The Frankenstein Mom (MotherLand part 3)

Some of the most fertile ground for growth and healing is an intimate love relationship. Because such relationships bring up all of our deepest, well, everything, if you both love each other like fire, are each committed to personal development, and are both devoted to fully support each other on this journey, a healthy love relationship is a remarkable place, a magnificent gift, for transformation. 

Part of the therapy I’m doing is what I call The Frankenstein Mom Process (that’s not an official term, just my name for it). What I do is, with the help of a therapist, create a mom. And I create this mom from other women who embody the qualities that I would have wanted in my own mother (hence, Frankenstein). For me, these women are my Aunty You-You, my sister Cheryl, my cousin Kym, and my Aunty Barbara. 

Initially, the wall I immediately ran into when asked by the therapist who I think of when I think of being mothered, my heart and mind go right to my recent ex-love (if I was currently with somebody, it would go to her). When asked who I think of when I think of mothering qualities like nurturing, loving, affectionate, tender, attentive, and warm; when asked who I want giving that to me, I think of my most recent ex-love. That’s because I’ve completely sexualized all those qualities. Yes, one more dysfunctional behavior. Stick around. There’s more.

Because I sexualize these qualities, the only woman I want giving me that mothering is the woman I’m in love with, or the most recent woman I was in love with. Now, if you asked any woman I’ve ever been in love with if I was “needy”, and wanted to be mothered, I doubt any of them would describe me that way. That’s because when I was with those women, I’m aware, on a conscious level, that I want them to mother me. But I also know how unattractive that can be. So I bite back on that need, at all costs. I shut it down. Because I don’t want the woman I’m with to see me as weak, needy, or basically, a big pussy. I’m not saying I’m not loving, tender, gentle, and vulnerable with my lover. Because I absolutely am. But needing to be mothered? No way. I don’t want her to ever see that in me.

This is all my stuff, never hers. Part of it is my own male macho ego bullshit. You can call me stupid, unattractive, even old. I don’t react too strongly, because I know I’m none of those. But call a guy a pussy? If he’s got unresolved mother issues like this, it’s a huge trigger. Probably his biggest. Because it goes right to the core wound. And, because of the social context. The worst thing a guy can be called, at least in my mind, in today’s culture, is a “pussy”. That means he can’t take care of himself. That means he can’t take care of his queen. With a woman, I would think calling her ugly or unattractive would hit the same nerve.

The problem is, whenever I bite back on a need, any need, I pull back, I pull away, even just a little. I’m not aware that I’m doing it. It’s just a natural and unavoidable consequence of holding something that deep back. But the need doesn’t go away. It just gets stuffed. And stuffing isn’t good. For me. For her. For the relationship. 

I’ve never been able to fully articulate this until now, which is another reason no woman ever knew that about me. And, because I attach a shitload of toxic shame to this need to be mothered. If I had ever been able to articulate this issue clearly, and drop the shame around it, I would have been able to share it. 

Well I’m doing that now. Most importantly, I’m learning to give it to myself. And, let me tell you, it’s like getting rid of a sack of bricks I’ve been carrying my whole fuckin’ adult life. It’s like sprouting wings.

Sharing this with my lover would be part of healing it (that and me doing whatever work I need). If she loves me enough, is doing her work, and is solid enough, she can handle it. My last love was all of that. But I wasn’t yet in a place where I could open that up. Live and learn.

When you’ve got no memory of your real mother giving this to you, and aren’t yet able to give enough of it to yourself, you end up, eventually, putting that on your lover. Or, just never sharing that. And in the long run, neither options work. Women who had poor fathers and haven’t completely cleared this up do it to their men, too. 

When both partners are aware of this dynamic, are working at it on their own (through whatever methods are effective for them), then the relationship becomes a beautiful place to share this and deal with it, together. And both of you will most likely be dealing with it, to some degree, for the rest of your lives. Because we never get completely rid of this. We heal it enough, and learn how to handle it better. 

That’s a good thing, in my book. Because it’s one more place for the two of you to get real, get vulnerable, share, connect, love each other up, and heal. 

