but the kids weren't in the room when it happened; they were having a wonderful time with their cousins, and they wanted to stay to open presents. So I cried in the bathroom for awhile, soldiered through, and left as soon as the gifts were unwrapped. "If you change your mind," I told my dad, "give me a call."
My time sense is all distorted; I can't believe that was only five days ago. I spent one day profoundly hurt; one day righteously angry; and then I woke up on the third day and realized that this, too, is a relief. My father has always been rigid, judgmental, cold. He believes that there is one right way to do things; this is, of course, his way. As recently as this summer, when I was forty-six years old, he was still trying to tell me how to live my life. One of the hard questions I've been carrying has been how I would have a relationship with him after my mother's death, since my mother has always been the mediator and the social glue in our little clan.
I have tried so hard for so long to improve my relationship with my parents. I've done it by lowering my expectations; by practicing compassion; by trying to appreciate what they were able to give me even when it fell far short of what I wanted and needed from them. With both my parents, I have struggled with how to love people who don't want to be loved, how to win the approval of people who will never give it. I've treasured crumbs; I've been wronged and I've forgiven, only to be wronged again; I've cried on Raider's shoulder; I've been foolishly optimistic and let myself be disappointed again and again. I have prayed, consulted wise loved ones, looked for hints about how to be a good daughter to my father once my mother was gone.
My father, bless him, has freed me of this burden.
What I have written may sound self-pitying. I don't mean it to. I'm not feeling that way. But I don't see any reason to pretend my parents were other than they were. In many ways, they failed me--and my brother--from the very beginning. I miss my mom very much. I loved her very much. I treasured many things about her.
But I am better off without her. As for my dad--I wish him well. I would have loved him if he had let me.
My mom died two days before Thanksgiving, after a short stay in the ICU. It wasn't entirely unexpected; she had intractable heart problems and we'd known for awhile that one of these days she'd take a turn for the worse and not turn back. Those days in the ICU were a rollercoaster of family drama, both good and bad. On the one hand, my always-sensitive dad took the opportunity to tell me once again, as we stood by my mother's bed together, what a disappointment I'd been to him. On the other hand, my brother and I had a late-night conversation in the hospital cafeteria that was the most honest, intimate, and hilarious talk we'd ever had--a hint of what might have been if we'd grown up together in a different family.
Ever since the doctors told us a couple of years ago that there was nothing more that could be done for my mother's heart, I've been wondering how things would end for us. There are some questions I've carried my whole life: Will my mother ever say she loves me? Will she ever suggest that she is pleased with me, or proud, or even simply, for heaven's sake, approves of me? Will she ever get interested in my life and who I am?
The answer to these questions, it turns out, is No.
That's not the answer I wanted. I never could stop hoping. Since she died, I have been alternately (and sometimes at the same time) hurt, sad, angry, grieved. But I have also been relieved. Those questions, that futile hope, have been a heavy thing to carry and I've been carrying them for almost fifty years. It is, in its way, a gift to be able to set them down at last.
My brother and sister-in-law hosted the remains of the family for lunch on Christmas Eve. At this lunch, my father told me that if we didn't stop treating the Tiny Tornado as a boy, he wanted nothing more to do with me. I'd have gotten up and left right then, but the kids weren't in the room when it happened; they were having a wonderful time with their cousins, and they wanted to stay to open presents. So I cried in the bathroom for awhile, soldiered through, and left as soon as the gifts were unwrapped. "If you change your mind," I told my dad, "give me a call."
My time sense is all distorted; I can't believe that was only five days ago. I spent one day profoundly hurt; one day righteously angry; and then I woke up on the third day and realized that this, too, is a relief. My father has always been rigid, judgmental, cold. He believes that there is one right way to do things; this is, of course, his way. As recently as this summer, when I was forty-six years old, he was still trying to tell me how to live my life. One of the hard questions I've been carrying has been how I would have a relationship with him after my mother's death, since my mother has always been the mediator and the social glue in our little clan.
