America Is Your Emotionally Immature Parent
Even living in France doesn't change the fact that the grownups are not at home.
No one wants to hear about the American election results from someone who doesn’t even live in the US anymore, I know. That’s why this is getting published on November 15 and not November 6 when I wrote it. I needed eight business days to talk myself into hitting the publish button. Also many of those days were spent caring for a sick baby, and sick babies don’t like it when people think or write.
You’d think from way over here in France whatever fresh nonsense the US is pulling wouldn’t bother me too much. After all, I’d intentionally allowed some distance to grow between us, America and I, when I got tired of their antics circa 2019.
I’d endured too many years of America’s self-destructive behaviors, ignoring offers of help, then blaming everyone else for its problems. Too many years of crazy shenanigans that didn’t align with its stated values, that didn’t align with how much America said they cared about me, about all of us. America would constantly minimize its mistakes, wouldn’t learn from them, and then would do the same thing again. Instead of acknowledging any hurt they’d caused, it was always deflect, deflect, deflect. And of course, there was the racism and sexism.
Does it sound like I’m an adult child speaking about their emotionally immature parent? Because I kind of am.
Even way over here, the election still affects me. I’m still a US citizen, my baby is a US citizen, my husband is not, which may make for a zesty return should we try to move back, given things and all. But beyond the practical and despite our current distance, I still have a relationship with the United States. We’re like, related, but we only see each other every other Christmas and some summers. We were close, but we grew apart when America got ass-holey. However, because of this relatedness, the US is still able to evoke emotions in me when it exhibits some of those behaviors that initially led me to take a break from it. (Not to say my exit was all push; the pull of France was at least 50% responsible for our move, but that doesn’t aid the allegory, now does it? Just let me do my thing.)
Going back a bit, back to when me and America were still close… I had very few boundaries until around age 32. Like many parentified children of boomers, I didn’t know how to walk away from things that didn’t serve me. I’d keep friendships, jobs, and shampoo brands in my life even if they were taking more than they were giving. Why would I, of all people, expect better/reciprocity/shiny hair? And wasn’t I such a hard worker, an inspiration for never quitting these things?
But once a cocktail of therapy, Nora Ephron’s “Heartburn,” and most of the songs on “Lemonade” made me realize that there was no virtue in staying in things that weren’t good for me, I began letting go of them with a vengeance. Lemonading, as Titus Andromedon taught us.
The problem with learning boundaries later in life is that you don’t know how to enforce them by degrees; you axe things sloppily, completely, and frequently without resolution. Things that I had once tried to hang onto via my own emotional gymnastics, I now was tossing aside wholesale, haphazardly.
Upteenth re-org at Disney getting so political I begin having panic attacks? Quit!
Workout class doesn’t update the playlist frequently enough? Quit!
Country elects a narcissistic, racist, misogynist fascist of very little brain? Quit!
And in moments like last week’s election, my extreme boundary at first seemed to be working as it was intended. The bad thing can’t reach me from way over here in France (yeah, yeah, we all know this isn’t true). I’m safe, right? As you probably already know, because there are a lot more paragraphs underneath this one, the feeling of relief never lasts long. A gnawing, yucky feeling replaces it; even though it wasn’t me who did the bad thing, it is still me who feels the guilt.
And what the heck should I feel guilty about? The US has become untenable for all but white males, an animal not known for considering the needs or even bodily autonomy of others as it moves through the world. I skipped town and will evade almost all of the hateful and dangerous (domestic) policies that tin Tessla truckful of insecure baby-men will enact; I should feel grateful that I left, triumphant even, but that’s just not the case.
I feel guilty because instead of continuing to work with America, I just took off, and I left all of my siblings behind, too (metaphorically and literally). And some days it seems fine, seems like everyone is more or less keeping an even keel, maybe America is even changing for the better, taking some steps. Then boom, a new bottom, and even if America doesn’t feel guilty about how it’s been acting, I sure do.
I feel guilty because, while the physical boundary does work a lot of the time, it doesn’t cut America from my head or from my heart. As anyone who has gone no-contact knows, you don’t simply say, “This isn’t healthy,” then disappear without a second thought as you would when you quit, say, the unhealthy dangers of a box of ham and cheese Hot Pockets or even a box of pepperoni pizza Hot Pockets. It’s a much more impossible surgery to sever from someone with whom you have a deep, familial, or lifelong connection, no matter how much your mental health may require you to do so. Even if you can physically achieve it, they’re always still there in the abstract, and so is their B.S. Even worse, so too is the love you feel for them.