And that, to me, is just fuckin’ beautiful. 

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

If The Devil Made Me A Deal

I wrote this last October, the very day after My Angel and I split up. We were both in so much pain. It didn't seem real.

Suddenly, there was a hole inside of me so big that I felt completely empty. Completely lost. The questions didn't seem answerable. So I turned to my heart, to my soul, and to my writing, to give me what I knew my head never could.

Sitting there, crying at my computer, I, somewhat ironically perhaps, felt the undeniable surge of Male Warrior Energy; an archetypal fire that burns in the DNA of every man. This is the Juice that we feel when we go into battle; a beautiful, primitive, powerful, primordial joo joo that gives us the courage when we stand between the woman we can't live without and any fucking thing in this or any other world that threatens to harm her. In that moment, I literally felt what it would be like to battle to the death, to give my life for, My Angela. Because in that moment, I would have. Absolutely. Without regret. Without but a second of hesitation.

Gotta say, I never felt that shit before. 

Emotional GunSlinger

It's 2:49 AM, Pacific Standard Time. I'm in Scottsdale, Arizona. I'm awake because I want to be. Because I choose to be. Because of my burning desire to write. Not because I can't sleep. 

Writing often feels like drumming to me. Both are co-creations between, Me, You, and Source. The UnHoly Trinity. I play drums, I write, as a means to express myself. As a way to communicate. As a way to connect. To Myself. To You. To Spirit. When I drum and when I write, I let you see me. I open up and let you peek inside. When you watch me drum or read my words, you engage with me. Even if I can't see you. I can feel you. Like a circuit of High Voltage Energy, we give and take with each other, perpetually. Energetically. Spiritually. You participate in this dance. You are indispensable. 

Writing, and drumming, without sharing, has it's place. Honing skills in private allows us to develop the magical repertoire we need to shoot from the hip. And shooting from the hip is essential. There's thought to it, yes, but it's not about thought. It's about heart. I'm an Emotional GunSlinger. And, like a GunSlinger in the tradition of The American Western, we get it on from the inside out. We fire from the heart and go with our gut. 

I'm not much for small talk. I'd much rather know what we feel, what we think. I want to know what turns you on, what you love. Who you love. What excites us? What makes our blood boil? What ignites our passion and fires our intensity? What could we talk about all night, the next day, and into next week? What are we so curious about that we always want to know more?  

I get this trait from my dad. He hated small talk. Even if he just met you, if the conversation didn't evolve into something more interesting than the weather within fifteen minutes, he would get bored and disinterested. That doesn't mean you had to get heavy with him, but you had to get real. About something. Actually, if you love talking about, say the weather, that would work for him. If you are passionate about meteorology, he would pick up on that and jam with you. I'm a huge weather freak. Not the "What a nice day it is!" Kind, but the kind who's deeply fascinated by the science behind it. Like a kid who could spend the whole day playing with Legos, I'm insatiably interested and curious about the what, the why, of the weather. And lots of other things.

During treatment in transitional living, I had the opportunity to meet with the director of The Camden Center (the facility I was at), Dr. Jason Shiffman, twice. That's rare, because most clients don't get any one on one time with him. I had a situation that presented the chance to meet with him on two occasions, and we got on like a house on fire. His dog was with him the second time we met, and his dog's name is Io (pronounced "eye-oh). I recognized that name as one of the four Galilean moons of Jupiter, and we started riffing about astronomy. He asked me what I did, and I told him I was a drummer. Jason is a musician as well, and that lead to a long talk about drumming and the fact that he met Stewart Copeland, the drummer for The Police (and one of my biggest influences).

I told Jason that my friend, and former Genius Coach, Otto Siegel, once asked me, "Clint, do you know a lot about a little, or a little about a lot?". I immediately told him that "I know a lot about a lot". That's because of my passion and my curiosity. It drives me to dig deep, and it drives me to dig deep about what fascinates me. And a lot of shit fascinates me. So I'm driven by both depth and breadth. 