I have tried so hard for so long to improve my relationship with my parents. I've done it by lowering my expectations; by practicing compassion; by trying to appreciate what they were able to give me even when it fell far short of what I wanted and needed from them. With both my parents, I have struggled with how to love people who don't want to be loved, how to win the approval of people who will never give it. I've treasured crumbs; I've been wronged and I've forgiven, only to be wronged again; I've cried on Raider's shoulder; I've been foolishly optimistic and let myself be disappointed again and again. I have prayed, consulted wise loved ones, looked for hints about how to be a good daughter to my father once my mother was gone.
My father, bless him, has freed me of this burden.
What I have written may sound self-pitying. I don't mean it to. I'm not feeling that way. But I don't see any reason to pretend my parents were other than they were. In many ways, they failed me--and my brother--from the very beginning. I miss my mom very much. I loved her very much. I treasured many things about her.
But I am better off without her. As for my dad--I wish him well. I would have loved him if he had let me.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
LYSF: The Heart is the Strongest Muscle in the Body
I realize that the post I put up the other day on New Relationship Energy made it sound like I think relationships can only be in two modes: Somebody Is Changing mode, in which case the relationship is doomed; or Hunkered in the Bunker mode, in which case the couple clings fearfully to a dry, joyless routine, the safe but sterile fossilized remains of the vibrant love they once enjoyed.
Ha! Of course this is not true. Every relationship incorporates change over its lifetime. Sometimes the changes are challenging, the process of adapting to them requires a tremendous amound of hard work, and a successful outcome--if by "successful" we mean "the relationship continues"--is by no means assured. Other times, they're relatively easy to accommodate. Sometimes we initiate the changes--I go back to school to study Speech Language Pathology, and Raider takes up a few of my household chores and becomes responsible for dinner most nights. Other times, the changes are forced on us: someone's health declines, or a job is lost, or a child is more challenging that we expected.
My point is that this is another thing we have in common: relationships are strong and flexible, and they stretch and bend to accommodate the change that is a constant in life. I have more than one set of friends who got together as teenagers--or, in the case of one of my cousins, at the age of 12--with a partner they have now been with for 20, 30, or 40 years. I haven't had much opportunity to listen to these couples talk about how they navigated the transition to adulthood together, but I know they did it. When I think about all the changes I went through in my self-understanding and my behavior between the ages of 17 and 27, these relationships astonish me (though I know that some of these folks, at least, were generally more stable people than me from a young age). They made it through college together; grad school in some cases; the establishment of careers; the arrival of children (and in the case of my cousin, grandchildren); interstate moves. They've had triumphs and disappointments. And somehow they are still together, and in happy, healthy relationships.
If the idea of someone in a long-term relationship dating outside that relationship seems inconceivable to you, maybe it will help if you consider that every relationship has to stretch to accommodate the people in it. What is an easy accommodation for one--"sure, I'll move to Guam with you!"--is impossible for someone else--"I've been playing D&D with the same people every Saturday night for 20 years. There's no way I'm moving out of town!" It may be impossible for you to imagine being untroubled by your partner wanting to find someone to play with at the conference they're going to next weekend, but some people's honest reaction is, "Have a great time, honey. Take condoms. I think I'll spend the weekend marathoning that TV show you don't like."
My point is that your relationship may not stretch to encompass this particular kind of new thing but I am absolutely sure it has stretched to accommodate others. You've supported your partner through the monomania of finishing a dissertation, or through training for a marathon, or through their new obsession with keeping backyard poultry. You've spent a year in couple's therapy to overcome bad patterns, or one of you has finally entered treatment for an old anxiety or depressive disorder.
"That's not the same!" you may say. "Sex is in its own category! Romance is a separate thing!" Maybe. I know that for a lot of people that's true. But it's not true for me. For me, dating is just another example of the many things that our relationship is big enough to hold. I think that everyone who is in a relationship will at some point come up against the question of "Is our relationship big enough and strong enough for this?"
