Nancy Alvarez Writes

More About Silencing

Nancy — Mon, 14 May 2012 18:08:45 +0000

After Miss Larkin kicked me out of my seventh grade class, other teachers heard about the ‘little Communist’ at Hamilton Junior High and were appalled. Several no longer called on me in class; others derided the ideas I shared if they did. Suddenly my best friend, , Susan, stopped returning my phone calls. Her mother would always tell me she wasn’t home and she began to avoid me in school. Other kids followed suit. I had no one to eat lunch with, no one to talk to about homework assignments, and no one to share my confusion with about what was happening. I started to feel sick when I awakened in the morning, and often wanted to stay home from school. When I stayed home too many days in a semester, those same teachers would lower my grade although I always completed my work, which made me more miserable. . Finally my parents moved to a different town where I could ‘start over’. I was very careful about what I said in class there, and barely told anyone what I thought about much of anything until I met Margaret, who is still a dear friend. It wasn’t for many years that I realized how all of this had impacted my life. In work situations I loathed nodding and having no outlet for my mind, to say nothing of my feelings, and quickly chose the arts as my arena. If I expressed my inner self through choreographing dances, most folks wouldn’t have any idea what I was saying anyway. When I was told to change my writing habits in Hollywood and not write ‘soft’ stories, which meant anything about relationships or feelings, I complied with ease. I was used to hiding those things anyway. Did I enjoy the writing that sold? Was that even an issue? In my friendships if I had a thought about a friend’s behavior that I knew she wouldn’t like, I often refrained from sharing it. My fear about losing the friend was much greater than my fear of not being totally honest, although I had been told I was congenitally so by a therapist. I could let that go, couldn’t I, at least in some circumstances? This hiding of the ‘real’ me was rarely true with Margaret over many many years, but it was, and sometimes is, even now, with many new friends. More frequently now I can feel the fear, but I no longer have to silence myself to keep it tamped down. I just allow it to roll on through. In two marriages, however, I often kept quiet about important issues. My first husband would tell me to ‘wallow’ with my female friends, something I don’t think he would do today. He was young too. Now he has to listen to our two daughters when they wallow. That amused me when they were teenagers. If I disagreed with him about something political or even something about his work life, I also kept silent. And when our relationship began to deteriorate, I said even less about anything significant. I remember him telling me in some distress that I was supposed to keep him honest. The very idea makes me smile now. Did I actually sign up for that job? My second husband and I rarely talked about politics because we disagreed about most of what we saw in the world at large. He didn’t want to engage, so I stopped too. I stood up for my kids and for his daughter more easily than I did for myself. By the time we were in real trouble because of the behavior he exhibited when he was drinking, I was again experiencing the familiar feeling of walking on eggshells. Better to say nothing than to say the wrong thing and lose the second one! Of course this made everything worse because I was often angry, and I almost always felt trapped – another familiar feeling. I could go on, but this blog is already quite long. Finally, the worst part about being silent was that it always numbed me out. After my first divorce it took me two years to know what I was feeling about just about anything. Fortunately the thought of going back to that place is more distressing to me than the dangers of speaking out, so no matter how frightened I feel about what I have to say, I say it. If this sparks interest in any of you, I will delve more deeply in another blog post.

Being Silenced

Nancy — Mon, 07 May 2012 17:45:49 +0000

When I was in Junior High a teacher I will never forget said some horrible things that I disputed, not because I was yet a rebel (that came later), but because it contradicted what I learned at home. She loathed me, talked to all her teacher friends, who made my life miserable, even going so far as lowering my grades if I was absent more than a few days each marking quarter. Eventually my parents moved to get me out of that school district. But I had learned my lesson: to keep my mouth closed. It was dangerous to express an opinion. To do so would certainly make me very lonely in this new school as well. It took years for me to speak out. When a friend dragged me to a political meeting at Sarah Lawrence College, where I was a student, I realized I had not talked about my beliefs with anyone who was ‘new’ in my life for years. I had never been in a room filled with people who believed as I did. I found comfort there, and began to discover my own voice after years of silence.

