How To Manage Your Mother

Alyce-Faye Cleese

Description

This book explores how different people have dealt with the issues related to getting on with their mothers. Psychotherapist Alyce-Faye Cleese interviewed a wide range of people to get an in-depth understanding of the different questions that arise in our relationships with our mother. From a New York taxi driver to her former husband John Cleese, and a computer consultant to General Colin Powell, the interviews show a remarkable similarity between the problems different people have with their mothers both alive and dead, and Alyce-Faye Cleese suggests a range of ways of dealing with problems that many of us share in one way or another.

Informations

• Publié par: Skyscraper Publications
• Date de parution: 21 décembre 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781911072140
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

It was for me to die
Under an Irish sky
There finding berth
In good Irish earth.
What I dreamed and
planned bound me
to my Fatherland.
But war sent me
to sleep in Glencree
W ORDING ON A STONE GRAVESTONE IN THE G ERMAN W AR C EMETERY IN G LENCREE , I RELAND
First e-book publication in 2016 by Skyscraper Publications
20 Crab Tree Close, Bloxham OX15 4SE, United Kingdom
www.skyscraperpublications.com
First published in print in 1999 in the UK by Metro
Text copyright Alyce Faye Eichelberger Cleese and Brian Bates
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form (including photocopying or storing it in any medium by electronic/digital means and whether or not transiently) without the written permission of the copyright owner. Applications for the copyright owner s written permission to reproduce any part of this publication should be addressed to the publisher.
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not be resold, lent, hired out or otherwise circulated without the express prior consent of the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-911072-14-0
Being a mother is a lasting job.
My mother never told me that children never go away. Perhaps, it was because I lost her in my youth or times are changing.
Bob Dylan
How To Manage Your Mother
Alyce Faye Cleese With Brian Bates
Contents
Foreword: The Perfect Christmas
Introduction: How This Book Works
Chapter 1: She Loves Me
Understanding Early Memories
Starting with Happiness
Burying Memories in Our Unconscious
Memory Is a Tricky Business
Guiding Images of Our Mother
Chapter 2: She Loves Me Not
My Mother Doesn t Understand Me
Pleading for Praise
Turning the Search for Praise into a Strength
Being Ignored
You re Upset So Your Mother s Upset
When Your Mother Doesn t listen
Accepting That Your Mother Doesn t Love You
Bad Mothering Is Misplaced Love
Dreaming of Love and the Absence of Love
When Time Heals the Wounds
Where Mother Love Is Lacking
Loving Your Mother Is Optional
Chapter 3: Discovering Other Mothers
A Grandmother s Role
When Your Mother Is Your Aunt
Other Mothers in the Family
Discovering Other Mothers
A Source of Strength
Chapter 4: A Mother s Dreams
Mothers Making Unsung Sacrifices
The Mother as Martyr
A Mother Needs Love
A Mother Can Change
Chapter 5: Great Expectations
The Pressure to Achieve
The Price of Success
What Your Mother Really Wants for You
Learning to Behave
I m Not a Child Anymore
Chapter 6: Red Hot Mamas
Growing Up Is Growing Away
Our Mother and Our Privacy
When Our Mother Respects Us as Adults
Relating to Our Newfound Sexuality
Interfering with Our Personal Relationships
Understanding Your Mother s Affairs
Chapter 7: Dark Secrets
Why Didn t She Tell Me the Truth?
Don t Tell Anyone Our Business
When She Does Things Behind Your Back
Having Someone to Talk To
Secrets You Wish You Didn t Know
Keeping Death a Secret
The Hidden Suicide
Absent Fathers
The Search for the Truth
Putting the Pieces Together
Chapter 8: Saying Goodbye
One Day She Will Die
Your Time Together Is Limited
Making Up Before She Dies
Relief When She Dies
Helping Her to Die
A Continuing Connection with Her
Chapter 9: Ten Steps Towards a Better Relationship With Your Mother
Remember Your Mother s Age
Listen to Your Mother
Remember That Your Mother Has a Past
Ask Your Mother Simply and Directly How You Can Make Her Life Better
Ask Your Mother About Your Childhood History
Get to Know Your Mother s Extended Family
Decide What Personality Traits You Share with Your Mother
If You Find Your Mother Difficult, Confront the Issues That Divide You
Keep a Sense of Humour About Your Mother
Remember That Managing Your Mother Is Really About Managing Yourself
Afterwords
Questionnaire
A letter to my mother
Selected Bibliography
Foreword
The Perfect Christmas
W e are in Barbados, with the whole family. Christmas is my responsibility and I must make everything perfect. I am not sure why I am so fixated with the idea that no one else can do it but I am.
A tradition we started a few years ago was to unite our disparate family into a unit - our tribe as we call them because of the different marriages and children. We have also invited a few friends.
That makes it a total of sixteen people, for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
I am so excited we have a beautiful tree, which we all decorated, and oodles of presents. Our good friend will play Santa, or at least pass around the presents.