I tell you, this is another thing we have in common.
Upcoming: "Just What Did I Learn The Hard Way, and How Did I Learn It?" and "Is a Relationship a Failure if it Ends?"
Ha! Of course this is not true. Every relationship incorporates change over its lifetime. Sometimes the changes are challenging, the process of adapting to them requires a tremendous amound of hard work, and a successful outcome--if by "successful" we mean "the relationship continues"--is by no means assured. Other times, they're relatively easy to accommodate. Sometimes we initiate the changes--I go back to school to study Speech Language Pathology, and Raider takes up a few of my household chores and becomes responsible for dinner most nights. Other times, the changes are forced on us: someone's health declines, or a job is lost, or a child is more challenging that we expected.
My point is that this is another thing we have in common: relationships are strong and flexible, and they stretch and bend to accommodate the change that is a constant in life. I have more than one set of friends who got together as teenagers--or, in the case of one of my cousins, at the age of 12--with a partner they have now been with for 20, 30, or 40 years. I haven't had much opportunity to listen to these couples talk about how they navigated the transition to adulthood together, but I know they did it. When I think about all the changes I went through in my self-understanding and my behavior between the ages of 17 and 27, these relationships astonish me (though I know that some of these folks, at least, were generally more stable people than me from a young age). They made it through college together; grad school in some cases; the establishment of careers; the arrival of children (and in the case of my cousin, grandchildren); interstate moves. They've had triumphs and disappointments. And somehow they are still together, and in happy, healthy relationships.
If the idea of someone in a long-term relationship dating outside that relationship seems inconceivable to you, maybe it will help if you consider that every relationship has to stretch to accommodate the people in it. What is an easy accommodation for one--"sure, I'll move to Guam with you!"--is impossible for someone else--"I've been playing D&D with the same people every Saturday night for 20 years. There's no way I'm moving out of town!" It may be impossible for you to imagine being untroubled by your partner wanting to find someone to play with at the conference they're going to next weekend, but some people's honest reaction is, "Have a great time, honey. Take condoms. I think I'll spend the weekend marathoning that TV show you don't like."
My point is that your relationship may not stretch to encompass this particular kind of new thing but I am absolutely sure it has stretched to accommodate others. You've supported your partner through the monomania of finishing a dissertation, or through training for a marathon, or through their new obsession with keeping backyard poultry. You've spent a year in couple's therapy to overcome bad patterns, or one of you has finally entered treatment for an old anxiety or depressive disorder.
"That's not the same!" you may say. "Sex is in its own category! Romance is a separate thing!" Maybe. I know that for a lot of people that's true. But it's not true for me. For me, dating is just another example of the many things that our relationship is big enough to hold. I think that everyone who is in a relationship will at some point come up against the question of "Is our relationship big enough and strong enough for this?"
I tell you, this is another thing we have in common.
Upcoming: "Just What Did I Learn The Hard Way, and How Did I Learn It?" and "Is a Relationship a Failure if it Ends?"
Friday, December 7, 2012
Loving Your Slutty Friend: New Anything Energy
Yesterday, I joked that I was going to write a pamphlet that would focus on reassuring the vanilla and monogamous by focusing on what we have in common. Today I find myself thinking about one of those things.
A quick note about terminology: I do not want to get bogged down trying to either describe every option or find the perfect word that covers everything. I'm going to keep it simple and sloppy. I'm going to use "monogamy" to mean people who choose to be only in exclusive coupled relationships. I'm going to use "non-monogamy" as an umbrella term for all the wide variety of ways that people have non-exclusive relationships. And I'm going to use "dating" as an umbrella term for all the wide variety of ways that people relate to each other sexually and romantically, whether as one-night partners on a first-name-only basis, or as people in a long-term relationship who don't live together, or whatever. I'm going to use "they" as a generic singular pronoun. I'm going to start a lot of sentences with "for me," because my experience is just one example, not a rule book.
