Today I’m featured on WhatToExpect.com in a post dealing with the moment it first hit me I was a dad. Hint: it involves Lionel Richie!
Hope you like it!
Tag Archives: Comparison Game
The Real Lesson of Dad 2.0
Dad 2.0 co-founder, Doug French, speaks at the 2014 conference
On March 31, 2014, I tried to write a recap of my experiences at the Dad 2.0 Summit. I’d already written about at the conference, about how reading my blog about having depression in front of 250 people challenged my defenses, but I had stories to tell, pictures to post, impressions of New Orleans to express. My second Dad 2.0 recap had been on my mind since arriving home back in February, and at the end of March I decided I’d procrastinated long enough.
All I wanted to do was post pictures, tell a funny anecdote or two, and write about my overall wonderment during the weekend. It didn’t need to be a linear narrative. It didn’t need to have a moral or underlying theme. But as I wrote I realized I was falling into the trap of feeling like I had to write everything from start to finish and as the minutes and then hours ticked by I became more and more anxious – heart racing, chest filling with granite, tremors infiltrating my fingers, mind simply out of control with hateful thoughts about myself. So I posted on the Dad Bloggers Facebook page:
“Am trying to blog. Am failing to blog. Too much pressure to blog. Trying to do a second recap of Dad 2.0 but can’t figure out how. I don’t think I can be as poetic as so many of you. I have lots of pics and some stories and impressions, but everything feels jumbled and forced. Writing feels jumbled and forced lately. I hate this! I hate feeling like I’m in competition with all of you wonderful writers! I hate that I do this to myself! I hate that this is where I go! I HATE IT!”
Fury. Self-hatred. Envy.
That’s what circled through my addled brain. Immediately people responded telling me to to breathe (I couldn’t). Telling me to hug Sienna (I couldn’t). Telling me that this is normal, that all writers go through this. My narcissistic depressed mind refuted everything and instead doubled, tripled, quadrupled the attack. I shook as I posted this:
“I can’t take this. I’m no damn good. You guys are so prolific and so smart and so poetic and so genius and introspective and observant and it seems (SEEMS) that it comes so easy to you and I’m probably being irrational and I’m getting caught in that web I weave and I need help because I can’t breathe because I’ve sat here trying to write this stupid blog for 2 hours and it’s awful”
Fury. Self-hatred. Envy. Guilt.
More responses. Dads bloggers telling me they knew how I felt in regards to not being able to write. Dad bloggers telling me my reading at Dad 2.0 was amazing, inspirational, wonderful, brave. Dad bloggers telling to get away, get out, take advantage of the nice weather to help break out of this funk. Dad bloggers telling me that writing is subjective and nothing is perfect, that even someone famous like Jane Austen had a hater in Mark Twain. Someone asked if anyone was home with me which signaled worry about myself and Sienna. MY…BRAIN…WOULD…NOT…STOP! I posted again:
“no, it’s just me. I’m still recovering my an ear infection and Sienna’s still sick. I’m just so upset. I’ve thinking about this blog for 2 months. I got my pictures set up and I was all like, I’m just gonna throw out random observations and pics and thoughts and instead I’m getting bogged down in describing the conference from beginning to end. I tried to look at other people’s recaps and that got me on to the comparison game again. I recapped my experience speaking, but there was a bunch more I wanted to say. Maybe I should just forget it. I have like 5 ideas, but I’m getting so stressed because I keep comparing myself to all of the group members going viral and a bunch of people who write brilliant stuff almost every day and I can’t stop and I just hate myself so damn much! I can’t stop hating myself! Why do I hate myself so much?”
FURY. SELF-HATRED. ENVY. GUILT. FURY. SELF-HATRED. ENVY. GUILT. FURY. SELF-HATRED. ENVY. GUILT. FURY. SELF-HATRED. ENVY. GUILT.
Facial-tic going like crazy. Whole body shaking. Hyperventilating.
More and more responses from fellow dad bloggers but I could no longer read or absorb them. Aaron Gouveia of The Daddy Files IM’d me, asked for my phone number. I gave it and posted:
“shutting comp off…I can’t deal w/ this. I’m sorry I’m failing all of you”
My phone rang.
I can’t remember much of what was said. All I know is that Aaron, this person I met at Dad 2.0, this person with whom I felt I strong kinship, started talking me down, listened to my stuttering, my hysterics, and gave me positive reinforcement by telling me I was going to be okay and so many people care about me. I’m not going to lie. I thought of suicide during the phone call as Sienna sat in her pen, concerned, as protected from her crumbling father as I could make her.
