Dr Savta's web log

I was brought up to be a rich girl.

When I was four years old, my mother sent me to dancing school where I was taught by a personal friend of Anna Pavlova. I danced a toe solo at five and a half at the Academy of Music in Philadelphia, accompanied by the Philadelphia Orchestra. In the summer, we would go to Atlantic City, renting a home there for the entire summer and taking the maid with us.

By the time I was in my teens, I had not a room of my own, but a floor of my own in the house. I had a bedroom, a study area, a sitting room and a bath. My clothes were as expensive as the clothes I buy today– in 1960! I was taught to appreciate the finer things in life like fancy restaurants and new cars.

My mother dressed in clothes that were high fashion. She was always ahead of the trends and many times I went with her as she took her new dress or suit with her to the milliner to have exactly the right hat made to match it, often taking some material from the garment to draw the outfit together.

That privileged stance was in direct opposition to my experience at high school. There I was the outcast, not having moved into the same neighborhood as the other Jewish girls in our school. We Jewish girls were a real minority at our high school, the first of a vanguard breaking into the formerly pristine suburbs. In our class of 675, we were probably fewer than 20. Antisemitism was not encouraged by the school, but its subtle and not-so-subtle appearance among the other students was ignored. Being rejected by the small minority of Jewish girls was very painful.

I had most of my social needs met by my friends in Hebrew high school, and later Hebrew college. With them I was on an equal footing and their unaffected manner and their acceptance of me, the misfit, allowed me to feel normal for the first time.

It was probably through them that I acquired my values. They were kind, unselfish, open, accepting, and full of fun. By spending time with them, I began to realize that my discomfort with my upbringing was well-founded.

Shedding the privilege I had been given was liberating. Instead of disdaining the world as not meeting my expectations, I could appreciate it and even love it. Suddenly I could enjoy new things, new experiences, and new people.

Recently, I have been to the Galapagos Islands three times. It was interesting to see how different people responded to the experience.

I was overcome with emotion, actually each time I visited. I was astounded by the beauty of raw, unspoiled nature. I loved watching the birds and the sea lions and the iguanas and the land tortoises. Unthreatened by humans, they had no fear and allowed themselves to be photographed, even posing for us, it seemed sometimes. There I was with G-d’s creation. What could be more awe-inspiring!

Most of the people I was with reacted that way.

But some did not.
“Where are the flamingos?” “Why aren’t they here?”
“Why aren’t there more animals?”
“Why can’t I walk around alone instead of having to go with a naturalist?”
“I already saw a blue-footed booby; what’s next?”
“OK, so I have seen the albatross babies. Enough already!”

At first these reactions made me feel angry. What do they want! But then I just began to feel sad for these people. Their privilege was blinding them to the beauty of the world. They were unable to share the awe of seeing a newborn sea lion nuzzling its mother. They couldn’t enjoy seeing the boobies protecting their young. They couldn’t share the excitement of seeing the magnificent frigates puffing out their red pouches.

I am grateful that that veil has been lifted from me and that I can look beyond myself and share the wonder of the universe. I hope someday that our privileged travelers will be able to do the same thing.

A long time ago my sister had a flirting acquaintance with law school. I was, at the time, studying family therapy. We used to joke that I would break them up and then she would get the cases.

But actually, as a therapist, I always did whatever I could to preserve marriages. No marriage is wonderful all the time. We go through difficult periods individually and as a couple that try our patience, that test our coping skills, that make us wonder why did we ever choose to marry this person. Usually, however, these times pass and some of us go along as we were beforehand and some of us grow through the experience and deepen our relationships and some of us grow further apart.

When a couple consults a family therapist, in my opinion, the therapist should never take the side of either spouse. S/he should take the side of the marriage. Particularly if there are children, the couple has a lot to lose by dissolving their marriage. Of course some marriages can’t be saved and shouldn’t be, but many can and should.

One trap therapists fall into is recommending a “trial separation.” Usually the complaining spouse pushes for it and often therapists decide that it would not be harmful. I disagree.