I promise we’re still talking about the United States.
As you’ll know, if you have, in fact, read “Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents,” it’s not just the physical boundary, or it’s not even the physical boundary, that helps you heal. It’s a change in thinking that is required, an inner boundary, if you will. Set this, and you can go to France or go no-contact, or continue to see them on holidays, all while maintaining some degree of sanity. Don’t set it, and there’s nowhere far enough to run.
This week I realized I needed to fortify my mental boundary with the US, not necessarily to expand the distance between us further, but to reset the relationship so it can be a working one. Because, uh, there is some work to be done, and it’s going to be a long four years.
I won’t translate all of ACOEIP’s lessons into the context of our country’s current narcissism and immaturity, just a few helpful morceaux that calmed my resting heart rate when I saw the US was on a particular tear of bad behavior. And it should go without saying: I’m no student of psychology, I’m also not selling anything. I’m just referencing a book to introduce an idea and maybe a laugh, so calm down. Also, you should try this book, even if you are blessed with emotionally mature parents. The logic is also effective against immature extended relatives, bosses, coaches, friends, dermatologists…
Stop Idolizing
If you haven’t already, stop idolizing America. Stop idolizing anything, honestly (well, maybe except very old, very wise, very stylish women). You may have long known or may just be discovering that the US can’t do all the things it says it can. It can’t keep all of the promises it made to you; maybe it never intended to in the first place. It hasn’t been prioritizing you, as it was its job to do. It’s a hard but very healthy life lesson to learn that someone/thing you put on a pedestal is as full of crap as the next guy, but learn it, and you’ll be less easily fooled and less easily hurt.
Replace Reactivity With Observation
The first time I read this I was like “wuht?” but stay with me for a sec. Now that you’re not constantly reeling from the discrepancy between what America says it cares about and what it actually does, you can stop reacting and just observe. Don’t try to make it make sense. Don’t try to argue, reason, or show America that it’s wrong. Just watch what it does, and remind yourself that the actions are real, the words are marketing. Meanwhile, you can carry on living in alignment with your values and benefitting from the positive effect that it has on your skin, hair, and nails.
Focus On Outcomes
This is a nice way of saying keep your heart out of it, which is shorthand for “compartmentalize,” which usually is considered a bad thing. But we’re talking survival tactics here, so just go with it. For the sake of your mental health, focus on actions you can take for your own good, and not the relationship or emotional needs you want to be met by your immature parent, America. Emotionally immature America is not capable of repenting for being cruel, for taking away your rights or for subverting its ideals and the effect that has on your feelings. Until we have a mountain with four women carved into it, feelings aren’t going to get much acknowledgment in these parts. It doesn’t mean they don’t matter, but you also need to not bark up the wrong nation about them if you don’t want to feel pain. In the meantime, focus on action, which brings me to…
Change?
My metaphor fails when we get to the concept of change. One of the most important boundaries you have to set for yourself when dealing with an immature relative is to stop trying to change them and stop hoping that they’ll change of their own volition. Hope is exhausting, frustrating, and frankly, wasted on individuals who have no intention of continuing to evolve. Give up hope, and get ready for that flood of sweet, sweet relief to wash over you. Giving up on people is the most fun a girl can have in several US states these days.
But this can’t be the case for America, because America isn’t just your narcissistic mom or immature dad. America is millions of people; it’s all of us. While our inner child might secretly hope our immature parent will change because we deserve it, we must insist we deserve our immature nation to change. Whether you believe it’s incremental and slow or tearing the whole thing down and starting fresh because the current problems are a feature and not a bug (hand-raised emoji), we can create some emotional boundaries for safety, but we can’t totally give up and turn a blind eye. No, we’re stuck with this one, and not just during the holidays.
You’re Cynical
Actually, for once, I think I’m not. I think I’m being realistic about what my emotionally immature nation is capable of so that I can continue to interact with it without compromising my mental health. I’d conjecture that age hasn’t killed my idealism, but that wisdom has maybe dampened my need to start a heated argument before Christmas dinner. Not because I’m not right all day every day, but just for my own mental wellbeing. Gotta keep those cortisol levels in check if you have a round face.
(Lol at my parents reading this thinking “she absolutely would still start an argument right before dinner…”)
This is really excellent—and sadly very true.