Breaking Patterns

I sat in my aunt and uncle’s house on Sunday, mere days before Dad 2.0, anxious about having to talk about the conference but wondering why I received zero congratulations. I sat on the couch waiting, butterflies fluttering throughout my torso and into my throat. Nothing from my aunt and uncle. Nothing from my cousins or their spouses. I couldn’t understand it, especially from my grandmother who supposedly was “thrilled” for me and cried when she read my post about Sienna and the moon. Wasn’t this supposed to be a big deal of sorts even if it made no sense to me why I was chosen? Even if I was having trouble accepting compliments and validation? Face-to-face with my extended family and there…was…nothing.

I asked Elaine her thoughts and she said maybe they were afraid to say anything that would upset me. My mom said the same and asked if she should investigate and if it turned out that there was a moratorium in place on talking to me about Dad 2.0, should I give my consent to lift it? I said yes. What followed was some whispering amongst my relatives while I sat, nervous, not knowing what I should with my hands. On one hand I dreaded the compliments and discussing the summit. On the other hand I craved them. My mom came back smiling and said that that’s exactly what was going on. My relatives were afraid of upsetting me, once again understandably walking on the proverbial eggshells.

I come from a very small family. I have one sister, an aunt (my dad’s sister) and uncle, two cousins and unfortunately only one grandparent (we’ve lost two and the other I never knew). I have a number of second cousins, but I rarely see them. Since I was born, we’ve gotten together with my aunt’s family about eight times a year, so if you think about it, I grew up with my cousins, though we’ve never been particularly close. We rarely see each other outside of holidays, birthdays celebrations and the like, and because I’ve suffered depression since around age nine and because I was a very angry and morose child, my kin (had to use that word!) tended not to know what to do with me. Depression can be a very selfish disease. One of its consequences is that it affects everyone around you without you realizing it. I remember a time before my first breakdown when my sister yelled at me to open my eyes to how my mood and behavior impacted my parents. It was the first time I saw the egocentric aspect of depression, but I was still too weak to act on it.

So even though my cousins and I can now sit at the “adult table” and even though my entire extended family has experience enough to discuss anything from politics to raising children, we generally don’t, and since my breakdown in 2010, it’s gotten a bit worse in terms of avoidance of certain subjects. I get that, but it also hurts and sometimes it’s not conveyed to me that that’s why there is no conversation. Thus it builds up in my head (Why? Why? Why?) and leads to further anxiety. For example, there was a miscommunication about Sienna’s 1st birthday that led to anger on both sides, but it took forever to resolve because we didn’t talk to each other directly. Likewise, this past fall, I unwittingly hurt one of my cousins when I wrote something on my blog, but it wasn’t discussed until I broke down in front of my uncle, hyperventilating, tears streaming down my face, my chest like concrete. He took me for a walk and I told him how I felt everyone hated me and was angry with me and how guilty I felt, how the last thing I ever want to do is hurt anyone. We sat on a stoop and I went deeply into my childhood and how I wish there was more communication in our family to draw us closer together. He had his arm around me, talked about his own childhood, insecurities and wishes. He even teared up a little. He assured me that no one hated me. No one was furious at me. Everything was water under the bridge. Everyone loves me. When we got back to my house, I talked to my cousin about the incident and everything was ok. I’d been advised not to bring anything up, but I had to lest I explode which, of course, I eventually did.

So here I was again with my family wondering why no one was talking to me about my upcoming adventure in New Orleans, about how I was chosen to read from my blog in front of 300+ people. Once it was cleared up and my mother handed my nearly deaf grandmother a sheet of paper on which was written, “It’s ok to talk to Lorne about New Orleans,” things got better. I spent an hour using my dad’s IPad to explain the conference to my grandmother. She read the piece I’d been asked to read. I told her how I was advised to create business cards but made the mistake of writing, “For the first time in my life I can say, ‘Here’s my card'” which only reinforced in my brain the poisonous “success = money/job status” mantra that permeated my life. (ASIDE – that I recognized my negative phrasing is significant. It’s something I couldn’t have done before). I asked my grandmother if she was proud of me. She said she was “mesmerized” and then added she was excited to see where this leads. I took this part as if being invited to read at Dad 2.0 still wasn’t good enough for my grandmother even though she probably didn’t mean it that way.

