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| Picture this David Sipress cartoon: two couples meet on a street corner. One of the men has placed his hands over his eyes. His female companion says: It's too late, Roger . . . they've seen us.
This image has me chuckling each time I think about it. It brings to mind how I felt upon moving to Cincinnati in the late 1950's, relocating from New York City when Len completed his graduate studies.
At times, what I loved most about life in that bustling coastal metropolis was being anonymous. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Although Dave and Jayne mutually decided they needed the intervention of a mediator, once seated in my office they ignored my presence. Their conversation quickly became an argument, their voices raised and strident. After a time I interrupted and asked: has this worked for you in the past? Do you manage to change each other's minds?
They responded in unison: never!
As their marriage crumbled over recent months, their lives had spiraled out of control, their teenage son a reluctant bystander. Now his grades were in free fall. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| My eyebrows lift as my friend says: I can tolerate anything but being lied to.
Noting my skeptical glance, her irritation shows. Honesty, as an absolute, has been a topic of contention with us over the years, she regarding my outlook as far too tolerant of those who fail to tell the truth, or even those who hide behind ambiguity.
My belief is that most people,including those of essentially good character, lie when the stakes are high enough, especially if the ends appear to justify the means. She was a Bill Clinton fan, until he was trapped by the blue dress. Since, she has never forgiven his failure to tell the truth, even though she readily forgave his sexual transgressions. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| This is a true story about a courageous lawyer who forty years ago, at a time when bigotry was still disguised as the natural order of things, refused to accept the status quo.
In the mid-1960s, the man I write about was a partner in a medium sized Cincinnati law firm. Although at the time I shared many of his beliefs and values, I did not know him, nor share his legal acumen, or his courage.
We lived in the same neighborhood when this story began. I’d heard a lot about the controversy into which he boldly stepped, as it was actively followed by local newspapers for several years, and was a daily topic of conversation, pitting neighbor against neighbor. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Secrets are never kept. Everything eventually becomes known.
These words surprised me. They were spoken by an old friend to whom I'd been describing the plight of a family I'm close to, in which secrets are eroding the relationship of mother, father and adult daughter.
The couple I spoke of was ending their unhappy marriage. Their adult children had been told, and although disheartened, they were buoyed by the caring, respectful, even loving way their parents were making plans to keep the family well connected. While they each moved on to separate lives, they voiced no recrimination or placing of blame. Although, protective of their privacy, friends and family were simply told: we’ve just grown apart. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Last week, I was knocked back on my heels, not literally, but the impact was real, and recovery surprisingly slow.
The mediation sessions I was conducting had proceeded, at intervals, for several months. From the outset, the husband’s intensity, his determination to control a situation in which he felt out of control, was clear. His wife was seeking a divorce he did not want.
I always question both parties privately on the day we first meet. I ask about their negotiating style, aware of the importance of uncovering a history of past intimidation, whether physical or not.
She reported there were times when during an argument he would shout at |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| If a friend tells me she was daydreaming about a former college room-mate not heard from in years and moments later she phoned, and with a knowing smile suggests that bringing her friend to mind precipitated the call, I’m dismissive, impatient with those who see a mystical plan where all I see is coincidence. I disdain magical thinking.
Except when the magic works for me:
For many years my husband piloted his own small plane. Although as a family we flew together now and then, and I often accompanied Len, I was never a relaxed passenger. So, after a number of years, and failed efforts at desensitization of what Len believed to be my irrational phobia, I decided to |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| As a child, I was intrigued by Aesop’s Fables, simple stories with a moral at the end. I didn’t look for hidden meanings, seek to understand why the tortoise plodded on at such a steady pace to win the race. I just recognized that he had a tactic that worked. Here, I present a fable, the tangled web of motivation unexamined. Yet the message, the tactic that worked, is clear.
Paula and Jim were once intimate partners, revealed who they were to each other, perhaps one moment brave, another vulnerable and frightened. No pretense, no hiding.
But no more. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| She rages and I just listen. When spent, I tell her she is howling at the moon, but say so with a lilt in my voice, with understanding. There are those times when frustration rules, and venting in a safe venue makes sense. I even suggest that it could serve her well, ward off depression and allow her to move on.
Married for over twenty-five years, she and her husband traveled the long road to mediated agreements and now the end is in sight. It has been a difficult trek.Their motivations so very different, he relieved, eager for a new start, and generous financially as he departs. She bereft, alternately silenced by anxiety, and vocal, resentment fueling demands. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| It used to be forty, then fifty, now maybe even fifty-five, before women start to notice that no one is noticing. Add an additional ten years for men. Most of us make peace with advancing invisibility as we age. We can take pride in what we've become, what we've learned, what we are still able to achieve. Then, surprisingly, even a small stab can deflate a well-earned sense of self.
Here's my story. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I talk with a close friend, a colleague. Our conversation flows, unguarded. We are skilled players of the verbal ping-pong that carries us forward, asking questions, learning about the other, disclosing what is important about our lives at that moment. Ours is a dance with the steps so practiced, there is no need to be mindful about the questions we pose. We risk little, even with a misstep.
But consider different settings. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Many moons ago, I read a clever observation by a psychologist, that there are always six people in every marriage bed: husband, wife and both sets of parents. A recent experience reminded me that we never travel down the path to any decision truly alone.
The story: A young couple was slowly working their way through all of the trauma and difficult choices for planning their lives as parents when no longer married. Their very young child seemed to be adapting to the sea change in their lives with greater ease than either of them, they so much more aware and worried about life without love, and with financial hardship.
Although divided about many things, from the outset of mediation they were completely in sync about their goals for their child, and even for promoting each other’s chances for future well-being. Splitting up their accumulated assets was easy, coping with their high mortgage payments less so. Yet, some decisions for the short term were possible, because for a few years the husband, a medical researcher, was willing to contribute the lion share of his income to retain the marital residence, for the sake of stability, and to avoid a fire sale in a weak housing market. And as their child was so young, he readily agreed that his wife should not seek a job until their daughter was school age. He would rent a small apartment nearby and live frugally. Grandparents stood ready to help out a bit financially. The chips were all falling into place.
And then they weren’t. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| The room was crowded. We’d never met before, but when she learned about my work with divorcing couples, she made her way to where I stood, and after a brief introduction, in a derisive tone she said: I think divorce is far too easy these days. People are so self-centered they don’t even give a second thought to destroying a family.
Her words suggested a bitter personal history. I opted not to respond to the challenge and moved off, ending a conversation that had hardly begun. Perhaps I should have stayed to talk, for my experience belies her remark. I know well that the decision to end an intimate relationship is always complex and emotionally wrenching, especially when children will have their lives turned upside down.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Is it heresy to suggest that friends are often easier to be with than family?
On a recent evening, I once again watched the movie version of the Edward Albee Pulitzer Prize Drama, “A Delicate Balance,” which was introduced on Broadway in1966, yet seems in no way dated. I was drawn in by Albee’s message about the expectations and entitlements of both friends and family. I know I may here be telling my own story and not simply retelling his, but is that not the reward of experiencing the lives an author creates, discovering more about oneself?
Back to the play: Picture the beautifully appointed home of an upper middle class family in which live Tobias and Agnes, husband and wife, both approaching sixty. Their relationship is strained, Agnes dwelling on past misdeeds and sorrows. Also living in their home and complicating their conversations are Agnes’s alcoholic sister and Julia, their adult oft-times married daughter now estranged from her current husband, and reclaiming her childhood room. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| He is smiling, casually dressed and appears relaxed, but she is grim. He is the one who over a year ago lost his job, a well-paid executive position. She is the one now working three part time jobs but earning little. Severance pay is spent, unemployment compensation soon to end, savings dwindling. Retirement funds are next.
They’ve long since come to terms with ending their marriage, both emotionally ready to move on without rancor about the past. But her frustration with his apparent easy acceptance of being unemployed is clear. She thinks he is not worrying enough, no longer making a serious effort to find work, too comfortable receiving gratuitous benefits, playing golf, drinking too much. He listens and does not react, arms spread wide across the back of the couch. But to me his enduring smile seems a nervous cover, and I wonder if he is immobilized by repeated rejection and his anxiety hidden but high. Her anger, fear really, flows form their unknown financial future, for college costs loom for both of their children and ongoing expenses erode their hard won security. They are mired in uncertainty. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| In this commentary I revisit a story I told some time ago. But the ending has changed.
After living in the same home for over forty years, I moved twice, each time to less space, requiring the jettison of many belongings, retaining only the essentials and our most treasured possessions. Len and I were least willing to part with the artwork we’d collected over more than fifty years. Some pieces we gifted to children and friends, but those with greatest meaning still surround me and lift my spirits. Many have a story to be told.
One such painting is by an artist of some note living in the northeast. My mother studied with him in the 1960's and a close friendship developed between them. I admired those of his works that hung in |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Inadvertently, or thoughtlessly, I so angered a colleague that she ended our phone conversation by abruptly hanging up.
I can’t remember another time when someone’s anger played out in this way. Dazed, unbelieving, the dark screen of my phone in hand, I tried to replay the back and forth talk. But except for a phrase or two, at that moment I could not. Something she said had evoked my laughter, which she took as a lack of respect for her, and she said just that. Then despite my quick brief apology, she said a firm goodbye and broke the connection.
I had placed the call with a specific goal in mind, to change my colleague’s thinking |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| When I married at the midpoint of the twentieth century, marriage manuals were replete with graphic drawings and cautiously chosen words describing what lay ahead. Fast forward to the introduction of the pill in the early 1960s and publication of The Joy of Sex in 1972. A different world. Today, how-to books address relationship issues, likely with a section on communication skills. If these books are read at all in the glow of ardor, I suspect the chapters on how to talk to one another are only skimmed. From my vantage point, observing marriages that are ending, those may be the most critical pages.
The grievance I hear so often, from friends, clients, colleagues, my own inner voice, is of unhappiness due to a lack of partner intimacy, the close personal sharing that makes livable all the inevitable ups and downs of any committed relationship. Many suffer in silence, but others become vocal, even demanding. Counseling with a skilled professional often seems the logical approach, and some agree to take that path, although one of them often reluctantly.
I was not immune.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| She sat as if braced for a blow, unsmiling, on her guard. At the other end of my long office couch, he was her reverse image, comfortably relaxed.
It was not until I met with her alone that she gave voice to her anxiety. With despair she said: He wants this divorce, and I don’t trust him any more.
Her husband, a businessman, had taken the first step and walked away from what she acknowledged was not a happy marriage. The roles they took throughout their twenty-five-year union were well defined, he the breadwinner and she in charge at home. They rarely crossed over into the other’s world. He knew so much more than she did about finance, about their finances. How could she possibly negotiate with him, when she felt she couldn’t rely on his having concern for her well-being any more? |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| There are times when just being a silent presence, or even the promise of being present, makes a difference. For instance:
……………
As a mediator, sought out by troubled partners, I sometimes find that my wisdom seems all but superfluous.
They are parting ways. Making the decision took many months, but at the end both acknowledged that efforts to change and please the other failed. In preliminary phone conversations each told me that the blaming was over, but important financial decisions were yet to be made. They had tried, sat together at the kitchen table and talked over coffee. But as he probed, she fell silent. Their efforts to reach common ground evoked old miseries and tensions. So, they decided to come and sit with me.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Dear M and D:
Were you as relieved as I was when you left my office? Witnessing the animosity, blame and disrespect with which you assault each other, leaves me both amazed and dismayed. Did you feel equally disheartened? Or, perhaps you welcomed having a safe haven in which to publicly expose your frustration and anger. You test both my skill and endurance. Can I possibly help you resolve your issues?