How long did the call last? I don’t remember, but as I listened to Aaron talk about me possibly taking a break from blogging and that if I did it would be fine, that no one would judge me, I began to calm. My hysterics became sobs. My sobs became deep breaths. Despite his kids climbing all over him, trying to get his attention, he would not hang up until he knew I was alright and safe. I promised I wouldn’t do anything rash. I asked him to tell the others that I was okay, that I thanked them for their support, but I needed to take a step back from Facebook as I was drowning once again in social media and self-induced pressures. We hung up. I put Sienna down for a nap. I fell asleep on the couch and refused to open the computer until the following day.
I was still in a bad state when Elaine got home. She took care of Sienna and comforted me. I felt like I’d run a million miles, my body broken, my brain like mush. I went to sleep early making sure to take a melatonin.
I looked at the computer the next day and saw 6 IMs from dad bloggers. I saw a bunch of responses to my final post most of which expressed how I was failing no one, all of them showing worry and reminding me I had this virtual community of dads on which to lean. It took me days to respond to the IMs, but I posted this:
“Thanks everyone. I’m still not doing great, but I’m braving FB because Aaron told me you guys have been really supportive. I can’t bear to look at what I posted. I also can’t thank Aaron enough for calling me. Just embarrassed I was so hysterical on the phone. I plan to read all of and take a lot of your advice. I’m not sure when I’ll blog again. It might be tomorrow or next week or next month. I’m still so down right now and I’m so sorry I haven’t checked so I could share your stuff and comment on it and support all of YOU. Just know how much I appreciate it.”
More responses about how there was no need for me to feel embarrassed, but it took time for me to get it.
As I remained in my depressed state for days, I thought about my failed blog attempt. I began to really read what people wrote to me. I wrote back to those who IM’d me. And I realized the real lesson of Dad 2.0, although it took me a long time to blog about it because I’ve been so scared to write that my anxiety level’s been almost radioactive. It’s a lesson with which I concluded my first Dad 2.0 blog:
I found my tribe.
Dad 2.0 and the Dad Bloggers Facebook site are all about at-home and stay-at-home dads working together, being there for each other when we have difficulties, sharing advice and experiences, reminding each other that we’re not alone, inspiring each other. Some dads suffer depression and anxiety just like me and I’ve written to them about it when they’ve hit hard times. I said I’d be there for them to talk to because I understood. In turn, when I posted what I did, those same dads wrote to ME using similar words, reminding me that I’m not the only one who suffers panic attacks and depressive episodes, telling me they’re there for me should I need them. Further, bloggers I compare myself to (even though I shouldn’t) posted that they too suffer insecurities and often hate what they write. Again, I’m not alone.
That’s the real lesson of Dad 2.o. Even though people have different lives and are scattered across the country, it’s a community of which everyone reminded me I’m an important part despite my irrational fears that they’ll forget me.
I’m nowhere near mentally healthy…yet. My stability remains shaky for the moment, but hopefully it won’t always be. Regardless this realization about Dad 2.0 and the Dad Bloggers Facebook page is significant. What’s even more pertinent is that I got it out of my system. I blogged, I hit “publish” and I shared. I thank every person who IM’d me, posted, worried about my safety, told me I’m not alone. I can’t express how much it means to me. I especially thank Aaron Gouveia for going out of his way (he’ll refute this) to talk me down.
Now I’m off to see my therapist.
Birthday Party Pressure
“So what should we do for Sienna’s 2nd birthday?”
“I don’t know,” Elaine yawned. We sat on each side of the couch in the darkened living room. Elaine had just put Sienna to bed and was on the verge of going night-night herself.
“Don’t we have to do something?” I implored. “A party? Ask my parents if we could borrow their house and invite only people with kids so Sienna can play?”
“Maybe,” Elaine responded, her voice noncommittal. “But I’d rather we just invite a few friends if we do that. Doesn’t matter if they have kids. It’s not like we have to do anything major.”
“But we have to do something, right?”
That’s what I felt in my heart, body, brain, guts. It’s our daughter’s 2nd birthday so we need to throw her a party of some sorts. That’s what society dictates. A child’s birthday equals a party with or without clowns, bouncy tents, magicians and the like. Elaine and I had this conversation for months. We never made a decision. Sienna’s 2nd birthday is tomorrow and I feel wrong that we’re not doing anything big for it. No pirate-themed party like my friend had when his son turned 2. No kids running around a decorated backyard or house. I know a 2nd birthday party is mainly for the parents just as a 1st birthday celebration is. I know Sienna wouldn’t remember if I dressed up like Olaf from Frozen (as if I could get an Olaf costume these days when Frozen merchandise is going for thousands on Ebay). But still I feel like I’m failing her somehow. Once again I’m caring more about what a society that could care less about me thinks than I am about anything else.
