52+: Mud is Thicker Than Water

By Nancy Van Iderstine, Guest Nudger

Sometimes Nudges are about adding things to our lives: adventures, memories, appreciation for pretty and treasured objects. Sometimes those same Nudges end up teaching us about the power of letting go. This is one of the latter. Nancy’s essay below is so brave. She offers a great example of how to live a 52Nudges Life, meaning one in which we put our selves first, set boundaries, and see our worth.

I called Nancy after I received this, to tell her how empowering I think it is. We talked about how we, as women, were raised to be nice and polite, meaning we were expected to put up with bad treatment for most of our lives. Enough. As you read what Nancy has to share, I hope you’ll consider nudging yourself to wash away any “mud” that is holding you back from living your best and most loving life. —xoKathleen

A few years ago, during a brisk walk along the boardwalk in Venice, California, my friend Melanie* (somewhat) kiddingly told me that her current aim in life is to stand up for herself more often. I was surprised. She’s a strong, independent woman. But I agreed with her that if she feels disrespected, she has every right to address that. Or remove herself from the people disrespecting her.

That night, I reflected on her words. I stand up for myself. Right? I’m nobody’s doormat.

Then, in 2020, I realized that there have been many occasions where I should have stood up for myself and didn’t.

That’s no longer a probable outcome for me. Admittedly, this isn’t an easy new path, this standing up for me. It brings inner discord. Discord is something like fighting. And fighting is for social injustice, or animal welfare. And my profession’s tough. Isn’t that enough fighting?

And some relationships are unavoidable. Like a horrible boss, until and unless that job can be avoided.

Enter—ta-da!—The Pacifist’s Guide to Self-Preservation. As of February 2020, I’m no longer in contact with three people everyone assumed I’d remain close to for life. Here’s what happened:

Sonia

One evening, after she’d had one Chablis too many, my friend Sonia called me to spew forth a hateful diatribe about the #metoo movement, claiming those speaking out about past abuse are merely looking for attention.

I’d told her two days earlier that I was about to be interviewed for a documentary about Hollywood’s history of sexual misconduct. During my 20s, I’d been unknowingly drugged in a public place by a film producer colleague. He then expertly escorted my limp body to a private hotel room and sexually assaulted me.

Somewhere amidst the emotional hell I endured recalling the event for the docu filmmakers, I decided that my participation would be too traumatizing. (So much for “looking for attention.”) But when Sonia called, I hadn’t yet dropped out of the film. The filmmakers are past Oscar nominees, and I know the film will be very well made, but I had to consider my own psyche.

Sonia later apologized for her bizarre anti-feminist rant, but I couldn’t unhear what she had said.

Laurie

While tuning in to support my comedian friend Laurie’s podcast one week, I heard something I couldn’t believe—a crude takedown of my boyfriend and me. Mercifully, she didn’t name me, but when we discussed it later, she agreed that I was indeed the target of her ridicule.

A month or so earlier, I’d begun a relationship with a wonderful man who happens to be younger than me. According to Mike, a mutual friend to Laurie and me, Laurie was frustrated over not having dated in a long while, so she used the podcast to fire off repeated insults about women who date younger men. She surmised that the only reason I was dating a younger guy was for non-stop sex. Mike insisted I shouldn’t take it personally. (After all, she was really frustrated!) Um…

Laurie had met my boyfriend (I guess he and I stopped having sex long enough for them to shake hands?), and she found him to be kind, intelligent, and creative. But apparently our age difference (which is considerably less than is common with the older man/younger starlet scenario) gave her just cause to shame me! Apparently.

Tyler

Finally, in February of 2020, during a trip to my New England hometown, came the verbal assault that changed things. This one came from Tyler, a first cousin with whom I’d enjoyed a delightful, lifelong camaraderie.

Earlier that month, my mother was hospitalized for a fracture following a tumble. My siblings, who live in the area, were visiting and helping her, then I was to show up when she returned home, so I could pamper her back to her usual robust health. But three days before I headed home, Mom took an unexpected, serious turn for the worse and entered hospice. Thankfully, I was able to spend a week with her, and was at her bedside when she peacefully passed away.

Days after my mother passed, Tyler invited me for tea, snacks, and a sneak attack. He announced that he had no interest in hearing details about my life in Los Angeles or my career ever again. I couldn’t imagine where this bitterness stemmed from. And why now? I’d just lost my mother!

I stopped breathing until, ultimately, an ache in my chest prompted me to breathe again. It’s how I react to shock sometimes. I’m not sure why.

It wasn’t until the plane ride back to California the next day that I began to piece together what may have prompted Tyler’s diatribe.

My mom was a voracious reader and loved having a daughter who wrote. She probably told my East Coast relatives about every big or small accomplishment I’ve had in my writing career.

I flashed back to 2010, when a film studio hired me to write a book about the studio’s history. A few months after it was published, I brought a few copies back to New England. My family would be thrilled to see them. Or so I thought.

But when I visited Tyler and offered him a copy, he said, “Oh, I don’t have room for any more books.” He didn’t have room? For a book? Written by a close relative?

“Oh, okay.” It seemed so odd, and it hurt. But I didn’t bring it up again.

In February of 2020, I got it. Tyler and his partner run a very successful business back home. And while I’ve frequently complimented them on their achievements, it occurred to me that they wanted to be the family superstars, and they’d grown tired of hearing any mention of my achievements. With my mother’s passing, they could now ensure that they wouldn’t.

Blood is thicker than water. How many times have I heard it? But no, I’m not accepting someone’s non-acceptance of me. And it doesn’t feel like blood. It feels like mud. The same mud I’ve had tossed in my direction by a handful of others from whom I now choose to dissociate.

What the three nasty talkers from my past objected to is me. Me! Whether it’s me having been a woman in Hollywood prior to #metoo, me falling in love, or me writing a book. Not me doing anything egregious or hurting someone else.

Three people who once played very significant roles in my life are no longer in my life at all. I don’t know if that will change. I do know that I’ve never felt calmer. I’ve also noticed that if conversations even hint toward disrespect, I either excuse myself or shift the conversation. Mostly, I excuse myself.

Sometimes I miss this trio, but just like any relationship that ends, I get to keep the wonderful memories I once shared with them.

I’m just not walking through the mud.

*Names and identities have been changed.