The Varnished Untruth

by Stephenson, Pamela

Oh, but there was something about that . . . When I began to practise, I was concerned that patients might either know or learn about my performing background and mistrust me. What if they looked around on the internet and caught me performing some of my more outrageous antics? Well, wouldn’t you be a tad worried if you saw your therapist doing the American Express sketch? But eventually I realized I didn’t have to be enxious about that. In fact, since many of the people I saw in therapy were in show business, they appreciated that I had a comprehensive, insider’s knowledge of the field. I found it rewarding to help a person negotiate the psychological pitfalls of such a precarious career. People in certain cities in the USA are more comfortable than many British people would be to seek therapy. Some of them even regard it as a smart business necessity, to seek advice on how to handle the stresses of such a pressured industry, and deal effectively with some of the difficult personalities who populate it. I developed a new theory about the nature of fame and how to handle it, and that was an extremely useful therapeutic tool.

  I equally enjoyed doing sex therapy – being able to help people overcome sexual disorders, correct sexual problems between couples, and manage that ubiquitous ‘Am I normal?’ question. Again, I felt inspired by people I worked with, some of whom faced enormous physical challenges – such as disability and serious illness – yet still wanted to maintain their sex lives against the odds. And I found myself becoming a champion for a greater societal acceptance of sexuality in older – or, as I prefer to call them, ‘chronologically advantaged’ – citizens. I also worked in the area of pain relief . . .

  Another metaphor?

  Hmmm. Well, hypnosis was one of the therapeutic tools I used to treat mood or eating disorders, trauma and problems with self-esteem, but I began to be in demand by dentists also, as a hypnotherapist for pain. Lots of people can’t tolerate anaesthetic, so if such a person needed, say, a root canal, I would facilitate a trance state in which they could have the dental surgery without feeling pain, yet be awake enough to follow instructions. I found that kind of work fascinating – and so did the dentists, who were usually nonbelievers until they actually worked on a patient without medication support for the first time. I used to enjoy seeing them shake their heads incredulously. I’d smile and say, ‘You see, Dr X . . . There are more things in Heaven and on Earth than a shot of Fentanyl . . .’

  My practice was going well – in fact the whole family was flourishing in California. But unfortunately, after sitting on my butt so much, I was approaching the size of that flying Disney elephant. Yes, my body had expanded along with my mind. A British newspaper carried a story about how I’d gained weight, printing a horribly unflattering photo snapped outside my office. Worse, just as my clinical psychotherapy work was beginning to flourish, a British tabloid journalist invaded the privacy of my practice by posing as a patient to try to get a story. I felt outraged, violated. My new career, everything I had worked so hard for, was threatened because it seemed I could not protect either my own privacy or, more importantly, that of my patients. This was an extremely serious situation for which I was ethically required to seek consultation from a professional review panel. Would my past life as a performer make it impossible for me to maintain a confidential psychotherapy practice? I stepped up security, but yet again, my anxiety was soaring. Would there ever be safety?

  I can understand your anger, as well as your despair . . .

  Eventually things settled down again. After a couple of years out on my own, Dr Marvin Koven from CGI invited me to teach at my Alma Mater. I joined the Psychology Faculty as an Associate Professor and taught Human Sexuality, Sex Therapy, Advanced Sex Therapy, Clinical Practicum and Hypnosis courses for six years. I really enjoyed teaching. I loved our lively classroom debates and watching my students develop into mature professionals. And I was pleased to discover they were taking their learning home. At graduation, spouses, partners and boyfriends of new graduates would often sidle up to me and say something like, ‘Thanks, Professor Connolly – I really enjoyed your sex classes!’

  Ever since I was a student, I had been involved with AASECT, the American Association for Sex Educators, Counselors and Therapists and, in the late nineties, I became Secretary of that organization and co-chaired a couple of Annual Conferences.