I felt drained when the conversation ended, took a deep breath and shook it off. I went into the kitchen where my cousin told me he was proud, that he loved to read my blog (I didn’t know this…or I did and swatted it away like an annoying fly because I refused to accept it) and that I was going to do great in New Orleans. As the day continued, I received compliments from everyone and though they still stung, they didn’t destroy me or create a massive panic attack. I was glad I addressed the lack of communication, breaking the pattern of an innocent, yet hurtful, miscommunication roiling in my stomach only to morph into rage. I took action even if I timidly used my mom to solve the mystery.

By the end of the evening all was well. At one point I sat talking about Frozen with my cousins’ kids and we all watched a clip of “Let It Go” on my phone. I observed Sienna (who’s never seen the film but has heard the song countless times) interacting with her older cousins, singing along in own way, mimicking the gestures of Princess Elsa and I felt…rich. I wish for Sienna to develop a closeness with her family early and it’s partly my job to move things in that direction. It’s time for me to speak up. It’s time for me to stop relying on Elaine and my mom to diffuse and/or explore these situations. And I will. Yes the compliments about Dad 2.0 stung and added to my anxiety because I still feel underserving, but at the time I need to hear them if I’m to grow. I need to hear that my entire family loves and believes in me. One day I’ll believe it myself.

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Sienna and her cousins watching and singing along to “Let It Go” and yes we immediately got her off that table!

Time To Fight My Fears Of Success And Failure

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“I can’t…I can’t…do this.”

“Look at me!” Elaine grasped my arms, her eyes trying to magnetize my own so I’d stop staring everywhere but at her. “You can do it.  You can. Stop saying you can’t. You can. Say you can.”

“I ca…ca…can’t.” Chest locked in a vice. Left side of my face twitched wildly.

“You can. Don’t say you can’t. Not in front of her.” Her grip tightened. I looked down and saw my daughter, my beautiful little girl. Her eyes a mix of confusion and concern with maybe a dash of fear. I took a deep a breath.

“I can….I can…I can…I can…I can…”

“Ok. I got this,” Elaine said. “Hug me and then go to the bedroom. We’re a team. You take care of me. I take care of you. You have nothing to prove.”

We hug. I set off for the bedroom, my mind imprisoning me once again. I try to read – ironically Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom. No attention span. Sleep. I need to sleep. I sleep for 4 hours.

How did I get here? Just 20 minutes before we were at Sienna’s music class and having a good time. But it was her last class and I had to sign her up for a new one which cost $470. That’s a lot of money. I have to pay off a few thousand dollars of credit card debt in the next month. Our finances are weak and it’s my fault. It’s my fault. But I’m getting birthday money in a few weeks. In a few weeks I’m turning 40. 40! How? How can that be? And I’m going to see my grandmother for the first time since she learned about me speaking at Dad 2.0. I’m not sure how much she understood of what my mom told her, but apparently she’s thrilled for me. She keeps reading my Sienna and the Moon blog and crying. She said it’s a huge honor. That’s not what I expected. I expected something along the lines of maybe he’ll actually do something with his life. Within 20 minutes I went from quality family time to being gripped by the cold hands of anxiety thanks to an insane thought process coupled with physical manifestation of emotion…again.

“I’m so glad they chose you to speak!”

“You’re an incredible writer!”

“I’m really proud of you and how far you’ve come with your blog.”

“The star of our NYC delegation will be Lorne Jaffe, who has been selected as one of five ‘spotlight’ speakers. Lorne will read one of the many frank, touching posts from his blog.”

I can’t take the validation even though I’ve craved it my entire life. WHY CAN”T I ACCEPT IT?? I don’t understand! The compliments enter my ears only to be instantaneously attacked by black thoughts and accusations as if they were extremely malevolent viruses.

“You don’t deserve this!” “You’re not worthy of it! “You still won’t amount to anything!”

