Can we really ever escape our childhoods?

I’ve never been one to believe in shrinks. When I was going through one of the worst times in my life—mother dying, marriage ending – I saw this woman named Darlene. Darlene is a “family therapist and stress reduction specialist.” After a couple of visits, I found myself wanting to give her some advice. As she listened, offering her insight, words like “crock” and “hokey” came to mind. She began to tear my mother apart. I’m Italian and no one disrespects my mother. As I told her how wonderful my mother was and what a nut my dad was; how I always felt I had to protect my brother and sister from his macho craziness, his Italian temper, his wrongdoings, she blamed my mother!

“How could your mother subject a young girl to his behavior?” she asked. Assuming the woman had never seen an episode of “The Sopranos” I replied, “He loved us all so much; he would beg, borrow, steal or kill to make sure we were all taken care of.”
More questions…
“Why did she put so much responsibility on you, and not your siblings?”
"Why is it your job to take care of everyone?"

That was the last time I saw Darlene. This was the same day she suggested I talk to angels to help sort things out. Growing up Catholic, I know all about angels. The guardian angel prayer that includes, “If I shall die before I wake” instilled a fear of death, and sleep, I’ve yet to shake.
One of the nicer, less sadistic nuns in grammar school told me I had a guardian angel by my side and that I should name him. Strangely enough, I named him “Michael.” My invisible angel and I had many long conversations, some requests answered, some not.

I’ve been thinking about therapy a lot lately. Not that I would ever see a shrink again, but the idea of therapy fascinates me. Therapists always trace your problems back to your parents. I’ve seen those silly embroidered pillows in shop windows that say, “I’m becoming my mother.”
The other night, I watched a “Will and Grace” episode that hit home. Grace’s mother, played by Debbie Reynolds, is this larger-than-life character with charisma to burn. Grace is trying to figure out why Will said if he were straight, she would be the last person he'd marry.
“You always have to be the star of your relationships,” he says.
Grace ponders Will's statement and reverts back to her old journals from high school. She realizes she is her mother. When Grace accuses her mother of always having to be the star she replies, “It’s not my fault, dear; God cast me in the role.”

Are we simply the products of our parents? Are we cast in certain roles when we're born... neurotic obsessive; drama queen; control freak; morose recluse; passionate idiot; queen of the fucking universe? Sure, we can fight against it with our very last breath, vow to be nothing like them, but at the end of the day, are we destined to become our parents?

My husband Michael has spent a lot of time analyzing the past, through shrink therapy and wine therapy with me (this is the kind of therapy I do best; a bottle of wine and a very large glass, or straw). Why did he stay in a loveless relationship for so many years? He traces this back to abandonment issues with his mother who dumped him in an orphanage at 4.

Why did I stay married to someone so broken? Like my mother, I think I can fix everything and everyone. Why do I feel responsible for everyone’s happiness, have enough guilt to start my own religion, and romanticize life out of proportion? One only has to look to the legacy of Banjo and Peg, my parents, to figure it out. No shrink necessary.

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