Imagine that you are in a contentious situation with your spouse. You feel that s/he is overly dominant and you have no breathing room. Or you feel that s/he is overly passive and you have to carry all of the weight of the marriage and family. Now imagine your spouse or you move out of the situation. Suddenly the domination stops. Suddenly it’s not your spouse opting out of the work of the family but his/her not being present. What does it feel like? It is a relief. It’s quiet. There is no contention. You sleep and wake on your own schedule. You eat if you’re hungry and don’t if you’re not. Life is a lot better.

Tell me: how is this supposed to motivate couples to get back together?

There was a period of 4 years when my husband and I lived in two different countries because of work and family obligations. I would visit him for periods adding up to 3-4 months a year and he would visit me for about one month a year. I loved the times when we were together. But the times we were apart were good times too. I liked the freedom of being able to establish my own rhythms and activity patterns. Had our relationship otherwise been problematic, the time that we were apart would have convinced me that it was a good arrangement.

Sure, family life brings strength and love and security. We enjoy the closeness and warmth of being together, working on common goals, sharing experiences together, supporting each other in difficult times. But what if all of that is missing? Then wouldn’t separation be less painful than a problematic relationship? Couples who have gotten to the point that interactions with each other are painful have difficulty picturing warm, close family family relationships.

In the over 30 years I have been a therapist, I have never known of a couple who had a trial separation who ended up working on their marriage.

If the intention is to break an abusive cycle and allow people to get the distance and perspective to realize that they really shouldn’t be together, trial separation is a good idea. Otherwise, it’s a mistake.

As if I really have to tell you…

The basis of any close loving relationship is honesty. Family members should know that they can count on each other to tell the truth. Children must be able to trust their parents in order for them to feel secure. One way that parents can teach this is to let the children know that even if it means getting into trouble with mom and dad, it is always better to tell the truth. Sometimes we would explain it to our children like this: Suppose I told you that if you act nicely now I will give you ice cream after dinner and then after dinner I say I didn’t really mean it, how would you act the next time I promised a reward? How would it feel if you couldn’t trust me?

My own children were, by and large, pretty honest growing up. I am certain there were some lies and deceptions, but if so, they were not of consequence. I knew I could count on them to tell me the truth and they knew they could count on me to take them seriously.

In fact, once we had a babysitter that one of my children didn’t like. The child asked me not to have that babysitter again, but wouldn’t tell me why– and I did not call that babysitter again. Only months later did I learn the reason, and it was good that the sitter did not return. Similarly, when there was a problem at school, I always asked the child first to tell me what had happened. I always got a straight story and I always advocated for my children when appropriate.

When our oldest son left for college in Israel, we all still were living in the US. Before he left, he asked me to promise to let him know if anything happened to anyone in the family– illness or other important things he should know. I told him that I would because I knew that if I didn’t assure him that he would know, he could be in a constant state of tension- wondering if everything is OK at home. After all, back then, before mobile telephones and before the university dorms even had hall telephones in them, communications consisted of letters that took between 5 and 10 days to arrive from the US. But it was only because he knew that he could trust me that my answer was reassuring.

Some families are not honest about things like illnesses and other unpleasant information because they want to protect either themselves or others. That can create big problems.

Once we knew a family where a somewhat distant family member died suddenly at 92 years of age. Members of the family decided not to tell one of the older people to spare her feelings. However, a few weeks later there was a wedding to which both would have been invited. How to explain the absence of the deceased family member? Their solution : a trip to Europe. In our family, from then on, “going to Europe” took on a sinister connotation.

In my own family, my mother hid information about my father’s illness that was essential to my sister’s and my health. My mother hid her own illness from her friends, many of whom were like sisters to her. It robbed them of their ability to support her and it robbed her of the support they could have provided.

Bad news is hard to share, but secrets and lies separate people and doing that at a time when love and support are needed is simply a very bad choice.

Last time I wrote a serious post, it was about not taking what people say seriously when they are not being rational (throwing a tantrum). This time I want to talk about taking people seriously, because, in fact, most people do.

Sometimes, we take people too seriously. We allow the nasty comment of a stranger ruin our day. We allow the unfeeling statement of a friend or acquaintance to hurt us.

My mother used to say, “consider the source,” meaning that if the person said something nasty or cruel, chances are he/she wasn’t such a nice person to begin with.

On the other hand, we should pay attention to those who are kind and helpful and to people who we can trust.