I had a piece I’d written years ago just accepted by The Good Men Project (GMP). They even asked me to be a regular contributor. I felt a moment’s elation following by relentless skepticism and vehement negativity. I’m not being published in print so it doesn’t count. I didn’t receive any money so it’s meaningless. The site must accept everything. The site probably asks everyone to be a regular contributor. It couldn’t possibly be that what I’d written is actually good. I had to post in the Dad Bloggers group to ask if GMP accepts everything and was assured that they don’t. That was almost a week ago. I frantically check my e-mail awaiting a report that my piece is live. Will it ever happen? Did they forget about me? Does it even matter?

In 10 days I’ll be on a plane to New Orleans. In 11 days I’ll be at a podium reading from my blog in front of more than 300 people.

I am petrified.

What happens if I falter? What happens if I succeed? How can I top it…ever? I don’t have the artistic talent that so many other bloggers seem to possess; ones who write and illustrate brilliant and creative children’s books; ones who draw remarkable cartoons emanating the joy in even the most mundane aspects of being a stay-at-home dad; ones who post 3-4 times a week; ones who come up with scintillating titles that immediately make you want to read their words; ones who blog like poets and apply fantastic quotes to their lives.

And hence the comparison game continues. Why can’t I just accept myself for who I am? Why can’t I stop hating myself?

It’s all happening so fast, squeezing me so hard I can’t breathe. New Orleans approaches like a tidal wave. Compliments I can’t comprehend fill my ears, but my mind bars them from taking root and growing.

What happens when I get back from Dad 2.0? What happens when it’s all over?

I’m terrified this is the pinnacle of my life, of my achievements. It’ll be like a deflating balloon, an unfed fire. I’ll never be able to top it. I’ll never be able to sustain it.

This is what’s been going through my mind the last few days, this almost tangible fear of success and failure. This is all so weird! (A term my therapist claims I use whenever something is good and drags me out of my mental hell of comfortable pessimism).

Am I doing this for everyone else or am I doing it for me? I feel like I’m doing it for everyone else, but that’s just my old screwed-up brain talking. This is about me growing as a person and a father. This is about me facing and tackling my fears. This is about me standing at a podium, reading from my blog, imagining I’m a hero to Sienna. This is about me learning to accept accolades because I deserve them. This is about me having the guts to send what is an emotionally raw piece to GMP whether they accept it or not, whether they pay me or not. This is about me trusting Elaine when she sees I’m having trouble instead of me trying to prove that I can handle everything. This is about me letting my mom know (as I did today) that I was struggling and didn’t want Sienna to see me like this…could she please take her for a bit? This is about me pouring my heart and soul into this blog and helping others stricken with depression and anxiety.

It’s time to realize that my speaking at Dad 2.0 will not be the zenith of my life or achievements. It’s a milestone. It’s an honor. Nothing less, possibly more.

The real pinnacles (because there are many) of my life and achievements migrate each and every day when I see Elaine and Sienna; when Elaine tells me she loves me; when Sienna speaks new words; when I’m stunned again and again by Elaine’s beauty; when Sienna kisses my nose; when Sienna sees Elaine and I embracing, happily yells, “HUG!” and vaults herself into our arms until we’re wrapped together as a family.

My fears of failure and success will not dissipate like overnight mist. They might be with me my entire life. But it’s time I fight. It’s time I yell and scream as loud as they do. It’s time I realize I have lots of people in my corner and it’s time I accept that I deserve them.

I never again want to stand trembling, stuttering and look down at my daughter and see a mix of confusion and concern with a dash of fear. I want her to see a person ready to stand up for himself TO himself.

I want Sienna to be proud to have me as a father.

Most importantly, I want to be proud of myself.

Hat Tricks

If you’ve seen a photo of me, odds are I’m wearing a beat-up old Yankees cap. If you’ve met me in person, I probably was wearing either that hat or a NY Giants cap. Maybe a University of Michigan hat or one advertising my love for Breaking Bad. Maybe you think I’m a die-hard Yankee fan (I was, but not since 2001 when the dynasty broke up and the front office started making all the wrong moves…again). Maybe you think I’m losing my hair (I am a bit). Maybe you think I’m uncouth, unstylish or lazy. Maybe you haven’t noticed or thought about it at all even if I feel you have. Now that I’ve been chosen as a Blog Spotlight Reader at this year’s Dad 2.0 Summit, I’ve been thinking about it a lot because the fact is, I don’t know if I can get on that stage without it. My hat is my security blanket.

