Guest Post: Writing About Your Family: Lessons I Have Learned

Today’s guest post is written by Sharon Hicks, author of How Do You Grab a Naked Lady, a memoir about her life with her bipolar mother. I reviewed the book here. The best way to gain insight into yourself, in my opinion, is by learning about your family, even if what you learn is somewhat painful.

Sharon Hicks

A few years ago, I met with Mother’s psychiatrist, Dr. Amjadi, to ask him a few questions about my mother. I was writing Mother’s story. I wanted to know more about her. Why did he tell me years ago that she was obsessed with knowing the truth? Aren’t we all?  Is obsession a symptom of bipolar? She was diagnosed as manic-depressive with schizophrenic tendencies. What does that mean? Another psychiatrist told me: “Can’t be both.” Could it?

After a few hours of discussion, he said he was amazed that I was writing her story rather than entering a field like psychology or social work that might help me understand mental illness better. Many of the family members of mentally ill patients he had previously encountered had done that. Then, he suggested I make it my memoir: showing the differences between mother and daughter, mentioning the things I had done that mother couldn’t, describing our roles as mother/daughter, etc.

My story! Impossible. She was the colorful, sexy, crazy one; the one arrested over thirty-three times mainly for parading around town naked, in and out of mental hospitals, multiple shock treatments and meds. For Pete’s Sake! She drove around the island in her yellow GS Buick convertible (she named Goose Shit) with the top down, naked. Well, okay, she did wear a yellow Gucci scarf around her neck, but only to blow in the wind. She especially loved coming to a stop sign next to a truck or bus so they could look at her, naked. “Those people can be so stupid. Haven’t they seen a naked body before? Wow, the stop light; ever see anything so fucking red as a blinking red stop light!”  

But, now it was my story. Well, my life with mother: how she was crazy and I was perfect. Heck! I had proof. Mother’s police records, documentations, her audiotapes. And, my senior class voted me Most Ideal and Homecoming Queen. We were clearly opposites! I was determined to prove it.

I wasn’t prepared for the agonizing writing process. The crazy ride on the roller coaster of emotions. Laughing and crying. Pacing, fidgeting and then exhaustion.

I wasn’t prepared for the ending. After the writing, I loved her and connected with her in a way I never did before. After the writing, I learned that the best parts of me were also my mother’s best parts: her inquiring philosophical mind, her raw honesty, her free spirit. And I learned I was not perfect! 

Today, I wish I could reach out, hug her and whisper in her ear: “I can’t possibly understand, but I want you to know I am your biggest ally. I love you.” 

Mother would quote Erhard: “Understanding is the booby prize.” Then she would snicker: “Who gives a shit?”   

Then we both would laugh and eat her “fart” cookies.

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Others ask me to share lessons I learned in writing my memoir. I don’t think any are hazardous, but some may be considered dangerous and scary, like diving into the deep end of a dark lagoon where the monsters live. You really don’t know what lurks in the darkness or crevices of your mind. Give up the fight to be right and know that “What you resist persists.” (Carl Jung) Once you face honesty in the face, humility bathes your body. And, you can shake hands with authenticity.

Lessons I have learned:

Be honest. With each event: what were you doing? Wearing? Thinking? Feeling? Be as honest as you can with each episode. Re-live it!  During the writing I paced, cried, panted, took deep breaths and ate dark chocolate. With your honesty, readers will relate whether they share the same experience or not, much like The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls, The Liars’ Club by Mary Karr or Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs.

A memoir (non-fiction) is written as a novel (fiction). Fiction has three parts: The Set Up/Climax/Resolution. A movie producer interested, asked me quickly: “What is Act 1?” I answered: “Growing up with crazy/manic Mother.”  “Act 2?” “Marrying squeaky clean proving I am nothing like Mother.” “Act 3?”  “Discovering I am like my mother. Her best qualities are my best qualities.” He then said he was interested and wanted to read my memoir.

He did offer a movie option. But wait, not so easy: How was my life resolved?  Who am I?  Who is my authentic self? Part 3 was the most difficult to write. To resolve. Oh shit…Mark Twain to the rescue: “It's no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense.” Then I relaxed with the understanding that Part 3 is a work in progress.

Focus on what your memoir is about. Write a couple of sentences or what is called an elevator pitch. Write a synopsis of one page to indicate the three parts as described above. Focus.

Legal advice may be needed when writing about others. Does writing about this particular incident/person contribute to my story? Will it damage my relationship with this person or harm this other person unduly?

Do your research. Attend Writers Conferences, Storytelling and Writing Workshops. Read. Learn. The best work I read is On Writing by Stephen King.

Focus on writing to one person. I focused writing to my only sibling, my brother who is four years older. David says my book answers many questions in his life and he has a deeper understanding why he does certain things a certain way. And, the biggest bonanza: he now knows me at a deeper level.

Know that there will be questions. I thought after I wrote my memoir, I would feel relief and satisfaction. It was over. The burning desire inside me to write “mother’s story” was finally completed. Published. I could relax. Oh no! The questions keep coming. I am reliving it over and over: painful, yet cathartic, exhausting and consuming. No end to the story.

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My dad told me I broke his heart when I was ten years old. I asked him the most difficult question: “Will I grow up to be like Mother?”  We were driving to the mental hospital to see Mother. I noticed him gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white and, looking straight ahead answered in a low voice: “no.”

The question lingered. Others continually asked me the question. Friends, husbands, lovers. “Are you anything like your mother?”  Anger would boil inside me as I answered with a loud “NO. Absolutely not!”  I broke off relationships. He doesn’t even know me. I am perfect. Mother was the crazy one. Screw him.