Many years ago, my dear friend Susan said only a few words to me that changed (for the better, of course) my whole life. From time to time, I run into people I have had as clients and other acquaintances and they tell me that something that I had told them in the past really helped them.

In Pirke Avot, wise people are instructed to be careful with their words– and even those of us who are not wise, should be careful. Words can hurt and words can heal.

And here is the real challenge that we live with: people listen when we speak. When we say something that helps or hurts them, they remember what we’ve said far longer than we do. A word said in anger can ruin a relationship. A kind word can save a life.

So maybe when we’re thinking of cleaning for Passover, when we rid ourselves of even the tiniest crumbs of what is unfit, it’s a good time to think of the impact of what we say and to realize that even the smallest negative remark can hurt someone a very long time and the smallest expression of support can change someone’s life.

Back to the real reason I started this blog– this blog that has wandered around the world, engaged in politics, and has told you how I feel about Israel. Back to talking about family relationships…

Let me begin by saying something rather radical that will summarize what I am about to say:

Don’t take people who are upset seriously.
That’s it. Don’t.

OK, Let me go back and talk about it and then you will understand, I hope.

When we are little and non-verbal, our tantrums usually consist of non-stop crying, flailing, and throwing things. As we get a little older, our parents encourage us to express our displeasure in more socially acceptable ways, i.e., talking about it. So, by the age of twenty or so, we (most of us) stop screaming, yelling and throwing things and instead use words to express our displeasure.

So far, so good.

However, it sometimes happens that we use words in the same way as we used our stuffed toy animals and blocks and little train cars–we take them and throw them at others like weapons.

In response, those who love us are hurt, surprised, and often themselves become angry and hurtful.

So here we are. Mature, adult two year olds having a simultaneous tantrum.

Now what happens in tantrum state?

The person who is having the tantrum has two major objectives
1. To get his/her point across.
2. To let the other person/people know how upset he/she is.

In accomplishing the second, often the message of the first is lost. Not only that, but the listeners may actually be less motivated to hear the message as they move to defend themselves and pay back in kind. Which is why most arguments do not end well.

Few people realize, however, that when someone is in tantrum state he/she often loses control of his/her ability to think clearly and may say lots of things that he/she doesn’t mean. Some of those things may have dire consequences.

Take my uncle.

When my cousin was a freshman in college my cousin decided to grow a beard. My uncle did not like the idea of his son having a beard. He tried to cajole him and finally, in a tantrum state, threatened him- telling him that if he didn’t remove the beard, he couldn’t come home.

Do I have to tell you the rest of the story?

It was not a happy story.

Did my uncle mean to lose his son for a long period of time? I strongly doubt it. He just got carried away.

What could have happened instead:
My cousin could have listened to the tantrum. He could have responded calmly or not at all, he could have gotten up and walked away. Chances are pretty good that once my uncle got back in control of himself, he would have still not liked the beard, but might have realized that it wasn’t worth losing his son over it.

Example two:

When I began studying for my doctorate at the University of Pennsylvania at age 42– after having been in clinical practice as a family therapist, I was ambivalent. On the one hand, the idea of getting a doctorate was very exciting. On the other hand, I felt the level of instruction in certain areas was naive and simplistic and since the tuition was high, I wasn’t sure I wanted to make the investment of our family’s resources.

I don’t remember what specifically set me off, but one morning, early in November, before we had received any tuition bills, I got really angry and told my husband that I was dropping out and didn’t want any more part of the nonsense going on at the school and that I could think of a lot of things to do with my time and our money that would be more productive etc. I went on and on. He didn’t answer. I’m pretty sure it was because he didn’t know what to say. But after a while, it just ran down. I was finished and I picked up my books and left for school.

Could it have ended otherwise? Surely. Had he gotten sucked into the tantrum, he would have urged me to continue and I would have dropped out just to show him that he couldn’t control me.

Tantrums do bad things to people.

When I was seeing couples in marital therapy, often what the spouses would complain about was what the other one had said at the height of a tantrum. Usually, the spouse either didn’t remember having said it or regretted saying it. In fact, it was not the spouse speaking from his/her rational mind. It was that reptilian brain that all of us have inside of us. It is that primitive fight or flight mechanism that that springs into action when we begin to feel any sort of threat.