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I normally feel uncomfortable in front of people, have felt that way for as long as I can remember, but I feel completely exposed if I’m not wearing a hat, as if someone, anyone can directly see the chaos, self-loathing and anxiety constantly cannoning through my mind. When my head’s covered, I feel less naked. Not in control – not by a long shot – but somehow more protected.

I started wearing a hat during day camp when I was free from school and family rules. I was able to slide the brim low so other kids couldn’t see my fear, especially when I developed severely emasculating gynecomastia (male breast enlargement that was finally corrected 10 years ago) at age 11 followed by a massive thatch of thick, black back hair (95% of which was zapped away over the past 3 years). I was already being bullied by kids and authority figures and already feeling unloved, cast out and like a failure by the time I started wearing my hat religiously (sometimes carrying it in my backpack and putting it on after school, for instance), but the onset of those two physical conditions forced me to be of aware of my body at all times coupled with a desperate need to hide it. My hat, I felt at the time, made me a little less conspicuous, though the irony is that it became just more bait for camp bullies (cruel games of keep-away, for instance). Even today it giveth and it taketh away. I feel a nagging need to wear my hat to feel better, but I also wonder who’s looking at me, who’s talking about the freak who always wears that damn battered Yankee cap as people sometimes did in college when I almost never took it off. Sometimes I wonder if my hat’s actually keeping me prisoner.

When I first started seeing my current therapist (my 4th and best by far), she asked me to take my hat off during session; I think she recognized instantly that I cling to it. It’s been around 6 years and my therapist says I’ve made enough progress that it’s completely my choice regarding wearing it, but still, one of the first things I do when I sit down with her is take off my hat. Sometimes I glance at it longingly and when things get very intense I’ll unconsciously reach out to touch the brim that normally shadows my face only to settle for nervously combing my fingers through my hair.

Sienna has no idea why Daddy’s always wearing a hat at family functions or when people are visiting or when we’re out in public, but she loves to play with it. She grabs it off my head, eyes and mouth all smiles and laughs, and tries to put it back on myself or Elaine. I don’t wear it when we’re alone in the apartment, but if she sees it she starts yelling, “Hat! Hat! Hat!” and clamors for me to put it on.  My heart aches when she does this. Sometimes with love, but other times with uneasiness because I don’t want her to think of me of weak (and yes I know that’s irrational).

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Sienna tries to uncover the mysterious within Daddy’s hat

So will I wear it on stage at Dad 2.0? I have no idea. Can I? That’s one of things I’ve been fretting about. How do I have to dress? I know I’m going be nervous as hell and as I wrote earlier, I’m not sure I can handle going up there without it. When asked his advice on dress, Jason Greene of One Good Dad wrote me that I shouldn’t feel scared people will judge me for wearing it because this is a community that doesn’t scrutinize. But then I also think about what it might symbolically mean for Sienna should I not wear the hat, should I display that extra courage. Is it enough that Daddy’s confronting his overwhelming anxieties by not just going to this conference, but speaking at it? She’ll be 22 months at the time. She could care less. And yet I feel like I shouldn’t wear it because I’d be setting an example. I want my daughter to look at me as a strong person and father. I never want her to feel the need to carry around a security blanket, particularly when she’s nearing 40.

Even if I don’t wear it at the podium, I’m sure I’ll be wearing it most of the time. If anything it’ll be an easy way for you guys to recognize me. Just look for the terrified guy in the old, threadbare Yankee cap.

Chosen – Dad 2.0 Summit

Last week I was contacted by Doug French, founder of the Dad 2.0 Summit , who let me know that I had been chosen as a Blogger Spotlight Reader for this year’s conference in New Orleans. My initial reactions were shock and humility. “Me? Why me? How? How is this possible?” I actually asked Doug that as we spoke on the phone and he said that he enjoyed my blog and thought I had an important voice. I was told my ticket to the conference would be paid for and that to help save money, Doug would help me find someone with whom I could share a hotel room. Was I willing to go? As we spoke and I stammered my responses, nervousness flooded my veins and my chest felt as if it had been dipped in liquid nitrogen, like a little poke in the ribs would shatter me to pieces. I told Doug I’d have to look into flights and see about that hotel roommate and ask if I could get Sienna coverage and most importantly, see if could overcome my anxiety. Doug said that was fine and to let him know as soon as I could.