From time to time I'm faced with warring parents, long divorced like you, who've never given up the fight. I have only questions, no answers.
You tell me you recognize that your daughters are troubled, and you both acknowledge that in the face of your open conflict this is hardly surprising. Child specialists teach that children internalize the character, the essence, of both parents, and to the extent one parent denigrates the other, the child’s self-esteem is diminished. You both bear witness to the damage being done.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Some years ago I clipped a favorite cartoon by Koren, and I keep it on my desk. It shows two middle aged couples visiting in the living room of one of their homes, with a huge hairy monster looming behind the smiling hosts who are seated together on a couch. The wife addresses their friends sitting opposite, who are staring at the monster, and she says: We deal with it by talking about it.
This is a concept I hold dear, the idea of coping with our demons by talking about them with those we love, thereby lessening their power to effect our lives. Surely this is the best way to foster understanding and intimacy.
Professionally, I often urge clients to face and perhaps question their fears, or those upsetting incidents they have too long squelched, bring them |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| My fantasy: a conversation with each of the Justices of the United States Supreme Court. Since it is make-believe, I will be insightful and articulate, not restrained by awe. The question I’ll ask is: can you be free of bias, old messages, when deciding a case where race or sex discrimination is alleged?
This is a daydream, so there will be no equivocation, and they will each start their response with the same word: Absolutely.
The storytellers among them may then talk of how they became sensitized, by a wife, or more likely a daughter, or perhaps an African-American colleague, and will describe how their consciousness was raised. For many years now, the evolving civil rights and women’s movements have reeducated all of us. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| As Father’s Day approaches, a story I heard on the radio comes to mind. It was told by a listener in California who called the station when this question was posed: What does it mean to be manly today?
The caller was a Mexican American who had come to this country at the age of seven, and was now in his thirties. He told of a family gathering with several generations in attendance. As evening approached, his wife rose and called to him across the room: honey, it's time to leave.
He joined her and they said their goodbyes.
The next day he was confronted by his father who disdainfully questioned the son for allowing his wife to tell him when to leave, reminding him that it was the man's place to make decisions, not to take orders from a woman. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I delight in my Sunday morning ritual. I forego the usual exercise routine and return to bed with coffee and the New York Times. But last week, as I hefted the paper onto my lap, I felt a gentle giving way of the fabric at the elbow of my pajamas. It wasn’t because this iconic newspaper was so weighty, but because my sleepwear used to belong to my husband, Len.
I alternate between wearing the light blue and the maroon, and have a clear memory of buying them. We were together at a department store. Although still robust in many ways, Len’s legs were no longer taking commands from his Parkinson’s compromised brain and he rode in a wheel chair, his over-all health in steady decline. Our eyes were wide open, but somehow purchasing new clothing was a way of challenging the fate we silently anticipated, choosing not to speak the words. Instead we sustained each other with every touch and embraced normalcy, pretending there was no end in sight. Why not?
Within weeks after Len’s death, |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Since my husband, Len, died, I’ve become a reluctant traveler. I find reasons to put off planning a journey, even when I anticipate pleasure at my destination. This is not a response to 9/11. I’ve always been and continue to be comfortable in commercial flight.
And I've long been accustomed to traveling alone, as Len and I often chose to visit our distant children separately, knowing we were able to connect with them more intimately in this way.
So what's going on?
In my determined effort to think this through (at least what's available to me on a conscious level), and get beyond this self imposed limitation, the source of my aversion is becoming more clear. It is humbling to realize, and then acknowledge, that it is embarrassment that is standing in my way.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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They entered my office smiling, an amiable couple in their early fifties. After my introductory comments, I was told that even before deciding to mediate their divorce they had pretty much worked things out. Many agreements were already in place, and I was assured they would make quick work of the issues that remained.
Approaching the end of our second session, Dave, a successful businessman, spoke with assurance as he presented the financial plan he’d devised for his wife, Kate, for when she would be on her own. Apparently listening but quiet and no longer smiling, Kate did not react or respond. I invited her comment. She just shrugged her shoulders. So I asked: Need more data?
No answer. I continued: Perhaps you’re feeling apprehensive about what the future holds?
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| When my kids were very young, the ultimate put-down was “forget you.”
It came to mind after my recent meeting with a high-conflict couple. One felt betrayed, the other misunderstood. The conversation I witnessed was tense, each frequently interrupting the other. Their words assaulted with contradiction, were denigrating, blaming. It was as if the other’s viewpoint had absolutely no legitimacy, their feelings no merit.
By the end of the mediation session, I felt like a traffic cop, holding my hand up to silence first one and then the other so a thought could be completed. Eventually they calmed, tired, and made an effort to comply with my no interruption rule. But by then they were dispirited and eager to leave.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| A small porcelain bird sits on a shelf in my bedroom, always in view if I glance away from reading the morning paper or from watching a movie in the evening. It's not something I would have purchased for myself. Too cute, too sentimental. But it was a gift from my father.
He brought it to my home almost fifty years ago when he traveled to my city on business, a rare visit made without my mother along. He probably purchased it at an airport kiosk, the only present I, as an adult, ever received from him that hadn't been handed to me, and likely chosen, by my mother.
After our marriage, Len and I lived quite some distance from both sets of parents. We visited them several times a year, and in that pre-computer era wrote often, and had weekly long distance phone conversations. The letters I received were in my mother’s hand and she did most of the talking on the phone, with my father listening on an extension. When my parents were together, it was my mother who filled the air with her presence. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| How can I explain this to my folks?
This was the question posed by a young friend. Following her husband’s disclosure of infidelity, she had sought shelter and solace with her parents. Now after a month long separation, she'd decided to return to her own home. She and her husband had gained important insights in counseling sessions, both together and on their own, and were ready to repair their relationship.
But in both subtle and direct comments, her parents cast doubt upon her decision. They pressed her to answer their questions. Their anger toward their son-in-law was great, and although at the outset their daughter found this comforting and supportive, she now regretted having shared such a private matter. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| It's wonderful to engage with someone who has worked their way out of despair and become optimistic about the future. The enthusiastic woman I met with was preparing a proposal for her departing husband. After months of obviously useful therapy, she had given up lamenting the past and was facing her impending divorce with newfound courage, determined to convince her soon to be former spouse to amend his most recent support proposal.
The story: this wife had earned a library science degree a decade ago, but now that her status as the stay-at-home parent was ending, she had a new career goal, one that required a return to school. To implement this plan, her husband needed to contribute to her support for a longer period than he had offered.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| My friend’s son is divorcing, ending a 25-year marriage. Although sad, he doesn't question their decision. From the sidelines he sensed that neither partner had been happy for some time. Past efforts to work things out seemed sincere.
In recent years, he and his daughter-in-law had been especially drawn together as she lovingly helped to care for his wife in her final illness. He was sure that despite the marital breach, she would remain a cherished member of his family.
So, he was determined throughout the difficult months of the couple's estrangement, and then their separation, to preserve his relationship not only with his son but with his daughter-in-law |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| The woman, in her mid-fifties, told a familiar story. After much thought, she decided to end her thirty-year marriage. Disappointed, she yearned for a truly intimate relationship, one that offered greater sharing of feelings and experiences. The husband she described was someone she still respected and cared about, and there had been neither infidelity nor a clash of values. But she was so lonely, in what outsiders saw as a happy marriage. As I listened, I wondered about the expectations with which she grew up.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| You consider disclosing an important truth, but reconsider when a friend urges caution, that you not take unnecessary risks.
Halted by ambivalence. We grow up being told to always tell the truth. But parents inevitably send a more nuanced message when we hear them tell a half-truth, or tell an untruth out of kindness, or send a false message by remaining silent, to keep a promised confidence.
Is it better to tell or not tell? This is the question sometimes asked by a spouse who has strayed, and now seeks to revive a marriage gone adrift. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| As a nation, we’ve been awash in anger at the bonus-takers. And for a time it felt pretty good. Even our President joined in the clamor. But within days it became clear that maintaining this stance prevents forward movement. Surely this holds true for us as individuals as well. Personally, I'm uneasy in the face of anger, that which I feel towards others, or if I am the target. It can leave me a bit unhinged, but not for long.
For some of those I work with, anger can be too constant a companion. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Too often it is only after years of sidestepping talk of discontent, that the thwarted desires of partners are openly and seriously explored. So much that might be timely addressed goes unsaid, until it is too late.
Here is the story a divorcing couple recently told. Seventeen years earlier, she’d become pregnant, they married, and she gave up her college plan. He achieved career success, making it unnecessary for her to take a job for pay. As the family grew, they moved to an upscale suburb where the children attended private schools.
Although she yearned to return to serious study, little was said of this, |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| The timbre of his voice conveyed intense emotion. He called because his wife suggested mediation. He’s interested but skeptical, insisting that she is inflexible about the issue most important to him. He says: I’ll only try mediation if she agrees in advance that she’s willing to share time with our children equally. Otherwise I’m filing for sole custody.
I suspect anxiety about being denied this most precious connection is motivating his warning, but I urge him not to throw down the gauntlet.
Threats beget threats. And often lengthy litigation.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| The rooms in which I now work are new to me, all of my furnishings reconfigured. Technologies and systems yet to be completely mastered keep me well connected with my professional colleagues, as we adjust to changing times. The space is really lovely, bright and inviting, but along the way to this destination, I lost my way, beset by tension and anxiety.
What happened to my ability to cope with stress with equanimity, to my reputation for remaining calm, even in adversity? As this transition neared, I was jittery, unusually nervous. Sleep disturbed nights became frequent instead of occasional. Preparing for the impending move caused visceral discomfort, tightness in the throat, erratic appetite. As if on shifting sand, I’d wake overwhelmed by the many decisions and tasks to be completed to return to solid ground. Minor issues loomed large.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I’m taking a brief hiatus from writing for the next few weeks, as all of my spare moments, and those of professional colleagues, are devoted to the creation of a network of new work environments, and the mastery of technologies not even dreamed of a few short years ago. Stay tuned.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| She sits on my office couch and speaks as if she is not even a participant in this drama, weeping and angry: This divorce is his idea, not mine.
I understand her tears. Her marriage has fallen apart, and facing that reality is bleak. But this is our second mediation session, and I must swallow my impatience as she resists my efforts to move her past this focus on her misery, and talk of a plan for the future. Although reluctant to indulge her mood, I know she needs more time, so I continue to listen, and I hear:
If only he would be reasonable . . . .
Somehow I need to make him see . . .
I never wanted this, so it’s up to him to . . .
I want to tell her to stop howling at the moon, but remain silent.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| In the midst of this snowy winter, my car broke down, which proved to be not only a failure of the mechanism, but of my spirit, at least temporarily. For I felt ill equipped to cope with the decisions that then had to be made. This had always been Len’s realm, not mine.
I managed well enough with the help of friends, and those who towed and repaired with kind tolerance of my ineptitude, but what a stark reminder of the division of responsibility in our marriage. Although we might first consult with each other, decisions about the purchase or repair of anything with moving parts were left to him, interior design left to me. Insurance, his. Kid’s clothing and wellness care, mine. With career decisions, he made his and I made mine. But major concerns, a possible move, a home purchase, a child’s blue mood, were always talked through to resolution. If memory serves me well, our shared values usually made these conversations easy. But not always.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Newspaper wedding announcements draw my eye, especially those that tell a romantic tale of how the loving relationship evolved to commitment. I don’t even read them with a cynical eye, despite my work with those whose bonds are unraveling. But I do wonder if clergy in charge of modern rituals, or the wedding partners themselves, exact the “until death do us part” promise from each other as in days gone by?