If you are a monogamous person thinking about non-monogamy--either as an option for yourself, or as a theoretical exercise--you might find yourself concerned that a new relationship could destabilize an older one. An older relationship can feel secure, and imagining one or both partners dating someone else can feel like it will threaten that security.
The first thing we have in common: Non-monogamous people worry about this, too! There is such a thing as New Relationship Energy, that mix of excitement and limerence and sexiness and unlimited potential that you can get swept up in with a new person In fact, the book on open relationships I read recently, Opening Up, devotes a section to talking about it.
One way to deal with NRE is to know it can happen, and be smart enough not to make any big decisions during this time. Wait until you've found out your new sweetie's flaws and annoying habits--wait until you've found out that they have flaws and annoying habits, just like your old sweetie--before you consider changing living arrangments or adding them to the checking account or breaking up with that dear old sweetie who's stood by you for so long.
Another way to deal with it is to not have New Relationship Energy when your current relationship is vulnerable. This has been my strategy, and is one of the reasons that my own non-monogamous nature has been so little acted on during my relationship with Raider. Preserving my good relationship with him has always been my highest priority, and as a result I have been extremely conservative for a person who is basically promiscuous.
Sometimes our relationship is being hard work because we have something to figure out. Sometimes, life is just stressful in general--nobody's getting any sleep because a Child Who Will Remain Nameless didn't sleep through the night until he was almost three; or we're so busy with the kids and our jobs that we're struggling to find the time and energy for a private conversation (let alone sex); or my chronic headache is acting up. During these times, I don't date.
From the time I got pregnant with the Lego Savant, in September 2000, until about two years ago, I didn't think about dating at all. It wasn't just on the back burner. The back burner wasn't even lit. We were busy: having babies, caring for babies, learning to nurture our own relationship as a couple while having all those children. (If I were doing a "myths about nonmonogamy" post instead of a "what we have in common" one, I'd say that my experience counters a kind of prevalant assumption that nonmonogamous people are always having multiple relationships, or are indiscriminate in their relationships. But we'll set that to one side for now.)
But we have something even more important than that in common, which is that even monogamous relationships can be destabilized by the Energy of the New. Certainly, one form that takes is infidelity. But any time one person changes, it can also change the relationship. Two of the women I dated when I was in grad school in the late 80s had left homes they shared with long-term partners to attend grad school hundreds or thousands of miles away. Both of those relationships ended during the first year apart. (My lover went with me to grad school, and our relationship as lovers ended during that year, too.)
You can agree not to have other sexual or romantic partners, but you can't ever be sure that your postal-worker girlfriend won't decide to go to med school, or your office-worker boyfriend won't decide he wants to study gender theory at the graduate level, or your artist wife won't realize that if she doesn't move to Europe soon she never will. When I decided I wanted a baby, that could well have been a deal-breaker for me and Raider, had he not somehow found a way to access the very very buried, hitherto completely unknown part of him that wanted to be a dad. We have friends right now whose loving, long-term relationship is threatened because of one's dream to live in particular place--and the other one's strong desire to live somewhere else.
Needing something the other can't give you; finding that there is something you want more than your relationship; someone changing, for good or ill, in ways that make you incompatible: these can happen in any relationship. It takes courage to be open to the new things coming into your life, whether that's a new love or a new religion or a new hobby that takes you away from home every Saturday, because the changes that come with these things are unpredictable. It takes courage, too, to turn away from the new for a time because the relationship matters more.
We all have to find this ever-shifting balance. This is one of the things we have in common. It's not the only one. I may tell you about some of the others sometimes.
A quick note about terminology: I do not want to get bogged down trying to either describe every option or find the perfect word that covers everything. I'm going to keep it simple and sloppy. I'm going to use "monogamy" to mean people who choose to be only in exclusive coupled relationships. I'm going to use "non-monogamy" as an umbrella term for all the wide variety of ways that people have non-exclusive relationships. And I'm going to use "dating" as an umbrella term for all the wide variety of ways that people relate to each other sexually and romantically, whether as one-night partners on a first-name-only basis, or as people in a long-term relationship who don't live together, or whatever. I'm going to use "they" as a generic singular pronoun. I'm going to start a lot of sentences with "for me," because my experience is just one example, not a rule book.
