She was very sorrowful: for she was very rich.

This is too poignant not to write about it. You'll think I made it up.

I like mass transit; have for awhile. Denver traffic is more stop than go, and I'd rather spend it reading or working than staring at taillights and sighing at NPR. My office is in an industrial area on the other side of the tracks, as it were—literally, actually—and the most convenient bus route winds through streets of crumbly houses built in the 30's, unkempt small yards, 90's-model cars parked on the street, truant punks smoking on the corner, and epithets yelled in not-English. It's kind of quaint, especially if you like antique houses, and I've never felt unsafe, but I've never lived in such a neighborhood, and chances are great that I never shall.

I had my laptop open, typing away on an address that I've been assigned to give in my congregation on Sunday. I clicked to the desktop to open another program when a loud voice in the seat behind me burst: “Whoa, could I have a copy of that?”

I turned around, saw a lady—I think—bundled in a coat and hat, friendly smile, no hint of care or fashion to her appearance, and smiled back. I was confused, thinking she'd been reading over my shoulder and meant a copy of the document I was writing.

“I want a copy of that picture! Think you could print it off for me—that's a really nice picture.”

Ah, I understood. My desktop background is full-screen “Christ and the Rich Young Ruler” by Hofmann.

“Isn't it wonderful? It's my favorite. I could tell you how to find it online if you want.”

“Could you print it off for me?”

“I—I'm sorry, I don't have a printer with me.” (Why didn't I offer to mail one to her? Didn't think.)

“Is that Jesus and Mary too?”

“It's Jesus and...remember in your bible, it says a rich young man came to see Jesus, and asked Him how to get to heaven? Jesus told him to sell all his things, give the money to the poor, and follow Him. He didn't do it. He didn't want to give away all his stuff. So there's Jesus, and that's the rich young man, and there are the poor people that Jesus wants him to help.”

“That's sure a nice picture. Say, isn't that a great picture?” She hollered at the girl across the aisle from me, who seemed much more Siddhartha than Sunday School, if you know what I mean. I turned the screen toward her with an apologetic smile. She glanced without interest and turned back to the window. My new friend was not daunted.

“I wish I could hang it up in my house, it would keep all the evil spirits away. No evil spirits get in my house with that there.”

Out of some instinct to tone down her theology a bit, I corrected, “It would definitely help you remember to be kind like Jesus, and that would keep the evil out of you.” She might have nodded for half a beat, but was far more interested in talking than listening—

“I always keep a dream catcher up on the wall, that keeps the evil spirits away, they can't get through it, and I always wear my cross...”

I kept eye contact, smiled, and nodded as she talked for several moments, mostly over my attempts to ask her her name, or where she went to church, or anything else. Abruptly she stopped, and after a few repetitions at my request I realized she had asked me for two dollars.

“I live up in Montbello. I gotta have two dollars to get home. The bus to get home, I think it's two dollars, I don't know, that should do it.”

Of course I gave it to her. Of course. I'd just told the story of the rich young ruler. Of course. What else could I possibly have done?

Only two dollars? I suddenly felt conscious of the computer on my lap and the diamonds on my finger.

It did occur to me to give more. I'm not one to carry useful denominations of cash, though, and aside from the one dollar bill and another dollar scraped together in change, the next bill up was a twenty.

What if she'd asked for twenty? Because she lived farther than Montbello, and needed it to get home?

Or fifty, for crucial medicine?

Or a place to stay for the night?

I finally bought new jeans when the old ones were worn through in immodest places—but I have plenty of clothes. My house is furnished largely from the Goodwill Spring Collection and Garage Sale Chic—but it's a large and lovely house. My Protege's transmission occasionally refuses to accelerate above 20, and my husband spent hours this week tinkering with our '95 Cavalier to avoid a large bill—but we have two cars.

And why the skinflintiness? Because I may go without groceries otherwise?

No chance.

Because I may move a sub-optimum amount to my savings account for the month?

Bingo.

I'm prudent with my finances and working toward important goals. I cut every corner I can to meet them. Pay off student loans, provide for children, save for retirement, live on one income when children are young, all the responsible et ceteras. All of these are in obedience to sound, scripture-based counsel. I don't feel bad about it.

But do I give enough in charity? Would Christ tell me to give more to the poor? Would He point out that my financial security stems largely from my favorable circumstances, and though my paystub says I earn every dime, I can never truly say this was obtained by my strength alone?