Isn’t it fair to say that every promise we make to another is conditioned on underlying, often unspoken, assumptions? Even marriage vows. And if the life experiences of each party evoke different undisclosed, perhaps even unrecognized, assumptions, then what? These questions came to mind after a recent conversation with mediation clients, and it sparked this old memory:
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Strange as it may seem, when family issues are litigated, it’s not always easy to distinguish a win from a loss. This is why.
The story: Unhappy together for some time, once the decision was made to end their marriage, the husband moved out of the family home, but was determined to have a significant role in the life of his six year old son. The wife, angered by her husband's infidelity and rejection, repeatedly thwarted his efforts. Since the child's infancy, she managed all of the day-to-day details of their son’s life. She attended the school conferences and met with the pediatrician. Not he. She bought the clothing, arranged play-dates, kept track of their youngster’s general well-being. Not he. Now she resists his wish to share the status of legal custodian and spend significant time with their child. There was a time, however, when she, a nurse, was dependent on prescription drugs she obtained illegally. He responds to her resistance by threatening to raise the issue of her addiction in Court.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| A mediation client recently phoned after a session and politely but firmly accused me of favoring a plan put forward by his wife, displaying a bias, not the neutrality I’d promised
Although I thought his perception wrong, I knew I'd likely contributed to this misunderstanding, so I simply apologized. That seemed to clear the air, and we were then able to listen to each other's view of what had taken place. Defensiveness fell away, for both of us.
But it could have gone quite differently, for I almost, mindlessly, and defensively, responded to him by saying: I’m sorry you see it that way.
I didn’t do so because of my heightened awareness of other expressions of regret gone awry: a celebrity, a politician or a radio talk show host places foot squarely in mouth and |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| To gain insight from experience acquired over the years and pass it along, that is satisfying. But, when applying such wisdom to events in my own life doesn't work, that is sobering.
The wisdom: when another’s point of view or behavior is problematic, upsetting or even unacceptable, quiet the tendency to be reactive and stand in their shoes. Empathize. View the situation from their perspective. As a professional helping others, I can do this in a reasonably dispassionate way. And many times I’ve said: once you empathize, you can sympathize with their point of view.
Not always easy if I'm emotionally involved, but I thought I even had these situations figured out.
Example: My son and daughter-in-law divorced some years ago. I loved her dearly and still do. We continue to correspond and speak on the phone and our words flow easily, unless she makes a negative comment about my son. I can be sensitive to but simply ignore these words if written, or remain quiet if spoken, and attend to the rest of her message. She is a quick study and we move on, each of us accepting a well-established boundary that only occasionally is crossed, but then renewed.
So empathy works, until it doesn’t. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| As I walk down the corridor and approach my office waiting room, the tone of the voices I hear, or the silence, is telling. A husband and wife have arrived to share their story with me, and negotiate a plan for the future of their family. Some are already living apart, others soon will be. Those who are quiet choose to not even meet the other’s gaze, and misery hangs in the air. But those who are talking tend to use a friendly tone, in this not completely private space. They speak of their children, the soccer schedule, report cards. These are safe topics that may elicit smiles, or even the sharing of photos.
Once we enter my office and become better acquainted, some partners tell me that they’ve been unable to engage in a meaningful conversation for years, but that after the agonizing decision was made to separate and divorce, tensions lessened, and slowly, in the privacy of their home, they began to have the very disclosing and important talks that had eluded them for so long.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| In 1986, I was the first woman chosen to be President of the Cincinnati Bar Association. Friends, colleagues, and even lawyers I’d never met before, showered me with praise. I smiled and was gracious, but felt like a fraud.
To those with whom I was close, I quietly said: it’s just a matter of being in the right place at the right time. Some told me I was modest to a fault, and others probably thought me disingenuous. Neither was true. I knew what I knew. The position wasn’t earned. I hadn’t paid my dues, hadn’t chaired the committees, hadn’t worked in the trenches of the organization to the extent other Presidents before me had.
Here is how and why it came to pass. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| When our youngest grew up and moved some distance away, I claimed her room and fashioned a space all my own. It was quite small, on the second story of our home, with leafy tree branches almost touching the windows, a nest of sorts. There were times my husband came and stood at the threshold to ask a question, but he didn’t walk in. He never entered uninvited. It was our unspoken understanding, as natural as breathing, that our separateness was respected. This background sets the stage for a mediation session in which a privacy issue arose.
The couple working with me was seeking to preserve, not end their marriage. They had come to negotiate some well-defined concerns, when discussions at home had proven difficult and divisive. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Dear Anne Roiphe,
Your daughter, Katie Roiphe, is a writer whose work I’ve long admired. But until recently I didn’t know that her mother was also an author of note. I’ve just read your memoir, “Epilogue”, so have come to know you well.
As a lawyer and mediator, I learn about many aspects of the personal lives of my clients, but my insights are shallow. No way to really know what takes place in the head or heart of another, unless the other chooses to take off their protective armor, and few do. I think most of us fully reveal ourselves only to an intimate partner, if then. But you’ve done so, and written with stark honesty, using simple words and beautifully crafted phrases to tell your story, a great gift to your reader. Is it also your reward? |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Am I the only parent of grown children who is conflicted about their visits? Two live far off, another several hours away. They lead busy complicated lives so don’t come often, although would come more frequently if I asked. But I do not ask. It is our email and phone connection that is constant, and comforting. Yet, on special days, their arrival is happily anticipated.
Both sons came last weekend, each accompanied by a loving partner. It is wonderful to see them, to hold them close.
So why, two days later as they are packing to leave, am I relieved to have them on their way? And why am I lonelier and more troubled after they are gone, than I was before they came?
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| It is the week of Thanksgiving. Friendships are my mainstay, and living alone now, after what seems like a lifetime of intimacy with a partner, heightens my gratitude for close connections with others. Missing Len’s presence as holidays past are remembered, brings to mind his good fortune, especially his men friends, although there were times I secretly denigrated his friendships as somehow less significant than mine, with women.
My close friends have always been confidantes. His were companions, with whom he joyously went fishing, flying, and exploring the wilderness. Upon his return, if I quizzed him about conversations they’d had or intimacies shared, his answers were brief, relating stories told of other adventures, but little I deemed of substance. Nothing of their marriages, troubled relationships with grown children, problems at work, the essence of my conversations with women friends, offering support, seeking insights. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| She said: I feel terrible. You’ve ruined my life.
Her husband, silent, sat at the other end of my long office couch, awash in guilt. He had made the final decision to divorce, but his compassion for his wife was sincere. I wanted to somehow calm and comfort them both, reassure him by saying that relationships rarely fail for simple one-sided reasons, and assure her that I empathized with her misery. But I said nothing, and in a few moments her tears lessened and she regained control. She apologized to me for her outburst. I said: no need.
The blaming was over, for now. We returned to talk about their budget, how the family could best share their joint income.
Nine months of marital counseling ended just weeks before they began mediation. Did she really believe that she had no part to play as they drifted apart, moved into separate bedrooms? At times it seemed so. But she |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Champagne corks popped. The mood was festive in my home when we gathered last Saturday evening to celebrate a friend’s retirement and the election of Obama. The invitations went out three weeks ago, when only one of these events was certain, the other nervously hoped for. We were eleven in all, ranging in age from mid-fifties to late seventies, black and white, some friendships of long-standing, some new.
After a time, the conversation grew serious and this question was posed: One year ago, how many of us would have believed the election of an African American as President possible? None of us. Even when the polls turned positive, there was the looming threat of the “Bradley effect” to narrow or erase the point spread. Bias was a reality even if denied, hidden. Then, overnight that fear became a fiction. New York Times science reporter, John Tierney, asked: Where have all the bigots gone? |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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I arrived early to attend the last of a series of lectures at which I had encountered a woman from my past who appeared to shun me. I thought perhaps she did so with good reason, for actions I had taken in a legal proceeding many years ago when I represented her husband's former wife.
She also had come early, and although there were probably fewer than ten people then in the room, she walked past me without notice and joined two others. Determined to find out if I was correctly assessing some hostility directed my way, I approached her, waiting for a chance to speak. As she made no move to face me, I stepped closer and said her name. She turned and with a faint smile spoke my name in response.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I have many friends, a few who are close and intimate. And if asked, I would say I have no enemies. At least that would have been my answer until last month.
I’ve been attending a series of three lectures given by a professor of political science, an expert on electoral polling. The group in attendance is small, perhaps about fifty. As I greeted some old friends on the night of the first session, across the room I glimpsed a woman I’d known long ago. Did she turn away before or after she saw me? I wasn’t sure. I am sure no smile was exchanged.
At the end of the lecture, I chatted briefly with those seated nearby as the room quickly emptied. When I rose to leave, the woman in question was nowhere to be seen. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Sometimes partners drift apart slowly, move into separate worlds, failing to disclose to each other the evolving person they’ve become. They may be communicating in subtle nonverbal ways, but is the message getting through? An example:
John and Mary have similar backgrounds and compatible values. When their children were small, they delighted in being parents and assigned themselves the traditional roles of breadwinner and homemaker. As years went by, John, a gregarious man, was increasingly successful in business and developed close friendships in that world. While he spent more and more hours at work, Mary found satisfaction and pleasure in her focus on their daughters, now teenagers.
When he became quiet and withdrawn at home, she asked if everything was all right. She knew it wasn’t. He had stopped going to the gym and was putting on excessive weight. But his answers were vague, and |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| My cat likes to have her ears pulled. Her eyes narrow, and she arches her neck with pleasure as she awaits the next gentle tug. This feline resists being picked up, but curls up in the crook of my arm when I am reading, propped up in bed. She nudges, seeking my touch, and the pressure of her warm purring body is a sweet reminder of the relaxed heft of a sleeping baby.
Some months after Leonard died, one of my young friends took on the role of loving daughter and gave me an unusual gift, a massage by a therapist she admired. When I told her this was something I’d never done before, she said: everyone needs to be touched, and you are now alone.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| They were young, but had finished high school before they married. That’s the good news. The bad news is that after seventeen years the marriage is over.
But there is much more good news. They take great pride in their two teenage daughters who are gracefully weathering adolescence, saddened by the family turmoil but still high achieving, and with a loving connection to both parents. He lauds his wife as a wonderful mother, and credits her with the children’s success.
After working only at home for fifteen years, she recently found part-time employment. They are in complete agreement that the girls should continue to have parental attention, even now. Especially now. So she will keep her present job and remain available to manage and monitor the girls’ busy after-school hours.
He owns a few shares of a small but profitable family business |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I’m a devotee of contemporary fiction, but I’ve been revisiting Jane Austen. The return to the exquisite prose of Pride and Prejudice, and a society devoted to, even obsessed with, social etiquette, serves as a welcome respite from some modern media that jars my sensibilities.
This sharp contrast between genial spoken exchanges and the offhand and sometimes crude phrases of today, came to mind when I was asked to write a commentary for my local Bar Association about civility, so often said to be in decline. As a woman of a certain age, I questioned whether my observations would have validity for men, or for younger women raised with the same assurance afforded sons |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| After living together for fifteen years, they married when she became pregnant. Their daughter is now three years old. Two physicians, he an academic, she in family practice. Neither have remarkable income, but due to the generosity of her wealthy family, their financial lives have been more than comfortable. Most recently, upon the birth of their granddaughter, the gift from her parents was an elegant home.
But their marriage is crumbling, awash in a sea of anger and despair. He is 50, she 43. Another woman, now long gone, turned his head. Unaware of his affair for over a year, blaming herself for his distant ways, she met depression head on.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Chatting with friends over coffee on a recent evening, I abruptly changed the subject. I have closed the door on S.P. With the very mention of her name, muscles tighten, my heart rate speeds, my breathing becomes shallow. I’ve decided to withdraw from this aspect of the political conversation. Too much talk to no good end.