If you are a monogamous person thinking about non-monogamy--either as an option for yourself, or as a theoretical exercise--you might find yourself concerned that a new relationship could destabilize an older one. An older relationship can feel secure, and imagining one or both partners dating someone else can feel like it will threaten that security.
The first thing we have in common: Non-monogamous people worry about this, too! There is such a thing as New Relationship Energy, that mix of excitement and limerence and sexiness and unlimited potential that you can get swept up in with a new person In fact, the book on open relationships I read recently, Opening Up, devotes a section to talking about it.
One way to deal with NRE is to know it can happen, and be smart enough not to make any big decisions during this time. Wait until you've found out your new sweetie's flaws and annoying habits--wait until you've found out that they have flaws and annoying habits, just like your old sweetie--before you consider changing living arrangments or adding them to the checking account or breaking up with that dear old sweetie who's stood by you for so long.
Another way to deal with it is to not have New Relationship Energy when your current relationship is vulnerable. This has been my strategy, and is one of the reasons that my own non-monogamous nature has been so little acted on during my relationship with Raider. Preserving my good relationship with him has always been my highest priority, and as a result I have been extremely conservative for a person who is basically promiscuous.
Sometimes our relationship is being hard work because we have something to figure out. Sometimes, life is just stressful in general--nobody's getting any sleep because a Child Who Will Remain Nameless didn't sleep through the night until he was almost three; or we're so busy with the kids and our jobs that we're struggling to find the time and energy for a private conversation (let alone sex); or my chronic headache is acting up. During these times, I don't date.
From the time I got pregnant with the Lego Savant, in September 2000, until about two years ago, I didn't think about dating at all. It wasn't just on the back burner. The back burner wasn't even lit. We were busy: having babies, caring for babies, learning to nurture our own relationship as a couple while having all those children. (If I were doing a "myths about nonmonogamy" post instead of a "what we have in common" one, I'd say that my experience counters a kind of prevalant assumption that nonmonogamous people are always having multiple relationships, or are indiscriminate in their relationships. But we'll set that to one side for now.)
But we have something even more important than that in common, which is that even monogamous relationships can be destabilized by the Energy of the New. Certainly, one form that takes is infidelity. But any time one person changes, it can also change the relationship. Two of the women I dated when I was in grad school in the late 80s had left homes they shared with long-term partners to attend grad school hundreds or thousands of miles away. Both of those relationships ended during the first year apart. (My lover went with me to grad school, and our relationship as lovers ended during that year, too.)
You can agree not to have other sexual or romantic partners, but you can't ever be sure that your postal-worker girlfriend won't decide to go to med school, or your office-worker boyfriend won't decide he wants to study gender theory at the graduate level, or your artist wife won't realize that if she doesn't move to Europe soon she never will. When I decided I wanted a baby, that could well have been a deal-breaker for me and Raider, had he not somehow found a way to access the very very buried, hitherto completely unknown part of him that wanted to be a dad. We have friends right now whose loving, long-term relationship is threatened because of one's dream to live in particular place--and the other one's strong desire to live somewhere else.
Needing something the other can't give you; finding that there is something you want more than your relationship; someone changing, for good or ill, in ways that make you incompatible: these can happen in any relationship. It takes courage to be open to the new things coming into your life, whether that's a new love or a new religion or a new hobby that takes you away from home every Saturday, because the changes that come with these things are unpredictable. It takes courage, too, to turn away from the new for a time because the relationship matters more.
