I was a terrible mother to my kids when they were younger—I yelled all the time and even hit them, and my husband had good reason to divorce me and allow nothing but occasional custody. Still, I love them dearly and I’ve always wanted to make amends; we’re all older now (they’re in their 20s), I’m a lot calmer after a lot of therapy to work through my anger issues. I’d do anything to help them, but one of them threatens to stop talking to me if I mention the fact that she drinks too much, and the other is polite but pretty distant. I feel I can’t get through to either of them because the mistakes of my past have ruined things forever. What can I do to mend our relationship?

I don’t doubt you want to help your kids, but that help comes with a high price– forgiveness for being an asshole when they were younger.

That was years ago, though, and you’ve continued to care for them and pay for them while learning to control your behavior (their being older probably helped). So before you ask how to get their forgiveness, ask what you have to do to forgive yourself.

Sure, an abusive mother is probably the most stigmatized villain in the world. What people forget about mommy dearest, however, is that some people have very little control over their tempers, including those who would really, really like not to be assholes.

Depression and bipolar illness can make people very irritable while weakening their self-control and their ability to see themselves. Some people are born with terrible tempers, so the personality you got is the personality you got and it’s what you do with it that counts. That you’re trying to do the right thing is commendable.

You’ve taken your lumps without blaming others or backing off. You can’t help having the temperament of an asshole, and you’re still trying to be a good mom. That takes strength, determination, and good values. Taming one’s temper is never easy, so be proud.

What you shouldn’t focus on is whether your kids accept your transformation and apology. (If one is alcoholic, she may not accept it unless you give her a drink). You goal isn’t to get absolution from her, but to be a good mother, despite the distance between you and your kids.

So instead of repeating your apologies, let them know you’re proud of what you’ve done with motherhood, in spite of a terrible beginning, and that you’ve got good love and good advice to give, if they want it.

That said, you won’t take shit, either from yourself or from them; asshole behavior, be it internal or external, will not be tolerated. If they can agree to those terms, then you will be there for them, anytime, free of charge.

STATEMENT:
“I wish I didn’t abuse the kids, but I can’t change the past. I’ve done lots of good things, too, to protect them from myself and help them grow up. Now what they need is not more apologies, but the knowledge that I’m here with good, safe parenting to offer. If they don’t take me up on it, I may feel hurt and cut off, but that happens to lots of good parents. I won’t let those feelings make me retaliate or grovel. Good parenting sometimes means waiting.”

My husband is a good guy, but sometimes he seems to take me for granted, particularly when his family asks him for help and me and the kids are expected to agree to being a lower priority. The other day he informed me, without saying please, that he had to leave me with the kids for the long weekend because he needed to drive his sisters to another city to visit his dying aunt. I let him know I don’t like the way they seem to come first and wondered where that leaves us. I think I’ve got good reason to gripe, but I can’t seem to get him to see what he’s doing wrong. What can I do to get him to see that it hurts me and us when he’s over-responsive to his family?

You know that getting your husband to see that he’s in the wrong won’t work. From his point of view, he’s on a mission of mercy and you’re needy, competitive, and lacking in compassion. You lost the argument before saying word one.

In addition, you may not be sure that your position is right. After all, you’re reacting to the fact that he didn’t say “please,” not to whether or not his weekend trip is necessary. He may have neglected to say please because he was nervous about possible criticism, thus making the criticism more likely. You don’t want to get drawn into a personal injury war over his tone of voice, when he might be right, and you might have to agree, about his actual choices.

So ignore his impolite presentation and examine the necessity of his making this weekend pilgrimage. Ask yourself how much good his trip is likely to for his aunt and her sisters, whether it will give him some good time with his aunts, and whether there’s no one else who can help them out. Obviously, it’s less necessary if his dying aunt is already in a coma and her sisters have other ways to travel.

If, after examining the facts, you think the trip isn’t worth it, let him know you appreciate his good intentions but that you’re questioning whether the outcome of his good deeds outweigh the burden on the rest of the family. You’re on the same side—you know he’s a responsible dad who also cares about his aunts—but you’re hoping he’ll do what he thinks is right, rather than be overly responsive to his aunts’ emotions.

Once you’ve created a context of respect and made the issue of his weekend commitment less personal, you can also tell him you wish he’d take you into his thinking before making decisions that affect your partnership. Your intention is not to trigger a conflict of loyalties nor to make it a question of whom he loves more, but to urge a method of decision-making that will benefit both of you with no arguing at all.

STATEMENT:
“It feels demeaning to be told, not asked, to do double weekend duty by my dearly beloved while he tends to the needs of his aunts, but he’s a good dad, and a good partner (usually), so I now have an opportunity to suggest better ways of communicating if I can just keep my anger out of it.”

Even in my 40s, I carry a lot of baggage/resentment from my upbringing. I was born in a foreign country and adopted by an older couple who had already raised two of their own kids before deciding to adopt. They were worn out, emotionally distant–my Mother suffered severe depression—so it was a quiet, lonely, and undirected childhood. I’ve since created what most days feels like a good life but working in a very competitive field, I feel like it can all be taken away from me in a flash (and, like most people since the economy collapsed, I’ve been laid off a number of times). I’ve always managed to find work, but I can’t help but think my shy and quiet demeanor has a lot to do with ending up on the chopping block; slipping through the cracks has been the recurring theme of my life. On some level I know I suffer from attachment disorder–connecting with others has always been a challenge and making idle chit-chat with co-workers and “bragging” about my accomplishments takes extreme effort—but moving forward I’d like to feel more connected to people I work with and form stronger relationships and friendships in my life. I think it would be good for my career and my overall being. How do I make that happen?

Before plumbing your personal history for the cause of your isolation, examining its impact on your resume, or trying to increase your degree of connectedness to other people, there’s a much simpler first step—asking yourself why you’re doing all this in the first place.

You’re not saying you’re lonely or that you wish to be closer to a particular friend or family member, just that, if you were more connected to others in a general, categorical way, you would be less disposable and less easily fired. That may be true.

On the other hand, you’re also saying that your lack of connectedness, like your mother’s lack of connection with you, represents a kind of failure that makes life less meaningful. That’s just plain false.

Yes, connection and emotionality can give life meaning, but love often turns to meanness and shallow sentimentality if it isn’t based on shared purpose and strength of character, and those who allow neediness, love or lust to run their social life often feel that everything is less worthwhile when things fall apart. (If you need examples, this site’s archives have plenty.)

On the other hand, your mother, whom you describe as depressed, worn out, and distant, may have achieved something meaningful in adopting you. No, neither you nor she experienced a sense of happiness or intimacy and, if those are your main criteria for judging worth, then her parenting was a failure from which you haven’t been able to recover.

What she did do, however, in spite of depression, aloofness, and fatigue, was give you safety, stability, and a chance to grow, and you clearly did a lot of growing, acquired substantial skills, and developed a good work ethic.

I assume you could, in some way, count on her, and, given your background and start in life, that’s a big deal. As parenting goes, distant isn’t good, but unreliable is much worse, and that’s worth acknowledging. It’s also possible that there was love on both sides that neither of you was good at recognizing, either in yourself or the other. You both may have achieved more than you realize.