Sure we’re going to see our relatives on Sunday. Sienna will see her great-grandmother, great-aunt and uncle and 2nd cousins. It will be a combined marking of Sienna’s 2nd birthday and my parents’ anniversary, but outside of a cake (hopefully my cousin’s awesome checkerboard confection) marking the occasion and maybe a card or 2, it will be just like any other gathering. Maybe there will be a balloon? Maybe a toy for her to unwrap? I’m not sure. Regardless it won’t be the remarkable event I feel pressured to create even if Elaine, Sienna and even I, the rational I, could care less about.
We’re also bringing cupcakes to her class on Sunday and I gather they’ll sing “Happy Birthday,” but that still doesn’t feel like enough.
Why are young children’s birthday parties so big in American society?
When we threw a fête for her 1st birthday (ok, maybe it wasn’t a “fête” since it was really informal), Sienna sat there confused and indifferent as evidenced by the image below:
She didn’t have a clue what was going on around her, though she interacted fine with total strangers, especially the other kids. I honestly don’t think she smiled until after everyone left and she had room to play with a balloon and climb on Elaine. Even for her 1st birthday we didn’t go all out, though we did get a delicious cake, symbolically the same one Elaine had at her bridal shower. We invited a bunch of people over to my parents’ house. We brought in pizza and Italian food. Sienna wore a nice dress. We decorated a bit. Sienna got a bunch of gifts. It was a nice time, clearly more for Elaine, myself and my parents than for Sienna. And now our daughter’s turning 2 and we’re not doing a blessed thing and I feel like I’m making a societal faux pas.
I asked other parents what they did for 2nd birthdays and the majority said they did very little. A simple family gathering. A trip to the zoo. A cake.
I guess that’s the direction we’re going. I’ll try to get some nice pictures tomorrow and the family gathering on Sunday, but there will be no party for Sienna not to recall. I’m sure the feeling that I’m failing my daughter will go away sometime next week, but I’m annoyed I’m letting inconsequential and wholly false societal “rules” dictate my life once again. I’m furious I’m playing the same comparison game I’ve played essentially my whole natural life.
And that leads nowhere except to further self-loathing so I need to take a deep breath and as my therapist instructs, repeat to myself, “This is where I go. This is what I do.”
Perhaps if I keep doing that the sharp arrow of anxiety piercing my body will dissipate and I’ll be able to ignore my the irrational part of my brain and enjoy Sienna’s 2nd birthday for what it is – my daughter simply turning 2.
How The LEGO Movie Stimulated My Intellect While Gut Punching Me Emotionally
THIS BLOG CONTAINS SPOILERS SO SEE THE LEGO MOVIE ALREADY!
I wasn’t prepared. Not at all. I didn’t expect to feel like The LEGO Movie spoke to me directly while offering biting social satire to tickle my media studies background. I sure wasn’t prepared for that incredibly emotional twist at the end that made my childhood flash a bit before my eyes. No. When I first read that Hollywood planned to make a movie about LEGOs, I figured it’d be a hackneyed product placement flick for the kiddies, not a film designed for all ages and filled with brilliance, wit and deeply poignant moments.
The LEGO Movie had me within its first ten minutes. It tells the story of Emmet (Chris Pratt), an average construction worker who, like almost everyone else in his LEGO world, unquestioningly follows the rules, consumes reality TV programs, buys ridiculously overpriced coffee, loves chain restaurants and literally sings along for hours to a tune called “Everything Is Awesome,” all of which have been established by President Business (Will Ferrell) as a means to keep people in line and turn them into mindless robots. Emmet, in other words, is the everyday American consumer (a beautiful irony considering we’re watching a movie dealing with some of the world’s most popular and heavily consumed toys).
But suddenly Emmet stumbles upon Wild Style (Elizabeth Banks) and her counter-culture friends (a great nod to The Matrix) who are out searching for “The Special,” the one who will defeat President Business (who in a nod to the Star Wars prequels, is the diabolical LORD Business when not in front of the camera) and allow imagination and creativity to reign once more. Essentially, in addition lampooning American consumer culture, LEGO satirizes itself and how the toys morphed from a pail, bag or box of simple interlocking plastic bricks with which kids were meant to use their inventiveness into giant and expensive sets with point-by-point instructions often purchased and preserved by adults. Lord Business’ evil plan, in fact, is to use a secret weapon to eternally freeze the world using his vision of perfection.