We all have to find this ever-shifting balance. This is one of the things we have in common. It's not the only one. I may tell you about some of the others sometimes.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
I Have Read a Book About Open Relationships
I am reading a book called Opening Up: A Guide to Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships. Not that I felt I needed any advice; my relationship with Raider was created almost 20 years ago and is sustaining itself pretty well (Year 20: The best so far, in every way). But I was curious to see what the book said, and curious to see what's up in the world. For many years, busy with child-rearing and whatnot, I not only cleaved only unto Raider, but I paid no attention to what was going on in the, I dunno what you'd call it, non-monogamy community. I was familiar with the word "polyamory," and aware that some folks seemed to prefer it to "non-monogamy," but I didn't know why, or what that word necessarily meant to the people who were using it. If I used it to describe myself, what would I be saying about myself? If I said I was non-monogamous, what connotations would that carry these days? It's not that I'm especially concerned about labels, only that I recently found myself curious about the thinking that folks were doing about these things.
Hence, the book.
It's a great big book, and it has some strengths. I'm not sure, though, that it's one I would recommend to someone just starting to think about whether they might not be purely monogamous, or considering a relationship with someone who is polyamorous or non-monogamous. There are several reasons for that.
For one, the book has a real bias toward non-monogamy. Monogamous people, you will learn from this book, buy into a number of myths, such as the idea that you should get all your needs met by one single person. Not only the author, but a number of her interviewees, mention this. But I have never met a person who believed this. If they did, we'd see a lot more people who formed up into couples and then moved into little hermitages together; weddings would be going-away parties, people weeping into their handkerchiefs because they were never going to see the happy couple again. This is a straw man that people who are non-monogamous like to knock down--and have for as long as I can remember, which is getting to be a long time now--because it makes them feel smarter and more enlightened than exclusive couples.
You will also learn from this book that non-monogamous people are more courageous than monogamous people. There's some truth in this, in that being non-monogamous, especially openly, does take the same kind of moral courage that any kind of unconventional choice does. But monogamy takes courage, too. I think that successful relationships of all kinds require the same kinds of qualities: bravery, honesty, respect for boundaries, acceptance of the beloved.
This book isn't written for monogamous people, and so it's a bit unfair to criticize it by saying that it would be off-putting for a monogamous reader for these reasons. But it bothered me because it's sloppy thinking, and because I believe it is possible to affirm one's own choices without denigrating the authentic choices of others.
Speaking of words: the author likes to say that terminology doesn't really matter, but the book is devoted to parsing words into their narrowest possible divisions. "Non-monogamy," by her definition, means that you have a primary relationship, and other relationships just for sex. "Polyamory" means that you seek out other relationships to meet emotional needs as well. From there, you get "hierarchical" and "non-hierarchical" polyamory, "polyfidelity," "solo polyamory," and so on. You get every possible combination of partners and lovers discussed as its own special case. Labels, labels, labels. I found it tiresome. I began to feel like the hardest part of being poly-non-mono-whatever was going to be figuring out which box I might fit in. But I don't want to be in a box. So, no thank you.
Two other small things: I appreciate the diversity of the people who were interviewed for the book, though, oddly, they are often presented as couples even if there are other people involved. For instance: "Diane and Mike live with their triad partner, Derek." I do think that a lot of people experience their relationships this way--Raider and I, for instance, are probably always going to be a couple, no matter what else happens. I think. But often it seemed like a strange default option on the part of the author as she wrote about people's stories. And I would have liked to hear a bit more from people in long-term relationships. People who've been together for 2 years, or 4, certainly have much to say that is worth listening to. But where are my peers? I'd have liked to hear more from people whose relationships were a little longer in the tooth.
All in all, I'd say The Ethical Slut is a better book. It's more concise, and doesn't spend so much time parsing words to within an inch of their lives. Neither book had much to say that was new to me; of course, I learned what I know in my twenties, and I learned it all the hard way. Maybe reading a book would have been a better idea.
Both of these books make me want to write my own little pamphlet. I would call it, "Loving Your Slutty Friend: A Field Guide to Kink, Casual Sex, and Multiple Relationships For the Vanilla and Monogamous." I would start by talking about what I think we, and our relationships, have in common. It's all just variations on a theme, I would say. It's nothing to be afraid of.