There's no pat answer, of course, and certainly not one that I can post on a blog. Here I've gone and cheapened my two dollars to be seen of men.

Bottom line: when life lines up a circumstance like my bus handout today, I'd better do some beady-eyed examination of my motives and plans in life.

What a blatant reminder. I smiled all the way home.

Candidate Selection

In case you live under a rock, in a barrel of jello, with cotton stuffed in your ears, on the dark side of the moon, I'll tell you--the campaign season is upon us. I have no idea who I'll vote for. No one seems to have much to say on the single most pressing issue facing our great nation: the propriety of the Tebow. Or the second most pressing: the fact that the net present value of Social Security and Medicare's unfunded liability is $33.8 trillion. Yup, with a t. Total value of every company currently traded on the US stock exchange? $13.1 trillion. Total value of the equity in American homes? $6.2 trillion. Total haul were we to confiscate all income from all earners above $250,000 for a year? $1.4 trillion.

In other words, there's not enough money in the country to meet those promises. We and our kids are basically indentured to an outdated and irrational system.

For awhile, I was willing to grant that despite his occasional lunacies, M. Paul is a force for good in the race because he won't let everyone ignore the hard truths.

Ah, whoops: he's just as big a squish as the rest of them. Cranky noble consistent libertarian FAIL.

So really, there's no one I can enthusiastically support. Yet I'd feel bad not voting in the primaries, so what to do? How to choose? Well, a website ad today gave me an idea. It was a fundraising pitch for Rick Santorum, the first time I'd seen his official campaign logo. Its complete awfulness turned my head, and also inspired me: the candidate with the best logo! That's how I'll decide! With the campaign devolving into ridiculous whining about Romney's various acts of capitalism (the only thing I really like about the guy) and other superficialities, what better way to decide?!

Since Santorum gave me the idea, we'll start off with him. Oh, and you know one important reason why Santorum can't win? Because consulting google to snag a picture of his logo also brings up copious amounts of hard-core gay porn. Thanks, debased internet culture!



As I said: awful. The font: decent. The eagle: ridiculous. Spindly. Soaring eagles are tricky. Better to have them perched sternly, with talons gripping something. The dotted circle looks weak. Color: is it just a fluke that this looks pink? Nope. Several websites, including M. Santorum's own, display that hue. Blech. Grade: C-.

Okay, Romney:



That's an R, right? Hard to tell. Sure, it's supposed to be a waving flag, or people united, or whatever--a see-what-you-want-to-see logo really isn't the vibe Mr. Flippity-floppity needed to go for. The Last-name-in-stately-serif accompanied by tagline-in-modern-non-serif format is popular this year (see Perry below) but I'm not a fan. Lacks cohesiveness. Also, the name "Romney" looks squished--they need to spread it out a bit. Substance. Grade: C+.

So, Perry?



Meh. Don't like either font. Or the too-cute alliteration (Paul deftly avoided it, as you'll see below.) Too dense, and as our company's marketing consultant tells me every five minutes, if you don't have sufficient white space, you might as well fill your shoes with cement and jump in the lake (I paraphrase). And really, why include the word "president" at all? If people don't know what you're running for, you've got problems ain't no logo gonna fix. (Given M. Perry's debate performances, maybe a focus group did in fact request clarification as to his intentions.) Grade: D+.

M. Crankypants, I mean, Paul:



At last, consistency! Is it the libertarian thing? He used two serif fonts! Win! No too-cute "Paul for President" here, although let's face it, that's probably just because "Ron Paul" is, in Ron Paul's (fans') mind(s), a force, an entity, an ideal, a concept so transcendentally redemptively awe-inspiring that limiting it to a specific campaign is pointless. The "2012" is an observation, not a commitment. Anyway. Not loving the Miss America sash on the A. Shooting star, whatever it is. If you make a wish, will the Blue Fairy come abolish the Fed? But overall, it does look grown-up and is communicative without being cutesy. Grade: A-.

Oh, Newt:



Who dares to use the first name only? Newt, that's who. One of these things is not like the other--Newt's the only candidate without an "R" or "P" initial--the rest of them all mush together if you think about it for very long. RonPerryRickRomneyPaul. But Newt stands alone. Soars, rather--I'm sure the schwoopy thingy is designed to evoke pilots' nametags, or stars racing across the sky, or strong gales wafting us inexorably onward to the fabulousness of Newt's brilliance--wait, could the guy get airborne? Just sayin'. Meh. Grade: B.