  Oh, and I’d begun to do research – mainly on transgendered people in non-Western societies – and I presented my findings at various professional gatherings. I was particularly interested in biological males who felt they were female, and biological females who felt they were male. Their sense of being ‘trapped in the wrong body’ was fascinating to me. At the time I was studying the psychological formation of gender, and was treating American transgendered people who, I felt, had nothing wrong with them. Yes, they were different, but it seemed to me their main problem was that they were misunderstood. While doing this work I remembered that, when I was in my teens, one of my New Zealand cousins had told me that Maori parents who have too many boys sometimes raise the youngest one as a girl. He said that they thought this necessary if the family already had enough boys to go fishing for food, and needed more help in the house. When I heard this same story about another Pacific group, the Samoan people, I felt inspired to visit that island and investigate. Of course, the phenomenon my cousin had described actually turned out to be a culturally acceptable way of dealing with the arrival of a differently gendered person in the family. But it occurred to me that a cross-cultural study of transgendered people could inform Western people’s understanding of how to be more accepting of gender differences, so I embarked on a major research project.

  First I set off for Samoa with a group of CGI students. It was strange how I immediately felt at home on that lovely island. I experienced a curiously powerful feeling of belonging. But it was particularly riveting to get to know the community of transgendered people there (better to call them ‘gender liminal’ since they tend to change genders back and forth even during the course of one day). The fa’afafine (‘like a woman’), as they are known, taught me a great deal. In Samoa, gender is defined as much by the work one does as by one’s appearance, and the fa’afafine were proud that they could do the work of both men and women. Western influence in Samoa – especially Christianity – has altered the full appreciation that gender liminal people once enjoyed; however, unlike in the UK and America, the fa’afafine were able to be highly visible and enjoyed acceptance throughout most of Samoan society.

  I conducted interviews with many of them, and also with their female-to-male counterparts, the fa’atama, and I made a teaching documentary about them. Over the next few years I travelled to Samoa a few more times, always feeling inexorably drawn back there – not just for my study, but because the place spoke to me. It was hard to explain but, for one thing, the people there felt like cousins – presumably because of my own Polynesian roots.

  Eventually I conducted similar studies in Tonga, and took a trip to India to study the hijra – the transgendered people there who enjoyed almost deity-like puissance in the court of the Moguls but who have now been demoted to begging on the streets. That fall from grace occurred upon the arrival of the British Raj, who made it illegal to ‘impersonate’ a woman if one possessed a male body. The plight of the hijra stirred enormous compassion in me, and I was also appalled to learn of their self-castration methods. Many undergo these dangerous attempts to become ‘real women’, and a significant number die during the process. It’s shocking, heart-wrenching and stomach-churning. Trained medical doctors sometimes carried out the procedure, but it was often a ritual ceremony in the jungle involving a rusty knife, hot oil, and turmeric powder. Yeah, sorry guys, I guess I just made your eyes water.

  While I was pursuing my psychology career, my husband Billy, who prefers to use turmeric in his delicious curries, was following his own, new path – being gathered into the bosoms of the American people. They decided they loved him, despite what they referred to as his ‘potty-mouth’. He followed Head of the Cla
ss with his own TV series Billy (a comedy show about a man who marries a friend to obtain a green card), after which he returned to doing more stand-up concerts and acting in movies. The fact that he loves film acting is baffling to me. I wouldn’t have thought he would possess the level of tolerance for all the things I found onerous about the process. But then, in a way, it’s an ideal life for him. Someone picks him up in the morning in a big comfy car (Pete Townsend, Billy told me, used to walk out on to the street, pout and say, ‘Where’s my pram?’). Then he is transported to the set and ensconced in a make-up chair where a nice, mummy-type person fusses over him for an hour or so, then a nice daddy-type person gets him dressed. Then it’s off to his trailer where he will probably sit strumming his banjo until he’s called briefly to do a scene or two. Meals on tap, cups of tea a-plenty, then home in his pram and repeat the next day – perfect! Oh dear, it sounds like I’m belittling what my husband and other actors do in the movie industry, when in fact the work can be extremely arduous, challenging and uncomfortable in many ways.

  Perhaps you’re slightly envious of his movie success . . .

