uncharted terriTORI

by Tori Spelling

  The room was toasty warm. In a sweet voice she asked if there were any areas I needed addressed. I just said, “My head and my stomach,” without elaborating. I got under the covers, lying first faceup, then later on my belly with my eyes closed. She moved her hands above me without touching my body, but I could sense where she was by the heat of her hands.

  The session lasted about an hour. Afterward, when I sat up, the first thing she said was “Wow, you have a lot going on. You’re about to go through a lot of changes, a whole reassessment of your life.” Had the pain doctor called ahead to tell her exactly what he’d told me? Impossible—they didn’t know about each other. But how could it be that they were saying the exact same thing?

  I wasn’t ready to trust this woman: we’d just met, and I’d been to a lot of different doctors and healers. I just said, “Okay, interesting.”

  Then she said, “I see pain in your head. Your head is busy all the time. You explain too much. You’re always apologizing for everything, explaining yourself to others. What might seem quirky to everyone else is too busy for you. You need to calm down.”

  I said, “Okay.” But what I was thinking was I get it. I get it. I need to calm down. Everyone agrees. But easier said than done.

  She said, “You’ve given up your spirit. You’ve given up your self. When I was up by your throat, you started coughing and choking.” I knew what she’d meant. I’d definitely had a weird response when I felt her hands near my throat. I chalked it up to fear of death by strangulation, but she had a better theory. “You’ve lost your voice completely in your life,” she said.

  I said, “Sometimes it’s easier to push it down.”

  She said, “But you have a voice and you have feelings. If you don’t speak them, you’re repressing that.” I was. Maybe that was the knot in my stomach.

  She said that it was all pretty dark and heavy until she turned me over on my stomach. “A beaming star came out of your back. You have not reached your finest moment yet. Your shining star hasn’t risen yet, but it will.” I could see it now. The Oscar in my hand. The montage of magazines saying, “Turns Out Tori Can Act, After All.” And “She’s Actually Kind of Cute.” And “Meryl Streep Passes the Torch to . . . Tori.” I shook myself out of it. Patti went on.

  “I saw your backbone grow. This year, if you allow yourself to grow, you’ll grow a backbone.” Wait a minute. Wasn’t my tailbone too long already? If it grew anymore, I’d have a tail. And then I really would be a one-of-a-kind actress, but not for the right reasons.

  But oh my God, that beaming star. Maybe the leaf that Mama Lola had glued to my tailbone had worked its magic. That Mama Lola—she had me figured out. I was always looking for instant results, but I didn’t have to change who I was overnight. I was going to grow. I could do it, little by little. Patti and I talked further, and I became more and more confident that I could help myself get better.

  Patti said, “You’ll start to change, and when you do, you’ll see that everyone around you will change.”

  I said, “What happens when I start that change?”

  She said, “Hope. Hope grows.” Then she hugged me and left the room. I started crying. Hope. I had just met this woman and she had given me hope.

  • • •

  I believe in fate. I believe that things happen for a reason. I believe in hope. I believe in answers. And I believe in Christian Louboutin.

  The pain doctor and the Reiki practitioner had told me the same thing. My illness was not going to be solved by any kind of medicine or treatment. Or not by those alone. If I wanted to get better, I had to make changes to my life. I was Dorothy in Oz: the way back home was in my hands the whole time.

  I have tons of work lined up for next year. Making life changes would mean pushing that aside, taking time for myself, getting back to basics, back to me and back to my family. I wasn’t going to stop working. But I needed to find a way to run six businesses without micromanaging. I needed to be able to clear my head. I needed to take a Saturday with my family. I needed to learn how to manage all this—my work, my life, myself. I hadn’t figured out how exactly to do it yet, but I knew I had to rethink my life if I was going to enjoy it. I made a pact with myself. I had to make changes. I didn’t know what they would be, but I knew I needed a metamorphosis.

  • • •

  The next week, for the first time, I allowed Dean to take Stella and Liam to school without me. We’ve always made sure filming stopped so I could be at Stella’s Mommy & Me class. But when I couldn’t do it, she had to go with Dean. That should have been fine, but I was so worried that people would see Stella in the Mommy & Me class with him or our babysitter and think, “Of course Tori Spelling doesn’t bring her own kid.” I didn’t even want them to see our babysitter dropping Liam off.

  I missed two weeks of classes. When I went back to the school, there was a new mother in the class. I went up to her and introduced myself. She was very friendly and we chatted the whole time. But a few days later our babysitter, Paola, came to me and Dean and told us that something had happened at school on a day when she was there instead of me. All the moms were gathered for Circle Time, an opportunity for the parents to bring up issues or questions they have concerning their kids. On the new mom’s second day at the school, she started talking about how nannies shouldn’t bring kids to school, only parents. According to Paola, she said, “Obviously she doesn’t value this class if she doesn’t come,” then turned to Paola and said, “Don’t take this personally; it’s not about you.” The new mom said that she didn’t know something like that would happen at this school and she suggested I was getting special treatment because I was a celebrity. The teachers were trying to settle her down, asking if she wanted her nanny to bring her child, which she did not. Finally they told her that it wasn’t a matter for Circle Time and that she should take it up with the front office. Paola had been mortified, and now I was too. She had been so nice to my face.