Don’t then assume then that the connectedness of small talk and easily flowing feelings is the only or best way to be. As Star Trek’s Spock demonstrated more than a few times (and in alternate realities), even the emotionally aloof can create meaningful bonds by spending more time with someone, gathering information necessary to translate feelings into their own terms, and learning to express whatever is important.

As far as work goes, you don’t need to feel obliged to joke around or share feelings at the water cooler. Find projects that will allow you to work with people you respect, become a good listener, and keep a database on what’s important to them and interesting to you. When Spock says “Fascinating!” he means it, even if he doesn’t get the joke or join in the camaraderie.

Don’t try to be chatty or regard yourself as a failure if you’re shy and like solitude. Give yourself the right to choose the importance of relationships in your life and then go about building them, using the strengths you have and not torturing yourself.

This is an instance where space, at least the one that exists between you and others, need not be the final frontier.

STATEMENT:
“I may feel marginal because I’m shy and don’t attach easily to others, but that hasn’t prevented me from achieving independence or doing good things with my life. If I respect my own strengths, and choose relationship goals that are meaningful to me, I can find my own ways of achieving them.”

When I got home from vacation recently, I felt guilty about fending off a dinner invitation with a nice but obnoxious cousin and wrote him an email suggesting I’d missed his calls because I’d been away, and I was now very busy catching up, was sorry to have missed him, but would phone when I had a chance. Alas, he has phoned daily since and has an unerring ability to call when I’m just going out the door or sitting down to dinner, etc. He is also an extremely difficult person to get off the phone, failing to grasp concepts like “I must go now.” I thought perhaps I could write him to tell him of my unfortunate agoraphobia and chronic laryngitis, but I’m sure Dr. Lastname can provide nicer advice about reaching my goal of avoiding contact with boring relatives. Honest to God, he phones at least once a day. And nothing gets rid of him. Except you?

It’s a sad truth that some people yearn for closeness (see above) while others crave distance, but that’s the fun nature of the human condition. It’s not clear what your cousin wants aside from a (boring, endless) dinner, but as much as you want to avoid that, you should first determine what’s best in the long run.

There’s no reason to feel guilty about disliking a friendly cousin who lacks social skills. Feelings are feelings, and just as they may draw you to someone who’s a charismatic asshole, they may also drive you away from a decent bore. Which is to say, sometimes your feelings have their upside, just not for your cousin.

It’s natural, too, to be amused by the oblivious blindness of the socially impaired, irritated when it pushes them to intrude into your territory, and perhaps guilty about your negative response to a friendly overture (complete with four symphonic movements and an encore before the first intermission). What you don’t want, however, is to let irritation or guilt control your response.

Decide how much contact you feel obliged to have with a cousin you don’t really like, thinking generically and in terms of policy, procedure, and consequences. Factor in any debts, moral or otherwise, that you owe him or his parents.

Remember that, apart from the displeasure of his company, you may gain satisfaction and meaning from meeting occasionally, sharing memories about old times, and swapping information about relatives you seldom see. Decide for yourself whether this activity gives you a broader sense of where you come from, who you are, and the community you belong to—even when it’s boring.

Don’t feel obliged to hurt feelings in order to make him go away; patience and inventiveness, which you obviously possess, can do the job. Without lying, you can tell him you’re engaged in a number of solitary projects, often don’t answer the phone or respond to friends for long periods of time, and refuse to give details (which, given your cousin’s lack of perception, probably won’t be asked for anyway).

Assure yourself that you can control the duration of any conversation, as long as you give yourself the right to do so, and that you need never fear drowning in his persistent attention.

Don’t expect him to get the message—he just doesn’t get that kind of message. That means, however, that he’s also unlikely to be offended by your unending excuses for not responding to his calls, or your methods for shortening their duration when you allow them to happen. You can keep your distance without being cruel, even if he can’t take a hint.

STATEMENT:
“I may feel guilty and irritated by my cousin’s calls and wish I could get a restraining order, but I make my own decisions about sustaining family connections and I will stick to my own rules, regardless.”

My 5-year-old son is a sweet, sensitive kid who’s generally happy and gets along well with his older brother, but ever since he got a baby brother six months ago, he’s been impossible to console when a tantrum comes on. If he feels left out of something, he’ll cry hysterically, big fat tears for a LONG time afterward, without my being able to distract him out of it. And the other day, he was so upset about something pretty trivial that, when we were sitting together later he said, “Mama, is it okay if I die?” And while, on the one hand, it is pretty silly to hear that sentence in his tiny little funny voice, it’s also very sad, since I know he just wants me to give him lots of attention and reassurance, and I did do that a little bit, but I’m worried that, if I feed into his need for attention, it will become his middle-child fate to join the drama club, or else ignore it and have him feel like no one really cares about him.

Your basic instinct as a parent is to soothe a crying baby and feel successful if it works. If it doesn’t work, you’re a failure, you’ve got to keep trying, and, even when it finally works, you worry that there’s a grander failure on the horizon, like a child who ends up selfish or gets a tribal tattoo.

Yes, even if you do finally soothe your child, you wonder whether you’ve got a kid who’s very unhappy because you don’t understand his needs, or a needy kid who’s training you to spoil him. That’s why parents pray for “easy” kids, and lazier types stick with pets.

As usual, the only way to succeed as the parent of an emotionally reactive kid is not to feel too responsible for his or her happiness. It sounds like you’re pretty confident in your ability to be reasonably comforting with kids, and that’s a good place to begin. (It helps to have more than one).

You’re also pretty sure you don’t misunderstand his response—you simply can’t protect him from the way he tends to react to life’s unavoidable pain—and you don’t see him as persistently unhappy or inflicting seriously harmful behavior on himself and/or the world.

You know and accept your son and think he’s often happy, except when he isn’t, and you appreciate his ability to voice his unhappiness. So far, so good, and your approach is great.

So, turning to the issue (as you describe it) of helping your son manage a sensitive temperament, you’re very unlikely to spoil him if you don’t take too much responsibility for his pain. Although he’s got the kind of temperament that makes kids suffer, you can be very comforting about this sad fact of life while also encouraging him to learn ways of managing his negative feelings.

Teach him the same tried and true techniques that work for you. If he feels desperately unloved or ignored, assure him that many people experience those feelings when they’re tired or have a bad day, which makes them say or do something bad, which then makes things worse.

You can’t stop him from hurting, but you can remind him about deeper truths, like how much his parents love him or how often he does amazing things. Suggest, or insist on, methods for self-comfort, self-distraction, and self-control.

Don’t punish him by sending him to his room, because there’s no need to make the negativity worse. Send him to his room whenever you think it’s necessary, but in a positive way, by encouraging him to comfort himself there; as long as his unhappiness doesn’t undermine your confidence in your parenting, you can discipline and comfort him at the same time.

No, you can’t offer immediate relief, but you can help him manage the pain, keep his perspective, and be the good kid he really is. All parents want to protect and soothe their children, but part of that is teaching them how to do those things for themselves (and to avoid tattoos altogether).