And to my surprise, recent scientific studies validate my stance.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| The message left on my phone: Could you find time for an early breakfast? I need some legal advice.
From the tremor in the voice of my young friend, I could tell that something was wrong. We met the next morning, and without preamble she told me that her husband had suffered a mental breakdown. This man she dearly loved had become a stranger to her, and was refusing treatment. Frightened by his mood swings and bizarre accusations, she had left him and moved into the home of a colleague from work. We discussed options, personal and legal. The nervous movements of her hands belied her effort to appear calm. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Is there anyone over the age of 50 who doesn’t experience a fleeting moment of worry when they can’t remember the name of a familiar person come upon in an unfamiliar place, or the title of the book they were reading just the night before?
My former law partner and I meet weekly for lunch. As we walk about town, we are often approached by someone we both know we know. Our forward steps slow, hoping one of us will be able to come up with the first name, for then the other can almost always retrieve the last. Together we have an entire intact memory. We joke about our lapses, but a trace of unease lingers.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I own a wooden carving that hangs on my office wall. It is a face, eyes wide open. Splayed across the face is a hand with elongated fingers which cover the eyes, but the fingers are spread just far enough apart that the eyes are only partially obscured, conveying the sense that they can see while hidden from view, or are hiding from the view. It artfully portrays hypocrisy, pretending not to see or know what is actually going on right before our eyes, or within the core of our being.
I often glanced appreciatively at this sculpture as I followed Bill Clinton’s impeachment trial, and do so again with the news of John Edward’s fall from grace. It was carved in 1992, long aft |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Why is it that being conflict avoidant works quite well for some, and spells disaster for others?
Len and I typically dealt with conflict by retreating into silence. Both of us grew up in homes in which voices were rarely raised. Perhaps intuitively we knew how threatening short-tempered or critical comments would feel. I think that when we withdrew, we were able to mull over and better define what was at stake, and avoid impetuous hurtful remarks, difficult to forget.
But soon the yearning to once again be close drew us into intimate talk. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I'm watching a young family self-destruct. I cast caution to the wind and offer some advice. A foolish move.
The story: Two young physicians are taking part in mediation, ending their five year marriage, and in the process are building a reservoir of misery for themselves and their child. After just one meeting, I thought I knew how they could avert disaster.
He is smart, charming, articulate, qualities that attract, attracted her. But though soft spoken, he is a very angry man. Now that their marriage is ending, his anger, sometimes covert, subtle, disguised, has taken center stage. She |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I have a decision to make: should I revisit the past, or stay away from the scene of love now lost?
For I’ve been invited to join some former neighbors at a progressive potluck supper, moving from house to house on the street where Len and I lived for over forty years, and raised our family. After leaving eight years ago, we returned a few times for holiday picnics, but now if I go, I go alone.
And, it turns out, the first house on the schedule is our old home. A wave of sadness washes over me when I imagine walking up the porch steps and over the threshold. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| When I’m with someone bemoaning their past mistakes, I look for the nearest exit. But when I witness folks on the brink of what I believe is a poor decision, I try to keep them in the room, and urge consideration of other choices. If they’ll take the time to listen, I’ve found an approach that usually works.
Here’s the story: Parents whose divorce was final several years ago returned to mediation to decide how best to help their thirteen-year-old daughter. Previously a fine student, her grades were now sliding, and a new self-consciousness was evident. Eating habits were changing. Sleeping too much one day and awake all hours the next. More secretive. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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I now know what a small blinking question mark in the middle of my desktop screen portends. The hard drive was not responding. It happened without warning, early on a Friday morning, and I knew my fragile grasp of technology was to be tested. Filled with dread at the prospect of a weekend without online access, I was forced to recognize the magnitude of my dependence on this magic box. I knew I had to do everything within reason to regain my balance, this important connection to my wider world.
I arrived at the Apple store before it opened, and soon expert analysis confirmed the worst: repair of my ancient laptop was highly unlikely, and even if possible, would be expensive.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| U.S. Supreme Court Justice Hugo Black, staunch defender of the First Amendment, never wrote a free speech decision I didn’t like.
From my perspective, even symbolic speech, armbands worn by protesting high school students, flag burning, etc. should be protected. Expose all that is spoken or written or symbolized to the light of day and encourage conversation in the “free market place of ideas.” I reject not only government censorship, but most institutionalized voluntary censorship as well. Of course, I make exceptions for speech or symbols that create a clear and present danger (i.e. shouting “fire” in the theater), and allow for protection of youngsters from that deemed too frightening or perverse, but little else.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| As the scientific study of anger evolved, I failed to keep up. Until very recently I continued to believe that suppressing this emotion leads to high blood pressure and depression, and that seeking even physical outlets for one’s anger is the healthy path. Here is how a new understanding unfolded:
A husband and wife began mediation hoping to maintain a friendly relationship as parents, and their conversation in my presence was moderate, if guarded. In private both described unhappy years as they drifted apart, and each blamed the other for the failure of the marriage. But, |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Her eighty-eight year old father, hospitalized for over two weeks, was not expected to survive, but he did. His clear instructions: if this happens to me again, no more heroics, too much pain and too much expense. Just let me go.
She was quick to respond and reassure: But, I’m not ready to let you go.
Her father: This is not your decision to make.
She realized he was not only stating his wishes, but also giving her permission to carry them out. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| She said: you need to learn some new dance steps.
On my weekly Sunday walk with a close friend, she a psychologist, I’d spoken of my inability to penetrate the gloom that had befallen my husband. Each time I probed to learn more about the source of his apparent sadness, the few words he spoke in response served to close not open the door.
I queried: a new dance?
Her response: Stop asking questions. That’s your old dance. Just tell him how you’re feeling, only a few sentences, no accusations and see |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| When 11 years old, I cut my own hair, snipping off long locks to create bangs, and was actually rather pleased with the outcome. My mother did not hide her dismay. Tears. But when my father came home and was brought to my side to view the damage, my spirits soared, for even faced with his wife’s disapproval, he said: I like it very much. She’s very pretty.
An important moment for me, if remembered more than sixty years later. (And eventually the bangs grew out, for mother was right, not a good look for me.)
I write this on Father’s Day, still filled with gratitude. But as I search for other childhood memories of him, I realize that except for his place at Sunday dinners, I have few. For as I was growing up, he was more of an absence than a presence. As a child of the Depression, I was |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| One of the great joys of getting older are friendships that span decades, being so well known, without the need to defend when feeling vulnerable or weaknesses are exposed.
Paul and I talk often since the death of his wife four years ago, she a good friend as well. In his early seventies, retired, and in robust health, last year he’d become intimate with another woman, and reveled in his new found love. She, eight years younger and still engaged in her work, also expressed delight about their coming together.
But now the bloom was fading.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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I avoid most large social occasions, explaining, or complaining, that my tolerance for idle chat, small talk, is low.
The three friends with whom I shared this view on a recent spring evening, nodded in silent agreement, as we strolled to our city’s huge Convention Center. We were headed for
what we expected would be a crowded event, that I knew would require considerable insignificant chatter, before I could retreat to the pleasure of having the remaining hours of the day be of my own
design. There was every good reason to be in ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| The name announced over my office intercom was vaguely familiar. As I lifted the phone, she said: You may not remember me. It’s been seven years since my mother and my sister worked with you. My sister is dying and refuses to see me. Can you help?
My failed mediations remain a more vivid memory than my successes, and as soon as she offered this background, I remembered her well.
I’d been consulted by a friend of a friend who asked if I could mediate a problem that was tearing her family apart. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I had an unusual experience last week. In honor of the remarkable life lived by a former high school classmate who recently died, I, along with three other old friends of his, spoke to an audience of young people now attending the same school. Looking back on that occasion, I realize I missed an important opportunity.
The only woman on the panel, I decided to comment on how the aspirations of boys and girls differed when I was in high school in the 1940s, and to mention and pay homage to two of my high school teachers who caused me to wonder whether my future was actually as limited as I then assumed it was.
The men with whom I shared the platform, a doctor, a lawyer and an architect, all had made major contributions to the public good. From their earliest days, they could answer the ubiquitous question |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| The eyes of the woman seated on my office couch brimmed with tears. At my request, her husband had just left the room. This was their third mediation session and they'd been making steady progress, inch by inch, working out the terms for dissolving what had become a peaceful but joyless marriage.
The decision to part had not been made lightly. For a time, they see-sawed back and forth and tried, with a skilled counselor, to reverse the downward slide. But now both felt sure they were making the right decision. And once their direction was clear and mutual, calm had returned to their home, the children secure in the knowledge of their parent's ongoing love for them. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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I rarely pay attention to my dreams and recall them infrequently. Recently one caused me to rouse with a start, come alert, and then sigh with gratitude that the waking world offered safety from the demons that invaded my sleep.
Some background before I tell the story: I was ill last week with an infection that, had it gone untreated, could have had serious consequences. Once on medication, I was assured a fairly rapid recovery. My antibiotic carries on its label the instruction to complete the full compliment of pills, even if no longer symptomatic. The package insert repeats this warning in bold type suggesting a likely return of illness if all pills are not taken. My druggist repeated this warning. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| The year Len returned to campus for his sophomore year of college, he was driving a car, a faded green 1941 Hudson that had already seen six years of far better days. His buddies, all returning World War II vets, living the promise of the original G.I.Bill, had challenged each other not to come back without wheels.
Our small campus was in a rural Ohio town. There was nowhere to go that wheels were needed. So, why? I soon found out.
For it was in the fall of 1947 that we met. The horrors of the long deadly war were in the past. It seemed everyone was eager to reclaim normalcy and ready to play by the rules. Only the rare bohemian student tossed cultural norms to the wind. The pill and the freedom it would offer were not yet dreamed of. What later would be designated the silent generation was emerging. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| She rummages in her purse but then pauses, smiles, and remembers that she no longer smokes. It’s a tense moment and she wishes she still did. Deep sigh: he says he just needs some space. What do you think?
For some months now, I’ve been aware that the marriage of my friends was troubled, although she was sure they both still valued their bond. Counseling was rejected, her husband insisting this was a private matter and he didn’t need to get “fixed”. My cautionary words were: if respectful conversations are still possible, give it more time. Separations usually become permanent.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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He said: If only I could make you see, convince you of the harm . . .
In frustration he stopped talking, jaw clenched. Seated on my office couch, he turned to face his ex-wife, eyes pleading for her understanding. Staring straight ahead, her
body rigid and poised to respond, her words were clipped: you just don’t get it!
A classic argument ensued, one not unique to divorced parents. A classic truth: trying to convince someone that you are right and they are wrong seldom works. The details
hardly matter.
This ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I talk to people in elevators, in the early morning when I descend to the lobby of my apartment building to collect my newspaper, and at day’s end when fellow passengers are also weary and happy to be home. Even unfamiliar faces open to a smile, a passing comment on the weather and the question: how are you?
Almost invariably the answer is: fine.
And we part wishing each other well.
A graceful verbal pas de deux.
When shopping some weeks ago, a woman approached me, familiar, but out of our usual context. In but a second there was recognition, she a physician I see annually, I a patient of long standing.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I’ve followed Elliott Spitzer’s fall from grace, and carefully read the details in the national press. I prefer to think that my interest, as a lawyer, is due to the complexity of the legal issues, not the curiosity of a voyeur. But intriguing questions do arise about his motivation, beyond the excitement of furtive sex. To be caught? Assume he’s invincible?
Even more puzzling is why the women I know, and those who write op-ed columns and blogs, are so critical of his wife, of all of the wives who stand by their man, put on the powder blue suit and pearls, and usually say nothing, as a husband confesses to sexual misdeeds.
