Stepping Outside of Myself

I found a new movie to love. A friend recommended that I watch The Prizewinner of Defiance, Ohio because elements of the storyline reminded her of Todd and me. 


It is a true story of a woman who chose not to allow her circumstances to rob her of happiness, and managed to raise ten children to healthy, well-adjusted adulthood (in spite of an alcoholic husband whose irresponsible behavior often sabotaged her greatest efforts). 


Julianne Moore's portrayal of Evelyn Ryan embodied what director Jane Anderson referred to as a certain "Midwestern Zen" -- that unshakable belief that good can come out of even the most tragic situations. 

Evelyn Ryan is my new hero. Not because of what she lived through or put up with, but rather because of how valiantly she fought to keep Kelly (her husband) from pulling her down to his level of negativity and hopelessness.

It was painful to watch the husband in the film destroy his own home when he was drunk, and it was even worse to see him pathetically attempting to make up for it with a cup of tea when he sobered up. No amount of tea could cover for the weight of the expectations Kelly Ryan heaped on his wife. He was heart-breakingly pathetic -- like a poster child for impotency.

The codependent in me felt badly for Todd as we watched the film, because I wondered if he would think I knew what it was about ahead of time and was playing the film merely as a way of pointing a finger at him. How could he possibly not see himself in the character of Kelly Ryan?

And yet Evelyn stayed. 'Til death finally parted them in their old age. 

Whether or not she did it because of her faith, "for the kids," or simply because that was what people did back then is beside the point. The way in which she stayed was definitely beneficial for the kids, and possibly even for Evelyn herself. Evelyn's life embodied the beauty of how forgiveness sets free the one who forgives. I still don't believe forgiveness means having to stay in an abusive situation, but because she was so strong and was able to be that joyful example, Evelyn made an indelible positive mark on the lives of her children . . . and although they were children of an alcoholic, they didn't end up needing years of therapy.

I love this exchange Evelyn has with her daughter, Tuff (who incidentally grows up to become the writer who wrote the memoir about her)

TUFF: Do you ever wish you’d never married Dad?
EVELYN: Gosh, Tuff.
TUFF: Do you?
EVELYN: No. I don’t have any regrets.
TUFF: Come on mom, you’ve been stuck in the house for 20 years cooking and cleaning and taking care of a bunch of crappy kids.
EVELYN: Don’t use that word -- Especially in regards to yourself.
TUFF: But you could be living in a city, writing for a newspaper, having an interesting life.
EVELYN: I do have an interesting life.
TUFF: Your life stinks. Gosh, Mom. Just look at today. You finally get a chance to go somewhere and the lousy car breaks down.
(Evelyn laughs)
TUFF: It’s not fair. If I were you, I’d be angry all the time.
EVELYN: Well, that wouldn’t do me any good now, would it?
TUFF: Gosh sakes, Mom. You’re only human.
EVELYN: Oh Sweetheart. Maybe I’m meant to make it to the [meeting]. Maybe I’m not. But right now I’m sitting in the shade having a conversation with my wonderfully feisty daughter....

"Well, that wouldn't do me any good now, would it?" Oh, that I could be more like Evelyn Ryan! 

Although I've managed to stay with Todd of a quarter of a century, I'm about as far as you can get from heroic... because I've allowed myself to sink down into the dark quagmire with him. I've allowed myself to entertain self-pity and anger . . . and what good has that done me or my children? I'm so far from having this figured out. Even without anger, there is a sort of inequality in the type of relationship Todd and I have that precludes intimacy. I can view him sympathetically, like Kelly in the movie, but that only leads to pitying him -- not trusting or desiring him.

The writer/director, Jane Anderson, made an interesting choice in how to present the Ryan family's story on screen. Studying the advertisements of the era, she found that they often utilized perky housewives stepping out of domestic scenes and talking directly to the camera. That Anderson chose to use this device as a way of narrating the Ryan family story is significant to me as more than just a creative way to tie the film to a very specific time in history. I think it also allows a visible picture of a psychological survival tactic Evelyn Ryan must have employed:

STEPPING OUTSIDE OF HERSELF.

Evelyn was not a Stepford Wife. She was not a suffering doormat for Kelly to walk all over. She maintained strength and dignity in the midst of what many would see as unbearable circumstances. She cried very little in the film (which by all accounts is very faithful to the memoir upon which it is based); however, frequently -- at those moments when most of us (or me at least) would be likely to cry or get mad -- we see Julianne Moore step outside of the scene and talk directly to the camera. I believe Evelyn was able to do the same in a sense . . . and that is probably why she was able to see the humor in situations that were also hurtful. She learned to focus on the positive and kick the rest to the curb.

Evelyn didn't merely survive, she taught her children how to thrive. What a wonderful legacy.

Can I be more like Evelyn Ryan?

I've been trying to step back and disconnect at those times when I feel like I'm going to burst. 

That helps. It's not something that becomes automatic, though. I think that even a strong woman like Evelyn has to step away and recharge.

She was real. She managed this beautiful balance that included being both positive and honest.




Lately I've been feeling a lot like Evelyn in this scene:

Maybe it's okay to withdraw at times like this. To sort things out without a lot of voices cluttering my head.

Here's my latest theory: Denying a dream doesn't make it go away; it only crams it down into some hidden space where it can easily turn into a nightmare. I think you need to allow yourself to grieve a little. A little. Then look for the joy. It's there. Somewhere. Maybe the vehicle you've been banking on won't get you there. Maybe it's time to get out and walk.

“Life is always going to hand you something miserable, but you don’t need to define yourself by either your failure or your pain or by whatever terrible thing someone has done to you.... No matter where you come from, what is done to you, you have the option to thrive." 

(Jane Anderson)

One of those days when I can't put into words the immense weight of emotions...

...and a movie does it so much better.




Kate, in Last Chance Harvey, said:

"I expected you not to show -- in fact I think I actually almost wanted you not to show because its just easier that way. You -- you just dive in there -- don't you just woosh -- anywhere -- deep end -- and I'm not a bloody swimming pool, Harvey, and I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to do it... because it will hurt... You see, I think that what it is is, I think that I'm more comfortable with being disappointed. I think I'm angry with you for trying to take that away."

Yep, I can identify. Except for the Harvey part. There is no Harvey. No woosh. No one patient enough to try to "take that away." Just the getting comfortable with being disappointed part.


I'm not talking about romance. It's just about showing up. I loved how some of the neighbor ladies do that in the movie, Lars and the Real Girl. When Bianca is "dying," the ladies bring casseroles and come to sit with Lars, 

"That's what people do when tragedy strikes. They come over, and sit." 

So many people feel like they have to offer their two cents about what they would do if they were in my situation, but the fact is such unsolicited advice can often be so full of assumptions that it only serves to confirm my opinion that nobody really understands. (And, even worse, that they don't care enough to invest the effort to try to understand.)


You don't have to understand, if you're willing to just sit. But that is a dying art. 


I'm so lonely, but maybe I can just get used to that. I feel like withdrawing from everyone. It might be better than being misunderstood.


I don't expect anyone to show. But no matter what I say, I do wish someone would. It would be nice to simply be held and comforted. I know God is there for me, I'm not talking about that. 


I wish my mom were here with me.