STATEMENT:
“I hate to see my son over-react to little things, but I can’t protect him from his sensitivity or assure him or myself that it will go away. What I can do, however, is teach him to accept his sensitivity and learn ways to protect himself from the negative thinking and behavior, if not from the pain.”

My older brothers aren’t bad guys, but I never found it easy to grow up as their kid sister. Now I’ve got a youngest daughter of my own, I find myself wanting to create an artificial perfectness for my kids. How do I either a) stop myself from wallowing in the badness or b) best create the artificial perfectness?

There’s nothing wrong with trying to learn from your parents’ mistakes. Trouble is, as an adult you often discover that their “mistakes” weren’t really correctible because they didn’t have it in their power to do things differently, and that you and your husband have your own weaknesses as parents that are what they are.

The risk, then, is that you’ll destroy your confidence in your parenting by aiming too high, and the resulting worry and self-criticism will make things much worse (for you—good business for me).

Since one of the main purposes of marriage (under the best of circumstances) is to have someone around to blame, marriages tend to amplify the endless self-blame of failed expectations. If you can instead manage your expectations carefully, you’re doing one of the most important things you can do to improve your effectiveness as a parent and spouse.

No, there’s no way you can banish yearnings for your daughter’s future happiness—feelings are feelings, and business for me never dries up—but what you can do is create a rational process for evaluating your management goals as a parent.

If you’ve got a good idea for creating a little perfection, try it, and if it works well, keep it up; just remember not to congratulate yourself for anything other than doing your job, because good results are always partly lucky and your good luck will pass. If it doesn’t work, then don’t try harder unless there’s a realistic reason for doing so.

Congratulate yourself for doing your job, particularly when you have to live with pain and imperfection. Your job isn’t to make the pain and imperfection go away (except when possible); it’s to live with the pain and imperfection while keeping morale up.

Don’t focus on the painfulness of your own childhood, but on how well you survived it and on the good things you and others did to make it better. Instead of seeing yourself as the victim of parents who could have or should have made things better, give yourself credit for being an active participant who is trying to make things better when it’s often impossible.

If you really want to learn from your parents’ mistakes, learn to understand those mistakes’ inevitability and, in turn, accept your own weaknesses. Remember, there’s nothing to forgive, and it’s not really a mistake, when someone’s doing their best.

STATEMENT:
“Nothing is more important or meaningful than sparing my kids the pain of my worst childhood experiences, but I know it won’t always be possible. What I can do, however, is let them know that I’m trying and that their pain doesn’t mean they’re failing or that I’m failing, but that life is hard and pain can’t stop us.”

It was just starting to look like my 25-year-old son had found some happiness and confidence when, bang, he had a bad motorcycle accident, broke his leg, lost his contract job because he couldn’t do it, and slipped back into the depression that has dogged him (and the rest of the family) since he was a teenager. He’s a good kid who managed to finish college in spite of dropping out a couple times because of depression, and now, to see him lying around the house, declaring that he’s just another “failure to launch,” is breaking my heart. My goal is to help him feel better about himself and life.

We’ve talked a lot recently about how some people have difficulty getting motivated after a long depression, but when you are depressed, you actually have tremendous motivation…to see your world as being shit.

Depression gives you the power and motivation to refuse to see it any other way. Even when depression isn’t in the cards, it’s hard to convince someone who’s feeling down that they’re wrong.

That’s why, when your kid is depressed, there’s just no way to tell him to feel better in a way that doesn’t ring hollow and sound like an impossible requirement.

If you ask him to compare himself to the gold-standard guy with no legs, it means he doesn’t have a right to feel bad until his legs drop off (assuming he remains depressed). If you insist that life is beautiful, you’re challenging him to show you that it isn’t, really, which gets him to focus on the negative. You lose your credibility, and they lose their patience with you and everyone else who “doesn’t understand.”

Remember, having recurrent depression sucks. It can make you cry, stop you in your tracks, turn you into a zombie, and take away your independence. And all the available treatments carry no guarantee, never mind that they might take away the pain but leave you sweaty, boner-less, and fat. It’s his blues and he can cry if he wants to.

Instead of cheerleading until you’re blue in the face, chuck the first part of your goal—when you think about it, it’s bullshit anyway—and focus on the second part. Help him feel worse about life, but better about himself. In other words, you have to admit that life sucks a lot sometimes, but your kid seems pretty great.

His blues may make him cry, but they’ve never stopped him. He got through college and he was doing fine until this setback; he has a capacity to finish things and enjoy life, whenever his depression lets up. He’s demonstrated patience, persistence, and hat there’s nothing really wrong with him, other than a pain syndrome in his brain.

He’s a kid you can be proud of, and he’s got parents who have stuck with him and are there when he needs them. Your home may not be a house of mirth, but it helps people through hard times, because you run it that way.

So instead of trying to cheer him up, remind him that you understand how scary and painful life can be and that you have absolutely no faith in things turning out well. What you do have, however, is faith in is his ability to pick himself up and keep going. Help him see beyond depression’s pull and realize that, if the world is shit, he has every reason to be proud of the way he deals with it.

STATEMENT:
“I know you’re hurting, and there’s no way around it, but don’t believe for a minute that you’re a failure, no matter what your depression says. Yes, it can, without warning, come back and stop you and take away your happiness, even when you’re living a good life and treating yourself properly; but it will never take away your self-respect for doing your best under a tough handicap.”

I like my new job and the boss is very nice, so it really bothers me that I want to kill him. He’s a nice guy and, on some level, he seems to know that I work hard and have good people skills and am very motivated, if for no other reason than that I was unemployed for the past 2 years. The trouble is, everybody in the office asks me to do anything that needs doing and, if I can’t, they immediately complain to him and he lets me know they’re unhappy. I don’t mind doing menial labor; what I can’t stand is that people don’t speak to me about it, so I could explain why I can’t do it right away. Instead, they complain to him, and he acts like I’ve got a problem, even though he’s technically the only person I should be taking orders from in the first place. My goal is to stop this from happening and get him to see this doesn’t work.

One way of defining administration (or good parenting) is knowing your priorities and saying no when the drain on your resources puts them at risk. In either situation, if you don’t know those priorities, or can’t defend them by saying no to lower priority requests, somebody—parent, boss, child or worker—is going to end up having a tantrum.]

The boss (or parent) who can’t do that winds up rewarding the loud, the fast, and the needy and overburdening his nicest subordinates with unlimited demands that are all labeled high priority.

Then, when they get mad, he considers his subordinates’ anger unreasonable—after all, he’s trying to get everything done—and you can see where that leads. When the angry subordinate sees no end to either the demands or the condescension, hilarity (and unemployment) ensue.

So don’t expect communication to enlighten your boss, and don’t let anger grip your tongue. You have a right to be angry, but the painful suppression of anger is what work is all about.

So don’t tell your boss to go fuck himself; shut up and go administer yourself instead. Drawing on what you now know about your company, its priorities, and the tasks that come your way, list the ones that are most important, figure out how much time they require, and put them into a job description that you think would be reasonable. Then do your job that way.