Are those who denounce her simply projecting, imagining the anger they would feel if in her place, and feel thwarted by her apparent passivity |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| They were smiling when they walked into the room but not when they left. As mediation began each echoed the other’s intent to be fair and amiable throughout the process. Fantasy.
After months of anguished talk, tears, recrimination, and efforts to be forgiving, they made the decision to end their marriage. Together, the night before, they told their children. Divorce. The kids said little, but both parents thought it had gone pretty well. Maybe.
Sheepishly they described a new found sense of well-being, the scariest of demons |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I rise early each morning, make coffee and return to bed, laptop propped against my knees. A favored time for checking in with the world. Often, I follow the advice of the latest happiness guru whose book I’ve read, and consider what I’m grateful about on that day.
At this time of year my mother-in-law always comes to mind. Leora Larsen died on Easter Sunday almost ten years ago at the age of ninety-eight. Born at the turn of the last century, she was five years old when her mother died of tuberculosis. Her father, unable to cope alone, left her in the care of two kindly women who ran a bakery and took in foster children.
Attending school only until the eighth grade, she began at a very |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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I was scheduled to speak at a seminar on the day the blizzard of March 2008 began, snow starting to blow as I walked to the hotel from my downtown loft.
By the end of the day, roads were covered and sidewalks icy with the major accumulation still a promise. A promise kept. That evening and the next day, warm and cozy, I
watched the world whiten from my large third floor windows, filled with memories of another March blizzard, fifty years ago:
My 28th birthday approached as Len and I and ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| On the day we first meet, I spend time alone with each new client, and ask how disputes were resolved during their marriage. It’s helpful to understand their negotiating style, and essential that I uncover any claim of intimidation.
She said: I just went along to get along.
And when she noted my knowing smile, my eyebrows raised as if questioning the truth of her words, she became more insistent: I really did. Even if we argued bitterly, I’d give in just to keep the peace.
I explained my curious glance, telling her that often both parties deliver the same message, that they were the one who was passive in the face of disagreement, the one who always surrendered. And this was exactly what her husband had told me moments before. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| A caller sought advice which in the moment I could not give. He told the following story: Four years earlier, during a time of marital separation, he sought solace in the arms of a sympathetic coworker. But within days they abandoned their brief affair, she not wanting to place her marriage at risk.
Later he and his wife reconciled, and during an intimate moment he disclosed this misstep. Now, years later, again separated, their divorce action was pending. His soon to be ex-wife |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Can simply reading another’s personal history significantly impact our own?
Kay Redfield Jamison’s book “An Unquiet Mind” was given to me by a friend when I confided that a member of my extended family was exhibiting extreme behaviors. I’d begun to wonder whether I was witnessing the normal range of craziness which accompanies the breakup of a marriage, or a serious mood disorder, perhaps of long standing.
Jamison, a psychologist on the faculty of Johns Hopkins Medical School, is an expert on manic depressive illness. The remarkable twist in her story is that she has suffered with this disorder since her late teens, although not diagnosed or treated for many years thereafter. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| An old friend has been calling more frequently than usual. Her son is divorcing and her distress about the breakup of his family has brought her low. It is my turn to listen.
My husband and I lived through a similar time, when the developing story of a child’s divorce became part of the air we breathed, often the last thing we talked about at night and the first upon waking. But when I say we talked, not quite. Mostly I talked, he listened. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I wish I could think and write intelligently about pornography. I’ve read some of the position papers of well known academic feminists for whom it is an unmitigated evil, but the very existence of a $60 billion global industry represents a demand they do not address, except to seek censorship. Does prohibition ever work?
My vantage point is narrow, and the forms presented to me do not involve children or violence. Pornography enters my world when the viewing is seen as a symptom of the disintegration of a marriage. But as a cause or an effect? Despite the many stories clients have told, I don’t know.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| It was clear to her the marriage should end. Not to him. After months of marriage counseling they entered mediation, he reluctantly.
Oddly, they did not differ in describing their circumstances, the nature of their day to day lives. How could two people living together portray their relationship in the same way, yet reach such different conclusions?
They had two youngsters. That was reason enough for me to probe, to question whether a different direction might still be taken.
Meeting alone with the husband, he acknowledged there had been some rough times |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Recently I considered moving to a new home. Close friends had found the perfect place for them to live, within a cluster of five small condominiums nestled at the base of a wooded park, close to downtown, yet secluded. They phoned and suggested I consider living there as well, as another unit just across the courtyard was now for sale.
A long hiatus from work over the holidays had left me with a heightened sense of what post-retirement loneliness might be, and we had talked about this. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Their marriage was over. We were meeting for the first time, to work out their settlement terms.
She said: it’s hard to believe we’re here. It was supposed to be happily ever after.
I smiled. I grew up loving fairy tales too.
He said: we just want to be fair to each other. I want her to be financially secure and she wants me to be able start a new career. They glanced at each other with approval, grateful for mutual understanding.
I asked her: What does financial security mean for you?
She: Well, staying in the house with the kids. We both want that.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| He said: So you got the promotion. Another woman sleeps her way to the top.
Silent at first, momentarily unnerved by this sarcastic taunt, she said: You think that’s what folks in the office generally believe? Can you help me track that down?
A surprising response. No hint of a defensive reaction. She was sponging.
The concept of sponging is so valuable, I eagerly describe it to colleagues, friends, mediation clients and anyone else who will listen. It’s a way of responding when verbally attacked, that turns a conversation in a positive direction instead of allowing it to spiral into negativity.
Consider this approach. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| My friends no longer ask: what did you get for Christmas? Children now grown, their bounty is bestowed mostly on grandchildren or has become simplified, a check, a gift card, or something sweet and consumable.
Recent events evoked recall of a moving story of gifting, by the famed Chilean poet Pablo Neruda, writing about a childhood experience. His house was separated from that of a neighbor by a high fence. One day the small hand of a child who lived next door, who he did not know, pushed a toy through a hole in the fence, a tiny white sheep made of faded wool. Wanting to return the favor, the young Neruda pushed his most favored pine cone through to his unknown benefactor. He and the other child never met, but in 1933 Neruda wrote that this mysterious gift exchange stayed with him, gave his poetry its light.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Each time I start to write about violence between intimate partners, my heartbeat quickens and I’m tempted to stop. I’ve never been subjected to physical intimidation, so don’t fully understand why I so readily insert myself into the picture painted by others.
As a mediator I have to provide a safe setting, one in which both parties feel empowered and able to speak freely. To assure this design, on the day of our first meeting I always talk briefly with each person alone.
The question I ask is a veiled one: How did you resolve disputes during your marriage? The most common response: I just went along to get along. But on occasion, a series of grievous assaults is disclosed.
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| My brother tells me that some of his graduate students have difficulty making important decisions about their futures. They drift, rather than make a choice they might later regret, not realizing that rarely is there only one right answer, and that even wrong decisions can be dealt with and corrections made.
Our talk brought to mind the early significant decisions I made on my own, once outside the orbit of parental influence. And I can think of only two: at seventeen, where to go to college, and at twenty, to marry.
After that, I made virtually every major choice in concert with someone equally invested in my future. Not that the issues Len and I faced were thus made simple, or always resolved jointly, but we knew we could fall back into each other’s comforting ways if things went awry. And that made a difference. Our responsibility was, in effect, shared. |
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She called to ask for the first available appointment because her husband, feeling guilty about an affair, was proposing a generous settlement. My silence told the story. I
thought: don’t count on it, guilt fades fast. As if able to read my mind, she laughed, and I thought I heard a knowing sadness.
The first mediation session was scheduled for the next week. The husband’s culpability, unchallenged, was spoken of at our first encounter, and hung in the air each time we
met. Yet he remained steadfast in his offer of substantial financial support for ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| When my kids were young, Halloween was my favorite holiday. With little spent in time or money, the night ended with costumes askew and each child’s candy hoard spread out and sorted on the living room floor. Apples disdained, chocolate eaten with abandon.
It seems right that Thanksgiving should be next in line for favored status, a time to remember all that is most treasured, friendships and family, and savor favorite recipes. Seems right, but is not quite true.
With children living far away, I join old friends.
We are all smiling as the sumptuous meal is presented, but I must purposefully pull myself back from a focus on who is no longer at the table. Then I talk about him, casually, even tell funny stories about his carving exploits, and I can breathe again. But I want to go home, be alone with my thoughts, allow my practiced smile to dim.
A son phones and senses my mood, which he says he shares. We reminisce about years long past, the annual early Thanksgiving morning drive to the Chicago suburbs. Kids snug under blankets dozing in the back seat, wake as dawn lights the sky. We reach a half way mark and pull into a familiar roadside restaurant for pancakes and hot co |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I rarely visit out of town friends or family for more than two days. And if I’m in a social setting for more than two hours, it’s only because I haven’t found an acceptable way to escape. My rule of two evolved from decades of succumbing to the designs of those more gregarious, and my furtive early departures.
I enjoyed being part of the spirited gatherings of the high school years, but even then I was mostly content to be an observer, never the life of the party. In college, pairing off began in earnest, a lovely respite from collective fun seeking, followed by graduate school when there was no time, no money, and babies to care for.
Antisocial? I thought not, but confusing.
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| John had been betrayed. But he was smiling, eager to tell me that he now knew that Jan, his wife, had bought a plane ticket and would soon travel to Texas to meet her childhood sweetheart. Had she told him this? No. But he knew.
John worked as a computer technician. After Jan moved out, taking her laptop, he’d obtained software designed for parents to keep tabs on their children’s internet explorations, and used it to surreptitiously tap into her email. He reminded me he was disclosing this in confidence. It put me on high alert.
I said: You’d best consult with your attorney, John. You may be committing a crime. His smile faded, and I knew he would take my advice.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| My older brother and I maintain a close relationship with occasional long phone conversations. We’ve lived far apart since leaving our childhood home, and meet infrequently. So I marvel at our similar ways, especially when they are unlike those of our parents.
As we talk, we sometimes unearth childhood memories, and tell stories which the other never heard, or had forgotten.
The incidents I’m about to describe arose when he mentioned the incredible amounts charged for some recent medical tests, compared to the lesser payments ultimately made by his insurance carrier. Then he spoke of his internist telling him of breaking a leg while skiing in Vermont, and later receiving a large bill from the “out of network” hospital where he’d been treated. The doctor called and bargained with a financial administrator there, until an acceptable amount was negotiated. |
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| As the mediation session ended, Elizabeth put her arms around her husband and hugged him. He stiffened, but didn’t pull away.
The marriage of this handsome older couple was ending, at wife’s insistence. Jack, the husband, had made no effort to hide his anger, albeit controlled. Repeatedly he questioned the morality of having to share assets with a wife who was leaving him, when he had done nothing wrong. Elizabeth’s behavior confused me.
Both are highly educated professionals, she a retired college librarian, he a well compensated corporate executive, their children grown. No infidelity. No hint of abuse. In my presence they spoke to each other respectfully. I was told counseling had been tried a number of times, unsuccessfully. But why?
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| The divorce rate is declining. Good news? Or a reflection of the reality that fewer people are getting married? And why should they?
Friends have posed that question. Not young people, but middle aged and beyond, in committed relationships. They listen to what I say about the legal protections afforded those who marry, but really want to talk about the more intangible benefits, or deficits. Will marriage strengthen or put their treasured relationship at risk? Will their bond become a resented bind? |
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| Some months ago, Evelyn phoned. An old-fashioned name. Were she born today, she might be named Eve. Appropriate, for she spoke for many women.