But, wait: Clinton (my son) is not here. His plane is late and we have no idea where or when he will arrive or even if he will arrive as he is coming from London and there is bad weather. I am beside myself. He has not rung, even though I know it is almost impossible to contact the house as it is on a hill and has terrible reception. The plane could have crashed - what if he had an accident in the taxi on the way to the airport and he is dead? All of these terrible images are parading through my mind. My husband tries to offer me solace but to no avail. I just know something bad has happened. Why do I get this way? What on earth is the matter with me? His plane will surely get here very soon and we can go and collect him from the airport. The plane did finally arrive to my relief and all is well.
Everything just has to be perfect and the only way that can be possible is for everyone in our family to be present. Only then can I relax and enjoy myself because Christmas CANNOT BE SAD. There is must be a reason why I think that.
The first time babies really have any idea of what the celebration of Christmas means is when they are about four years old. They know what a present is and a Christmas tree. The bright lights are fascinating and their parents speak of an old man called Santa Claus. This particular morning was Christmas Eve. My mother was the head teacher at the local school and there was a big Christmas party planned for all the students. Alberta, my sister who had just graduated from University, had spent the night at a local farm with girl friends. She was on her way home to babysit me while my mother and father worked.
To me Christmas had become magical. When I awoke in the early morning I would sleepily stumble into the living room and there was the tree. The lights glowing dimly and the presents under the tree so beautiful it looked like a fairyland. My parents were always up very early, so dawn was just arriving.
There was a ritual in our family. Mac, my father, would go to the drive and warm the car for my mother Faye. She left for school by 7:00 am to begin her day.
Our house was a small wooden frame structure with three bedrooms and a large open living and dining area. In the middle was a big grill bar furnace that kept the mahogany floors toasty warm.
My mother would stand over the grill and let the warm air blow out her dress so she could quickly don her coat and go to the car. Later, when I was older, Marilyn Monroe was in the film The Seven Year Itch set in New York, where her dress was blown up in a circle from a ventilator. It became famous and I always smiled as it made me remember my mother.
I had a favourite chair; it was a large over-stuffed one with curving arms. I was just big enough to hang my legs over the edge of the arm. I would then watch my mother prepare for the morning journey.
In our day, houses had only one telephone. It was considered very special. It sat usually in the front hall or - as in our home - in the hallway between the two bedrooms. It was placed on a desk like a treasured artwork, and my mother and father would sit and use it to chat to people about important things in life. As was normal, we had a party line shared by eight houses so the chats couldn't go on too long.
On this particular day, everything seemed normal and then a siren in the distance pierced the silence. My mother said I hope that is no one we know and the phone rang.
The next thing I remember was a scream from the hallway and the rest became a blur.
I had never spent the night away from my parents. I was taken to the next street, to the Smiths, my parent's best friends. Kathleen, their daughter, was two years older and I worshipped her so this seemed a real treat.
The next morning, Mrs Smith dressed me in my Sunday best and we went back to my home. Things were very strange there. The beautiful tree was gone, with all of the presents missing. Lots of people were gathered around my father and mother. Mother was sitting in a hard-backed chair in a black silk dress. I ran to her and climbed into her lap. It was difficult to stay there as the silk was slippery and my mother did not seem aware of me. She did not hold on to me. I kept slipping on her dress and my mother was crying. So I decided to run to my sister Alberta, who was twenty-one and really my second mother.
Alberta had just graduated from University and was going to marry Brooks, a local banker in the spring.
As I ran into Alberta's bedroom I realized a new bed had arrived. It seemed way too big for my sister to sleep in. I certainly could not climb into it, as the sides were too high and steep. It was made of silver grey metal. I was not tall enough to see over the sides but I had a little footstool my father had made me so I ran into the hallway to collect it. When I climbed onto the stool and peered inside I realised my sister was sleeping but it was not like a real sleep. She looked cold and she was wearing lipstick and makeup. My mother had read me a story about a sleeping beauty. Perhaps my sister was becoming like the story.
The whole thing seemed so confusing and there was no one to ask or explain to me what was happening. They were all so busy. My friend Kathleen had not come home with me so I felt very alone.
The next memory I had was sitting in the church on the front row with my parents. It