The first thing I did – and this is highly significant – was contact Danny Giardino, a friend I’d met through the NYC Dads Group, who had offered to split a room with me when I was debating going to conference a few months ago. I asked if the room was still available. It was and since the first 2 nights were comped, the total cost for my stay would be negligible. Why is this so significant? Because I actually did something instead of crawling into bed and shaking. I took initiative in solving a rooming situation.

Next I contacted my mom about Sienna coverage. She told me she was proud of me and said she and my dad would absolutely be able to watch Sienna on Thursday and Friday. Again significant because I problem-solved.

Then, despite my sense of dread at how things were falling into place, I searched for flights and found one that was doable money-wise. Non-stop both ways on JetBlue.

I then called Elaine and stammered my way through letting her know that I’d been chosen, that the founder of the Dad 2.0 Summit (described on its homepage as  “an open conversation about the commercial power of dads online, and an opportunity to learn the tools and tactics used by influential bloggers to create high-quality content, build personal brands, and develop business ideas”), had read my blog and wanted me to read from it in front of a large audience of fellow Dad Bloggers and marketers and real go-getters in the At-Home Dad community, people so unlike myself, people who don’t cost their child a few hours in the park because they’re too anxious to go outside. Elaine, like my mom, was proud of me, but knowing my anxiety level must be through the roof, she said we’d talk about it when we got home.

As I said earlier, I had debated going to the conference a few months ago, but I felt that I’d be overwhelmed by the marketing and business aspects as well a fear of feeling completely inadequate in the face of so many seasoned bloggers, people whose work is so much better than my own. I’d gone back and forth and back and forth and finally decided it would be too much for me…maybe next year when I’d have done more writing and had a lot more therapy. Now I was being invited by the founder himself and the dominoes were falling leading me to a date in New Orleans in late January.

I called my best friends who told me I absolutely have to go, that is an opportunity of a lifetime and I’d regret it forever if I didn’t answer that knock. I texted my therapist who said the same.

A few hours later after Elaine had come home and we talked a bit more I booked the damn flight before I could change my mind. I took a massive leap, something I almost never do. I let Doug know that I accepted the honor and would indeed be there and he wrote back: “Great news! Thanks again for doing this. You’ll be great. I know it.” I also peppered him with anxiety-related questions: What do I wear? Do I have to look professional? I normally wear jeans and a baseball cap (Aside – I had planned to write about the meaning behind my cap today, but this popped up instead). What happens if I become overwhelmed? Can I leave for a bit? Take a walk? Do I wait for an official announcement? (The announcement was posted today.) I apologized for the frenzied questions and said I hate my brain to which Doug responded, “Don’t hate your brain too much. It’s the reason you write as well as you do.” I didn’t know what to say to that.

My sister- and brother-in-law live in Baton Rouge and want to be there for moral support, but I don’t know if they’d need to pay to see me read. Even if they can’t make it to the conference itself, they want to take the trip to drive me from and to the airport to which I said they’re nuts and was told that they’re a nutty family.

I can tell you that I’m scared out of my mind. I’m terrified of the marketing aspects. I’m frightened I’ll feel eclipsed by the other bloggers there. I’m nervous I’ll feel very alone even though Doug and others have told me that people look out for each other at the Summit, that it’s a community of friendly faces. I’m even afraid I’ll unwittingly walk by Madame Marie Delphine LaLaurie’s mansion (she being the infamous, sadistic slave torturer currently being portrayed by Kathy Bates on American Horror Story: Coven) and I’ll see one of those weird orbs people claim appear when they take photo of the place (ok, I’ll confess, I actually do want to visit the mansion – anyone up for a New Orleans nighttime ghost tour?). I’m anxious people will feel I wasn’t deserving of this honor, that I’m not good enough, that I’ll discover I’m not cut out to be a Dad Blogger. I’m scared I won’t have Elaine with me.