Dang it. Daaaaaaaang it. I guess I just committed myself to voting for Paul. Maybe I'll sit out the primary after all.

However! There's a logo not yet on this list, one so vapid, so pointless, so obviously designed to evoke the most ignoble aspects of our wasted national character that it might as well be on a Pepsi can--wait, wasn't it? And any of the above are preferable to it, by a long shot:



I have no hope that anyone elected in November will fix things. Fingers crossed he'll somewhat maybe sort of keep them from getting worse. Here's hoping, anyway.

Missionary Moment

Thursday. Lunchtime. Walking out of a Wal-Mart, pushing my cart, about halfway down the parking lot toward my car. (Not necessarily relevant, but: this was the Wal-Mart at Hampden and Yosemite in Denver, so definitely not your bland suburban middle-class Wal-Mart. Much more fun.)

A young man across the parking lot lane gets my attention with a moderate holler, and I was surprised to see not an acquaintance, but a preppily-dressed young asian man. He was already closing in to my position, and I'd already paused, and before I could brush off and continue to my car he asked: "Do you go to church?"

He seemed a nice chap, and my Mormon instincts to share the good news kicked in full throttle. "Why yes!"

"Do you have a Bible study?" Note: he had a very thick accent.

"Yes, I do!" I figured I could send him to Institute.

"Do you want to come to a Bible study? It is very good." Drat. Here I'd gone from proselytizer to proselytizee. But of course I'm always game for information and possible field trips.

"Where is it?" He told me an address that I didn't fully understand--the accent was a problem.

I was starting to get uncomfortable, because another young man had entered the scene. He was not asian. He was twice my size. Between the two guys, my cart, and the car behind me, I was feeling pretty hemmed in.

But this was just getting interesting--after saying the address the asian guy had continued into a description of the church and its studies, and I couldn't understand much of what he was saying, but I very clearly heard the words "Heavenly Mother." Huhwhat? Never heard that one before from a Bible-study type.

I doubt there was any danger, but because I did feel uncomfortable, and because I couldn't get much out of what the asian guy was saying, and because Hulk hadn't spoken and I didn't necessarily want him to, and because I figured I could learn more from the googles anyway, and because my Dryer's coconut fruit bars were melting, I made a lame excuse and scooted away.

So, the googles: it took some searching and guessing, but I'm pretty sure I ran into a couple of adherents of the World Mission Society Church of God. Not only do they believe in Heavenly Mother, they believe she's alive right now, her name is 장길자, she lives in Korea, and currently leads the church, ever since the death of her husband 안상홍, who was also Christ. They have a church in Northglenn, and yes, I'm interested in going.

Cutest feature? Their associated International We Love You Foundation.

Other Korean Christians think they're a cult, and though goodness knows I don't think much of creedal pronouncements of cult status, I'll go with it this time--it's just pretty awesome to be able to say I was the subject of attempted recruitment by cultists at Wal-Mart.

Felicity

Sunday morning, when you don't have church until 1:00, means a pleasant stupor for a few hours, at least if you're a morning person. My husband is not, so I know full well that the alternative option is several extra hours' sleep. It won't be so for much longer--I plan to revive my old nerd group for the limited purpose of churchy field trips on Sunday mornings, so set your alarm!

O tempore, o blog--where to start? Every utter particle of life seems so different from when I last wrote (a shameful near-year ago). The wedding in July was splendid (except for my hair. Blech. Do NOT just blindly choose a Utah hair stylist). Many family and friends made it, and I'm so very glad we chose the Jordan River temple in which to wed. It was a gorgeous day, sunny and a little breezy, the building was exquisite inside and out, it held sentimental meaning for both of us, our sealer (a total stranger) was incredibly kind and insightful and spoke to us at length before the ceremony, the ceremony was simple and profound and heart-stopping to realize what was happening, the reception was, well, I won't say a ton of fun, given that it's a reception and therefore inherently boring, but at least Justin stole Troy's crutches and there was tasty food and high spirits all around, and the decoration job on our getaway car was not nearly as bad as I know my brothers could have pulled off. My threats to park in a distant lot and have Stephanie shuttle us over paid off--no oreos! Not even saran wrap, though interested parties should know that that's a less than zero guarantee that I'll omit it from their own future receptions.