So what should we do when someone we care about starts having a tantrum? Don’t respond in kind. Listen, to the message but don’t take everything he/she says seriously. Really. He/she doesn’t mean half of what he/she is saying. There’s no need for there to be more than one two year old in the room. Not feeding the flames helps extinguish them. And once the person is rational again, maybe the problem can even be solved!

It doesn’t work.*

*Really. Believe me. Kindness works wonders. Anger, not helpful. Need I say more?

Hmmm… are you interested in the rest of the sentence? Thought so. I became a family therapist because statements like this intrigued me.

Well, if you must know… the full sentence is “my husband always tells me that he loves me.” Yes, really.

But how many people start that sentence (and yes, it can be “husband” or “wife”) and end it with something not quite so nice?

And we hear things about their spouse that are not complimentary. Sometimes it’s a one time thing, and sometimes people complain repeatedly.

Here’s the problem:

1. The listener is in no position to solve the problem

2. The speaker may be upset temporarily, but the listener may take the complaining to mean that there is real trouble in the relationship.

3. The listener may draw negative and lasting conclusions about the speaker or the spouse.

4. The listener may take the disclosure as permission to complain about his/her own spouse.

Can you see where this is going? It’s not going anywhere good.

When couples have issues with one another, they should be worked out between them. If they find it difficult, there are any number of self-help books, seminars, and yes, therapists to help them.

But please– if you’re angry with your spouse, don’t broadcast it. I can guarantee that it will come back to bite you.

Tonight and tomorrow mark the yahrtzeit of my father, Harry Mager. He passed away long before his time in October of 1985. Yet, the conversations he had with me feel as if they happened only yesterday. He taught me by word and example many things that have enriched my life. Today, in a sense, I am allowing him to write a guest posting through me. Here are some things I learned from him.

1. No matter what your situation, you have the ability to influence it for the better.
My father was in high school when the Depression began. His family was not doing well financially. He quit school and went to work. He worked hard and learned skills that served him later in his life. He harbored no bitterness; he did what he needed to do.

2. It’s possible to be optimistic even when times are rough.
Fortunately, my father’s life was not a difficult one. His greatest challenge was dealing with my mother, and although she was a formidable challenge, it was not as if he were fighting illness or poverty. However, as with all people, there were times that were less than perfect. Yet, he always had a positive attitude. He looked at each day as a gift.

3. Enjoy the world around you.
My father could have been a great artist. He didn’t have the opportunity to develop his art to the degree that it became commercial, but there was nothing he built, drew, sewed, designed, or sculpted that wasn’t superb. His photography was beautiful. He loved nature. He loved the seasons. When there was a huge snowfall one year and he was unable to go to work, I remember him telling me to get ready so that we could take a long walk in the snow. He loved it. So did I. He loved trees and flowers. He loved beautiful sunsets. The year he became ill, I was saddened to think that he might not see another spring. The day he was buried, the trees were clad in their autumn reds and yellows and oranges and browns, and I thought he would have loved to have seen them.

4. Be kind.
My father was a kind man. He was respectful and courteous, and gentle.

5. Treasure the time you have.
One of my earliest memories is of riding in the back of my parents’ car and hearing my father say to my mother, “Life is too short.” I think he had that awareness at all times and that he tried to fill every moment with something significant. In his store, he had not customers, but friends. People would meet him once and feel as if they had been his friend for years. His leisure time he filled with reading books that helped him self-educate. He became a big fan of Mark Twain. He read Shakespeare for pleasure. He bought and listened to classical music. All of the education he hadn’t been able to acquire as a young man, he reached for as an adult.

6. Love Learning
In addition to his reading, my father was interested in learning any way he could. He took adult education courses, he watched documentaries, and he loved to listen to other people tell their stories.

7. Love your family
One of the sweetest memories of my father is of his standard way of saying goodbye as I would be leaving their house after a visit. He would say, “Drive carefully; you have precious cargo.” He told me that I was a millionaire and told me more than once that I had five million dollars– referring to the five children. I don’t really know the story but my mother had a gold bracelet that had five diamonds on it. I like to think that that my father bought it for her as another way of acknowledging their good fortune at having five precious gems as grandchildren. I know that he adored them and I remember thinking that the day the children and I spent at Busch Gardens with him, he was the happiest I had ever seen him.