But…I did take those steps to see if I could go and I did it on all my own. That means something. That means a lot. I’m proud of myself for that. And I’m proud I took a leap I don’t think I could have taken even a few months ago. Plus I’ve never been to New Orleans. If there’s time, I’d like to see a few things. I’m also looking forward to meeting so many people who have been supportive of my writing since I joined the Dad Bloggers group. Already some of these fellow bloggers such as Carter Gaddis, Kevin McKeever, John Kinnear have posted personal congrats to me on FB as have people I already know including Lance Somerfield, Jason Greene and Sat Sharma.

I’m nervous as hell, but I’m not letting my anxiety hold me back. Not this time. It’s probably not going to leave me, but come January 30th, we’ll be together at the Dad 2.0 Summit in New Orleans.

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Growth

I’ve always hated New Year’s Eve. I become way too focused on another year gone, another year closer to death, another year in which I still have not met my warped definition of success. I find it especially hard to concentrate on what I have and instead watch all these people celebrating surviving to see an arbitrary turn on the clock. For years I’ve become more sullen and depressed the closer we get to Dick Clark’s favorite holiday (just as I do my birthday since its “meaning” is in a similar vein). I don’t know how I’m going to do tomorrow. It’s going to be quiet here in our apartment – just Elaine, Sienna and myself. I’ll be with the most important people  in my life and I hope I can engross myself in that. Regardless, rather than spend this post being all pessimistic, I want to write about something that happened yesterday, something that made me realize that I have indeed improved mentally since my last nervous breakdown in January 2010. Yesterday I leased a new car.

I know that doesn’t sound like much, but the last time my lease was up I went through one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life. It was early 2011 and we were still living in New Jersey. Knowing it was a little over 3 months before my lease matured, I drove out to my usual Honda dealership (I was on second Civic), walked through the door and stood frozen looking at the bustling showroom and all the salespeople I figured would take advantage of me because I had so little knowledge about real world things like leasing a car and because I didn’t know how to play the game. Anxiety squeezed my heart with an icy grip. Sweat poured down my face. I walked up to the receptionist desk and stammered something unintelligible. Then, shaking, I burst into tears and ran out the door.

In the end my parents wound up having to drive out from Queens to help me thrash out the new lease. I barely spoke during the process. When I did I stuttered. My hands and legs shook. I didn’t wail or anything, but tears formed in my eyes and sometimes silently slid down my cheeks. I sat listening as my parents tried to get me the best deal, my mind black with thoughts and feelings of frailty and failure. I was 37 years old. A 37-year-old man (I still have difficulty considering myself a “man” as I so often feel like a child) who couldn’t take the pressure of signing a new car lease by himself and instead had to rely on his parents.

Flash forward 2 years and 6 months. I’m at a Honda dealership in Queens since we no longer live in Jersey. My father’s with me. This time I do most of the talking and ask most of the questions. The salesperson’s extremely affable and low key which looking back I think helped, but the fact is I I’m able to joke with him about how ludicrous it is that the color “grey” becomes “Urban Titanium.” My father plays the game a bit and gets him down a few bucks a month (“I like round numbers,” my dad says). But really, it’s my deal and it’s hell of a lot better than my last lease. I put less money down. They buy out my remaining payments and any existing car damage. And I’m paying $38 less a month while getting new features like bluetooth, a rear camera, automatic headlight shutoff and of course that cool Urban Titanium exterior. My hands never shake. My eyes remain clear. I smile and laugh. I never stutter…not even once. I feel no anxiety. Zero. I need to acknowledge that and even say so to my father while still at the dealership.

My dad keeps my mom updated the entire time and as we drive home he tells me how proud of me the 2 of them are. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to hearing those words, a phrase I’d craved hearing my whole life. My initial reaction is always to refute compliments because I feel somehow undeserving. But as I think about it, I really have come a long way. Two years and 6 months ago I entered a similar situation and was a wreck completely reliant on my parents to get me through it. This time I was in control of both myself and the negotiation. My dad noted I he felt I didn’t even need him there as all he did was save me about $24 bucks a year. The more I think about it, the more I realize he’s right and the more I realize I’ve grown.

I don’t know what feelings New Year’s Eve will bring, but I do know today I’ll go pick up my new car. I know my mind will try to contradict reality, but I’ll battle because I’ve evolved. I have fact on my side. Zero anxiety while leasing a car? That is clear personal growth.