The honeymoon was fantastic! We went to Moab and spent several days hiking around Canyonlands, Arches, and Dead Horse Point, plus a rafting trip and a hummer tour of the slick rock, then motored around southern Utah with stops at the Monticello temple, Natural Bridges National Monument, and Monument Valley, then an afternoon at Mesa Verde, then a gorgeous drive home. I started to appreciate, and have increased ever since, the joy and privilege and fun of being able to intertwine every mundane detail of life with another beloved person's. Getting to know my husband's quirks and jokes and mannerisms is sometimes daunting (we often express how much we wish we could just plug into each others' brains) but also so fun. And finding common ground on which to dwell is enormously satisfying. And seeing his smile when he does something for me that he knows I'll love, like the procurement of "Hello, Dolly!" for my viewing enjoyment, does indeed melt me into a puddle of goo. There are constant surprises in getting to know him, and they're nearly all very good.

Oh, the Colorado reception--loved seeing everyone who came, and again, apologies for the inherent boringness of receptions. My hair looked way better (Crystal gets a GOLD STAR!) and any night wherein Mom makes frog-eye salad and I get to take home leftovers is a good night in my book. Best moment: Brett and his fake mustache. Special props: Rhisa, Raelene, Jules, Leslie, Jared, Katie, and the immediate fam, for staying all night to clean up. By "all night," I mean "past eleven," as unlike my husband I am not a night person. Major, sky-high, everlivin' props to Mom for pulling it all together and making the place look amazing. Seriously.

Then back to life. I like our new ward. I miss all my friends in Crowfoot. Sweet mother of Abraham Lincoln do I miss teaching Sunday School. Work went way downhill, in that I've never felt so unhappy, simultaneously inadequate and overqualified, and stressed in all my life, or ground my teeth so consistently and hard, and so Big Changes are coming. Kirk is going back to school this fall, and I couldn't be more excited for him. He's so brilliant and will do such great things. We're waiting to hear back on admissions decisions from schools, and the possibilities range from staying here, to Salt Lake, to Austin. I know--you can tell it's love when a true and faithful Sooner is willing to go to Austin. I expect many opportunities for gloating during football season (hear me, Stoops! Hear my plea!)

Anyway, the possibility that we'll be leaving Colorado this fall presented a conundrum--I'm only licensed to practice law in CO, and don't really want to take another bar exam, plus they're expensive. Plus I can't stand my job in the meantime. My brilliant husband found the answer! Primer: passage of the normal bar exam lets you do almost all lawyery stuff, save one: patent law. In order to take the patent bar, you have to separately apply and meet special requirements, but then if you pass the test, it's a federal credential so you can practice in any state you want. Bingo! Little-known fact about me: I was an aerospace engineering major for two years in college. The patent bar normally requires you to have a B.S. in something sciency (not even a math degree counts), but you can also qualify through a backdoor route if you have enough sciency credits even though you didn't get the degree. I qualify! The hope is that patent law will be a much more flexible and satisfying career--litigation requires long hours and near-zero flexibility, as well as meager pay for those who haven't built a practice from the ground up, and sometimes even then. But patent law means much better hours, possibly even working from home, intellectual challenge with every new patent, and--please please please--better pay. Suffice to say I'm excited to give this a shot.

I'm leaving my firm at the end of February, and then will take a month or so to study for the patent bar full-time (the passage rate is only around 50%, so I'm taking it seriously). Then the hope is to get some firm to hire me as a low-cost brand-new patent monkey for the summer, so's I can learn the ropes, then get a more permanent job wherever we move (if we move). Please pray for me, or at least keep your fingers crossed--a lot is riding on my ability to pass this test and find a job.

I love my life. There are a lot of fascinating opportunities ahead--patent law, children, finishing my book and hopefully publication, and I'm going to start being a volunteer contributor to FAIR, a Mormon apologetics group. I've got a lot more in me, and I'm going to charge after it. Starting--now!

...and then everything changed

This is me, hiking with my soon-to-be Eternal Hiking Buddy. His name is Kirk Robert Hedelius, he has light brown hair and golden brown eyes, is the most kind and humble and righteous and compassionate person I've ever met, is wicked smart, laughs at my jokes (seriously, for real), has appallingly good taste in women, even better taste in diamonds, makes every morning wistful because I won't see him until evening, makes every afternoon impatient because I'll see him so soon, and makes every evening exciting and warm and comfortable and fascinating and so happy.