Give priority to tasks that you believe are important, regardless of whether you hate them or the people who ask you to do them. Include tasks that senior management believes are important, whether you agree or not.

Then work down your list, beginning in the morning, and completing the time you’re paid to work. Then leave and enjoy your freedom before you have to go back to work again.

When the complaints come in and your boss asks you why you disappointed someone with a legitimate request, explain that, as much as you wanted to help out, you had a backlog of urgent things that got in the way. Show him your list—like a receipt of his bullshit—and even offer to change it if he’d like.

Make it clear, however, that you’re a slave to the list, and are very motivated to get through as much as you can. Then avoid the temptation to send him (now the child) to his room for a time out.

STATEMENT:
“I know I do a good day’s work and know how to stick with priorities. If I reject a request, I can do it without over-reacting to someone’s tone or the repulsive nature of the job. Indeed, I convey nothing but professional regret at my inability to help. When I say no, it will be for professional reasons and professional reasons, without any negative emotion, are what I will share.”

I’ve been very helpful and patient with my husband since he suffered brain damage after being hit by a car, but I’ve just about had it. Everyone in our families focuses on finding a new treatment for him, and we’re all happy that he’s recovered some functions and can now talk and stand up. The trouble is, I’m exhausted, I’ve got no time to go out and make a living, and he’s gotten into the habit of telling me what I’m supposed to do without a please, thank you or may I. My goal is to set him straight and let him know I can’t keep it up at this pace and that he needs to improve his tone.

Setting someone straight when he wants too much from you usually leads to a guilt fest; you make him feel guilty, he guilts you right back, and it’s a regular guiltapalooza.

You wouldn’t be knocking yourself out in the first place if you didn’t feel responsible and, yes, guilty for not doing more. Of course, you may be knocking yourself out doing things that are really, really necessary, but that’s unlikely. Guilt rarely works that way.

Almost always, the #1 reason for exhaustion is that you’re already doing everything you’re asked to do and everything you can think of that could possibly be helpful, regardless of whether they’re likely to help or have been done before, so of course you get tired and cranky and afraid of the limitlessness of the task you’ve accepted for yourself.

If you complain, prepare to feel guiltier, particularly if you seem angry at a hapless victim of brain damage who needs your love and support, which obliges you to do even more and so gooses the RPMs on your vicious-cycle-mobile.

If you’re lucky, your husband will understand your feelings and change his tone, but his brain damage may not let him. And your families may channel their own guilt into expectations about what you’re supposed to do, and so react negatively to your protest like Monday morning homecare quarterbacks.

Instead, consult your own standards about how much a good person should do. Without compromising on your determination to help your husband, question the need for each treatment based on how likely it is to help, how much of an improvement it is over doing something easier, and how well it seems to be working. Ask the doctors how long you need to try a treatment before deciding whether it’s helping, what you should look for, and what you should do if that treatment doesn’t work.

You’re not young, you’ve been married a long time, and you’ve become an expert on his illness; you’re entitled to draw your own conclusions about treatment because you’re in the best position to observe how well your husband responds. You’re the one responsible for the tough decisions, and, while that might seem to be a source of guilt, it also gives you the right to do what you think is best.

So don’t focus too much on his tone of voice or the advice you’re getting from the family. Educate yourself, observe, and make your own decisions. Then you’ll be able to say “no” to your husband when necessary without become negative, either to him and to yourself, and give the guilt fest a rest.

STATEMENT:
“I wish I could do more to help, but we’re stuck with a limited amount of time and, at some point, a level of damage that won’t go away and that we’ll have to learn to live with. It’s bound to get frustrating and you may well want me to do things I can’t do, even though I’d like to if I had more time and energy or good reason to think they could help. Regardless of your frustration, or even criticism, I’ll always do what’s important and we’ll get through this together.”

My wife and I have been depressed lately since we looked at our finances to see when we could retire. A lot of our friends are preparing to retire and spend time with the grandkids. We realized that my wife’s divorce 20 years ago destroyed her savings and my job doesn’t have any retirement or pension plan, so we’re really screwed. It’s clear we don’t have any good prospects for retiring, other than living in a trailer down by the river, and that we’ll be left behind when our friends up and fly south. I should be happy that we’re healthy and like our work, but I’m not. We both made mistakes, and now we’re paying for them.

Modern expectations are a killer when it comes to almost everything associated with happiness: health, sex, money, relationships, and aging. Retirement seems to cover all those bases and more.

TV ads make it seem that you should always get a good result if you work hard, exercise, and buy the right products. Experience, on the other hand, says that life is hard and lots of good, hard-working people don’t control their happiness or ability to reach their “golden years:’ and, if they do, it gets taken away from them without notice.

The answer isn’t to find a guy in the gutter so you can feel thankful for what you’ve got; that’s a dumb idea that will always come back to bite you. If you’re supposed to thank God for your good luck, then you’ve got good reason to complain and feel angry and/or to blame for your load of shit. Never thank God, because he has a wicked sense of humor.

The idea of luck is that you don’t receive it for any reason—it just is—so don’t make believe there’s a good luck fairy you can thank or piss off, or you’ll feel much worse when it’s your turn to suffer. Accept what you don’t control, even if it means trailer living.

Focus on what you do with the shit that comes your way. Baby, you’re not a rich man, but it sounds like you and your wife married well, after a hard start, and that you’ve done well by one another. You haven’t spent money on bad things, and worrying about life hasn’t driven you apart. That’s a major achievement and one to be proud of; prouder than being rich and retired.

If there’s a big difference in income between you and your friends, well, who cares. Soon enough, it will tell you who your real friends are. I’m not saying it doesn’t suck to be working hard when your back hurts and your bladder has declared its independence from central control, but you should never, ever let your hurt affect your pride. Even if you keep working, you can happily retire from petty bullshit.

STATEMENT:
“I don’t want to be working and there’s no reason I should be slaving away when my friends can afford to take it easy; but life was never fair and there’s nothing wrong with the way my wife and I have handled our money. We believe in paying our bills, being independent, and helping others, and that’s what we do. Not being able to retire sucks, but that’s not our department.”

Please Note: In responding to suicidal goals, as in the case below, we do not presume to offer emotional support. If you’re at risk of hurting yourself, you should, of course, go to an emergency room, discuss your state of mind with a professional, and decide how much support you need in order to remain safe. In most of the cases we encounter, however, our correspondents are not simply suicidal; they are familiar with treatment and have come to believe that it won’t help. Often, we must agree that their feelings are unlikely to change in the near future. What we try to demonstrate, however, is that negative feelings create falsely negative and hopeless beliefs and that there are ways to recover your strength and perspective, even when the pain won’t let up.

I’m considering suicide. My life is a joke. I am in my late 30s and female and I have never had a relationship with a man. Several men have used me for sex and at least 2 of them begged me not to tell any of their friends they’d had sex with me. I’ve never been loved, been held, been listened to, been cherished. I’ve just been used like a toilet. On the outside I’m pretty. I can hold a conversation and I have a reasonable number of friends. But I hate myself and I don’t feel good enough. I was abandoned by both parents and I was raped for the first time when I was about 2-years-old. It’s like men I meet can smell the self-hate on me and they treat me accordingly. I do not have even one person in my life who cares about me or who I could trust. My friends are there to go for drinks or dinner with me if they can find nothing better to do but they are not there to be supportive ever, in any way. What is the point of me continuing to live?

