Category: relationships

With Everything Given, Something is Owed

by jcafesin, posted in relationships, Family, friendship

With everything given something is owed.

With everything given something, not the same thing, is owed.

With everything given—a kindness, one’s time, efforts on your behalf—you owe that person.

I write it three times because most people DON’T GET IT, or worse, refuse to believe it. It’s easier to receive than reciprocate. Denying or ignoring reciprocity doesn’t make the debt disappear; it undermines the relationship.

Just got off the phone with a friend. After describing my husband’s failure in planning our recent trip, I added he ‘owed me’ for 23 years planning unique family vacations every year.

My friend retorted, “I hate that. You don’t ‘owe’ your partner.”

Yes. You do!

With everything given something is owed.If not equitably, the perceived partnership is really a dictatorship.

Gray divorce is trending because the wife spent the last 20+ yrs of her life raising the kids, cleaning the house, shopping and cooking the meals for the family while working full-time, and she’s done being the unpaid labor force for a man who never learned to reciprocate.

Like it or not, mutually beneficial, fulfilling relationships are reciprocal.

Reciprocity goes beyond just marriage.

If your adult child has spent 20+ years being volatile, demanding, emotionally abusive, you may ‘love’ them, but it’s also likely you’re tolerating them.

Relationships without reciprocity become endurance.

With everything given, something is owed. If this paradigm is not understood, and PRACTICED in relationships, resentment festers, and corrodes over time. The union becomes fragile with the [often unspoken, or consciously recognized] weight of hostility, leading to divorce, estrangement from family, ending friendships, even work relationships.

I told my friend I spent three months every year planning our vacations on a shoestring budget. Countless times over the last 29 yrs I’d asked him to plan a romantic getaway for us, but he did only once—this recent trip, which I instigated, and reminded him to plan for over a year.

With everything given, something is owed. Something is owed, but not [necessarily] the same thing. Reciprocity need not be identical, but must be proportional to achieve equity in relationships. And true intimacy—sharing open communication, connection, trust—requires equity. Had my husband invested the same amount of time and focused energy as I do planning our trips, we likely wouldn’t have ended up on Hawaii in a cramped, shoddy, bug-infested Airbnb above a bar. (No resentment there…)

My parents’ marriage of 49 yrs was not reciprocal. It was a hierarchy.

I never heard my mom say a bad word about my dad until two weeks before she passed. Dying of cancer, she lay on her side of their California King spewing her bottled rage towards her misogynistic narcissist of a husband.

My dad was ‘king of his castle,’ but my mother paid the bills, did the taxes, and worked full-time while raising three kids. She planned the vacations, threw the parties, purchased the presents, hosted holidays, shopped and cooked most meals, even did much of the clean-up. She attended his business functions and soirées—‘his arm piece wearing the requisite sunshiny face,’ she’d said during her hate-filled rant.

My dad went to work and was home for dinner most nights. After he ate the meal we served him, he went into his office and watched TV, or read. Oh, and in a grand display, he carved the turkey my mom bought, cooked and served at Thanksgivings.

He left her lonely ‘doing his own thing’ in his free time during his working years, and in retirement. She gravitated to her network of friends (as so many married women do!) who extended their Time to her, as she did to them. They spoke often, met up for meals weekly, traveled together on vacations to far away places— leaving my father lonely too.

Ultimately, neglecting to invest the time and energy my mom had into him served neither of them.

Reciprocity isn’t complicated. It’s recognizing the amount of Time others invest in you—directly, through their time and attention; and indirectly by making your life easier.

It may be as simple as your timely response to a text or email from a friend or family member (since no one likes to wait for a reply).

A child’s reciprocity for a parent’s investment in them may be demonstrating respect, gratitude, cooperation, affection over time.

Husband/wife, parent/child, siblings, friends, associates, practicing Time for Time builds trust, connections, can even repair broken relationships. When we give our time—our most valued possession—we show we care.

Invest your Time in preserving, even strengthening any partnership by taking the following steps (in order!):

  1. We are a TEAM.*
  2. What does my partner need/want?
  3. What do I need/want?
  4. Compromise.
    *Steps 2 – 4 can be more easily achieved by remembering #1.

With everything given, something is owed. Not the same thing, but something, in equal measure. This is the price of obtaining, and maintaining connections, friendships, love.

4 Steps to Better Relationships

by jcafesin, posted in relationships

How to build better relationships with partners, kids, friends and colleagues…

The first year of my marriage didn’t go according to plan. The creative, smart, capable man I thought I married appeared to be a jobless, lazy, self-absorbed brat.