I feel the need for a quick biographical interlude (or perhaps I'm just gushing): Kirk grew up in Utah. We actually both lived in Riverton, overlapping for a couple years, as kids, but never knew each other. His family then moved to Manti where he spent most of his childhood and adolescence. His folks both work at Snow College. He has three brothers and two sisters (so both our families have four boys, two girls: weird). He served a mission in New York City. He loves to hike, camp, rock climb, be outside for other reasons, read books about Important Smart Stuff, learn and improve himself, and spend time with me.

Last Thursday evening we flew in to Salt Lake for my grandmother's funeral the next day. We had dinner here:



Then we went out to Temple Square and moseyed on over to here:



Then he quite sensibly asked whether, since we're madly in love and spend every spare moment together anyway, we should just get married for eternity. Except he asked it all mushily and romantically, and I'm sparing you by paraphrasing : )

I said yes.

Wait, hang on, what I said was more like "YESYESHECKYESTIMESTWELVEMILLIONANDFORTYTHREEYESANDBYTHEWAYDIDIMENTIONYESYESYESYESYES!!"

Then I hollered at some random passers-by that we had just gotten engaged. They were thrilled.

Therefore, on July 10, 2010, at 11:00 a.m., this is where Kirk and I will be:



We will then live happily ever after. Forever.

And what a relief to not have to always explain how to pronounce "Showell" anymore. Good thing I'm marrying into a simple, universally recognized name! Oh. Wait...

: )

Freedom and Slavery

Fascinating article, nein? Which is to say, none of the rest of what I write here will make sense unless you read that first. If indeed I have anything to add worth adding.

I'm an independent sort of girl, and the concept of freedom is very appealing to me. Sometimes this has negative manifestations, such as my stubborn insistence on keeping my problems to myself and not confiding in people, or my stubborn contrariness that predisposes me to dislike stuff that's popular, just to be aloof. I don't trust the taste of the crowds, and I don't expect people to want to know or care about my issues, whatever they are.

But stubbornness can be positive, too. I'm comfortable doing my thing no matter what people think. I can stick to habits that are downright bizarre when compared to the majority of my peers, judging the benefit worth the standing out. I can be fairly rigorous in disciplining myself and denying myself.

But Elder Oaks got me thinking. The idea of being enslaved offends and appalls me, and yet I'm fallible and mortal, so no doubt I am in some respects not as free as I ideally could be. For example?

Debt. Oh, it's "good" debt, prophet-sanctioned debt for educational purposes only, well worth the J.D. it purchased me, and I can feel proud of having no consumer debt whatsoever (more of that self-discipline, yay), but debt is still debt, and it's still slavery. It still limits my options and constrains my sense of my possibilities.

Passions. Well, somewhat. I think that the popular perception of me is that I'm not emotional, except for a general cheerfulness. And, well, they're right. I do hit my rough patches, but keep a pretty tight leash on whatever woe I'm feeling even then, and get my equilibrium back quickly. This emotional discipline does stem partly from a stubborn prideful dislike of others' knowing my problems, but more from a hard-won companionship with the Holy Ghost and mature(-ish) realization that my capacity to handle stuff is pretty large. Having just come through a patch of distress, I'm appreciating this facet of my nature much more now.

Sin. This blog is not a confessional, but even if it was, it'd be pretty thin gruel. I was kind of born a goody two-shoes and didn't ever divert too much from that; not that goodness from sheer habit and naivete as to my alternatives bespeaks any large merit on my part. I suppose my weakest point on this front is a mental pattern of cynicism that crops out in my thoughts about certain people-types and situations. I've made some pretty good progress in getting over it, but have more work to do. I don't want to get to the other side with any lingering tendency to think badly of people.

Addiction. Freer than most, but therefore awake to just how enslaved I was and how enslaved I still am. Well, that's exaggerating. I wasn't even in the same order of magnitude as anything that Elder Oaks described, and neither are, I hope, most people. But still. I'm no neurologist, but what I do understand is that associating excitement or pleasure or arousal with violence or emotional abuse or illicit behavior causes those associations to be hard-wired into one's brain such that the association is preserved, and strengthened with repeated exposure, and used to process and respond to other experiences. I used to think that watching people be intimate on screen didn't matter in the slightest, because I considered the behavior to be wrong. Now I think that watching such things was making it harder for me to process excitement and interpersonal emotional dynamics without reference to what I had seen. No bueno. People think, and I thought at the time, that giving up almost all movies and tv was was more symbolic than substantial, a way to be more intangibly "churchy" and therefore a bit more disengaged from the world's mores. It was that, but I didn't foresee at the time that my brain would be actually re-wired as it was deprived of reinforcements for old pathways and exposed instead to better associations. And now I can think much more clearly about the ideas I used to not even realize I was buying into and analyze their implications.

