I cried off and on for 24 hours after I saw Saving Mr. Banks; a mix of happy and sad tears. From the movie, Pamela Lyndon Travers appeared to rectify the ugliest parts of her childhood by crafting Mary Poppins and releasing her to Walt Disney. We saw her catharsis at the premiere. She wept. She smiled. She changed.
Its not a true story. She loathed the film; that’s why she cried. In 1995 she released the rights to Broadway only after they conceded to portray the darker stories written in her books. The darker stories were about her former self, Helen Lyndon Goff, who she left behind in Australia when she became an author and actress named P.L. Travers in her 20’s. In her books, a magical governess saves Mr. and Mrs. Banks from their misery. Though you won’t find this in the film nor book, the truth is that Mr. and Mrs. Travers Goff (Pamela’s parents) needed saving from stress, addiction, suicide, and influenza.
In her story the children did not need to be saved. They were fine. Always fine. Tough. Impermeable. The children did not start out that way. They were fun-loving and enjoyed the story-telling and indulgent illusions of their father. But after his tragic death by alcoholism and influenza and their humiliated mother’s suicide attempt, they no longer relaxed into fantasies like frivolous love, dancing penguins or spun stories. Mary Poppin’s role was to prepare them for a harsh world where they would always be safe, sober and under control.
Ellen is my very own Pamela Travers; as tightly wound as Pam’s pin curls. Ellen has her other defenses too; self-deprication, perfectionism, fear, care-taking–all drives to distract from the toughest parts of my childhood. Ellen is a joke among my friends, as she should be. Our defenses aren’t who we are and I am all for poking fun at them, needling them, forcing them to dance with animated penguins. When my friends call me “Ellen,” its a reminder that the better parts of me deserve their fair shine. It doesn’t really matter they don’t know where Ellen came from; they know the real me. Ellen is at war with humor, softness, emotionality, spontaneity and lightness. Like Pamela, she wants to go to the bar and have friends. But if her guard goes down, the pain surfaces, and Pamela mustn’t allow that. I wish not to become Ellen the way Helen Lyndon transformed herself into Pamela. She left behind the little girl behind who laid eggs on the steps and road horses like the wind.
But that also successfully stamped out Mr. Banks, the alcoholic, and Mrs. Banks, his distraught wife. After the movie, I thought perhaps crafting an adorable children’s story to repaint the harder years of my childhood would be therapeutic for me too. But here, again, is the truth of her story; Pamela was never super happy. Helen Lyndon surfaced enough for her to author whimsical children’s stories, study Zen Buddhism, fall in love with her flatmate, and live for a year with a Hopi tribe. But sadly, Pamela won. According to Emma Thompson and the New York Times, her grandchildren claim she died “loving no one and with no one loving her.”
And here is my truth: I value love and happiness. My dad, who fought depression for decades of my life, is absolutely heroic for surviving and for helping others who hurt like him. My mother, who remains at his side, is absolutely My Hero. Fiction couldn’t paint a better story. Given the tools they had, their dedication to parenting, their commitment to joy, and the effort it takes to parent at all, I am blown away by their ability to raise two happy, stable, thriving teenagers who felt loved and supported by their parents. My dad carried that burden, and as a psychiatrist he fervently and brilliantly served the needs of thousands of depressed and anxious people, and still managed to love his wife and his kids to pieces.
I am happy to say that Ellen is not always present in my life, especially when things are smooth, and definitely when things get busy. I love busy. I love exciting. I love stress. We all do, us adult-children-of-parents-with-miscellaneous-battles. When my guard falters; when I have pain, grief, disappointment or limbo, I am surprised by my resilience, but I am also surprised by my anxiety. I am surprised by Ellen’s attempts at toughness, control and safety. She fears friends knowing she has weaknesses. She’d rather appear angry than sad. She craves stability. She wants to throw a pillow over her head and unhear the arguments at night that plagued some yucky years of her life. She wants to run away. Ellen actually believes people are angry with her when she feels down and exposes wounds. Some of them might be, especially the ones with a little inner Pamela, but we all have our better sides.
So please, call me Ellen. I want to remember she is there. I want to remember to subdue her; to remind her that I am fine. I don’t need her help anymore. I want her to hear my friends laugh at her; the ones that call her out, and love the real me.
I am amazed by my mother’s levity during the hard times. Her sense of humor, overarching love, and willingness to talk made everything ok. I see everything that is wonderful in my dad, without hesitation, and find inspiration in his tenacity. I hope they feel incredibly proud of the adversity they overcame and the life and love they gave me. I am delighted to say that I am not really Ellen or Pamela, though I cried buckets for them both. In the end of my story, I choose happiness and love. And on the very hardest of days, I sneak a spoonful of sugar or two. See my list.Spoonfuls of Sugar: 1) Hugs 2) Sunsets/sunrises/sun on snow/warm sun/all things sunshine 3) Snowfall in trees 4) Kids in ties at inappropriate times 5) Handfuls of chocolate chips 6) Kids outside with rosy cheeks 7) All songs, Paul Simon 8) Inexplicable things in nature 9) Poems by Mary Oliver 10) Puppies and babies 11) Brightly colored fabric 12) Hats, all types 13) Singing 14) Swimming in lakes 15) Snow days that force people to help each other 16) YMCA camps 17) Young people listening to old people 18) The things kids say, e.g., “do you think I could be the next Michael Jackson?” 19) The Olympics 20) Tea 21) Neighborliness 22) Falling into deep snow 23) Whiskey with honey 24) Down comforters 25) Friends 26) Family 27) Reading 28) Theater 29) Evergreens 30) Mary Poppins
What are your spoonfuls of sugar? Please comment.
2 thoughts on “My friends call me Ellen…”
Spoonfuls of Sugar:
1. A LOT of yours — Paul Simon, babies, lake swimming, Mary Oliver poems, etc
2. Peonies, lilacs, fresh basil and rosemary and lavender
3. All things camp
4. Old friends — the ones who know the whole Me and stick around
5. fantastic underwear
6. green plants
7. my red house in the white snow
8. bread-baking — really, all baking
9. flannel sheets
10. cold outside, warm inside
11. Beautiful, hopeful stories — The Shipping News, Louise Erdrich novels, Harry Potter
12. Anyone willing to defend love
13. changing seasons — all of them
14. laughing — from cleverness, from recognition, from belonging, from delight
15. GramBea — especially when we tell each other about our weird dreams
16. Connections — mutual understanding, shared history, family, etc
17. Candles — especially at night on snowy or rainy days
So many more, but that’s a start. I have a lot of tricks up my sleeve.
Sometimes, Shawna, you are my spoonful of sugar 🙂 Honest, brave and wonderful post. Love you!