  This was exactly what I feared. I grew up being criticized for my looks, for my acting, for having a part on my daddy’s show. I eventually got used to that. I’m under constant speculation for my weight and my marriage, which bugs me a little but I can stand it. The one criticism I can’t abide is of my parenting.

  Back at school the next day Dean and I talked to the teacher. I said, “This woman doesn’t know me or my situation. I’ve been really sick. It wasn’t because I was busy or didn’t feel like coming or value the time.”

  The teacher said, “You don’t need to explain yourself. It’s not our policy that moms have to be here with the children. If you’re sick or busy, whatever the reason, we still want the child to be able to come to school.” I felt attacked, but the teacher said, “You should feel safe in this environment. You’ve been here for two years with both your children.”

  To make decisions based on fear of being judged isn’t good parenting. I decided to take what people might think out of the equation. What was best for my children? Liam loved school. Stella would have a great time with or without me. If I was working or sick, it was better for her to be there with someone else. She loved it. It seemed like a simple decision, but it was hard for me.

  A few days later one of the mothers came up to me and said, “I just want you to know that what happened in Circle Time was inappropriate and unacceptable.”

  I started to say, “I’ve been sick—” but she stopped me.

  “You shouldn’t have to defend yourself. It’s not her business.”

  Another mom chimed in, “Don’t worry, we have your back.” That helped. The moms who knew me were on my side. But it was a harsh reminder that there are always people who want to assume the worst, and it made a hard decision harder.

  • • •

  I wanted to slow down, to take life in. I knew if I tried to change everything all at once, the results wouldn’t be meaningful, so I tried to make other small changes. Dean and I decided that we’d start taking the kids on walks to the Coffee Bean. Just
a simple walk in the neighborhood, a new family ritual.

  Liam took to the idea right away. He started saying, “Go for coffee, go for coffee!” every morning. He loved our time together. So one morning when Dean was working, I took the kids by myself.

  I rolled the double stroller into the Coffee Bean. It was a three-wheeled stroller with stadium seating, which meant that Liam was in front of and above Stella, who was in a little hideaway seat between the two rear wheels. I was in line to pick up my white chocolate soy latte and hot chocolates for the kids when I heard what sounded like a gunshot. There was a collective gasp. I instinctively ducked; the other patrons dropped to the floor. Everyone froze. There was silence. Then, as everyone was sort of peeking out from under their arms to see what was going on, I looked down at the stroller. One of the tires was deflating, rapidly. It had burst. Everyone looked over at me.

  I said, “Oh my God, it’s our tire.” I was embarrassed.

  Then I realized that Stella was sitting right next to the tire when it burst. That deafening boom was right next to her ears. I knelt down to her and said, “That was loud.”

  Stella echoed me, “Loud!”

  I said, “It was really loud!”

  She said, “Really loud!”

  I said, “Too loud!”

  She said, “Too loud!” Oh my God, she was telling me that it was too loud. She was deaf.

  I screamed, “Oh my God, her ears.”

  She said, “Ears.” She was trying to tell me that her ears hurt! What else could I do? I pushed the crippled stroller out of Coffee Bean and immediately dialed the pediatrician.

  I’m friendly with our pediatrician, and she knows how I can be. So when she came on the phone, I said, “I’m sorry to bother you, and I’m sure this is ridiculous, but you know my irrational fears. Anyway, our tire popped. It sounded like a gunshot and it was four inches from Stella’s ear. I think she might be deaf. Is that possible?” The pediatrician was laughing. This was very funny to her.

  She said, “Absolutely not. Stella is fine.”

  I said, “But it sounded like a gunshot! And when I asked her if it was loud, she said, ‘Too loud.’ ”

  The pediatrician managed to stop laughing long enough to say, “You could fire a gun next to her and she’d be fine.”

  I was making small changes, but my irrational fears were still there. I had no idea how to get rid of them. And I was supposed to fly to New York for a personal appearance the next week.

  Why, Murray, Why?

  I decided to pay another visit to Patti, the Reiki practitioner, to see if she could help me with my fear of flying. I went to her the day before Dean and I were due to fly to New York. It was going to be the first time that we had flown together, leaving both kids at home. I was convinced that we would orphan them.

  At the end of the session, when Patti gave me her notes, she said, “It’s odd. I saw John Hughes again.” I had told her that when I was a teenager I used to listen to John Hughes soundtracks, that they made me happy. Now I explained that in Say Anything, Diane (played by Ione Skye) is afraid to fly. At the end of the movie she takes her first flight. Lloyd (John Cusack) tells her that you’re safe on the flight when you hear the ding that means it’s safe to turn on electronic devices. The movie ends with the ding. Ever since I saw Say Anything, I wait for the ding. Once I hear it, I feel a little better on the flight.

  Now that we had my eighties movie inspirational sound track energies harnessed, Patti asked me to explain exactly what I was afraid of when I flew. I said I thought I feared the lack of control and that I also feared dying. I told her, “What if everyone on that flight is supposed to die? What if it’s their time?”

