I never considered that I was a peacekeeper or any other kind of go-between in our family between Adrian and Mom. In the last conversation that I had with Marissa, though, she said I was. I was less than thrilled to hear more of her opinions, of which I think she has too many, about our so-called family dynamics, so I was happy when the conversation moved on. Although I wasn’t happy with where the conversation went, about illegal immigration, but that’s a whole different subject.
If I was a peacekeeper between Adrian and Mom, is that a bad thing? I love Adrian and I love Mom, and I just wanted them to love each other more. To like each other more, is what I mean, because I’m sure the love is there.
But Marissa made me start thinking that my go-between-ness was something more than just trying to get Adrian and Mom to like each other. I don’t know what, exactly. Something.
When I think about how I have reacted to Marissa’s comments about my family, I wonder about myself as a friend. Friends should be able to tell each other things honestly. I know Marissa wasn’t trying to put me or my family down. I don’t like that she seemed to be saying that her family is superior—but maybe she didn’t mean to say that. Maybe she was just trying to be a helpful friend.
And speaking of being a friend, how strange is it that I, a high school sophomore, should have felt so close to Humphrey, who never even made it to kindergarten? I almost feel like he was my best friend. How can I feel like this about a kid who isn’t my age and doesn’t know enough to have conversations about things like family dynamics and immigration?
I should say who wasn’t my age and didn’t know enough.
“This was a total mishmash,” I say.
“Mishmashes can be helpful,” Dr. Gilbert says. “Sometimes the most important thing isn’t to say something in a neat and logical way, but just to say it, period. In any way it comes out.”
“But I don’t even really know what I’m saying.”
“Do you think there’s some truth to what your friend was saying about the role you play vis-à-vis Adrian and your mother?”
My “friend,” or my “former friend.” But that’s not the issue here, so I concentrate on Dr. Gilbert’s question.
“I’m not sure, but I guess I must think there’s some truth there because she said this two weeks ago and I’m still thinking about it,” I say.
“Let’s not put a label on the role—like ‘peacekeeper’ or ‘go-between,’” Dr. Gilbert says. “Let’s just try to think about the function itself. What is it you would do, or still do, with respect to Adrian and your mom?”
“I try to get them to like each other.”
“By doing what?”
I can’t think of anything specific. “I guess if I can’t come up with examples, I’m not really doing much of anything,” I say.
“Not necessarily,” Dr. Gilbert says. “Do you carry messages from one to the other?”
“Like—do I tell Adrian what Mom thinks and tell Mom what Adrian thinks?”
She nods. I think.
“No, not really,” I say. “That’s not it.”
“Do you try to change the subject when everyone’s together if you see things are going in a hairy direction?”
“I’ve done that,” I say. “Not a lot, but sometimes.”
“Do you translate for them?”
I laugh a little, because I’m thinking of Becca and me and our French.
“Not literally,” I say.
“No, of course not literally.”
“But, yes, I’ve been known to take what Adrian is saying and put it in terms that won’t offend Mom so much. And to rephrase something Mom says so that Adrian won’t just hear nag-nag-nag-nag-nag.”
“Do you try to protect them from each other?” Dr. Gilbert asks.
Do I try to protect them from each other? “I don’t know what you mean,” I say.
“I don’t have anything in particular in mind,” Dr. Gilbert says. “The question is whether that question resonates with you—whether, even if you can’t yet say how or what, you think there might be an element of you protecting them from each other in how you relate to them or behave or things you say.”
“I guess there might be an … element like that,” I say.
“And, on the flip side, do you ever protect yourself from them?”
“No,” I say. “That doesn’t sound true at all. They don’t bother me enough for me to need to protect myself from them. They really don’t bother me at all.”
“And how about this: Do you ever protect them from you?”
I’m about to say no, but I stop.
“You tell me,” Dr. Gilbert says.
I want to say no. But there is something there. Maybe not protection, exactly. But I’m having the same uneasy, unsure feeling I felt when thinking about what Marissa said about my being a go-between.
“I don’t protect my mother from me,” I say. “But I also don’t want to give her any trouble, because I know how much Adrian’s stuff bothers her.”
“Adrian’s stuff being …”
“Taking the opposite position to whatever position she takes. Not letting things she says slide. Not living up to her and Dad’s expectations in school and all.”
“So you don’t protect your mother from you,” Dr. Gilbert says. “But you do protect her from potentially being disappointed by you.”
“I guess I try,” I say. “I’m not saying I’m any good at it.”
“And how about protecting Adrian from you?”
It pains me, this question, almost as much as hearing Marissa bad-mouth him last winter.
“Again, I wouldn’t say I protect Adrian from me,” I say. “But maybe I don’t want him ever to feel like Mom and Dad are happier with me than with him. I don’t want to do things that make him look bad.”
“That make him look bad by comparison, you mean?” Dr. Gilbert says.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t want to upstage him,” Dr. Gilbert says. “If you’re an accomplished student who makes her parents proud at school and in the community, then how will he feel?”
It sounds messed up to hear her say it.
“Kind of,” I say. “I mean, obviously I’m not out to be a total screw-up. I do well in school. I don’t get in trouble.”
“But are you living up to your full potential, or are you living small out of deference to Adrian?”
“Adrian isn’t living small. He’s working jobs, playing music he loves, starting a new—”
“I don’t think he’s living small,” Dr. Gilbert says. “But are you living small and taking as few chances as possible out of some notion of loyalty that has you not wanting to outshine your brother?”
“I couldn’t outshine him,” I say. “He’s a great guy.”
“Then you have no reason to limit yourself at all. Any accomplishments you might have, any passions you might develop—they’d only be about your own growth and achievement. They wouldn’t reflect poorly on him.”
I don’t understand how we ended up here.
“I thought I’m supposed to be dealing with my feelings about the accident,” I say. “I shouldn’t have dragged Adrian into this. Or even Marissa.”
“But if they’re on your mind, then that’s what you should be dealing with,” Dr. Gilbert says.
“They don’t have anything to do with the accident, or my feelings about the accident,” I say. “I just wasted a session.”
Now here is something I haven’t seen before: a look of exasperation on Dr. Gilbert’s face.
“What?” I say. “Are you even allowed to be mad at me?”
She laughs. “I’m not mad, Danielle. I’m just thinking, Really, this was a wasted session? You expressed some important insights.”
“I can’t think of one.”
“I’ll refresh your memory,” Dr. Gilbert says. “In earlier sessions, you talked about feeling incompetent, especially after the accident. Today, when you talked about not wanting to outshine your brother, I couldn’t help but think about whether this meant that you get in your own way of rising above those feelings of incompetence.”
“Isn’t this kind of off track?” I say.
“In earlier sessions,” Dr. Gilbert continues, “you talked about feeling, to use your word, ‘peculiar.’ Today you asked whether it’s strange—which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is a synonym for ‘peculiar’—for you to feel so close to a five-year-old. Exactly the same track.”
“Okay, I’m on track,” I say, “but am I strange?”
She rolls her eyes—who knew that therapists did that to their patients?—and laughs. “You are not strange,” she says. “You’re interesting.”
“Oh, yes,” I say, “highly.”
She laughs again and gives me a sort of questioning look. “Until next time, then,” she says, “keep on thinking your highly interesting thoughts.”