  I’m more envious of his remarkable ability to tolerate all the crap that goes with it! I could never manage that. And I’m really proud of him – how could I not be? Billy has done amazingly well to become a world-class film star – especially since he did it without any formal training. I just wish he would stay alive throughout all his movies; it was so difficult to find the right explanation when the children kept complaining, ‘Oh no, Mummy, Daddy’s died AGAIN!’ Billy even croaked in a Muppet movie – the only person ever to do so! Now, that had to be traumatic for the kids . . .

  Bringing up children in Los Angeles had many good points, but it was not always easy. Oh dear, and now my past really caught up with me! For example, when our kids first went to school there was a roster for car-pooling so parents who lived close to each other took it in turns to do the school run. A couple of years earlier, when I was a cast member on Saturday Night Live, I had made quite a comedy meal out of impersonating pop singer Billy Idol, turning his number ‘Eyes Without A Face’ into ‘Wrong Voice For The Face’, so imagine my embarrassment when we ended up car-pooling for each other’s children. Yeah, in a situation like that, ‘Hah hah, I didn’t really mean it’ doesn’t quite cover it.

  Culturally, LA is very different from the UK, so in all kinds of ways it was a fast learning curve. I really like the way individuality is encouraged in American children, though, and at Amy and Scarlett’s school, the kids were taught to think for themselves and solve problems without being spoon-fed. Their classrooms were places of lively debate. Rather than being lectured at, they were expected to challenge their teachers. This was such a novel concept for Billy and me, who’d had such different schooling. But we both agreed with the school’s policy that teaching the children to be self-assertive and comfortable with public speaking should be a priority. Every week the school held a ‘Town Meeting’ in which people lined up for a turn on the microphone, to make an announcement, tell a joke, or complain about the latest Presidential candidate; I came to marvel at my daughter’s self-confidence. Daisy, too, in a school for young people who work better in small groups, came to understand and compensate for some of her particular, unique challenges. With the special help she received she became an excellent self-advocate.

  I was worried about drugs, because there is no school in Los Angeles without them, but at least there was an excellent anti-drug education programme at my children’s schools. In any case, Amy and Scarlett put my mind more-or-less at ease: ‘Oh, Mom, don’t worry. We know which kids take drugs, which ones are the dealers, and they’re all just losers.’

  Like every parent, I was also worried about my girls’ physical safety and so I arranged for us all to do special courses in personal protection and self-defence. Those lessons, with San Francisco-based trainer Andre Salvage, were fantastic. Andre listens carefully to each person’s fears and evaluates their day-to-day risks. Then he designs individual programmes to teach them to pay attention to their intuition, in order to avoid getting into danger in the first place. He also teaches children and adults exactly how to fend off attackers physically – even those carrying weapons. It was shocking to watch my children fighting ‘to the death’ against large men in padded suits – kicking them hard in the knees and crotch, gouging their eyes and screaming blue murder – but it was also a relief to know that if anyone tried to hurt them they’d know what to do.

  I was thrilled to watch my youngest daughters grow into strong young women who were unafraid to stand up for themselves and express their points of view. I’m not sure that was always easy for Billy, being put on the defensive by bright young girls talking about political and social issues. And his political incorrectness – for example, ‘The best way to solve playground arguments is a good smack in the mouth!’ – caused a lot of eye-rolling. But the more I understood what he had overcome to achieve the success he now enjoyed, the more admiring of him I became.

  Cara, too, was making her own way in the world quite brilliantly. After she finished school she attended the Glasgow School of Art and began a Fine Arts degree focusing on photography. With a unique and dedicated approach to her work, it was clear she would do well. And Jamie inherited a solid work ethic from his father – as well as a gentle, caring nature – that meant he was thoroughly liked and appreciated in his rock ’n’ roll world. And he inherited Billy’s directness. ‘I love you, Pamsy,’ he once said to me when my newly lasered face was covered in yellow ointment and gauze, ‘but right now you’re seriously scary.’