It’s horrible to feel that you don’t belong to the human race, except for your ability to satisfy the needs and cravings of jerks.

Remember, however, that those feelings almost always beget more falsely negative beliefs, particularly about relationships. Whether or not you’ve done anything wrong, you feel infinitely rejectable, comfortable in the company of jerks, and anxious around people you respect, since you know they will reject you for your anxiety and fundamental worthlessness.

You distrust other people, but it’s your feelings and instincts that are far more suspect. In turn, you can’t trust your feelings to guide you in relationships (even more so than the rest of us).

If you do, you will seek out jerks and excoriate yourself after real or imagined rejection, and of course, life will appear meaningless and full of relationships that always end badly. Being needy strips away the friendship filters that would otherwise keep jerks away and it makes non-jerks look like jerks or, even worse, like people whose rejection would be devastating.

For instance, after starting to trust a potential friend, you might be so hurt after noticing that she was slow to answer your calls, even if that dearth of calls was due to a busy work week or broken phone, that you would feel you could never trust her again and would feel like hurting yourself. It’s hard to make real friends when your own sensitivity is such an enemy.

Don’t give up, because there are other ways to build a more rational, positive set of beliefs that can protect you from dark feelings, even if they can’t ease the pain. They don’t require you to risk a relationship; all you need do is assess your own response to the hardships of your life, using reasonable criteria for judging your effort and the difficulty of your accomplishment.

If, while bearing the scars of neglect and abuse, you’ve picked up skills, earned a living, and treated people decently, you’ve accomplished something you have good reason to admire. Forget whether anyone else knows, understands, or respects what you’ve done. Then forget the fact that you continue to hurt like hell, (when you’re not feeling numb). You know what you know, and it’s your opinion that matters most.

If only therapy could help you make better choices and avoid negative distortions, or at least give you a sense of being respected and valued; but it often doesn’t work that way. Instead, relationships with therapists often fall victim to the same false beliefs that ruin potential friendships.

Because of your age, I’m assuming you’ve tried therapy and it hasn’t worked. You aren’t alone in having that experience, but it is possible to see beyond it. Don’t be surprised if a relationship- or emotion-focused therapy or support group hasn’t helped. Don’t give up hope, because there are other approaches that can help you grow stronger.

DBT (dialectic behavioral therapy) is a kind of cognitive-behavior therapy that can help you maintain your perspective and fight negative thoughts and actions. It’s taught as a course, and discourages participants from sharing strong feelings or engaging in intense relationships. As such, it doesn’t offer relief from loneliness, but it does provide ideas and mental exercises to root your self-worth in your own values and actions and thus protect your beliefs from distortions caused by fear, sensitivity, and loneliness.

When emptiness consumes you, it’s almost impossible not to feel like a disposable loser. If, however, you can make an honest assessment of your accomplishments, and acknowledge that there has also been triumph and survival despite tragedy, you will get stronger and find reasons to live and respect yourself.

If you review the things that you’ve done without the approval or involvement of others, jerks and not, you’ll see that you’re not just a member of the human race, but an exceptional one.

STATEMENT:
“I’ve never found a friend and often feel that life has no meaning; but abuse left me determined to be independent, treat people with respect, and be a good person, and I value what I’ve accomplished, regardless of self-hate or loneliness. I will build self-respect on my own actions, and hope that someday I will have the strength and luck to find a friend.”

My mother only has one sibling, but I’ve never met my uncle because he’s had severe agoraphobia for the past 30 years. My mother says that it started right before he graduated high school (he stopped talking to his friends, stayed in his room more, washed his hands compulsively, etc.), and it’s been going on since then. The only person he regularly communicates with is my grandmother, who also supports him, and while he sometimes talks to my mother, he doesn’t let her see him, and, like I said, I’ve never met him because if I’m in the house he won’t talk to anyone or leave his room (this is how he treats anyone who isn’t my mother or grandmother). My mother says that my uncle’s too macho to admit he has a problem, and “too Italian” to ever leave his mother’s house. I guess my problem is that my grandmother isn’t in the best health, and I know that nobody else in the family has the resources to take care of my uncle when she’s gone. Plus, I mean, he’s sick, so my goal is to get my uncle some help.

If almost every chronic illness is a test of character, agoraphobia is one of the most challenging. The fear goes far beyond anything you’ve experienced; think of it as a migraine headache where, instead of pain, you’re flooded with fear and the only relief is to hide out.

Yes, there are treatments that can dull the fear and help people recover their lives, but they take effort, they’re not a cure, and, somewhere along the line, they require people to leave their caves and endure some additional anxiety. It’s no wonder many people with severe agoraphobia will accept tranquilizers or use alcohol, but will not stick with any other kind of treatment, particularly if they have to leave home to get it.

So don’t blame your grandma or your uncle or put responsibility on anyone, including yourself, to get help. That bird has flown, leaving much pain and helplessness behind. Respect your grandma for carrying an extra load and your mother for bearing the sorrow of losing her brother.

Now that you’ve given up on helping your uncle directly, however, consider an alternative. Ask yourself whether he would accept behavioral treatment if he had no place to stay. Consult with experts and find out what would be available to him if he were flushed out of his hideout.

Obviously, eviction would make him more anxious in the short run, and might make your grandmother and mother guilty and anxious as well. If you believe there’s a positive alternative, however, encourage them to consider offering it to him. Urge them to trust their idea of what would benefit him in the long run and to ignore their gut response to seeing him in pain.

If they’re ready to push him out, good for him. If not, your mother will encounter this option further down the line, after your grandmother dies and the family can no longer afford to keep her house/his prison.

You’re right to fear for your uncle’s health and your family’s future, but as long as fear imprisons your uncle, you are all, to some degree, stuck.

STATEMENT:
“I’m sorry my uncle has a painful mental illness and I don’t want to add to his pain, but his current dependence on the family can’t last forever and he might do more for himself if he had less support and more encouragement to man up and get treatment. There are 2 generations ahead of me with responsibility for his care; but if, after learning more, I think they’re overprotecting him, I’ll let them know I respect them for caring for him, I’m concerned about what will become of him when grandma is dead, and I have a plan that might allow him to get stronger, regardless of his fears or urges to disappear.”

I made the executive decision today to not participate in our airport’s body scan or pat down procedure, and now my whole family is f*cked. I had my “no more than 3oz bottles” in their “official” airline approved baggies, so obviously I arrived at the airport planning to suck it up and be a team player. When we got to the security checkpoint however, I discovered there was not enough scope (or vodka) in my 3oz bottles to get me through the required security procedure. I started having flashbacks dating back to a sexual assault 20+yrs ago, and called off the idea of being a team player. I’m pissed at myself for ruining our plans, and equally pissed that my husband (who knows about my past experience) thinks it’s “silly” that I couldn’t just suck it up and go through it like everyone else. My kid’s are totally confused now as to why we are at home and not at Grandmas. I know from news stories I’m not the only one having a problem with our new security procedures. I know I don’t “owe” anyone an explanation, but it seems avoiding their questions is only making matters worse. How do I explain, without really explaining, why I’m refusing to put myself back in the position that clearly was not in my best interest at the time?