Although unhappy for a long time and contemplating divorce, she was unsure. Children now grown, she was seized with anxiety imagining a future alone, so was immobilized. She described her husband, Hank, sympathetically, a good man who was unhappy as well, but unwilling to consider marriage counseling. I encouraged her not to leave the decision up to him, and to enter counseling on her own.
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As he was walking out the door, he turned to me and asked: So, can we now tell our daughter what we've decided? I mirrored his smile,
recognizing the relief he felt, and his wish to cement the agreement reached with his wife after a tense hour of talk.
I said: Sure, but remember you're telling her, not asking.
Parents who are separating fear most a loosening of the bond with their children. It may seem reasonable to ask a child's opinion about the time sharing plan they are trying to
work out. A few do so purposely ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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Still pondering the idea of writing a book, I look for expert advice, and what I find goes beyond my immediate quest.
Susan Rabiner's book*, written as an instruction for prospective authors of serious nonfiction, poses this question: why is your work important? In her view there must be an "argument" presented, not simply the reporting of research conclusions, or a story told.
If the question she poses cannot readily be answered, she urges the writer to recall events of their youth that forecast the adult, memories of those times that ignited ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Friends ask why I plan to write a book. Striving to be truthful, I answer: to avoid becoming invisible. They object, not wanting me to feel diminished by getting old. They would like to talk me out of this concern. But they cannot. For I'm a realist, and know that aging eventually brings a retreat from center stage.
Last week, on a sunny downtown street corner after Sunday brunch, a friend pursued the point I'd made and asked: do you mean invisible as a woman or in a more general sense? And I responded: both.
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| Dear M and D:
Were you as relieved as I was when you left my office? Witnessing the animosity, blame and disrespect with which you assault each other, leaves me both amazed and dismayed. Did you feel equally disheartened? Or, perhaps you are so accustomed to relating in this way, you welcomed having a safe haven in which to expose your frustration and anger. You test both my skill and endurance. Can I possibly help you resolve your issues? |
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I write this on the day that my other mother died at the age of ninety-nine. Vicki was my father's kid sister, the aunt who was happy to take me in when I ran away from home.
In 1951, I was twenty-two, she in her early forties, ten years younger than my mother. Len and I had just finished college, and he was soon to embark on graduate study. For both
strategic and financial reasons, he was spending the summer in the Nevada desert as field assistant to one of his soon to be ... |
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| I did not fully realize anger was in the room until they were walking out the door. A step ahead of her, looking away, his tone flat, he said: when are you moving out?
Was I meant to overhear these words? I wasn't sure, but they surprised me. Just moments before, as their first mediation session ended, an agreement was made to postpone the decision about which parent would remain living in the marital residence, or whether it should be sold. More financial data was needed and budgets not yet developed. So, it was agreed that for a time they would remain under the same roof.
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| The best gift I ever received was not my husband's to give, but was gratefully accepted: permission to change my life.
It was the summer of 1964. For six weeks, Len was exploring Scandinavia with sixteen other academic geologists, our longest separation in fifteen years of marriage. During the last of these weeks, the three kids and I drove about the midwest, visiting friends and family. We ended our journey at Laguardia Airport, peering through a wall of glass, eager to spot Len in the long line of weary travelers navigating customs.
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| Gloria Steinem, the ever engaging feminist now in her seventies, challenged my generation to wake up, and open doors long closed to women, the right to make their own choices, personal and professional.
In June, Steinem was the commencement speaker at Smith. The next day, this excerpt was quoted:
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| Some weeks after Len's death, I emptied the wide top drawer of his desk, and found, jammed into the very back, an apparently long forgotten small spiral notebook.
Written at the top of the first page was a date in April, five years earlier, followed by the name of the neurologist who had detected Len's Parkinson's.
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| Should I write of this? Of uninvited, unwelcome images that intrude, as I lose my hold on purposeful thought.
The anniversary of Len's death is near.
Five years ago, as summer was ending, the man who was my love, my companion for more than fifty years, left me. Sometimes that is exactly how it feels.
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| I’ve come to like someone who just weeks ago I could barely abide. I’m surprised by this, but gratified.
The man in question phoned after his first mediation session, and said he was considering withdrawing from the process. He suggested I was biased against him. He was right. But I readily excused my lapse. He wore his arrogance like a badge. Self righteous, he blamed the failure of his 22 year marriage entirely on his ungrateful, departing wife.
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By chance, I happened upon a CNN panel discussion and heard the words of an old friend I've never met. Not an impossibility, if we've experienced the world of that person through their own telling, in print.
Jill Ker Conway became well known to me over ten years ago when I read the story of her early life. She is a woman in her seventies, retired as President of Smith College, and now a visiting scholar at M.I.T.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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How many young women still are wakened to sexual arousal in cars? True for many of my generation, for we were able to slide across the bench-like front seat and snuggle close, before bucket seats and cup holding consoles formed a barrier. And before coed dorms. And before the pill. But, sorry, this brief essay is about cars, not sex.
It's about private space, the unobserved life that cars offered then. And still do.
I was reading Richard Ford's latest novel, "The Lay ... |
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On a recent call-in radio program, the question posed was: what does it mean to be manly today? A story told by a listener in California caught my attention.
The caller, a Mexican American, came to this country at seven, and was now in his thirties. He told of a family gathering with several generations in attendance. As evening approached, his wife rose and called to him across the room: honey, it's time to leave.
He joined her and they departed.
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She called to apologize and left me this message: Forgive my miserable behavior. It was my evil twin, Skippy, talking. I smiled, remembering a bit of wisdom often spoken by my husband: No one ever sees themselves as evil.
Jenny, a mediation client, offered proof of this by assigning the angry accusations she'd unleashed at her husband earlier that day, to her imaginary evil twin, Skippy.
Bruce and Jenny lived together for ten years and then, sad but amiable, ... |
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Secrets are never kept. Everything eventually becomes known.
These words surprised me. They were spoken by my old friend, Phil, with whom I'd been talking about a family I am close to, in which secrets were eroding the relationship of mother, father and adult daughter.
The parents I spoke of had decided to end their unhappy marriage and their adult children had been told. Although disheartened, they were buoyed by the caring, respectful, even loving way their parents were making plans to keep ... |
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I wish I'd thought to invite my closest friends for breakfast on Father's Day, to talk about our fathers, some still living, most not. I will do so next year. We've often had conversations about our fathers, but usually fleeting, moving on to other thoughts that crowded in, perhaps to ease some tension.
I know our memories may be faulty, not an accurate recapture of empirical truths, but these recollections evoke the scripts we continue to silently read. And perform?
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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I am an optimist, most of the time. But recent research suggests that optimists are less good predictors of future outcomes than their depressed bothers and sisters. So, what meaning does this have for me, and my fellow enthusiasts?
Here is what Daniel Kahneman, an economics professor at Princeton and a recent Nobel laureate said, commenting on mistakes made by overly optimistic executives:
"People assign much higher probability to the truth of their opinions than is warranted . . . a natural ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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After my husband died, I became a reluctant traveler. I find reasons to put off planning a journey, even when I anticipate genuine pleasure at my destination. This is not a post 9/11 reaction. I have no anxiety about commercial flight, nor do I respond to Homeland Security ramping up the colors of fear.
And, I've long been accustomed to traveling alone, as Len and I often chose to visit our distant children separately, recognizing we were able to connect with them more intimately in ... |
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A fable: They drove out of the city, admiring leaves turned crimson and gold, but the thoughts of our players were on a soon to be enjoyed romantic interlude at the Cozy Country Inn. Jan and Joe had been seeing each other for a few weeks, and the time seemed right for greater intimacy. Their instincts were true. Their liaison was passionate and satisfying .
The next morning, they entered the dining room feeling optimistic about their future, born of their new closeness. Over ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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A friend called to ask for a favor. Her daughter had drafted her college application essay. Would I be willing to read it over and make editing suggestions? Of course.
A memory: asking my mother, when I was quite young, to read over something I'd written. When she corrected the spelling of some words, I angrily snatched the paper from her hands. My retaining this memory of something that happened so long ago, confirmed the wisdom of my friend seeking help from someone ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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I have few memories of illness in my family as I was growing up. Minor ailments were barely acknowledged. Sickness was spoken of as something which, with proper living, could be avoided. The illness of others was often deemed psychosomatic, not without sympathy, but with the underlying message of some hidden weakness that should be overcome.
In my husband Len's final year, I became intimately involved with persistent pain. He was stoical, but when he left the house for an adventure with ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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Studies suggest that the characteristic most prized by women, in a current or prospective partner, is kindness. Makes sense to me.
When my children were very young and walked home from school, I remember occasional stories they told about a bully who bedeviled another child along the way. I also remember that my response invariably included the phrase: there's just no excuse for not being kind. And then my question: I wonder what happened to him to make him so mean? Contradictory messages, perhaps.
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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At our first meeting, they entered my office smiling, an amiable couple in their late forties. After my introductory comments, they told me that things were pretty much worked out, many agreements already made.
Now, approaching the end of our second session, Dave, a successful business man, speaks with assurance as he presents the financial plan he has devised for his wife, Kate, once they divorce. But on this morning, Kate is impassive and does not respond. I invite her comment. She just shrugs her shoulders. ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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Picture this: two couples meet on a street corner. One of the men has placed his hands over his eyes. His female companion says: It's too late, Roger --- they've seen us.
This Sipress cartoon has me chuckling each time I think about it. Are you at least smiling? The joke brings to mind how I felt after moving to Cincinnati in the late 1950's, coming from New York City where Len was in graduate school.
At times, what ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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My friend, Paul, was in a quandary, and when he told me what had happened, I joined him in his loss for words.
The story: A few weeks ago Paul lunched with a colleague following a business meeting. At the meeting, a woman who both of them met for the first time that morning, had raised serous questions about a position taken by his luncheon companion (we'll call him Dick), and Dick's anger, though controlled, had flared.
As they slid into the restaurant booth, ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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Walking home from my office a few weeks ago, I met two young lawyers with whom I have a passing acquaintance. We paused on a busy downtown corner waiting for the traffic light to change. They were empty handed and carefree, dressed in sweats. I carried a briefcase, my heavy winter coat open to the warming spring air.
We smiled in greeting and one of them said, in a jocular tone: Bea, you still working? I answered: yes. Then the other said: Come ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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To continue: Dave and Jayne, recently divorced, finally accepted the futility of trying to convince each other that their plan was the right one for rescuing their son from the brink of school failure, but they were at an impasse. The story I now tell is a very brief summary of a discussion that lasted well over an hour.
Calmer, we reviewed their circumstances. Even if restating the obvious, this placed them firmly in the present.
I said:
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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Dave and Jayne's conversation had become an argument, their voices raised and strident. Addressing them both, I asked: has this approach worked for you in the past, have you managed to change each other's minds?
That's the question I ask often, when I interrupt an ardent exchange that is going nowhere. The most frequent response: never!
Then why persist?
This mother and father were seriously at odds. During the past year their lives had spiraled out of ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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If I could be granted a wish, it would be that all my good friends, and members of my family, would only die after I do. A selfish and frivolous wish, which gives but momentary comfort, but such is the nature of wishes. We all have to leave, follow other loved ones, but I want those I love to wait.
Pat, my college roommate, a friend for over fifty years, died last week. We did not see each other often, as she lived on the east coast. But ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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Not too long ago, it was thought divorce would make election to public office unlikely. Apparently neither McCain nor Kerry was tainted (although both former wives offered their support).
Now with Giuliani in the political swim, his divorces, and his widely publicized affair with his present wife while still married to another, is raising eyebrows and questions about the likely impact on the electorate.