I’d waited 37 years to marry, ten years behind almost everyone I knew. I’d waited to find a best friend to share life with. I had this idea of the man I wanted to be with since childhood. He’d be smart. Very smart. Massively creative, anything less would bore me. Financially stable, and able to help support a family with his skill set. And fun, of course, loved exploring new places. Cute was a must. I had to be physically attracted.

My husband had all these things and more, even after we married. And similar goals of having a family remained intact, but something had changed between us. The best friend I wanted became the burden I carried the poorer we got. He refused to take on consulting, and I couldn’t support us both on my salary alone. Ten months into our marriage we’d gone through most of my life savings.

He came into our union with no savings, and no paying job. He was working at developing a tech startup when we met and continued to do so after we married. He spent his days and most nights creating software. My dear husband’s response to going broke was to make his already complex software even more complex. Marketing his startup was a mystery to him and easily avoided by immersing himself in coding. He seemed more intimate with his computer than with me. Many a night I had to please myself while he was downstairs making it with his 64-bit Alpha.

There were many good days, long drives, and hikes along the Pacific coastline, filled with conversation that flowed from one topic to another in a smooth, endless dialog. Those days bonded us, reminded me why we married, and how much I enjoyed his mind, his perspectives, his passion. But things got harsher and more contentious. Eleven and a half months into marital bliss I lost our first baby in utero eight weeks into the pregnancy. And my husband engaged with his muse while I mourned our loss alone.

Time and again that first year of our marriage, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one that considered divorce. A chasm was growing between us. I’m sure he felt it too. He was just better at ignoring it, and me, which I found infuriating. I was so very lonely, and when prodded, my husband admitted he was too. We were stuck in a downward spiral which I couldn’t live with, in a relationship I didn’t want to abandon. Ultimately, fear of missing my childbearing years, and having to start from square one dating again, compelled me to stick with my marriage.

I narrowed the root of our discord down to three possible scenarios:

  • He fed off other people’s pain, which would make him a psychopath.
  • He was indifferent to anyone’s needs but his own.
  • He didn’t know any better.

It was improbable I’d married a psychopath. My husband was guilty of distance, but never violence. Indifference was impossible to work with. Trying to motivate people to care — that don’t — is a fool’s play. So I went with the third possibility. He didn’t know what was wrong between us, or how to fix it, so he froze, paralyzed by uncertainty.

My husband is a mathematician. His brain shuts out chaos. He craves order, creates it daily in tidy mathematical models with strict parameters. Feelings were messy, but exploring them was downright unnerving for him.

My dad once told me the difference between men and women lies in our nature. Men are self-oriented, internal. Women are maternal. Producing life grounds us outside ourselves. Therefore, it is the woman’s role to coax the man outside himself, bring him to her, even his children.

It was my job to figure out a method, a series of clearly defined, linear steps we were both beholden to take that would make our marriage work. I felt certain once a path was apparent my husband would gladly take it with me, if for no other reason than to end the perpetual arguing. And though it took me several months, I eventually came up with an equation and presented it on our vacation, because timing is everything.

We were climbing on the gigantic slabs of granite rocks and exploring the spectacular rugged shoreline of Acadia National Park in Maine. Humbled by the grandeur all around us, we connected in that shared moment. That’s when I unveiled the set of steps I’d conjured that were likely to improve our marriage. I spoke slowly, calmly, lovingly as I laid out the logistics.

  1. We are a TEAM.
  2. What does my partner need/want?
  3. What do I need/want?
  4. Compromise.

Four simple (or not so simple) steps, in this exact order.

Step #1 defines the goal, I explained to my husband. Any relationship — whether husband, lover, friend, or child and parent, must be a TEAM to effectively communicate, and manage discord. We first must acknowledge we are not competing. We’re on the same side trying to work together to solve the issue at hand.

Steps #2 and #3, I continued explaining, are about building trust — the foundation of all productive relationships. If I know you’ll consider my needs and desires before your own (#2), and you know I’m looking out for you before myself (#3), we’ll be able to establish trust knowing we’ll be there for each other before ourselves alone.

Step #4: Compromise, I told my husband, is the functional workings of any healthy relationship. With everything given, something (not necessarily the same thing) is owed. At the very least, each of us must feel heard, and understanding must be achieved before archiving any conflict. Letting issues fester is destructive, and divisive in the extreme. At best, we both get something we want, even if that something is yielding our position to support our team. And as a sidebar — ‘giving in’ doesn’t mean ‘losing.’ Concessions are more easily given by referring to Step #1.

My husband paced me across the granite slabs as we climbed the rocky shoreline. His slender form moved with grace and ease across the rocks. He scrambled ahead to help me with a vertical climb, then reached down to give me a hand. A moment later we stood on cliff’s edge overlooking the Atlantic.

“Other than I think you’re hot, I married you because I knew you were brilliant. Anything less would have bored me.” He smiled at me, then stared out at the ocean, big waves striking the shoreline sending plumes of mist around us.