My father is not with us physically, but his influence on my life is profound, and I hope that his grandchildren and great-grandchildren will feel his influence for years to come.

I wrote about sisters once before– here. I actually enjoyed rereading the post and hope you will too. But today I want to write about a specific issue in the relationship between sisters.

As anyone who is a sister or who has two daughters knows, despite coming from the same genetic pool, sisters can be very different from each other. They can look different.

And just as they can look very different, they can have different preferences, interests, levels of extraversion, talents, etc. But, just the same, they share so very much that they have the potential of being each others’ best friends through life.

Here’s how.
1. Understand that your sister really is different from you.
2. Understand, though, that there is such a richness in shared ties and experience that your sister can offer you a friendship unparalleled by anyone else.
3. When you have disagreements think about what is at stake.
a. Your pride (you can get over it)
b. Your health and welfare (talk to her about it)
c. Her health and welfare (talk to her about it)
4. Don’t trash your sister to others, whether inside or outside the family. (There are no secrets and this one will come back to bite both of you)
5. And most important: Forgive. Nothing is sadder for a family than being split by the hostility of two of its members.

My sister lives thousands of miles away. I don’t see her nearly as much as I would like. Anyone who met us would tell you that aside from the voices, we have almost none of the same traits. Yet we share a bond that is strong and healthy. It’s one I cherish. Here’s our song.

If new parents have a complaint “no one prepared me for parenthood” and parents of newly married children realize there is no road map to being a mother/father-in-law, there is another path that is far more uncharted. How does one be a grandparent?

You see, most people have been around new babies. They have watched friends or siblings or cousins be new parents. They observe comforting techniques, clever holds, and parent-initiated play. But being a parent-in-law and being a grandparent are far harder skills to learn.

We may have learned that in-laws were outlaws. Comedians told us that mixed feelings were what happened when you saw your mother-in-law driving off a cliff in your new Cadillac. Our own parents may have complained of in-laws’ meddling or of their disinterest. It seems that very few families hit a good balance.

But perhaps, even more problematic is how to define ourselves in the roles of grandparents. For many of us, our own grandparents seemed ancient when we were young, and seeing them as people separate from their grandparent role was so very difficult. They were obviously created only for our comfort, the real purveyors of unconditional positive regard.

At first, it’s not that hard. We coo and we smile and we hold and rock the infants. They are so lovable. I never really understood the word “delicious” until I looked at my first grandchild and now the youngest is just as delicious. But what do we do as they grow older?

Early on I decided that I was not into buying their love. First of all, Israeli homes are small. Secondly, my children buy their children everything they need and much of what they want. They lack for nothing. I didn’t want my grandchildren to look forward to my visits as a gift extravaganza. I also didn’t want to force hugs or kisses on them, as much as they were so very appealing. I remember as a child feeling smothered in my grandmother’s ample bosom. I didn’t want my grandchildren to feel that.

So how do we build healthy relationships with them? How do we let these precious young people know that we love them?

I decided that my home should have interesting things for the children to do when they come. Boxes of Legos, wooden blocks, small cars, little plastic people, and hand puppets are available. We have checkers and chess and playing cards. We have childrens’ videos and books. We sometimes show them home videos of interesting places we’ve been. We placed in the garden little figures in both ceramic and plastic of animals and gnomes that the children enjoy identifying, visiting, and often moving around from one place to another in the garden. Some of the figures are on the ground, some are hanging from trees, and one gorilla is climbing up a large pottery urn. As the seasonal fruits ripen on our trees and vines, together we pick plums, pomegranates, clementines, and lemons. We harvest grapes. We are growing kumquats and in another couple of years, when the fruit may be eaten, they will join the cycle. And we usually have an ample supply of pretzels and chocolate milk. In fact, when the children visit, often they home in on the chocolate milk as if it is a ritual. Of course the other thing we have done is the special trips that by now we have taken 7 of the grandchildren on.

We, of course, talk with them, listen to them, tell them stories about when their parents were young and tell them of our own adventures.

What do you/your parents do as grandparents to foster close relationships with your/their grandchildren?