The Big Picture

Nancy — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 16:56:56 +0000

I watched Bill Moyers last night, as I do most Sunday nights. He is a sane beacon in an otherwise bleak media universe, at least for me. He interviews folks both left and right, and asks probing, marvelous questions, rather like Edward R. Murrow, whom my mother adored. Like me, he seems to be ‘at sea’ with the lack of real reporting, or sense of history and verifiable truth/fact in the media, and I believe he invites guests so that he can see a bigger picture than we, the public, are given. The Dean of the USC School of Journalism was his guest this week, so of course they discussed the state of the media and this very problem. They even talked about the political ads from the Republican primaries and the ads to come in the Presidential race. What was most disturbing to them both, and to me, was the lies, easily disproven, and the timidity of any media players to point to fact, or distortion, or outright lies. Instead they entered some kind of alternate universe with the candidates, giving these discussions a sense of unreality. Most of that, even on PBS, make me feel as if I’m ‘spinning.’ Oddly enough, this is a recurring theme in my life in general, even in personal relationships. When there is no anchor in a shared past, or I am forced to deny that past because it makes someone uncomfortable, I really struggle. I keep wanting to bring in the ‘big picture’ but am rebuffed. Moyers showed a clip of George Stephanapolous questioning Romney. I can’t even remember what the topic was, but Romney derided him for the question, which was a good, though not deeply probing one, and Stephanapolous grinning with discomfort, brought the discussion back to an arena Romney clearly preferred. As if that is a journalist’s job, not framing the interview in history, Romney’s other comments, printed and video reports and so forth. I cannot understand this shift away from truth, fact, or history, and find it utterly discomfiting. Why would the interviewer accept this redefinition of reality that isn’t even true, and then move on as if it were? I want to throw something at the TV, or yell at it when I see this scenario, to say nothing of the deceitful ads. Thank God for John Stewart and Stephen Colbert, who show the ads or discussions, and then pull back to show the entire ‘real’ quote, or past discussions which disprove the fake one. And they’re comedians, not journalists! The Dean at USC takes trips to the desert without iphone, ipad, or computer so that he can decompress from all this misinformation and feel ‘better’ which he always does. When Moyers asked him how he feels after he returns from these trips, I believe he said ‘distressed’ or something like that. Me too most days. So I watch Moyers. And I struggle with the daily news, even on PBS or MSNBC, my TV news stations of choice. I struggle with the idea of not watching at all, but believe I need to be informed, though whether this stuff informs me is obviously in doubt. I try to work through similar issues with friends and my partner, when their truth and mine really diverge. Sometimes I just have to accept differences, and sometimes when they are just too far apart, move back. Perhaps having a relative in childhood whose ‘truth’ was very different from mine, with hers the only acceptable one, makes this process more difficult for me. I find it impossible to say my red sweater is blue anymore, with anyone. I know this can be irritating – just let it go, Nancy is a familiar refrain. Maybe what I’m trying to say is that I can’t, sometimes, there are significant reasons, and perhaps that’s not so bad. At least in the greater world, where there is a ‘bigger picture’ I hope I never stop questioning. I am grateful for Moyers, and for the folks he interviews. It’s always reassuring to know I’m not the only one when I’m spinning!

Devane & Hemsley

Nancy — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 17:40:00 +0000

When my first husband directed his first play in New York, “The People Vs. Ranchman” by Megan Terry, I was given a very unusual role to play. Nancy the drummer. The play actually starred William Devane, with Sherman Hemsley playing a small role long before he became Mr. Jefferson in the long-running TV comedy, ‘The Jeffersons.’ The very thought of the ‘part’ I played still amuses me all these years later. Fortunately none of the reviewers mentioned me, because none of them sat near me in the theater!