We walked and talked and climbed for the next five hours, breaking down each of the four steps with specific case scenarios. After analyzing and massaging the data the rest of the weekend, and each step passing QA of course, it was agreed upon to give them a go.

For our summer vacation a decade ago we took our teen children to Acadia to share with them the park’s pristine beauty. My husband spoke of our earlier adventures there and told the kids about our long talk. He quoted the four steps, in order, and explained why each was important, then pointed out how applying them to most interactions strengthens communication and can improve almost any relationship. A big wave sprayed us all. The mist twinkling around us, I spied my husband staring out at the sea and flashed on our moment there so long ago. I held his face in my hands and kissed him.

We’ll be celebrating our 30th anniversary this coming spring. It isn’t always bliss, or easy to compromise, but continually affiriming we are a team, and adhering to the four steps has made our relationship richer, more intimate and rewarding for both of us.

FFTZ 2.0, Now in PRINT

by jcafesin, posted in Authors, avid readers, BLACK MIRROR, Contemporary Fiction, ebook, education, Family, Fantasy, Fantasy Series, Fractured Fairytales, gamers, gaming, indie authors, Indie-Press, Los Angeles, Magic, parenting, psychological thriller, psychology, puppies, raising kids, relationships, Romance, Romantic Read, Romantic Suspense, science fiction, thriller, Twilight Zone, Women's Fiction, Women's Fiction

Fractured Fairy Tales of the Twilight Zone now in PRINT!
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1732543143

Contemporary Fantasy and Modern Romance with lessons for life…

On Self-Doubt

by jcafesin, posted in aarp, addiction, aging, atheism, atheists, Authors, careers, depression, Emerging Authors, Emotional Intelligence, Entrepreneurship, parenting, psychology, relationships, writers

I had a meltdown about writing—the process of—this morning. Simultaneously, my son, a recent computer science graduate, did too—about job hunting.

He emailed me while I’m melting down:

I’m applying for jobs and contacting these people but when absolutely no one contacts me back I feel like I’m sinking. I just feel like a fucking failure.

I emailed him back:

The only thing I know that works for me to shed feelings of doubt is WRITING them down. I’m doing that now. Literally. I had a meltdown this morning so I’m journaling. I will for a page or so, then get on with watching Twitch streamers to educate myself before I continue writing the Power Trip—which is what I melted down about this morning.

From my journal:

‘The absolute hardest part about writing fiction is shutting out the voices in my head that tell me I am not good enough to write this:

  • I’ll never get this right.
  • It’s too complex.
  • It’ll take too much research.
  • I’m too fragmented.
  • The subject won’t be topical if it takes too long to write.
  • I can’t DO this.
  • I keep losing the string.
  • I get too wrapped up in superfluous details.
  • I don’t get to the point quick enough.
  • I’m too heady.
  • Too technical.
  • Too too too…
  • Give it up. Too much work you’ll never finish anyway.
  • This is stupid to pursue.
  • You are wasting your time, not living your best life.
  • You’ve been working at this too long and are still nowhere…’

His email back:

This is exactly what I freak out about as well. Just replace writing with coding.

Me:

Thing is, you have to combat the bullshit voices in your head. They are half-truths. Not lies, cuz there IS truth in our fears, but only HALF truths. I can counter every one of the voices I just wrote in my journal.

Him:

But there’s always these looming feelings that I’ve accomplished nothing, done nothing. Am nothing.

Me:

That’s fear—like you are a failure—because you’re scared you will be. And while the fear is valid, real, true, because there is a vague possibility you won’t find a job you want, the WHOLE TRUTH is you are virtually 100% guaranteed to find a job if you keep looking for one, and likely a coding job you’ll like.

Another truth is you’ve proven you can code as a straight-A graduate with a CS degree, which was your primary goal the last 4 years. And you did it. Well done!”

Him:

I seem to be unable to compartmentalize my feelings.


Me:

This is LEARNING, E.M., applying for your first real job that isn’t a part-time, low-level gig. You’re launching your career, and that’s a big deal. Let yourself feel scared, and frustrated, and excited and every other feeling that arises through this process. And you WILL get a job. Guaranteed, IF you keep working at it!! Just like I’ll get the Power Trip written. See, I’ve already proven I can write with 7 books out, with mostly good reviews… And the voices of doubt gather like locusts as I write the last two lines above:

  • Yeah, you’ve written 7, but they’re all crap. 
  • And the good reviews, well, they were just being nice. 
  • The bad reviews are the truth about your writing. 
  • So GIVE IT UP BITCH. You will always fail at this. 
  • and so on…

But again, I can COUNTER all of these doubts with another POV:

  • Yeah, you’ve written 7, but they’re all crap. BULLSHIT. I’ve gotten mostly good reviews.
  • And the good reviews, well, they were just being nice. BULLSHIT. Just bullshit cuz this is such a stupid thought.
  • Bad reviews are the truth about your writing. NOPE. They are HALF THE TRUTH, or a percentage, and in most cases the greater percentage of my reviews are positive.
  • So give it up bitch. You will always fail at this. FUCK OFF, BITCH OF DOUBT.