Hence, the book.
It's a great big book, and it has some strengths. I'm not sure, though, that it's one I would recommend to someone just starting to think about whether they might not be purely monogamous, or considering a relationship with someone who is polyamorous or non-monogamous. There are several reasons for that.
For one, the book has a real bias toward non-monogamy. Monogamous people, you will learn from this book, buy into a number of myths, such as the idea that you should get all your needs met by one single person. Not only the author, but a number of her interviewees, mention this. But I have never met a person who believed this. If they did, we'd see a lot more people who formed up into couples and then moved into little hermitages together; weddings would be going-away parties, people weeping into their handkerchiefs because they were never going to see the happy couple again. This is a straw man that people who are non-monogamous like to knock down--and have for as long as I can remember, which is getting to be a long time now--because it makes them feel smarter and more enlightened than exclusive couples.
You will also learn from this book that non-monogamous people are more courageous than monogamous people. There's some truth in this, in that being non-monogamous, especially openly, does take the same kind of moral courage that any kind of unconventional choice does. But monogamy takes courage, too. I think that successful relationships of all kinds require the same kinds of qualities: bravery, honesty, respect for boundaries, acceptance of the beloved.
This book isn't written for monogamous people, and so it's a bit unfair to criticize it by saying that it would be off-putting for a monogamous reader for these reasons. But it bothered me because it's sloppy thinking, and because I believe it is possible to affirm one's own choices without denigrating the authentic choices of others.
Speaking of words: the author likes to say that terminology doesn't really matter, but the book is devoted to parsing words into their narrowest possible divisions. "Non-monogamy," by her definition, means that you have a primary relationship, and other relationships just for sex. "Polyamory" means that you seek out other relationships to meet emotional needs as well. From there, you get "hierarchical" and "non-hierarchical" polyamory, "polyfidelity," "solo polyamory," and so on. You get every possible combination of partners and lovers discussed as its own special case. Labels, labels, labels. I found it tiresome. I began to feel like the hardest part of being poly-non-mono-whatever was going to be figuring out which box I might fit in. But I don't want to be in a box. So, no thank you.
Two other small things: I appreciate the diversity of the people who were interviewed for the book, though, oddly, they are often presented as couples even if there are other people involved. For instance: "Diane and Mike live with their triad partner, Derek." I do think that a lot of people experience their relationships this way--Raider and I, for instance, are probably always going to be a couple, no matter what else happens. I think. But often it seemed like a strange default option on the part of the author as she wrote about people's stories. And I would have liked to hear a bit more from people in long-term relationships. People who've been together for 2 years, or 4, certainly have much to say that is worth listening to. But where are my peers? I'd have liked to hear more from people whose relationships were a little longer in the tooth.
All in all, I'd say The Ethical Slut is a better book. It's more concise, and doesn't spend so much time parsing words to within an inch of their lives. Neither book had much to say that was new to me; of course, I learned what I know in my twenties, and I learned it all the hard way. Maybe reading a book would have been a better idea.
Both of these books make me want to write my own little pamphlet. I would call it, "Loving Your Slutty Friend: A Field Guide to Kink, Casual Sex, and Multiple Relationships For the Vanilla and Monogamous." I would start by talking about what I think we, and our relationships, have in common. It's all just variations on a theme, I would say. It's nothing to be afraid of.
Friday, October 19, 2012
An open letter from my friend Sarai
A few months ago, my friend Sarai made a difficult decision to make public some details about her daughter Isabella that she had previously kept private. She did this in order to get help for Isabella; specifically, to ask for help with the costs of training a service dog for Isabella. As you will see when you read Sarai's letter, a service dog could make a tremendous difference in Izze's life. Sarai, an awesome single mom, could use help meeting her share of the expense of training Izze's dog. If you are so led, you can donate at Izze's chipin page or at Great Lakes Assistance Dogs with "River & Izze" in the memo line.