Will Gingrich's recently acknowledged affairs, even with his mea culpas, do him in? Having led the presidential impeachment ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I had breakfast last week with Barack Obama. A thousand others joined us. The huge hotel ballroom was filled, white tablecloths, delectable pastries and fruit, glistening goblets and hot coffee. The crowd was in a good news mood, ready to cheer and be cheered up. And they were not disappointed, as with a calm demeanor, he spoke of what he believed could be achieved, projecting optimism. Something in short supply with each day's strife-ridden headlines. ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| They are seated on opposite ends of the long couch in my office. He speaks forcefully, complaining, critical of the choices she has made for their children. Divorced for a number of years now, she listens with an air of detachment. Occasionally she meets his angry gaze with a gentle smile, as if drawing a protective cloak about her, immune to his assault. By contrast she appears to have the upper hand, but neither is winning. In the years since ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| My eyebrows lift as my friend says: I can tolerate anything but being lied to. Noting my skeptical glance, her irritation shows. Honesty, as an absolute, has been a topic of contention with us over the years, she regarding my outlook as far too tolerant of those who fail to tell the truth, or who at best hide behind ambiguity. My belief is that most people, including those of essentially good character, lie when the stakes are high enough, especially if the ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I have friends, in a distant city, who divorced some years ago and are now contemplating remarriage, to each other. For over a year, they lived separately, shared their children's time, and then slowly drifted back into each other's orbit in loving ways. Now the entire family is once again under the same roof, and they are recommitted to each other. So, the question they are pondering is, should they remarry? Religious considerations aside, which ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Some months ago, I shared dinner at my home with a friend I've become close to in the years since the death of my husband. She never knew him, but I often spoke to her about him, about us. On this evening I showed her a collage of photos taken at different stages of our marriage: in our college years, with small children on our laps, family vacations, and after we were once again on our own. As ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I confer with a colleague and describe my meeting with a high-conflict couple. They are angry, one feeling betrayed, the other misunderstood. The conversation is tense, each frequently interrupting the other. Their words assault with contradiction, are denigrating, blaming. By the end of the session, I feel like a traffic cop, holding my hand up so that a sentence can be completed. Perhaps, for them this is a familiar ritual they had to play out before me, ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| A friend tells me she had been thinking about a former college roommate not heard from in years, and moments later he phoned! Amazing, isn't it?! (Meaning: my thinking about him precipitated the call.) My eyebrows rise and my smile is indulgent. But really I'm impatient with those who see a mystical plan where all I see is random coincidence. I am a realist, not superstitious. But, there is a disconnect. ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| A small porcelain bird sits on a shelf in my bedroom, always in view if I glance away from reading the morning paper or watching a movie in the evening. I put it there without much conscious thought. It's not something I would have purchased for myself. Too cute, too sentimental. But, it was a gift from my father, brought to my home the one time I remember his visiting without my mother. He ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Some years ago a friend introduced me to a small volume, "How to Get Control of Your Time and Life" by Alan Lakein. It's one of many books I never finished, but the early pages made a suggestion I took to heart . Every January, following the author's instructions, I sit before a blank piece of paper and without allowing any time for rumination, spend just two minutes writing the answer to each of the following questions: ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| The two people seated on opposite ends of my long office couch faced forward and avoided eye contact. Throughout this mediation session, their discussion was almost dispassionate, stripped of all emotion, except anger. Wife hoped to return to school and work part time. To make this possible she needed to move, and rely on her family in a nearby state to help care for the children. Husband sought to remain in the marital residence,as a familiar home for the children when with him. |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| "I just held on to his tail, the dog did all the pulling", a not very funny joke remembered from childhood. It came to mind as I talked with the adult daughter of an old friend. Her beloved companion of over twenty years, a philosopher of international reputation, had recently died. They had both a professional and intimate relationship, though never married. Little material wealth accumulated, but his library was significant, including the books authored by him, researched and ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Here is my holiday gift to my readers, inspired by many friends who say they are planning to spend time between now and the New Year uncluttering their lives, reclaiming the peace of organized surroundings. My gift? A proven plan, undertaken some years ago by my husband and myself, in a home we'd lived in for over forty years. I had read an article profiling a young author of high acclaim. The ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I'm not alone. We are a multitude, those who have no employer provided technology experts to immediately respond when our golden keyboards turn to straw. We readily admit to the level of our computer incompetence, but perhaps not to the dismay and anxiety caused when we cannot resolve a mysterious negative message, or we lose our on-line connections. As the generations line up behind us, and the world changes with dazzling rapidity, the choices seem limited: keep running (and learning) to ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| In the 1980's, my husband became aware of Janis Ian, a singer/songwriter. He was captivated by her voice and the stories her songs told. One by one her CDs appeared next to our stereo. By this time our kids had all moved on to their adult lives, so the choice of music in our home was what we alone favored. Len listened to Ian's songs with an intensity I'd not noticed before. If I was present, I felt like an intruder. I ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I don't quite understand why we're drawn to read about the private lives of celebrities. May not subscribe to People Magazine, but often it is the waiting room choice. In what is apparently a "first", two popular gossip magazines (Life Style and In Touch) were published simultaneously a few weeks ago, each featuring on the cover one partner of a divorcing celebrity couple. Each story purported to present their chosen star's reasons their seven year marriage is ending. Their passion for ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| "How can I explain this to my folks?" This was the question posed by a young friend who had decided to rejoin her husband after a month long separation, following his disclosure of infidelity. She had sought temporary housing and solace from her parents. The anger they expressed toward their son-in-law was intense. While at the outset, she found this comforting and supportive, she later wondered about the wisdom of confiding in them about such a private matter. Now, after ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I sit at lunch talking with a close friend, a colleague. Our conversation flows, unguarded. We are skilled players of the verbal ping-pong that carries us forward, asking questions, learning about the other, disclosing what is important about our lives at that moment. Ours is a dance with the steps so practiced, there is no need to be particularly mindful about the questions we pose. We risk little, even with a misstep. Consider different settings. The cardinal ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| It's wonderful to engage with someone who has pulled themselves out of despair and become optimistic about their future. The enthusiastic woman I talked with was preparing a proposal for her departing husband. After months of obviously useful therapy, she was facing her impending divorce with new found courage, determined to convince her soon to be former spouse to amend his recent support proposal. This wife had earned a library science degree a decade ago, but now that her status ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Long ago I read May Sarton's "Journal of a Solitude", a chronicle of a year of her life after an important love relationship had ended. She detailed the days spent alone, her grieving and then her renewal. I loved that book and still remember the pleasure of vicariously experiencing her self-imposed isolation. Then, I was so completely engaged with my growing family and work life, such solitude could only be imagined. Now, it is here. ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| A friend's son is divorcing, ending a 25 year marriage. While sad about it, my friend doesn't question the decision. He sensed, from the sidelines, that neither partner had been happy for some time. Efforts to work things out seemed sincere. Throughout the difficult months of the couple's estrangement, and then their separation, he was determined to preserve his valued relationship with both his son and his daughter-in-law. He and his daughter-in-law had been specially drawn together as she lovingly helped ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| My husband learned to pilot a small plane when in his forties, and he fell in love. If the weather was good, he wanted to fly. If the weather was poor, but not too poor, he wanted to test his mettle. When dark, he wanted to practice night flying. Flying became his passion. And he wanted to share his passion with me. Covertly, I was an anxious passenger. Noise of the engine and crackle of the radio precluded conversation. Ever vigilant, ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| In our youth, did we all pose the question: if you had the chance to steal a million dollars knowing you could avoid being caught, would you? Does the social contract depend upon the risk of discovery? The drama of the Hewlett-Packard spying case is beginning to unfold. The indicted CEO, and company counsel, present the defense of ignorance, that although they contracted for the investigation, they did not micromanage it. They allege no knowledge of any illegal means used to invade the privacy ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| When our youngest grew up and moved some distance away, I claimed her room and created a private space all my own. It was quite small, on the second story of our home, with leafy tree branches almost touching the windows, a nest of sorts. Len never entered this room uninvited. It was our unspoken understanding, as natural as breathing, that our separateness was respected. This background sets the stage for a mediation session in which a privacy issue arose. The couple working ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Too often I've assumed others shared my point of view, only to learn how wrong I was. Why does it matter? If communicating well with another is the heart of a good relationship, and our perceptions about how others are thinking or feeling is "off" and we don't know it (or choose to avoid knowing it), we're starting that slide into misunderstanding, away from intimacy. An almost comical (if not so poignant) example often comes to mind. In 2000, my husband and I sold ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Do the young grow up today believing that the mate they choose as a lifetime partner will meet all of their needs? That was the myth of my youth, literally the fairy tale first heard from the Brothers Grimm, perpetuated by romantic movies, and certainly by parents, fearing (before the pill) that their daughters might not wait for Prince Charming. Has that premise changed? Not from my vantage point. Before Len and I were married, when we walked hand in hand on the sidewalks of our ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| From two very different sources within the past week, I came across what was, for me, an illuminating concept. Here is a brief summary of each. A newspaper article told of a remarkable development in medicine. For patients with chronic medical problems, monitors are being implanted in the body and also placed at the home bedside, so that their medical team can receive real time information about heart ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Perhaps we can all remember being told to "always tell the truth". But inevitably parents teach, by modeling, when to tell half truths, to even tell an untruth out of kindness or to keep a secret and lie with silence. Then later a friend might add: be cautious, discretion is the better part of valor. Is it better to tell or not tell? This is the question sometimes asked by a spouse who has strayed, and now seeks to renew a marriage ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| It used to be forty, then fifty, now maybe even fifty-five, before women start to notice that no one is noticing. Add an additional ten years for men. Most of us make peace with advancing invisibility as we age. We can take pride in what we've become, what we've learned, what we are still able to achieve.Then, surprisingly, even a small stab can deflate a well earned sense of self. Here's my story. I am ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I'm uneasy in the face of anger. In my professional world, I've learned how to manage that of others. But, in my personal world, the anger I feel towards others, or if I am the target, can leave me a bit unhinged. But, not for long. Therapists have helped so many to recognize and legitimize their anger. For some, depression begins to lift, a new sense of self and autonomy is achieved, all to the good. But for some, who I suspect give up ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| How readily we blame others when our conversational styles don't match. I used to be a master at this. My thoughts translate into speech with virtually no time delay. But when I talked with my husband, saying something of import, I was frequently met with silence. It took me but a nano-second to search for the motivation |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| "If only he (or she) would be reasonable . . . ." Fair enough to say this once, even twice. Beyond that it is simply howling at the moon. So, can you change another's point of view? I think so. But, it may require that you be the one to make the first change. Here's a story that provides an illustration: A divorcing husband and wife were negotiating financial issues. He was ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Is it fair to say that every promise is conditioned on underlying assumptions, whether stated or not? Even vows? And if the life experiences of the parties evoke different silent assumptions,then what? These questions came to mind when thinking about a recent conversation with a mediation client, and sparked this old memory When I was a young child, I would wake on Sundays to a silent house, my older brothers still asleep. Leaving my bed, I'd wander to the door of my parent's room where I would settle down on the floor, waiting until I sensed the time was right to knock and join them ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| The conventional wisdom: when faced with an important decision, consider the pros and cons. Sometimes I do, perhaps just in thought, or with written lists. But, most often, by the time I get around to this deliberate approach, I already know what my decision will be, at least what my more impulsive self yearns to do. Then, having made the decision, occasionally I question the lack of serious attention to the more analytical process. ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| My irreligious mother, although a sophisticated artist in the latter half of her life, was a child in the early years of the last century, born in what is now the Ukraine. She loved to retell a story she claimed to have heard at her mother's knee: A sad, bedraggled, care worn peasant sought the advice of the village Rabbi, complaining bitterly about the |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| What a satisfying feeling it is, to be able to pass along wisdom acquired over the years. Then, to realize that applying that wisdom to events in one's own life doesn't work, how sobering. The wisdom: when confronting a problem with another, stand in their shoes. Empathize. See the issues from their perspective. As a professional helping others, I can do this in a reasonably dispassionate way. So many times I have said: once you empathize, you can sympathize ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Dealing with conflict often translates to avoiding, or at least postponing, conflict. To protect valued connections, forego the challenge, and hope that by morning all will be well. Many times it worked for me. Harmony became the new reality. Pretending can make it so. Sometimes. Especially if there is other glue to hold things together. A caress. A child's laughter, or tears. To some extent, we all play this game. Until the rules of the game change. ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| On a recent Sunday afternoon, I walked three city blocks through a gentle rain to spend a few hours in a favorite place, the public library. Planning to just browse for a while, I was surprised to hear music coming from the large atrium performance space. Before a seated audience, sat (and stood) a jazz trio, with a piano player spokesman interrupting the flow from time to time, to explain the interplay of the instruments, the improvisation. I wandered in and settled behind those already gathered. ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Strangely, some partners who have been unable to engage in a meaningful conversation for years, discover that once the agonizing decision has been made to separate and divorce,tensions lessen, and they start to have the very disclosing and important conversations that had eluded them for so long. Each situation is unique, but it is easy to conjecture that now neither feels vulnerable to judgment and disapproval, so each can relax and be more authentic. Perhaps they can even once again display the very qualities the other found ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Recently I talked with a young friend whose husband had suffered a mental breakdown. The man she dearly loved had become a stranger to her, and was resisting treatment. We discussed her options, personal and legal. After a time I asked her whether she had talked things over with her parents and siblings, who lived in distant places. She had not. Remaining hopeful that somehow this nightmare would reverse itself and all would be set right again, she was protecting their privacy ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| " We just can't communicate." How often have we all heard that refrain from a loved one, or from friends bemoaning this lack in an important intimate or work relationship? Words I occasionally spoke myself in days gone by.The different communication styles each of us develops, dependent to some extent on gender, ethnicity, nationality or some special family dynamic, too often go unrecognized. One example: the apology. A mediation client recently called me after a session and ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| As one who never follows sports teams, or even the individual performance of sports heroes, I find the sports pages of newspapers compelling. The human interest stories often read like Greek tragedy. This past Saturday, the Philadelphia Phillies sent Brett Myers to the mound the day after he had been arrested and arraigned for assaulting his wife. When Pat Gillick, the general manager, was asked why he did not push Myers back in the ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| If you clicked on this commentary expecting a "visualize world peace" proposal, wrong guess. I don't suggest that by imagining winning a contest (of wills) the likelihood of victory is enhanced. Quite the opposite. Try to visualize obtaining a hard fought for result, either through tough bargaining or by convincing a Judge, and imagine the consequences that will flow from the victory. Strange as it may seem, when zealously pursuing a victory, it is not always easy to distinguish a win ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Threats beget threats. Consider a verbal threat spoken in a negotiation context, perhaps with a partner or spouse, a teenager, or a work colleague. The discussion may start in a comfortable way, then frustration mounts over something said or a proposal made, anger or anxiety is triggered, and then comes the threat! Can it just be ignored? Yes. At least for the time being. Most often the threat is born of fear, and it is ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| My generation came of age in the 1940s and 1950s. Small television sets were just starting to appear in living rooms. Few channels and live programing. Men were returning from World War II and flooding college campuses, hungry to learn and to start families. Oh, those romantic movies that set the standards for our marriages. No women "at work" except for Katherine Hepburn. And Spencer, so long suffering. Social mores have changed almost as much as the technology. ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Is it wise to separate when a relationship is troubled? Should partners give each other space, with a hopeful eye towards a future reconciliation? Drawing only on my personal experience, I would answer: no. I remember many difficult times during my very long marriage when we were both unhappy, not always at the same time, and it was toughing out those difficult times, struggling for understanding, that seemed to bring us to a new and better place. While still together, we could reach out and touch, smile or ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I've launched an experiment with a sample of one. And the question is: can one call the streets surrounding one's home a neighborhood when there is a constantly shifting cast of characters? Almost a year has passed since I moved into a loft apartment in an old downtown Cincinnati building which over the past 40 years has undergone many incarnations, but which to me will always be Shillitos Department Store. I live in what used to be "Better Woman's Dresses", as is still ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| It is now more than ten years since our family court was rocked by two teenage suicides, one following the other by only months, the parents locked in war of the roses combat. Shocked and saddened, some were galvanized to action. The result: the expert from out of town was invited to come and steer us in some new directions. Our collective sorrow led us to seek greater understanding about children experiencing this traumatic time. We yearned for knowledge that would draw us back from hell and into ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I've never been a serious fan of televised sporting events, although there was a time in the distant past that I pretended to be, just as a way of sharing cozy moments with my husband. I wasn't actually a complete fraud. I could get caught up in the ballet of basketball or the graceful beauty of Olympic skiing and skating. And, although I experienced watching a football game as a complete bore, I found I really loved watching the post touchdown hugging, and even the congratulatory slap ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| "We just can't talk." The sad refrain of so many disappointed partners. And likely of others still struggling to ward off failure. Surely they talked early on, when first getting acquainted. But with greater familiarity, and perhaps an accumulation of minor or significant disappointments, some opt for saying nothing, if unable to find just the right words. Perhaps yearning to be authentic, but fearing further distance or hurt. Others talk non-stop but in accusatory mode, desperate for acknowledgment, but succeeding only in driving a partner further away. ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I own a small sculpture which hangs on my office wall. It is a carved wooded face, eyes wide open. Splayed across the face is a hand with elongated fingers which cover the eyes, but the fingers are spread just far enough apart that the eyes are only partially obscured. One has the sense that the eyes can see while appearing to be hidden from view, or to be hiding from the view. To me, it artfully displays hypocrisy, pretending to not see or know ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Making the decision to end an intimate relationship is always a complex and emotionally wrenching one, made even more so when children, innocent bystanders, will have their lives turned upside down. For some, the first question is: should we stay together for the sake of the children? The second question, usually asked by the partner for whom the decision may have already been made is: what example am I setting for my children if they rarely witness any expression of love or affection between parents living in a sea ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| I met a good friend for a leisurely lunch one day and as we greeted each other she asked how I was. "Confused", I responded. She gave me her full attention. I explained that shortly before meeting her, I'd spoken on the phone with a close friend who had been coping with breast cancer for many years. Over the past year, she'd been on a downward slide. Now the narcotics she used to dull the pain left her debilitated and sleepy much ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Relationships end. Sometimes that's even a good thing, at least for the adults. And if studied well and done with care, harm to children can be minimized.But smart people often fail the course. Their pain or anger distorts their vision,and instead of looking for explanations when things go wrong, they assume the worst about each other. They need to take a second look. Here is the question: Why is it that so often the same incident is viewed so differently by two conflicted ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| These days, I seem to talk with more and more people, friends and clients, who bemoan their spouse/partner's Internet explorations. They fear, sometimes firmly believe,that a fantasy life will be a threat to the stability of their relationship. For some the question is a moral one, their upbringing or religious beliefs affording them absolute clarity of judgment. But for most, what is often a clandestine or at least solitary avtivity, leads to the assumption that what is viewed will evolve into a yearning that will erode commitment. I wonder. There is probably not a married person alive who has not at some time at least fantasized the "what ifs?" What if I had married someone else? What if we separated or ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| My professional failures stay with me. Wakeful at 4:00 am, I conduct the postmortem. This case began when a mother petitioned the Court to terminate the Plan she and her former husband had been following to share responsibility for raising their eight year old daughter. For several years these parents been working well together and their daughter was flourishing. One disturbing event tipped the balance. The father had remarried. His ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Is it heresy to suggest that friends might be easier to live with than family? The moment this phrase is written, apologies and equivocations seem called for. Reading this, will my children feel hurt,rejected? What of my brother, my aunt? This is the very personal explanation: On a recent evening, I watched an old film of the Edward Albee Pulitzer Prize drama, "A Delicate Balance" which was introduced on Broadway in 1966. I was drawn in by ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Several weeks ago, President Bush, remaining steadfast in the face of calls from some in the military that he remove Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld from his post, said in a nationally televised statement: I am the decider. I get to decide. I've read since that the phrase, "I am the decider"was not only bandied about in jest on late night talk shows and parodies, but also stimulated talk when couples gathered socially,each party to a pair laying claim to the decider ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Within the past year I have moved into a new home. One of the many challenges was to reestablish the order of things and since I was moving into fewer square feet of space, to reconfigure not only my furnishings but all of the artwork we had collected over more than fifty years. Some pieces were gifted to children and friends but those with greatest meaning, and which lift my spirits, continue to surround me with beauty. One such painting is by ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I suggest it is paved with unrealistic expectations.
How often do our expectations,born of past experience, determine our willingness, or our refusal, to accept the status quo?
During a recent mediation session,the wife was unequivocal in expressing her wish to end the relationship and the husband was equally adamant that they should not divorce.The marriage was of eight years duration and they had two young children. Such complete |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| A phone conversation ends in my presence. The final words spoken: I love you. These three words have become a ubiquitous sign off, usually to a child, but perhaps also to a spouse or partner. There must be a generational divide, for such farewells (except possibly when whispered) were rarely heard in my youth, or even in my middle years. And they leave me feeling somewhat disquieted, the same unease I experience with every passing: have a good day. ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| Sometimes it seems so clear to me that mediating partners have virtually completed the process, but the process does not end. Some relatively minor point becomes a major sticking point. Both parties become entrenched, unwilling to give in or compromise, even when the issue is minimal.One might almost think that they do not want to finish and have their meetings end. These two people sitting on either end of my long couch usually have been a "couple" for a long time. ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| We've all heard it, from friends, clients, colleagues, our own inner voice. Unhappiness is so often expressed by one partner, due to the lack of intimacy yearned for, that human connection that would validate and make livable all the inevitable ups and downs of any close relationship. Some suffer in silence, others become vocal, even demanding. Joint counseling with a skilled professional often seems the logical approach and some partners do agree to take that path, although often reluctantly. I was ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| It is not unusual for some of those entering the divorce mediation process to question whether it can work, because they so distrust the other party. As an intimate relationship ends, there is inevitably a breakdown of trust. A spouse formerly so well known becomes a stranger. It can be terrifying. The intimacy vacuum created is quickly filled with anxiety. Then all that is needed is a spark, a canceled credit card, a letter from an attorney or the closing of an ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| While I'm always pleased to hear my mediation clients articulate the goal of a fair outcome, I rarely let the statement go by without a note of caution.Two individuals have agreed to share a process. While no doubt some of their values converge, there are likely many values they do not share. I tell them that in the mediation process, we will not strive to change that. My expectation is that their perception of past events will also differ. While their perceptions may ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| How should I define myself to readers who do not know me? Some years ago, I would have written: I am a lawyer and mediator, been married forever to Leonard Larsen, mother of three grown children and numerous grandchildren. My entry, in 1969, into what was then virtually an all male profession was born in significant part of an early Betty Friedan push. My luck (was it luck?) was to have married a man who admired and was not threatened by strong women, ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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| To many I am reintroducing myself, as for a number of years I presented commentaries on a public radio station which reached out into several midwestern states. To others I am not known,so a few words of introduction are in order. I am a lawyer with a 36 year professional history,the last 20 of those years primarily spent as a mediator. More recently the focus of my mediation practice has been on relationships,in the main marital,some parties struggling ... |
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| Posted by Bea Larsen at | | | |
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