If you’re reactive to your feelings in public, for any reason, life becomes more dramatic, unpredictable and sometimes humiliating. You want your junk, physical and emotional, untouched.

Unfortunately, most times you do end up saying something emotionally, it doesn’t come out cool, leaving you and everyone else feeling a bit violated.

There are, however, some advantages to being emotionally reactive, particularly in the anxious way you describe, even if those advantages don’t involve airports.

For one thing, emotional reactivity is probably the strongest attractive force between people, stronger than sex or a shared political party affiliation. No, seriously, you probably have a gift for connecting with others, which is why you have a family to embarrass in the first place.

For another thing, you panicked rather than blowing up. Chazz Palmentari (and Macchiavelli) say it’s better to be feared than loved, but that’s within Mafia families, not ones that get along.

Among your flesh and blood, it’s better not to have people walking on eggshells for fear that you’re going to explode and then sneaking off to see their shrinks. Chazz may get his way more easily, but people stop sharing things with him, and, after a while, even the Don gets lonely.

You didn’t tell airport security they were creeps, or your family that they didn’t care, or the TSA to say hello to your little friend. You simply said that you can’t take it and requested to go home.

Another positive thing about your reactivity is that you remain realistic. You’re not saying that you hate yourself for being sensitive and can’t stand it anymore; you’re saying that you know feelings of being overwhelmed sometimes come back to haunt you and probably always will, and that you need a way to deal when those moments arise.

So, even though you’re reactive, you’re also accepting your lack of control over your lack of control, which is a huge plus. As positively as you’re dealing with things, there are other steps you can take to make things even better, and the first step is attacking the shame.

Shame is a powerful force in making your anxiety worse; you get afraid you’ll embarrass yourself, which makes you more anxious, which makes you come closer to losing control. Fight it by telling your family that some people get overwhelmingly anxious sometimes, and you’re one of them. You’re good at controlling it, but sometimes it gets the better of you. That don’t make you a bad person, it’s just part of who you are.

Then, if you haven’t done it already, check out the treatments that might improve your control. Begin with cognitive and behavioral treatments, like “CBT,” positive imaging, relaxation training, etc. They don’t have side effects, and if you have insurance, you have nothing to lose but your time. Alternatives, when it comes to a traumatic situation you can anticipate, include taking a tranquilizer an hour before.

For now, congratulate yourself for your realistic outlook, write your representatives about changing TSA regulations, and learn to accept all the emotional junk that comes with who you are.

STATEMENT:
“Knowing why I get anxious doesn’t change the fact that my fear can get triggered at the worst possible times. I accept this fact and take pride in how well I tolerate and recover from anxiety without letting it ruin my life or make me act badly. I’m open to learning new methods for managing anxiety. I don’t apologize for what I can’t control.”

When I was a child, I was sexually abused by a neighbor. It really haunted me for years—totally screwed up my time in high school—but when I got to college, I finally spoke out about it, got into a support group, and met my closest friend there, who experienced something very similar. I’m in my 30s now, and after years of therapy and various support groups, I feel at peace with my past. I have my own family now, I have a job I really enjoy, and while I still get flashbacks and sometimes get overwhelmed by anxiety, I feel like I’m doing OK. My friend, however, along with others in the abuse survivor community, thinks that I’m regressing into denial; she thinks that unless I confront my pain everyday, it’s going to build up and destroy my life again. I care about her a lot, and she’s helped me a great deal, but I have to disagree. If my goal is to feel okay about what happened, should I continue on my own path, or continue with therapy and support?

There are those who believe in pursuing complete “healing” and “recovery” after trauma; no surprise, I’m not among them, but I’m also not insisting you take my opinion as %100 correct. A first, I know.

Instead of accepting my point of view, or your friend’s, ask yourself how you define “complete recovery,” how often you see anyone with severe symptoms of anxiety who is able to control them completely, and whether you can find evidence of a treatment with objectively documented sure-fire results.

While seeking support from fellow victims can be very positive, not every person who experiences trauma recovers in the same way. You can gain from their comfort and advice, but only you can decide what your recovery means.

If you devote yourself to complete recovery and it doesn’t exist, you’re not only wasting time and money, you’re magnifying and prolonging the ability of trauma to define your life. No, Virginia, life doesn’t always offer you closure, but it always offers you the opportunity to make bad things worse.

I think you’ve done the best you can with childhood trauma and deserve credit for bearing the pain without letting it define your life. Yes, you still experience pain, but that’s not a sign of your failure to deal with issues. It’s life and you’re brave.

It’s also positive that you don’t dwell on the evil of the neighbor who traumatized you, or your need to see him punished or exposed. Yes, of course it was evil, and we all know how satisfying it is to see evil punished. Usually, however, evil people are evil because they don’t see the evilness in what they’re doing wrong and never will. The meaning of punishment to them isn’t regret for what they’ve done, but just that they were caught by people who over-react and ignore greater evil, etc.

You’re accepting a world in which evil is a part of life, and you’re not letting it stop you from doing good. It’s our job, not to eradicate evil and find complete peace, but to learn to protect ourselves in a world that will always include creeps and psychopaths.

Respect your goals and perspective, and resist the temptation to defend yourself to your friend. On this issue, insist on your right to stand by your own point of view and not discuss it. True friends will always respect your decision.

STATEMENT:
“I know how much pain can ensue from being abused as a child. I regard the fact that I still experience that pain as an unavoidable fact of life and am proud that I’ve done much to fight shame and prevent trauma from interfering with my life. I manage it well. I use my knowledge to protect my children. I am less interested in punishing people who cause that pain than in preventing them from hurting others. I’ve had time to develop my own views on this subject and those are the ones that matter.”

I have a 30-year-old patient whom I’ve been seeing in weekly psychotherapy for 6 months and he had a terrible history of sexual and physical abuse and years in state care. Amazingly, despite all his trauma and several prior failed treatments, he settled into a trusting relationship with me. He tells me I’m the first person he’s bonded with, and he’s been able to stop using cocaine, and, for the first time, sees some hope for himself. The problem is that he just got a new job, and I’m not covered by his new insurance plan. He wrote me a letter telling me how much he feels his recovery depends on continuing the treatment we’ve started and I feel professionally obliged to put his welfare ahead of my financial needs, but I’d like to get paid. My goal is to do right by my patient, and not trigger the feelings of abandonment that underlie much of his negative behavior, but I’m not sure how long I can afford to see him for nothing.

There are many therapists who believe the best thing you can do for a troubled patient like this is to “be there,” providing the steady acceptance and secure relationship that they need for healing. I’m not one of them.

The sad fact is that the healing power of currently available treatments is vastly over-rated and a good example of false hope and the harm it can cause.

What’s wrong is that our treatments, in terms of demonstrated effectiveness, are all rather weak, and it shouldn’t be surprising; we do our best, but life, such as it is, is a bitchmonster from hell. You can’t undo the past, change personality, stop drug cravings, or even guarantee that you’ll be available next week.