Today, after publication of How Do You Grab a Naked Lady? I am asked again at book signings, meetings, and interviews; in emails; on face book and twittering, “Are you anything like your mother?”  I answer calmly and proudly:  “I hope so.”   

Sharon L. Hicks is a retired executive living in Honolulu, Hawaii. She is the daughter of businessman and community leader Harold E. Hicks, whose company, Hicks Homes, built over 20,000 affordable pre-designed homes in Hawaii. How to Grab a Naked Lady is her first book, inspired by her mother.  It is available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Just Another Manic Mom Day

So mental illness is a myth, huh? 

"How do You Grab a Naked Lady" is a gripping memoir by Sharon L. Hicks that is hard to put down. It mostly centers around her crazy-making relationship with her legitimately bipolar mother, particularly during the mother’s manic episodes. Her mother certainly did not have bipolar, myass disorder, or bipolar “spectrum” disorder (B.S.).

Of course, having a parent with a severe mental illness can itself lead to severe family dysfunction that adversely affects other, completely normal family members, particularly children. What follows are a couple of examples of Mom’s behavior while in the manic state. Ask yourself how you might turn out if your mother routinely did things like this in front of you - and often in public:

"Sharon, are you listening to me? I had a 24K gold necklace made for me with the letters   F-U-C-K to dangle across my chest. It cost me $15,000. Let's go pick it up."...
"I'm sorry Mrs. Hicks, but management would not allow us to make the necklace." 
"Oh yeah, well fuck you!...Mother spun around and headed for the escalator or the 2nd floor...In one fluid motion, Mother pulled her muumuu over her head..
"Yes, sir, completely naked."
...As she paraded down the escalator, she yelled, "You're all a bunch of shitheads."

Or another time: “I’m calling President Kennedy. He absolutely must take these pills! And I’m calling everyone I know to tell them about the divorce [from the author’s dad]…And the flies on the wall agree with me…I know because they are fluttering their wings. That’s how they talk to me…I’m the only one who understands how they communicate…they have names. I’ve named them all. They really like their names. They told me so.”

And no, people with personality problems do not act like that, or seriously say things like that. Seriously.

The patient’s childhood was further complicated by the mother’s behavior when the mother was in the euthymic state (neither manic or depressed). In the euthymic state, bipolar patients are just like everyone else. Their moods completely span the normal range. They can have the same problems as anyone else. They can be very functional, or they can have severe personality problems. They can also react poorly to the consequences of their own crazy behavior when they had been in the manic state.

In the case of the author, her mother is described as having been very narcissistic and self centered while euthymic, and as having rarely asked her daughter how the daughter felt about anything. Furthermore, Mom seemed to love being in the manic state, even though it frequently led to her being arrested or thrown into a mental hospital and given electroshock treatments. (This was during the 1940’s, 1950’s, and early 1960’s when patients had few rights, and there were few effective medications).  

But later, when there were effective medications, the mother would refuse to take them. She seemed to feel that even the depressed episodes were worth it, because there would also be those exciting manic highs. While manic, she particularly liked the hypersexuality that came with the territory, even when that meant running naked in public.

At times, the author felt that maybe mother really had control of her behavior even while manic, and was using it to get what she wanted. She read Thomas Szasz, who wrote about how mental illness was a myth. For a short time, she considered it. 

Naaah! She knew her mom was just crazy during manic episodes.

Another factor that affects both the way diseases like bipolar disorder present themselves as well as their effects on other family members is the ambient culture. This idea in no way diminishes the FACT that psychosis is a brain dysfunction. 

The author was born at a time during which gender role stereotypy was the norm. The dream of the author’s father was that she would marry a professional man who made a lot of money, move into the suburbs, and have lots of children. Sort of what her mother did, although she complained about it her whole life. She loved telling her husband what a sh*thead he was.

The author actually didn’t really like the whole sexist white picket fence fairy tale, wanting rather to get her doctorate in philosophy and do great things. On the other hand, she did not want to be anything like her mother. Yet somehow she spent most of her life living out the worst of the two worlds. Her career aspirations were halted when she got pregnant - several times - and married two men whom she did not love but who provided the picture perfect world that her father wanted for her. 

In this world, even men who appeared to be supportive of women's careers nonetheless saw them as lesser beings. When the author had to quit the graduate philosophy program (because she "accidentally" allowed herself to become pregnant, of course), the department chair said, "We need women like you to become professors. So the men can do the research."

In line with the family dynamics of someone without a psychotic parent, the author allowed her husbands and even her son to verbally abuse her, much like her mother frequently did whenever the author had to rescue Mom from her manic escapades. Between husbands, the author became somewhat hypersexual herself, though not nearly in the same way that her mother did during mania. After spending much of her life trying – and failing for the most part, even while not being mentally ill herself in the least - to be everything her mother was not, she came to realize that she admired her mother’s free spirit.

As she struggled to break free from her sexist upbringing, the author brilliantly describes the existential terror that results when someone tries to do something like that: “…might strip away a lifetime of beliefs about who I was, who I was supposed to be. Then what?  What happened after that? That’s the part they didn’t tell you. What happened when you didn’t recognize your life or even yourself any more? When there was only a smoldering void where familiarity used to live?”

So are all of the people society labels mentally ill just eccentric folks who just do not fit in with society?  During her many trips to mental hospitals to visit her mother, the author relates the following conversation with another patient:

“Don’t eat the food,” he told me.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s poisoned.”

“How do you know?”

“The aliens told me. They communicate with me through the fillings in my teeth.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

The thoughts of a functioning normal brain?  Yeah, right.