The point here is that because Jason and I got real with each other quickly, we connected right away. We were both passionate and fascinated by mutual subjects, and when we talked about them, our mutual fire burned hot and bright. The half hour we spent together was not only incredibly pleasant for both of us, but it went by in a heart beat. But, in that heartbeat, we felt each other. We saw each other. We got each other. And there is nothing more beautiful to me than that. 

One of the most painful consequences of opening up so that another can get you, and allowing yourself to get someone else, is, if that relationship ends, there is big sense of loss. The deeper you dive with another person, the closer you get. And the closer you get, the more connected you feel. So if that connection gets broken, for any reason, there is an energetic loss. There is now a hole inside of you that that person occupied. Sometimes, it's a big hole. Because that person meant the world to you.

I'm feeling that right now. About someone who I was going to share my life with. We were both Emotional Gunslingers with each other. I never felt so connected, to anyone, before. And she's gone. That hole is still there. It fills slowly.

I keep shooting from the hip. I keep laying it out there. It's how I roll. Roll with me. If you read me, stick around. I need you. 

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved. 

Scary Risky Poetry

Lovers everywhere: write each other poetry. Then share it with one another. Sound scary? Afraid you can't write poetry? Good. That means this is a stretch. A risk. A jump off a cliff where you can't see the water. Where you have to have faith. In yourself. In each other.

Those very things are the ingredients for excitement, for newness, for discovery. Finding something out about your partner you might not know. Creating something from your heart and sharing it with someone you love. Being vulnerable. Cultivating Intimacy. Deepening connection. Love. 

From experience I can tell you that this is a beautiful practice. And it can be a prelude to some dynamite love making. When you put yourself out there for your lover, you not only show that you care, but that you're willing to put your neck on the chopping block. That you truly show up for each other. And that's very sexy. Writing poetry to each other is like the kind of risks you took with one another when you were first mutually wooing and falling in love. Those risks are necessary in the beginning, because you don't know each other, and the only way to get to know each other is to lay it out there, the best you can, and see what happens. 

Well, I maintain that those types of risks are precisely the risks you need to take with each other as your relationship matures, grows, and stabilizes. Because when you no longer take risks with each other, things start getting stale. Writing poetry to one another is one simple way to take a risk that can put some zing back into things. 

Anybody who is literate can write poetry. It just takes some courage, some willingness, and some vulnerability. It takes mutual respect and safety. And it can also build those very traits it requires, no matter how small the quantity of those qualities are in the beginning. It's a way to reconnect to each other. 

Don't make it out to be more difficult or scarier than it really is. If you have trouble opening your heart, writing poetry can be a gentle crowbar. 

I share with you a poem I wrote for a very special woman. I'm not sure if I had the opportunity to share it with her or not. But we wrote poems to each other. And it was beautiful. 

Take the risk. Bear more of yourself than you dare. And see what happens. There will be some magic there. Be available for that magic. Look for it. It's there. In the words you write. In the sharing you do. In the beats between your hearts.

For You With You By You

i wish 

for just a moment

you could crawl inside my heart 

and feel what I feel 

for you

for no other reason

than to share 

with the only other person that this matters to

a singular, unique, expression

that has never made sense

that will never make sense

even to me

unless i share it

with you

like one hand clapping

there is no meaningful sound

unless it is echoed

by that very special other

by you

 - Clint Piatelli

©2016 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Clint & Little John

A very powerful skill I developed during treatment was the ability to parent myself when I most needed to. Most adults have difficulty connecting to their inner kid. They find it difficult to really let themselves go, to release their inhibitions, to give that kid space in their life, and to allow that kid to come out and play. That is not my challenge. I'm very connected to my inner kid. He's alive and well, shows up all over my life, and contributes a lot to my personality. 

 One of the ways I define a person who is whole is that they have a balance between the elements of themselves that are childlike and the elements of themselves that are adult. When I am at my best, when I am most fully alive, when I am living my life at maximum throttle, I achieve harmony between my inner child and my adult, my Man. When I'm in balance, both are present simultaneously; both show up powerfully; both provide valuable contributions to who I am. They compliment each other perfectly.