Helping Others Vs. Keeping What’s Mine

Nancy — Mon, 16 Apr 2012 16:11:43 +0000

I wake up many mornings feeling like I’m living in an alien land. What I hear on the news (from media moguls, of course), read in the media, see on TV, both in nightly programs and the ads that intrude on them — all make me feel like I better hoard what I can or my kids, if not me, will be in trouble. When I was growing up, even if the American history I was taught bore little relation to any reality (genocide was never mentioned; slavery rarely discussed, let alone the aftermath or racism), most of us seemed to believe it was important to help others who might be less fortunate than we were. I don’t know that most kids took that seriously, but it was listed – in school and certainly in my home – as an important value. Now many Americans clearly feel they don’t stand a chance; working hard won’t get them the golden apple; and their kids are, more than likely, in real trouble. Some folks, like George Zimmerman, believe that it’s young (or not so young) black men that are the problem, and they need guns to protect themselves from this threat. I wonder when I listen to reports about him if other people watching the newscast think he sounds like a deeply disturbed human being, irrational, nuts. Or how many ‘normal’ people think he may have a point. They have to hide behind gates, pull up their ladders, even kicking anyone who might be climbing upwards, and if necessary, carry guns to ‘protect’ themselves from this menace. What kind of society do these folks view as ideal? Are we a few generations away from one that looks like The Hunger Games? I watched Bill Moyers last night, as I usually do on Sunday evening, since he is a light in a very dark tunnel for me. He ended his program with an editorial about a man he had grown up with in Texas who had recently died. The gentleman had a midas touch, but spent a great deal of his lucre helping others. He didn’t just give to charities, he worked hands-on teaching ghetto kids, setting up clinics and struggling to find other ways to ‘give back.’ One of the last times he called Moyers before he passed away he asked, “Moyers, what else can I do to make the world a better place?” What’s happened to that question in the American conscience? Why aren’t more people, rich and not so rich, asking it? What is wrong with this picture, when a man like this seems unusual? I remind myself to not be so grim. What gives me hope is the Occupy movement. MoveOn held a training on Saturday all over the country that I attended, where we watched videos about nonviolent protest movements over the last thirty years, and then sat down in small groups to envision the kind of community we wanted to live in, creating ‘pods’ that would exemplify this new organization of society. I had hurt my back so I left before the event was finished, but the group went on to figure out how to protect themselves from push back against this creative approach to organize local society and perhaps, in time, the entire country. The group went on to choose three local actions for the next six weeks, and went on to plan them. So there is another side to a darkness that seems to be overtaking this nation. In the midst of the ‘gimme gimme’ mentality and ‘stay away from what’s mine’, there is a Moyers, MoveOn events, Occupy, and a real concern about the direction we are taking as a society. That sustains me. At least I know I’m not alone.

Waltons 2

Nancy — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 17:15:09 +0000

I created this video about another experience writing for The Waltons but forgot to post it. So I’m posting two today.

Not Honoring ‘Self’ Can Make You Sick

Nancy — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 17:01:02 +0000

Last week a friend send me a post she found on the internet by a female doctor who writes about women’s health issues. You can find the article and more about the doc at: http://www.care2.com/greenliving/repressing-the-real-you-makes-you-sick-for-real.html. My friend added a personal note – “This is what you’re always saying.” It certainly is what I believe, but only from personal experience, not from any evidence I had gathered from science. It felt great to have validation after all these years. In truth that was the impetous in making my memoir/workbook “Little Nancy: The Journey Home” available to a large audience. The women who had either read the book, or taken the workshop I have been offering with it, had experiences that were clearly profound, and they had these experiences because they had the courage to look closely at some of their deepest issues. Was this easy, for them or for me? Hell no! But I will say that for me, delving deep at this point in my life actually contributed to a changing perspective on my life and its choices, both negative and positive. In most instances, especially in regard to my two failed marriages, I found forgiveness. I can’t emphasize how freeing this was for me. I could not only see the trajectory of the path that had led me to each of those marriages, as well as the issues I missed or ignored in each case, but what I had gained from both experiences. I actually asked my first husband to have a cup of coffee with me, and told him exactly that: there had been very worthwhile aspects to our marriage, and then I shared what they had been, at least for me. Because I had used ‘coffee’ to tell him all the ways he had hurt me as I learned about them over the years, I was amazed he agreed to meet me yet again, and he looked equally amazed at what I had come to share. I thought it only fair to tell him what I had gained from our marriage since he had sat through all my thoughts on the negative side. The understanding and the sharing lifted a weight I had been carrying for years. I knew in my soul to shed that weight had to be good for me, but I never realized such exploration and sharing might actually prolong my life. Even without that knowledge, plumbing my own depths offered obvious emotional healing: it made me feel better, lighter, more whole. Dare I say: more ‘me’. Most of us shy away from anything we know might be painful, and certainly looking back over our past choices and missteps would qualify. It has always seemed to me that not looking back is equally perilous. When I have blocked out pieces of my life I have been destined to repeat them, or at the very least, similar, miserable experiences. So I have dug, and looked, and dug again, and with my book, urged other women to do the same. Nice to know I am also urging them to take care of their health. The healing isn’t just felt, it is healing in a medical sense. How amazing! Or maybe not so surprising after all.