In other words, I believe that I've gained a dimension of freedom that most others lack. And it's worth it.

From a religious perspective: the greatest compliment I've ever received was from my Stake President, during my interview for my temple recommend to be endowed. He's known me well since I was ten years old, and told me that I'm just as pure now as I was as a ten-year-old child. I'm not bragging, because I don't think that that's actually true, but it's nice to know that I'm on the right track. Moreover, I know for absolute certainty that it was not true 6 or 8 years ago. I surrendered some of that to the world and let it clutter my thought processes with false ideas. But my decision to sharply regulate what I absorb into my brain has brought me back more nearly to the innocence I had as a child.

Isn't that real freedom? To be guileless and pure like a child, but wise and experienced as an adult? (I occasionally get accused of being naive and sheltered from the seamy side of life, which I find hilarious--spend five minutes in my job. Seriously.) To be free from modes of thinking that we didn't precisely choose for ourselves, but let the world wire into us, without our fully realizing it? To spend our time in active pursuits of knowledge or service or strength according to our interests and needs and opportunities, instead of wasting it on whatever's on cable? (Yes, I'm feeling guilty for having spent Thanksgiving watching movies with my sister. Once a year is all : ) ).

I'm just thankful to have the convictions and traits that I do. I'm flawed in a million places, but hopefully free of most forces that would be dragging me down into more and deeper flaws. I'm free to do better.

The Love of Many Shall Wax Cold

Just a little work-related venting. I'm glad I have this job. I enjoy this job. I occasionally suffer profound weirding-out as a result of the interactions I have in the course of this job.

How malleable is the human personality? Not infinitely, I suppose, but I'm concluding it has a much wider range than I'd have guessed a few years ago. Meaning, someone who now seems perfectly normally kind, thoughtful, and other-oriented can, over the course of time, become capable of exquisitely casual cruelty and total emotional indifference to certain others. The main certain other being the spouse.

Or am I just wanting to give too much credit? When a client tells me that s/he (to be honest, in these cases it's usually she) thought the spouse to be a really swell person back when they decided to wed, and that the cruelty cropped out later, I believe her, having no grounds to know otherwise. Were the germs of eventual depravity present way back when, but hidden and undeveloped? Or do some women marry despite noticing signs that Prince Charming could actually be an extremely unpleasant fellow?

Do we each have the capability to develop that cruelty?

Guess I should specify what cruelty I mean. Not even outright domestic violence, though that comes along with it often enough, but just a dark gnawing delight in putting down and undermining the happiness and contentment of the person who is supposed to be the other half of your soul. Childish, and terrifying--always walking ten paces ahead of the spouse in public, putting her down in front of friends, pulling through the drive-through and pointedly ordering food for everyone except the spouse, overwhelming and constant manipulation and guilt-tripping, silent treatment for days or weeks, followed by blame for being so sub-par as to have forced the cruel treatment because there was no other way to get your attention and help you overcome your defects. Alternated with manipulative periods of kindness and generosity, so that the cruel spouse can use it as a cudgel ("after how good I was to you yesterday, today you go back to being rotten and forcing me to treat you badly again") and more fully convince him/herself that s/he really is in the right.

Run-of-the-mill emotional abuse, basically. This is the life some of my clients have led.

Pornography is a pretty constant commality among these cases. It doesn't turn all its addicts into monsters (although the neuroscience is indisputable that it rewires and warps you) but it does often enough. It gradually erodes your ability to be a normally other-oriented human being.

But that point can be broken down still further, as well. Lots of the spouses I've been told about are quite charming, and even sincere, in their care for and appreciation of other people. Or at least they're really good at faking it. Emotional abusers become adept at putting on a nice act for outsiders, and saving the cruelty for the family or the spouse alone.

I have, or rather have had, some such tendencies. Childhood sibling cruelty is not too far off in essentials, though much different in degree. I think something of the same intent is present in both, though--getting a kick out of the ability to manipulate and bring down another person.

Ugh, I'm getting so jaded. I know that not that many people in general are awful, but in divorces, often one person is. In my experience, anyway.

So, development: how does a grown adult, who probably realizes to some degree that it is both inherently wrong and socially disapproved to be a jerk to one's spouse, get to the point where emotional abuse is a deeply ingrained habit?

Good question.