Now GET TO WORK, honey, cuz writing is the only way you’re going to become a better writer.

His response:

Emoji smile. Clapping hands. Thank you hands.

Letting Go of Our Kids

by jcafesin, posted in aging, dads, parenting, parents, psychology, relationships

Our son went on a camping trip with his 5th grade class last week. He was gone four days, spent three nights bunking with eight of his classmates and a high school chaperon. They shared a cabin (with heated floors and a private bathroom), one of many scattered around Camp Arroyo, nestled in the eastern foothills of the San Francisco Bay.

High drama days before he left. Lots of spontaneous hugs. He’d grab me on the stairs, or in the kitchen while I stood cooking at the stove, wrap his arms around my waist, bury his face in me and say, “I’m going to miss you, mom.” And, of course I returned the sentiment, which seemed to sate him, and me momentarily. I put on a brave front, but as his day of departure drew nearer, I dreaded how much I’d surely miss him.

My son’s first overnight experience without mom or dad was a weekend on his first Boy Scout camp-out. He didn’t seem all that enamored with camping. Dirty and tired when he got back (after less than 24 hours away), he endlessly repeated, “It’s so great to be home.”

My son was not the only kid feeling nervous about the 5th grade camp-out. Two of his friends admitted feeling scared. Several parents laughingly confessed to feeling anxious about missing their kids over the four days they’d be gone. Many had yet to be away from their children for more than a weekend, during sleepovers at the grandparents.

I, too, felt apprehensive. My child wouldn’t be safe at home where I could watch out for him, be there for him if he needed me. A long time ago, when I was in my late teens, my mother told me she never fell asleep all the way until me and my sister were safely ensconced in our beds at night. Only then would she be able to rest. At the time, I figured she was trying to guilt me out for coming home late a lot. But as I helped my son pack for camp the night before his departure, I anticipated three restless nights without him.

Dropped him off at school the next day like any other morning, except for the sleeping bag and pillow he put down on the curb so he could hug me goodbye. He held me hard, and long, which was weird right in front of his school and classmates. I hugged him back, tried to transfer my love without too much drama and left. Heavy sigh as I drove away, watching him in my rear view mirror struggle with his gear and then disappear into the school.

And quite unexpectedly, I burst out crying.

My son was growing up. He needed me less and less. As he moved into his teen years we’d naturally separate, until he’d no longer be completely immersed in my life. We’d been bonded for 11 plus years and I could feel it coming to an end. And sadness consumed me on my way back home, but only for the first block from the school.

As suddenly as I started crying, I stopped. The next four days I didn’t have to stop working at 2:30 p.m. (and 1:00 p.m. every Wednesday) when he came home from school. I didn’t have to be the constant nag, reminding him every other minute to study, practice guitar, do his homework or his chores. The dinner menu didn’t need to be altered to my son’s particular tastes. Sushi was a distinct possibility since our daughter was generally open to trying different foods. And best of all, I didn’t have to play ref or break up their petty sibling rivalries.

The four days my son was away with his 5th grade class passed in the blink of an eye. I published two new articles, finished the second chapter of the final, final, final…etc. draft of my second novel. I finished the French screens I was building, found and set my daughter up with a great new 2nd grade math program, and shared with her some of the best Japanese food ever—turning her on to a brand new cuisine. There were no sleepless nights while my son was gone.

He hugged me when I picked him up from school after his trip last Friday. His embrace was warm, and tender as usual, but over quickly. He pulled away, looked around to see if anyone saw him, and then picked up his stuff. I carried his pillow to stop him dragging it along the ground as we walked home. He told me about his time away, but I had to prompt him a lot, and though he insisted he was just tired, I felt a contextual difference between us, a distance imposed by him, or me, or both.

We were quiet for quite a bit of the walk, but it didn’t feel awkward. He seemed introspective, more grown up than little kid. His youth, like much of our time together was passing, as it should be, but none the less, there is sadness in this. The upside is as my son moves on, I get to as well. As he embarks on life on his own, I can get back to mine—the life that became secondary when my kids arrived on the scene. From the day they were born they’ve been my first priority, and though perhaps they always will be, their daily demands are getting less as they become more self-sufficient. And as we all grow and mature, I find I no longer fear, but accept, and even sometimes welcome the natural separation occurring between us.