I have to tell you, this was such an uncomfortable book to read I almost sent it off to the back of the closet without reviewing it. Then I thought, isn’t that what books are supposed to do, make you feel something? Even creepy? So I pulled it out and read it again to see if I could pinpoint my uncomfortableness. It turned out to be not with the skeevy therapist, or the girl who talks to God, or the anecdotes about shit, or even the underage sex. No, it was the mother, the central cause of misery in her son-the-writer’s life: I identified with her. I could relate to everything she does in the book. To take it a step further, reading this made me realize that there’s only a few degrees of mental health between me and her.
In case you haven’t read it, Running With Scissors is a memoir about Augusten Burroughs’ childhood. First there is the alcoholic father and the mentally ill mother. Then comes their drawn-out and nasty divorce; then the questionable therapist, who eventually adopts Augusten into his dysfunctional family. Augusten, however, survives all this and lives to become a writer.
At the center of the book is Augusten’s relationship with his mother, an unsuccessful and possibly terrible poet who focused all her energy on her work, ignoring her children in the process. Later in the book we find out that this isn’t her fault; she has an unspecified mental illness and suffers from psychotic episodes that get worse as Augusten gets older. But her obsessive focus on poetry, and becoming a famous poet, disenfranchises her from her children. There’s a great line where Augusten describes how his mother would draw the Virgin of Guadalupe over and over in liquid eyeliner, trying to get the eyes right; that’s how he knew she was about to have an episode.
The thing is, I do stuff like that – draw things over and over, write and rewrite, in the hope that what I’m doing for myself is as worthwhile as raising my kids. Is this creative self-nurture a healthy thing to do? Will it ultimately damage my children, or my relationship with them, if I devote an hour a day to my version of the Virgin of Guadalupe? How much of me do they need? How much am I allowed to keep for myself? If my kid grows up to write a memoir, will he describe a childhood as awful as Burroughs’?
Each of these questions makes me feel a little queasy.
July 23, 2008 at 7:23 am |
The creepy part was that she wanted to be like Anne Sexton…
My guess is that she was neglecting Burroughs to the point of forgetting to feed him or do the laundry or make sure he was reasonably clean. If that is you, that’s a red flag. I’m thinking it isn’t. OK, so you read and write and draw. The Mommy gig is a long one (although in retrospect, it was short). You can’t put your brain in cold storage for the next couple of decades.
The mom I was most like is Zippy’s mom…always had her butt laid out on the couch, reading. Now the kid is grown and I’ve moved to a place with no couch, but some things never change.
July 23, 2008 at 4:34 pm |
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your taking an hour or so out of the day and having it to yourself. As a matter of fact, I think that’s healthy. Furthermore, the fact that you have the presence of mind to ask questions such as, “How much of me do they need?” and How much am I allowed to keep for myself?” indicates that you aren’t so self-involved that you’re on the road to being a negelectful parent. Quite the opposite.
It would be just as alarming if you became obsessed and over-protective of your kids, pouring every ounce of your being into them. That’s not good for them, or you, either.
Keep up the books. And the blog. I’m enjoying both immensely.
July 23, 2008 at 5:52 pm |
I think you are ok Ella. You don’t neglect your children. You are not self-absorbed. And your artistic pursuits are not followed to the detriment of everything else. You are nothing like the mother in that book!
July 24, 2008 at 1:42 pm |
In his new book (also about his family), Burroughs apparently wrote his father as the bully and the villain. (Why is it always his parents’ fault?) I wouldn’t give bet my toenail on the “accuracy” of his books.
Think of it this way – maybe Burroughs becoming a writer has as much to do with his mother wanting to be a poet – both wanted to do something creative with language.
Your children may one day become famous designers and artists – because when they were young, Mother was drawing things over and over.
Sanity is over-rated really.
July 24, 2008 at 10:24 pm |
You know, the fact that you’re asking this means that you’re not. You’re experiencing something similar to medical student syndrome, believing you have the symptoms to a disease you’re reading about in the text.
And rest assured, whenever you show your kids your creative side you’re nuturing the creativity you’ve put within them via nature. All of you are better off (not to mention all of us.
).
July 25, 2008 at 1:36 am |
funny….i ask myself those same questions almost every day……and worry about sending my kiddos into psychotherapy in a few decades.
let me know if you find the answer; in the meantime i will enjoy repeating your question which was turned so nicely “how much do they need; how much do i get to keep for myself?”
….and i might add (as sachi would have said “just to add a little more of the insult to the injury at the same time”), how much of me does my husband need of me?
am i making it worse? sorry….i’m just so glad to hear another artist has the same insecurities.
July 25, 2008 at 7:47 am |
Every time I read a new psychology book I think, oh god, it’s me, I do this, ergo, I am going quietly insane. Actually no, not at all. Completely, absolutely no need for any concern whatsoever on your part. Your creativity is a maternal asset, not a marker of psychosis. I must read this memoir though, for work purposes, and feel a bit nervous at the prospect!