Look where you’re going with this treatment and “mind the gap,” as they say on the London Underground, because, as ideal a healer as you seem right now, there are many ways this dynamic could get tripped up.

For example, unexpectedly, you and/or your treatment rub the patient the wrong way. It may be that you fail to live up to an impossibly high ideal or that you have a bad day and say the wrong thing. When that happens, trust disappears and with it, your patient’s rationale for healing.

You try to stay calm, remain empathetic, and ride out the storm while resenting having your personality dissected for an unpaid hour. If your anger shows, it gives your patient more reason to feel victimized and find a therapist who can help him recover from his latest trauma/treatment.

Another common outcome is the “Bill Murray Morass,” whereby he continues to feel strongly that treatment is beneficial and can’t imagine living without it, and you, and this continues for many years, while you continue to feel responsible and indispensable. “What About Bob?”, indeed.

You and “Bob” could argue that treatment has benefited his control over negative impulses, but it has also fostered a sense of dependency and fragility that will surface if, God forbid, you should die first, or, more likely, he just changes his mind.

So don’t buy into his idea of your precious relationship. If he liked you, it proves he has the capacity to like another therapist. There are many fish in the sea, many therapists in his insurance directory. If he depends on that positive feeling to stay sober or maintain a positive idea of the future, he’s in trouble, and so are you.

Your goal is for him to build up ideas for staying sober and fighting off despair that are not dependent on a single relationship or good feeling, and that can stand up to rejection and depression. In other words, you want to “be there” for your patient, but you don’t want to be the only thing between him and oblivion. Don’t beget a Bob.

STATEMENT:
Our relationship has been positive, but it’s important for you to manage negative beliefs, despair, and anger when you’re not feeling closely supported, and our stopping treatment gives you just such an opportunity. You have the capacity to form a positive relationship, so I’m confident you’ll do well in shopping around for a new therapist. Meanwhile, it’s good for you to focus more on the ideas than on the individual, because it’s your own ideas and the way you use them that will give you strength to manage yourself. I’m confident that this will work out well.”

I have a new patient who’s a young woman, college freshman, who was sent to therapy by her parents after her roommate turned her in for cutting her arms and drinking too much. After a fair amount of discussion, I started her on a medication trial and explained to her that these pills take a while to work (if they work at all), but it didn’t sink in, because after a week she’d had enough with feeling tired and hungry, especially because she still felt depressed and anxious. Not long after that, she declared that therapy in general was a waste of her time and she could stop drinking and self-mutilating on her own. Part of me thinks that it’s not my job, or anyone’s job, to sell her on treatment if she’s not ready, but I admit, there’s a softy side of me that doesn’t want to let her off the hook just so that she can really hurt herself or get kicked out of school. My goal is to get this kid to give treatment one more chance.

It’s tempting to tell a young woman with obvious problems that she should stay in treatment, but don’t. This is not the time to listen to your softer side. Of course you wish she would feel better and stay positive, but first, you and she must accept your lack of control.

If psychiatric treatment—medication or psychotherapy—were more reliable and effective, maybe it would be worthwhile to give such advice. More often than not, however, the first trial of treatment doesn’t work or causes side effects and patients who are already angry and disappointed about their life expectations are then quick to feel that their negative beliefs have been redeemed.

Your goal isn’t to get her to stay in treatment; it’s to give her tools to make rational and positive decisions about treatment. You don’t want her treatment decisions to depend on her positive relationship with you (see: above Bob) or an initial positive result. You want them to depend on her own ability to weigh risks and benefits and do what’s right.

It’s easier to help her think realistically about treatment if you crush false hope up front. You are obviously well aware that treatments of any kind rarely bring about a “cure.” I’m often reminded, when patients cite a pharmaceutical add touting a particular medication as “effective,” that the scientific meaning of the word is the opposite of its meaning in plain English.

In the language of science, effective means “better than nothing,” not “helpful most of the time.” Life is tough and so are most psychiatric problems. Unfortunately, so is your patient’s attitude.

Ultimately, you want her to know that, while you don’t care which decision she makes, you do care a great deal that you make she makes that decision rationally. Being soft won’t work, so be hard, or really, be honest, not emotional or sentimental.

STATEMENT:
Here’s a speech for encouraging her to take good care of herself and use treatment appropriately. “I wish I could tell you that treatment will ease your pain, but it often doesn’t. Given the fact that depressive feelings often come from genes and that we don’t have a cure, it’s not surprising that they tend to come and go and then return, even when a medication or other treatment has been very helpful. So the main goal of treatment isn’t to make you feel better, but to make you stronger and better able to tolerate your condition, much as if it were diabetes. You can get stronger by choosing the right psychotherapist or therapy or 12 step group and also appropriate friends and readings, because the right choice can make you stronger, and the wrong choice won’t. Medication is worth trying if your symptoms are hurting or threatening to get you canned. There’s a risk that each medication will cause side effects or won’t work, but you don’t want to make a choice about meds because you love or hate them. You want to weigh the risks of not taking them and the possible benefit of their working. If I were in your position, I’d definitely be trying them, but it’s your call.”

My ex-wife was never that solid, but even I was surprised when she left me for her yoga instructor, who’s also a total fuck-up. I agreed to joint custody because our daughter deserves to know her mother, no matter how stupid her mother is, but my wife’s visitation falls on the same days as our daughter’s ballet classes, and, wouldn’t you know, my ex- doesn’t have a car (her boyfriend crashed the one she got from me), so she tells me, in front of our daughter, that I’m selfish if I don’t drive the two of them to ballet and back, on her visitation day. It makes me nuts, because I can’t figure out a way to say “no” without disappointing my daughter and looking like a meanie. My goal is to stop my ex-wife from using our daughter to manipulate me.

Attempting to stop your ex-wife’s visitation blackmail is never a good goal; it makes you reactive to her ability to make you feel guilty and/or look bad, rather than to your own ideas about what constitutes an appropriate sacrifice for your child’s welfare.

Besides, you can’t stop her from using your worries about your daughter to push you around. Basically, your ex-wife can fart in your face whenever she wants, even when you’re behind the wheel. She’s already stunk up your marriage.

If you accept and ignore humiliation (and bad smells), however, you can focus on the more important goal you’ve already embraced, which is doing what’s necessary for your daughter’s well-being.

No, that doesn’t mean you should do whatever your ex-wife persuades your daughter to ask you for. Don’t be guilted by your daughter’s pleading or your ex-wife’s attitude. When your ex has visitation, she has responsibility, and you don’t.

Ask yourself what’s the worst that will happen if you don’t bail out your ex. If she isn’t a total loser, she should be able to arrange a ride. On the other hand, if she can’t, you may want to help out on the day of a dress rehearsal.

Decide for yourself whether the fight is worth it. You have a right to spend your off-visitation times on other needs, and it may be good for your wife and daughter to know that you feel no guilt in doing so.

On the other hand, you may decide it’s worth protecting your daughter from your wife’s incompetence. It’s your call, but no matter what, if you’ve thought it through, you needn’t feel guilty.