Led by Vitruvius (Morgan Freeman), the rebels, consisting of “master builders” from Batman (a hilarious Will Arnett) to Unikitty (Alison Brie), make innovative use of their beautifully animated LEGO surroundings to fight off Lord Business’ second-in-command, Bad Cop (Liam Neeson), and his robots including “micromanagers” to eventually lead Emmet, “The Special,” to his destiny.
And that’s when things get really wild.
Suddenly The LEGO Movie jumps from animation to live-action where we learn a young boy has imagined everything we’ve seen up to date and Lord Business represents his father (Will Ferrell again), a man dressed in a starched white shirt and tie, who has devoted his basement to building a colossal LEGO city using step-by-step directions and wants to preserve it for all-time using Krazy Glue. It’s here where the The LEGO Movie becomes an emotional father/son tale as we learn that the dad (aka “The Man Upstairs” in Emmet’s world) has gone to great lengths to quash his son’s imagination and desires to just build cool and crazy LEGO things; signs that read “Do Not Touch” abound throughout the room, and the father asks his son how many times does he have to tell him not to play with his “stuff” (a word often spouted throughout the film by President/Lord Business).
As I watched the hurt in the young boy’s eyes, I remembered my own childhood. I was never very into LEGOs and my dad did try to get me into things he liked (such as model trains), but my father never understood me as a kid, never connected or urged on the creative blood that once flowed through my veins before I became too frightened and anxious to act on them and they all but disappeared. This major disconnect between my dad and I helped, along with many other things, lead to my clinical depression. Even today, after two nervous breakdowns, dozens of panic attacks, family therapy, and his own voice telling me he’s proud of me and that I should do whatever I want to do in life, pleasing him remains at the forefront of my brain.
I’ve written before about how much I associate my father with work (for the longest time I could not picture him without a suit and tie) and how that’s played a role in my warped view of success as being solely money- and job status-oriented. I hated ties as a kid (still do) and began to think of them as nooses designed to keep workers in place. In the film, Lord Business’ outfit even looks exactly like a tie! Total stroke of genius!
Lord Business’ outfit from the rear
So when I saw this poor young boy whose dad was the epitome of work, perfection and practicality, I got a hitch in my throat, and the name “Lord Business” took on a whole new meaning. It was MY dad and I was the boy. But soon the father, through a bit of LEGO magic and personal reflection, learns the error of his ways and he and his son begin to bond over their creations, a union my father and I never had when I was a child. In the end, while The LEGO Movie is a gorgeously animated, wry and subversive take on our consumer society, it’s really about good parenting and a father and son, though I should say that the father tells the boy that his sister will be allowed to play as well (a nod, along with Unikitty and her bright and colorful wold, at how LEGO is attempting to appeal to young girls as well as boys).
But the third act father/son shocker wasn’t the only thing that got me emotionally, because early on in the film I whipped out my phone and wrote down this piece of dialogue spoken by Vetruvius to Emmet:
“Don’t worry about what the others are doing. You must embrace what’s special about you.”
This might as well have been spoken to me by my therapist, family, friends and fellow dad bloggers as I’ve fallen repeatedly into the depressive pit of comparing myself to everyone else. Despite my scary, insanely well-accepted and ultimately rewarding reading at Dad 2.0 just a few weeks ago, I’ve become more and more worried about my own writing and blog and keep comparing myself to others.
I’m not poetic enough. I’m not prolific enough. I don’t have brand connections. My blog doesn’t look as cool. I’m not on social media enough. I don’t have a Facebook page for my blog. On and on and on.
And as I sit there with my chest hurting and tears in my eyes, writing to fellow dad bloggers and asking for help on how to become more like them, speaking to my therapist about how I’m not good enough, telling my best friends about these fears that seem to have quadrupled because now I feel people EXPECT me to live up to what I presented at Dad 2.0 while my brain’s telling me that that’s an impossibility, I hear or see them write the same thing Vetruvius said to Emmet:
“Don’t worry about what the others are doing. You must embrace what’s special about you.”
Between the father/son turn and that line of dialogue, I felt like The LEGO Movie spoke directly to me. Add on the fact that it impeccably satirizes consumer culture despite being a consumer product itself (essentially the question I explored when writing my master’s thesis about The Simpsons), and I can tell you that this is a special film wonderfully co-written and directed by Phil Lord and Christopher Miller, one I’d love to take Sienna to. It made me think and feel on so many levels, even about how I plan never to stifle Sienna’s creativity and ambition.
As the song attests, everything about The LEGO Movie is indeed awesome.
Time To Fight My Fears Of Success And Failure
“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.