Navigating Life's Ups and Downs: A Personal Journey

xmas day 2025

A Slow Descent from Scarsdale

We started moving down from Scarsdale slowly at first. It felt like a sedate drip of loss. Where do you go if you start off high? I don’t just mean in status. I mean in experience and process. Ultimately, you might end up feeling like an ascetic. I’ve been told I have too much clutter, so I guess that’s why. I like to hold onto things.

It could have been a divorce like any other.

Reflections on My Childhood

Wait, I should start earlier if this is a memoir. My parents’ marriage was… well, let’s just say we were somehow upper middle class—thanks to my brilliant grandfather, a genius of sorts, who supposedly went months without talking to my grandmother. I had a loving family, a dog named Hector Protector (apparently, we needed protection), and a big house filled with friends. We visited our maternal grandparents every weekend and Dad’s parents often too.

I remember the wallpaper in our big Scarsdale house. My mother said decorating was not her strongest suit. But green and orange? Whatever. The only time I saw her cry was when the dog ate the expensive curtains. We had a fireplace, and I’ve never had one since. I know how it sounds. Spoiled girl!

The Impact of My Father's Personality

But the hits kept coming. My dad was a mix of Jeffrey Epstein and Donald Trump, sprinkled with some borscht-belt humor. His narcissistic wounds came from his mother, who scolded him, “Where are the other two points?” or praised him with, "Look at my boy, how handsome!" And he was. Quick and clever, just like his parents—a very bright couple. Dad was boxed out of that marriage in a way. His mother was intense, a full-time working English teacher, as many women in my family were. She would read us short stories, some quite disturbing, like "The Most Dangerous Game."

Of four brothers who lived well into their 90s, my paternal Grandpa dropped dead at 62 on New Year’s Eve, right as he was about to enjoy his well-earned retirement. All the luck. This backdrop was filled with great hope and promise in this country: Vietnam but post-war optimism, JFK, the moon landing. We could do anything. My father was going to catapult from books to movies. Then he left.

A Turbulent Family Dynamic

On Yom Kippur, when I was nine, my father shoved my aunt. I was scared. Apparently, fasting isn’t the best for every family.

My mother sued my father for child support. That year, when I visited him in California, he struck the process server with a lug wrench from the car seat. Somehow, his arm was gushing blood, and having just received my driver’s license, I found myself driving to Cedars Sinai emergency down one of the boulevards near LA. This may have been the beginning of my people-pleasing tendencies to avoid my father’s rage—his narcissistic rage. He believed he was special and deserved special treatment, explosive when he didn’t get it. My mother chalked it up to bipolar disorder. It took me a long time to appreciate the highs and lows of childhood—who knew? Once she stated, “The year he was on lithium was the best year of our marriage.”

As the "golden child" of my father’s doting attention, I basked in the light of tennis (or anything with a racket), thrilled to be his narcissistic supply. I behaved well and excelled. I had some minor weaknesses—a tendency toward disorganization, shall we say? I would lose things. I still remember him whipping his head around after slamming on the brakes. We would go back for it. What is it called when you try to counteract the pain of abandonment? You over-try, over-compensate. You fawn and navigate social situations like a helpless child, tuned up by hyper-vigilance of your environment. I could get on so well in social situations that I became a therapist—my very own superpower!

The Reality of Abandonment

Oh wait. I forgot the middle. Is this a memoir? My father had a lot of ideas. He was tall, handsome, and grandiose. But when he left us—and boy, do I mean left us—he left me with the mistaken belief that he would still magically be there for all the experiences a young girl might need. Full stop. Reality is what’s happening. A weak grasp on reality is telling your kids you would ALWAYS be there for them and then moving 3,000 miles away. OK, it happens. But the narcissism. Yes, oh yes, the narcissism. "I'm going to hit the Next.Big.Thing!" he would exclaim. Ever met an old man narcissist? Not pretty.

Finding Stability in Uncertainty

Don’t worry; I did OK. I married someone more eccentric and less social than my father, but definitely more loyal. He taught me much about loyalty and many other things. Oh, and my mother died. That was like sooooooo bad. Do you see? I’m just a regular girl trying to survive in this cruel world.

My husband became disabled. That doesn’t define me. I mean, the resentment is as hot as a poker on Christmas, which it happens to be today. Years of nothingness without a mother, father, or husband. My kids fulfilled me and exhausted me, but that blur of time was everything. I worked so hard to shield them from our harsh political failure while my husband railed against the rise of authoritarianism in the US, long before Trump. We had friends, we lost friends. We had family, we lost family. His family treated me with utter disdain because they didn’t like him. I didn’t deserve that.

The Loss of a Mentor

I had a therapist who died of an apparent overdose. Yep. I met him at Kripalu—totally random. He was only the third therapist I’d ever had in my life. He was larger than life. A Buddhist with a vast trauma history and a flair for storytelling, this guy was the real deal. You wanted to be him. I was utterly drawn to him in some strange, mystical way. I think I’m intuitive. I feel and sense things seconds before they happen. Sometimes, I still cling to the feeling that a natural disaster will literally sweep Trump away.

Embracing the Holiday Spirit

I’ve been thinking a lot about Christmas. I copped out by being Jewish all these years. I didn’t really care much about Christian holidays. But this year, I decided to lean into it a little. What is really going on here? You work all year for this one frenzied day? Help me understand! The build-up and letdown have GOT to be disappointing. Build-up to what exactly? My client stated that the postman, whom she doesn’t like, slipped something under her apartment door! Up until this moment, I still don’t think I understand. Is that terrifying? A girl alone in New York City—what is she to do? Thirty years ago, I still remember bumping into my old high school friend Aaron Sorkin on the uptown 4-5-6 subway. I wasn't afraid then. (He even named a character for me!!).

A Life Full of Challenges

I’ve had a good life. My friend says, “You’re so lucky; you haven’t had any bad stuff.” What? (As my daughter constantly says to me when I sound incoherent after a long day). Friend, I say, I've had plenty. We all have. You pick like a scab. Obsessive but not compulsive, we joke. My friends and I like to laugh. Some of my friends get into fights at pickleball. I don’t. (Of course).

The Complexity of Relationships

My husband is annoying, and people don’t like him. It’s OK because he’s smart (book-smart, like reads the Constitution in the bathroom smart, can take any test smart) and tall (like can’t sit on an airplane tall). People find him intimidating. Oh, and he is intimidating. He wears black and knows a lot about a lot of things. I know a little bit about a small group of things. I don’t know how this marriage has lasted. I’m just starting to realize that I actually do need him to look after me—not just the other way around. I do things backward a lot of times. I fall. Yes, even though I am athletic with a racket, I can’t dance, and I am clumsy. I fall into myself.

Finding Gratitude Amidst Chaos

I shouldn’t be so focused on self-pity. My kids turned out amazing! I guess I need to be more like George Bailey in “It’s a Wonderful Life,” which the same husband forced us all to watch on Christmas Eve. I need to appreciate what I have. The dark night of my mother’s solstice birthday. The grim realities of my job getting overtaken by AI. The prospect of my husband’s back ever getting stronger. The panic as I see my kids launch into a society possessed, I tell you, by greed. As if nothing else mattered. My small, messy house is under-par. But the family is whole. Wholly messed up. Holly Holy Love (thank you Neil Diamond).

On this journey, we learn to navigate the complexities of life, relationships, and our own mental health. It's a path filled with suffering, but also, moments of joy and connection. Embracing these experiences can lead to a deeper understanding of ourselves and those around us.