The Walton’s: Family Meals

Nancy — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 18:55:05 +0000

It took five takes to get this down, but I will improve. And YouTube changed how you get your ‘imbed’ code, so that took an hour. Sigh. Still, I hope those of you who requested more Walton’s stories enjoy this one, as well as those of you who didn’t ask for anything specific.

Who Is The ‘Me’ I’ve Given Away?

Nancy — Mon, 26 Mar 2012 16:48:14 +0000

When one of my oldest friends read my last Huffington Post blog about giving up ‘me’ when I’m focused on ‘you’, she said she wasn’t sure what I meant by ‘me’, and asked. It seemed a good question. During my second marriage, when I went to my first Al-Anon meeting a woman there suggested as I left the room, in passing, that I might try doing something each day I enjoyed, even a ‘small’ thing. All the way to my car I couldn’t believe what my first thought had been: I have no idea what I enjoy anymore. That brought me up short, and says a lot to me about the ‘me’ I had given away. How could I not have been able to think of one significant thing? I still read books, whenever I had a spare moment, and took exercise classes. But exercise wasn’t particularly fun, even swimming, although it did seem necessary for my continued health. I still struggle with that one; last week I lost count of what lap I was swimming, so concentrated was I on the feel of the water, and my body slicing through it. Most days, most years, I have been in the pool but onto the next ‘task’ of the day in my mind, so what fun is that? With both husbands I gave up expressing my thoughts about many subjects, especially ones I knew would upset them. I didn’t do this all at once, but slowly, over time, before I realized I had even done such a thing. Eventually I no longer even thought about those issues, as if they were erased from my mind, no longer worth attending to. In retrospect, giving them up certainly seems like giving up a part of me. Most of the activities we did as a couple were activities ‘he’ chose; in truth that happened in both of my marriages. Why didn’t I push for the activities I wanted to do, like car camping, for instance? The arguments that ensued didn’t seem worth it after awhile, and I didn’t dislike the activities they enjoyed. It was an unconscious ‘giving away’. And over the years I no longer thought about what I wanted to do, eventually letting go of those pleasures so completely that by the time that woman made her suggestion, I couldn’t even think of one activity that I truly enjoyed besides reading. I love to dance, but rarely went dancing; when I was single one of my friends and I found a folk dance place and danced there most Saturday nights. Who knew if the place even still existed? I loved walking on the beach, but usually didn’t have the time to drive down there as well as walk. If I had an hour, I walked near my house, so I didn’t have to use my precious hour driving. I hadn’t been to the beach, though it was only a few minutes away by car, in a very long time. I enjoyed eating out with friends. When had I last done that? I loved swimming, and though I still swam, wasn’t present in the pool. What else? I loved cuddling: with my daughters and with a man – but that wasn’t very important to either of my husbands, and once my daughters left home, that wasn’t available either. After this realization, when they would visit, I would always suggest watching TV in my bed, and we would all cuddle. Sometimes we would read there. Now I have my grandkids and my partner, who also likes to cuddle and touch. These are the things that come to mind. To sum up, I gave up issues that mattered to me; I gave up thinking about those arenas; I gave up the beach; I gave up cuddling; I gave up dancing. And by giving up all that, I gave up my sense of self. The scale was so tipped to each husband, that in the end there wasn’t much left of what had always sustained me. I will be forever grateful to that woman at the long-ago Al-Anon meeting, because her words sent me down a necessary path to find that forgotten woman, and all that she had enjoyed. During that particular journey I swore to myself I would never give those things up again, and I never have. I slip, especially in the pool, but not for long. The water feels too good!

Meeting Gower Champion

Nancy — Mon, 19 Mar 2012 17:56:20 +0000

When my first husband worked for David Merrick, the biggest Broadway producer of the day, we were invited to the opening night party, where we met Mary Martin, Robert Preston, and Gower Champion. What happened next will be a memory that will never leave me. It was thrilling.