In my last intimate relationship, my love paid me a beautiful compliment when she told me how much of a man I was. I could also be the boy with her. What she was able to do was help bring out the best in me. She made it easy for me to be my full self, or at least the fullest self I was capable of then; that's what people who truly love us usually do. Being madly in love with the woman I wanted to share the rest of my life with, my Man knew he had to show up, and he wanted to show up. I wanted to be there for her. I wanted to be there for myself. And, she brought out my kid as well. I was incredibly silly and playful and childlike with her too. Again, I brought a fuller self. I know I did the same for her. I brought out her Goddess and her little girl. That was part of the magic between us.

Notice I didn't say "Flawless Self". I was far from perfect. I fucked up plenty. But I was more balanced. More whole. More fully Me. The Kid and the Man both showed up, simultaneously, powerfully. And the Man could usually parent that kid, if need be, when I was with her. It's when I wasn't with her, when I was alone and left to my own devices, that I got myself into trouble being unbalanced. At that period of my life, when I wasn't with her, my kid ran the show far too often.

My Man didn't know a lot about parenting my inner kid when that kid was suffering. Whenever this kid was in a lot of pain, I was in a lot of pain. I had trouble separating myself from the kid when the kid was in real agony. That's when My Man would often disappear. In treatment, I learned, literally, to bring my Man, my adult self, into the conversation and talk to this inner child when my inner child acted up, when he was in pain, when he was afraid, when he didn't want to do something he needed to. My parents, god bless them, weren't very good at that, so I had no role model on how to parent myself when things got really difficult or really painful. I had to create that parent from scratch, with the help of a very skilled therapist. 

The crazy thing was, when I dug deep, my Man knew exactly how to talk to this kid. I knew what to say and how to say it. Because I knew this kid so well, loved him so much, and knew he needed my Man. And because the Man in me was there and well developed (my ex-love saw that, everyone in treatment saw that, and so have lots of other people in my life). My man could show up for other people, especially when they were in pain and needed a strong, loving presence. It was myself I had trouble showing up for. I needed lots of help accessing that Man at some of the times when I needed him most. Like when my kid was suffering. Like when my kid was trying to run the show. And like when I was depressed.

One of the biggest "Aha!" Moments whilst in treatment (one of biggest "Aha!" Moments of my life, actually) was the realization that the constant negative self talk within my own head wasn't my adult talking. It was my kid. For all these years, when I would hear that voice, I had assumed it was my present self. It isn't. I started telling myself I was no good pretty young. I've often said I'm a much happier adult than I ever was as a kid. That kid was afraid, lonely, didn't like himself, felt unloved, unworthy, and unacceptable. That voice stayed with me. That voice was always in my head; sometimes just as background noise, like a tape loop you can't turn off, even when I felt good and things were going well. And sometimes, that voice was as loud as fuck, all I could hear, and drowned everything else out. When I learned that that was my kid, I found a way to talk to that voice, to that kid, as a Man. As a parent. The more I did it, the better I got at it. It's another practice I will continue for the rest of my life. 

I got an assignment to write a letter to my inner child. I called this child "Little John". A perk of changing your name when you get older is that, when you talk to your inner child, you can refer to him as your former name. It actually helped me separate the kid from the adult in me, which, could be challenging when both share such a strong presence within me. I wrote this letter to "Little John" as Clint; as his parent; as the Man I am today. 

When I got the assignment, I let the idea percolate and marinate inside me for a few days before actually writing it. WhenI did sit down to do it, it was like magic. The words pored out of me. It felt as though I was a channel. It took me under two hours to write, and it was over eight long legal pages long. And once I started writing, I didn't stop until I was done. No editing. No rewording. I did it long hand because I had forsaken all electronics during treatment. 

Writing that letter was truly transformative. When I read it to my group, the experience was profound. My therapist called it "A Masterpiece".

I'll be sharing direct excerpts from that letter in upcoming posts. 

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All Rights Reserved.