Do what you think is right. If you help out, it may feel like caving in, but it isn’t, not if you’ve followed procedures and made up your own mind. Besides, if the stress has really got you down, there’s always yoga. Clearly, it’s taken her far.

STATEMENT:
Write a statement you could give your ex. “During your visitation days, it’s your responsibility, not mine, to deal with transportation problems. I have other obligations and may need to be away or unavailable. You’re free, however, to ask for my help (or anyone else’s) and I’ll be happy to let you know what I can do and under what circumstances.”

One of the first things that attracted me to my husband was his sense of humor; he’s a smart, sarcastic guy. Unfortunately, that sense of humor doesn’t translate well to our kids, who, as far as I can tell, are hurt by the same dark, sarcastic tone I so enjoy. I’ve asked him to lighten up because the kids are sensitive, but he acts like I’m telling him he’s a bad parent and then he tells me I’m not doing such a good job myself. I don’t like where this is going, but I’m worried about the harm he can do the kids. My goal is to protect the kids and get my husband to back off without antagonizing him.

Sure, you can get your husband to change his parenting style. Talking to him about it is a great idea, and you should do it lots of times. Then, while you’re at it, you should figure out how to cure cancer and run cars on old twinkie wrappers.

OK, now that we’ve done using some of your husband’s patented sarcasm, you’ve got to accept that your husband will be sarcastic and the kids will have to learn how to deal with it.

On the other hand, you can help everyone take your husband’s style less personally if you begin by accepting it yourself. Yes, you may well feel worried and angry, but keep your feelings to yourself.

Your goal isn’t to express yourself, it’s to help your family manage your husband’s sarcasm. Instead of telling your husband to stop, decide when it’s necessary to speak up and have a response ready.

For instance, step in if the kids seem upset and/or your husband has implied, intentionally or not, that they’ve been bad, stupid, or ludicrous. You can spoil his joke without implying that he’s bad, stupid, or ludicrous, just by telling him gently to make fun of the kids all he likes, but you think they’re being normal kids and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Then everybody gets kisses, nobody’s feelings are hurt, and everyone lives happily ever after. Suuuuure.

STATEMENT:
Prepare a non-blaming response if he accuses you of undermining or humiliating him in front of the kids. “I enjoy your humor and think the kids will, too, as they grow older, but right now it sometimes hurts and mystifies them and gets a bad reaction, even when you’re trying to help them by pointing out something they need to know. When I think they’re too sensitive to take your meaning properly, I’ll urge them not to take your criticism personally, hoping it will help them separate the sting of your tone from the value of your ideas.”

I’m a 58-year-old gay man and it’s a long time since life has been any fun. I’ve been single for some time (with no real prospects of a relationship), my friends don’t seem to have time for me, and at the end of a hard day’s work running my own business, I’ve barely broken even and have nothing to look forward to but spending the evening alone. That’s when the depression closes in and I can’t stand living. I write all this because I know that I’m a miserable failure, and that facts, not depression or any other mental illness, are behind my reasoning. I mean, when I tell my few close friends how I feel, they tell me I’m being too hard on myself, but if you’re almost 60, alone, and a financial mess, doesn’t that mean you’re a loser? My goal is to be real about myself.

Sounds like your goal isn’t to be real about yourself, it’s to be mean to yourself because you’re in a bad mood. If you were to reread the above paragraph when your mood wasn’t so shitty, you’d see your treating “facts” with the same care as Bill O’Reilly.

So, to quote Bill, Shut up, I don’t want to hear it. You wouldn’t talk like that to a friend, or even probably your worst enemy, so don’t do it to yourself.

Sure, the pain in your life is real, but there’s a monster in most of us that speaks up when we’re hungry or poor or lonely and says, “Look what a mess you got yourself into, you worthless piece of shit.”

If you’re smart and have high standards and a well-developed sense of style, the monster will comment on the bad clothes, dull conversation, and depressing colors; it’s very specific and discerning, because it’s the meanest side of yourself. It will give meaning to your pain, alright, by telling you that it means a lot and it’s your fault.

It’s your job to keep that monster from influencing your values. I assume you’re working hard on your own business, because you care about being independent and self-supporting.

I also assume you have old friends, because you care about friendship and maintaining relationships, regardless of whether someone is wealthy, clever, or stylish. You haven’t mentioned doing anything wrong; you’ve just described the kind of bad luck that often happens to everyone at one time or another, with or without depression, or a partner, or a great job.

If you have good values, be prepared to use them. If you want to talk “facts,” remind yourself how hard you work at your job and your friendships. Your goal isn’t to get me or anyone else to confirm that you deserve to feel bad; it’s to keep your perspective and not let the negative thinking of loneliness and bad luck undermine your sense of pride.

STATEMENT:
“My life sucks right now, but I respect what I’m doing. I work hard and stand by my friends when all my efforts are relatively unrewarding and, on top of that, I’m fuckin’ depressed. I can’t wait for my luck to turn but, until it does, I wouldn’t want to do anything differently, and that’s what counts.”

I have struggled with bipolar disorder for almost ten years now, but sometimes I can’t see the point. The last time I was admitted to a hospital, I was actually raped by another patient, and the whole experience left me with fears and nightmares I just can’t get over. I’ll never let my family or a psychiatrist put me in a hospital again. My goal is to find a psychiatrist who will give me the support I need so that I will never, ever have to go into a hospital.

If you had diabetes and got the best possible supportive care from the best physician in the world—you could even marry her—you might still need hospital treatment if you got an infection, overdosed on peeps, or just fell into a manhole.

So, while you have every right to feel traumatized by your assault, don’t paint yourself into a corner because of it. When it comes to this anti-hospital stance, (or pro I-need-to-be-nurtured-very-carefully-or-else), you have to shut yourself up.

Thinking about the risks logically, it becomes clear that you probably wouldn’t get raped a second time, and there would be steps you could take to make it more unlikely. So, in reality, you aren’t facing a choice of rape vs. death, but rather terror vs. death.

Terror or death is a decision most of us face every morning before we get on the subway; that’s life. There would be no other choice.

Unfortunately, you can’t change the way rape gave you nightmares, and you can’t avoid the possibility that you’ll find yourself in the same neighborhood. What you can do, however, is bear the terror—the fear of fear—so that you can promise yourself the best possible care and manage yourself as carefully and respectfully as possible.

Your goal shouldn’t depend on finding the kindest or most available psychiatrist, or extracting promises about what he or she would never allow to happen. Your goal should depend instead on your own ability to ignore fear while benefiting from your bad experiences to make good treatment decisions.

Yes, bad things might still happen, but you can be sure you will have done everything to protect yourself while taking the risks necessary to manage a bad illness. If you go to the hospital, something bad might happen, but if you need care and you don’t go, something bad is guaranteed.

STATEMENT:
I may never be able to shake the rape nightmares or promise myself that a mood swing won’t become catastrophic and push me into a loony bin. I can swear, however, that I’ll take reasonable care of myself and that, when I’m well, I’ll try to focus on living life, caring about friends, and ignoring pain, regardless of whether I can get it to go away.