  But Billy and I had such different childhoods from our children. I think Billy found it particularly difficult to watch Daisy struggling with her learning and focusing issues. He had experienced something similar – but minus all the help and understanding she received. When Billy was a child people knew little about such issues, but his teachers seem to have been particularly lacking in patience and understanding, so he grew up believing he was stupid. That was cruel, unfair and untrue. By contrast, Daisy knows she is bright but challenged in certain specific ways. She has been taught coping strategies and is unafraid to ask for help when she needs it. As every parent of a child with a disability knows, you really struggle with even simple things, such as finding ways to help her tie her shoelaces, brush her hair and play appropriately with a friend. But I was able to find great therapists and teachers for her, and the awareness and respect for people with differences that largely seemed to prevail in California meant that Daisy was comfortable and accepted in a drama group, with a martial arts class, and at her church social group. You had to monitor everything consistently – but the opportunities were there if you had the time and energy to seek them out. And Billy has always been extremely protective of Daisy – and, indeed, of all his children. They in turn were always tolerant of his quirkiness. After all, not every father responds to: ‘Dad, is that mayonnaise on your face?’ with: ‘The question is not whether I have mayonnaise on my face. The question is: do I suit it?’

  For me, those years in LA when the children were at school provided an opportunity to experience vicariously a fun childhood. Since it didn’t come naturally for me, I copied parents I met who really knew how to play with their children. I learned to be silly with my girls, and planned outings to theme parks, shows, museums, concerts and movies – things my sisters and I almost never did as kids. I absolutely loved Disneyland – still do – and had the challenge of avoiding the queues and packing in as many rides as possible in one day down to a fine art. In our shorts and bum bags (yes, seriously!), we charged round from ‘Peter Pan’ to ‘Space Mountain’ to ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ (the latter was always right after lunch) and ended the day watching Tinkerbell fly across Cinderella’s castle before the fireworks display and evening electrical parade. My favoruite Disneyland experience was the time the Duchess of York came to LA and the Americans closed the freeway so she, our kids and I could travel to the t
heme park. Naturally we got on all the rides without queuing, and I have a photo of us all together in one giant, whirling teacup – surrounded by ‘men in black’ with earpieces, whirling in all the other teacups. Hilarious. As my therapist at the time used to say: ‘It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.’

  I sought out the wacky styles of entertainment Los Angeles had to offer, like Sushi On Tap, a Japanese restaurant where, right in the middle of your California Roll, the music would suddenly change to ‘Puttin’ on the Ritz’ and the Japanese waiters and kitchen staff would trot out grinning and do a tap dance number. Halloween was always great fun. My costumes were an eclectic mix – a fortune-teller, Queen Elizabeth, a pirate with a hook, a ninja warrior, Dracula’s bride, and Marilyn Manson’s mother. The girls particularly enjoyed St Patrick’s Day, when they would wake and find that leprechauns had sneaked into the house overnight and got up to all kinds of mischief – furniture would be overturned and there would be green footprints and glitter everywhere. Even their morning toast would be an unappetizing shade of green. Less exciting, apparently, was my own prank – turning up in their classrooms wearing long, green, curled-up elf shoes (‘Mom! Did you have to?!’). Oh yes, aided and abetted by the equally fun-loving Martine, I was a playful mum. Well, thank God, I’d finally acquired some joie de vivre.

  We went roller-skating and biking down in Venice Beach, dressed in red, white and blue for beach barbeques in Malibu on the Fourth of July, and attended Superbowl parties, even though we knew nothing about American football. We went on road trips to some of the fantastic outdoorsy-type places that America has to offer – Yosemite, Red Rock Country in Arizona, and Lake Powell. I was never quite able to bring myself to camp in the woods like other Californians, though – Billy was never available to accompany us, I didn’t trust myself to manage the tent and, well, two words will suffice: grizzly bears! I heard those beasts can behead you with one swipe from OUTSIDE your tent! Once I agreed to go on a family camping trip arranged by the school, but my children were mortified when I brought along a portable loo. Talk about being prepared. I really would have been a superb girl scout.