Dancing Queens
By Mary Lou Shields
What a wonderful opportunity for them.
That was my first response last July when my daughter Liz told me that she had signed up for the three-day IOCDF Annual Conference at the Renaissance Waterfront Hotel in Boston. For them. Won't it be great, I thought to myself, “they” being my daughter, granddaughter Madison, and son-in-law Russ. (Madison, age nine last summer, has been in treatment for OCD since she was six or seven.)
By August 1, 2008, when I found myself on the Red Line train at 5:45am on my way to join Liz and Madison for the opening day of the conference, I was hoping that the conference would be a breakthrough for them.
Even though Liz lives in Boston, she took a room at the Renaissance so that she and Madison could easily be on time for the 8am Parents and Children Orientation, co-chaired by Patti Perkins and Katy Peroutka.
From the moment Patti had us move the chairs from theater-style to a circle, she created a welcoming atmosphere. Needless to say I was unaware that Patti is a co-founder of the IOCDF and an inspiration to all. I and my little family could not have been in better hands but, at the time, I didn't know this. More than a few of us were nervous and shy but by deftly including us all, the young people took center stage in a natural way.
Over the next three days as the conference continued, I would learn that OCD is frequently part of a constellation of behaviors, which can include hoarding and relying on things to develop a sense of self. Thanks to the excellent speakers and the overall cordiality of the attendees, I gradually moved from observer to participant. By seeing myself on the OCD spectrum, I unwittingly moved closer to my daughter and granddaughter.
As I learned about thoughts, behaviors, and feelings along "the perfectionist triad," I began to understand what Liz had been telling me about my granddaughter's cognitive behavioral therapy. I understood how important it was for Madison to learn to outwit OCD. I saw how my own impatience with Madison thwarted some of her therapy. Understanding my past mistakes created the space for new skills.
As I learned about hoarding and clutter, I realized that I leave papers and files stacked up on my desk and my shelves because I'm afraid I'll lose them if they're out of sight. I'm not sure if this would ever be diagnosed as visual and spatial fugue but, as I began to see my own traits verge on what's called a disorder, I saw myself more like Madison. I began to wonder what else I had missed.
I think it's Dr. Edward Hallowell, author of Driven to Distraction, who said, "I think of ADHD as a trait, not a disability, and the people who have it as having a difference - not a disease."
In Dr. Roberto Olivardia's workshop, I learned that ADHD can be a co-morbid disorder with OCD and, for the first time in my life, I saw both tendencies in myself. Dr.
Olivardia encouraged us to find the positive features of ADHD such as the ability to multi-task and think creatively. "People with ADHD are drawn to their passion. They have to do what they have to do," said Olivardia, a description that describes me to a tee.
Whereas I had known about my ADHD tendencies, I hadn't ever thought I had any OCD traits so, for me, Dr. Olivardia's seminar proved to be the most revelatory. For example, I never connected my inflated sense of responsibility with my obsessive attention to detail. Both can coexist alongside an obsessive commitment to complete a project. In the larger sense, these might be considered positive aspects of OCD but, nonetheless, these traits have long bogged me down.
In the pool later that afternoon, we all took a break and I helped chaperone the young girls who by then had become friends, Emily, Rielly, Mimi, and Madison.
On Day Three, the girls all went to Virtual Camp and I stationed myself outside the door so that Liz and Russ could go off to their own workshop. Can you imagine my surprise when kids in groups burst from the seminar room searching for trashcans into which they could put their hands?
"Where are you going now?" I asked Madison (who calls me Louie.) "Oh Louie," she answered as she and the others rocked with laughter, "we're going to sit on the bathroom floor to prove no one dies." Off they all went and I had been introduced to ERP, or Exposure and Response Prevention.
By the last day of the conference, I was drawing more inferences about myself than about Madison. I also connected some missing behavioral links to my whole family.
Without awareness, people can't change. Without resilience, change can be difficult. Watching the girls in their brightly colored clothing as they romped on the carpets of one of Boston's newest waterfront hotels, I saw not their shared "disorder" but their shared zest for life and friendly affection.
“A life changing event for Madison,” said Liz.
Perhaps for me, too?
If our identity and confidence depend on the stories we tell ourselves about who we are, how great is it that, at age nine, Madison has a new story to tell herself? And I, the author of two memoirs, one published and another, not quite, am developing a new story to tell at age seventy-three.
On the last night of the conference I was simply too tired to stay on for the wonderful party with its shiny decorations, fabulous buffet, and loud, happy music. In the crowded ballroom, I bid my farewells to the score of Mama Mia. As I turned to blow a last goodnight kiss to Liz, the only ones on the dance floor were Rielly, Emily, Mimi, and Madison happily twirling to the strains of Abba's "Dancing Queen."
Back out on the Red Line Sunday night, I couldn't get either the song or the image of the girls out of my mind so, all the way home, I smiled and silently sang,
See that girl,
Watch that scene,
Diggin’ the dancing queen....
Mary Lou Shields is the author of Sea Run: Surviving My Mother's Madness, a memoir of her five-year psychoanalysis at McLean Hospital under the aegis of the Boston Psychoanalytic Society and Institute.
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