Here is her letter.
Dear Friends:
Many of you know that my daughter Isabella, who just turned 8 years old, has special needs. Most of you don't know that, among other things, she has been struggling with significant mental illness for many years.
When she was 3 years old, she became panicked on the school bus ride to preschool. She wasn’t just scared of being separated from me; she was having horrifying hallucinations. On the bus to preschool, dead squirrels threatened her. At night, she believed lions were consuming her from the feet upward as she lay in bed. Because of this, as well as her violent tendencies, at 3 1/2, she was placed on an anti-psychotic drug also used as a mood stabilizer. Putting my child on such strong drugs was a heart wrenching decision, but her hallucinations and anxiety were becoming more debilitating. Medication was, and still is, a life saver, but Izze needs more support then medication can provide.
Over the years, Izze has been given a variety of labels including Mood Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, Conduct Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Separation Anxiety Disorder, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, ADHD, and Sensory Processing Disorder. Regardless of what label her medical and educational team is operating under, the reality is that this is a little girl with a host of emotional, academic, and interpersonal challenges and needs.
I have worked very hard to put together a support system of caring, brilliant experts for Izze. She is followed by a leading child psychiatrist, has an ongoing relationship with one of the first psychologists to work with oppositional and mood disordered children in Michigan, and her school team is composed of multiple dedicated professionals. But even this extensive team is not enough.
Izze is entering third grade in the fall. She ended second grade with a kindergarten-level reading level, and an equally low math level. She has daily inter-personal conflicts. Last year she started leaving the classroom without permission, twice making it to the edge of the school property before she was caught. Izze has aid support in the classroom, and academic support outside the classroom, but her daily school experience is one of frustration and dread. She actively hates school.
Although Izze doesn't officially have an Autism diagnosis, her various symptoms and behaviors combine to present a picture of a child with high-functioning autism. Although she is verbal, she often does not use the skill to effectively communicate with other people in her environment. Similar to an autistic child, she has a strong need for a structured, routine environment; change creates feelings of fear and/or anxiety. She exhibits serious behavioral issues including, at times, self-injury.
In my research I have found and tried many therapies, diets, and other programs to help Izze manage her aggression and anxiety. A year ago, I came across an article written by the mom of an Autistic child about how the child's Autism Support Service dog was changing their life. The mom talked about her son gaining greater independence, increased communication, and an increase in friendships. Her child was able to experience more academic success and was having fewer behavior problems both at school and at home. I was fascinated by her story and began to research how dogs can help Autistic children.
As they meet their dog partners and develop a close bond, an unconditional, unconventional, and a miraculous loving friendship is developed and with each day passing, grows stronger, bringing along with it a chance that the child may transfer their new social relationship to the humans in their environment as well.
Service Dogs for children with Autism can also be trained to get help when it is needed, draw attention to a child’s name being called, keep a child from wandering into roadways, help find a child that is lost and lead her safely home. Furthermore, the therapeutic relationship that is cultivated between dog and child has the capacity to attenuate anger, aggression, and mood swings.
I researched service dog organizations and decided to apply to Great Lakes Assistance Dogs. In June, Izze was approved for an Autism support dog and we have been puppy raising "River" in our home for 5 weeks. At Great Lakes Assistance Dogs it costs $25,000 to train a service dog from start to finish. The cost of a service dog is paid for with private donations and public contributions. Families are asked to raise a portion of the expenses before the training begins. After training has started, the family is required to make monthly installments. The average cost for families is $12,500.
This is where you come in, how you can help Izze gain greater independence, social, and academic success!
Please consider donating to Izze's service dog fund. You can donate through Izze's Chipin page. Any donation, regardless of amount, brings us closer to all the success and joy Izze can begin to experience in the world.
I am grateful to you for reading this, and please share my letter with friends and family. Together, we can make the dream of a service dog for Izze a reality.
Sarai
