Reviving Ophelia - Mary Bray Pipher [55]
On Tuesday Jessica came dressed in black jeans and a black turtleneck. She sat silently on the couch, waiting for me to begin. I wrestled with my own feelings of pessimism about what the hour would bring. Already, after three minutes with her, I felt I was dragging a barge across a desert.
“How do you feel about being here?”
“Okay.”
“Do you really feel okay?”
“I don’t see any need for it, but morning television isn’t that thrilling anyway.”
“How are you different from your mom?”
Jessica arched one black eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Do you have different values, ideas about life?”
She smirked. “I totally disagree with her about everything. I hate school, she likes school. I hate to work and she loves it. I like MTV and she hates it. I wear black and she never does. She wants me to live up to my potential and I think she’s full of shit.”
I considered saying that her life goal seemed to be to frustrate her mother, but instead I asked, “What have you wanted to do?”
Her eyes widened. “Modeling. Mom hates the idea. She thinks it is sexist and shallow.”
I suggested that she look into modeling for herself. She could do some research on the profession: What should she be studying now to prepare herself? Where would she get training? Are there jobs locally? How much does it pay?
After Jessica left I thought about this family. Brenda had devoted her life to Jessica’s happiness, and with adolescence all this closeness became a problem. Jessica tried to get distance by rebelling, but Brenda was too understanding. She forgave her and continued to be loving. So Jessica would be even more difficult and Brenda would be even more understanding. By now Jessica felt so engulfed that she would do anything to separate herself from Brenda. She was defining herself almost exclusively as “not Brenda.”
I saw Brenda later that day and warned her. “Whatever you do, don’t express any interest in Jessica’s research on modeling. Don’t offer to help or tell her that you’re glad she’s doing something productive.”
I asked Brenda about her life. “My life is Jessie and my work. I haven’t had time for anything else. I hoped that when she was a teenager I’d have more time, but it hasn’t worked out that way. I need to be around constantly. I wake her up every morning, go home at lunch to fix her something to eat. Otherwise she won’t eat, and you can see how thin she is. At night I keep her company. The poor kid doesn’t have anyone else.”
“You need a life of your own.”
She nodded. “I know you’re right, but ...”
I said, “Let’s plan some fun for you.”
I continued to work separately with Brenda and Jessica. They were terribly connected to each other and resistant to outsiders. Our therapy reminded me of the old joke—Question: “How many therapists does it take to change a light bulb? Answer: ”One, if the light bulb wants to change.”
With Brenda, I pushed for some life apart from her daughter. Could she occasionally go for lunch with a friend or go for a walk in the evening with a neighbor? Did she like to read, listen to music or work with her hands? She decided to work on a school bond issue and once a week she left Jessica alone and went to a meeting. The first time she did this, Jessica called and said she was sick. But the second time Jessica made it through the evening in fine shape. When Brenda returned, she’d actually made them some popcorn and lemonade.
At first Brenda’s concerns were all about Jessica. Would she be sick, lonely or get into trouble? She felt guilty and anxious leaving her daughter in the evenings. Later she admitted that she had her own concerns: She was uneasy socially after all these years of no practice and she worried that a man might ask her out.
She said dramatically, “I am not ever going to date.”
“That’s one way that you and Jessica are alike,” I said. “Neither of you wants to deal with the opposite sex.”
With Jessica, I asked questions that I hoped would help her define herself as separate from her mother. She considered her mother’s views