  Then she said, “Do you live every day this way? Believing the worst is going to happen?”

  “Yes,” I said. “All day long I create these what-if scenarios in my mind.” Then I walked her through a day of the what-ifs: What if I step out into the street at the wrong time and a car hits me? What if someone is hiding in that elevator, waiting for me to get on all by myself so he can kill me? What if that scaffolding collapses just as I walk under it? What if I’m taken down by a falling brick and the tabloid headlines read, “Spelling Killed by Flying TrajecTORI”?

  I was (half) joking, but Patti didn’t laugh. She listened. And asked more questions. And then she told me that my fear of flying didn’t have anything to do with flying. I gave her a “what-chyoutalkinbout” look. Of course I was afraid of flying. Hello? That was the whole point.

  But she told me that all these tragic fantasies were symptoms of one bigger issue. I compulsively imagined a horrible ending because . . . wait for it . . . deep down I didn’t think I deserved the happy ending. If I created the tragedy, then I wouldn’t have to create my happy ending. Whoa. My mind was reeling. This was it—the first time in my life that I’d heard a real explanation for all the self-torture. Dean would be amazed. I had to call him. And Jenny. I had to text Mehran. But the session wasn’t quite over. She told me that my third eye was craving nuts and that maybe a nutty shake would be a tasty treat. Okay, now we were done.

  She was right. I knew she was right. Not necessarily about the nutty shake, although that did sound delicious. She was right that I didn’t believe in a happy ending. I couldn’t see it. A tragic end was easier to imagine, because why would everything just turn out well? I didn’t deserve a happy ending. I burst into tears.

  When I’d calmed down a little, I looked at Patti and said, “What do I do? How am I supposed to change?”

  She said, “Write your happy ending.” Suddenly I understood Murray.

  • • •

  After my mother’s Christmas party my friend Dana and I went to a bookstore on Ventura to pick up Christmas presents for Randy and Leah. I wanted to get Leah a book about baking since we’d talked about it at the party. For Randy I needed a travel book to go with the camera I’d already gotten him. I was in a rush, but when I saw some rescue dogs outside the store, I hesitated. Dana said, “Don’t even look.” We hurried into the store.

  I found the books for Leah and my brother, but then I saw a beautiful book on sushi. I thought of how Randy and I used to go for sushi together so often. I wanted to get the book for him, but it didn’t go with the camera. It would ruin the travel theme of his gift. So I left the store without it.

  On Christmas Day we were going to have dinner with my mom, Randy, and Leah at the Polo Lounge. In the days leading up to the dinner I couldn’t stop thinking about that sushi book. It just kept coming back into my head. So when we were in a paper store the day before to buy last-minute Christmas cards, I told Dean that I was going to duck into the bookstore next door to pick up the sushi book.

  As I came out of the bookstore, Dean met up with me. I saw the same dog rescue group set up outside the store with a row of dogs in cages. I said, “Aw, can we just look at the dogs?”

  As Dean and I peered at the dogs, the woman from the shelter said, “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

  I said, “No, we have enough dogs. We’re just looking.” But something made me ask if this was all the dogs they had.

  She said, “No, there are a few more. We’re about to bring them out.” We weren’t about to get another dog, especially not on Christmas Eve, but for some reason we waited anyway. The woman brought out three more carriers. In one of them was a small, light brown, old-looking mutt. His face said, “Nobody loves me. Nobody cares.” He was like the Eeyore of dogs.

  Now, Dean is not into dogs. I mean, he likes them, but I’m the rescue fanatic. Dean looked at this sad old dog and said, “Who’s this guy? What’s his story?”

  She said, “His name’s Cane. He’s really old, about ten years old. We don’t have much hope for him getting adopted. He was found out on the street. He’s never lived indoors.” Dean asked to take Cane out. She brought him out of his cage and he just stood there. We walked him around a little bit. Dean picked him up and said, “I really like this guy.” When Dean held
him up close, I saw that they looked alike. It was something about their eyes. Or their snouts. (Sorry, Dean.) Dean said, “It’s Christmas Eve, should we take him home?”

  I said, “Really?”

  Dean said, “I feel bad for this little old fellow.”

  If Dean was in the mood to add dogs to our household, I was going to milk it for all it was worth. I said, “Great. How about this one too?” Dean thought one new unplanned dog was enough.

  The shelter woman gave me a little Christmas hat for him. I put it on his head; we put his leash on and led him to the car. He was mellow. He just went with the flow.

  On our way home I tweeted a picture of Cane, asking my followers for name suggestions. Someone suggested Murray. Dean and I looked at each other and said, “That’s it!” He was Murray Cane McDermott.

  Liam has never shown much interest in our dogs. But when we came in the front door and said, “Liam, Liam! Come meet your new dog!” he ran over and said, “My dog! That’s my dog.” Liam fed Murray treats. Murray nuzzled him. It was a match. Dean said, “Murray’s the perfect dog. I’m going to get a sidecar for Murray. He’ll wear a helmet and ride next to me when I bike.” My policy was no children or dogs allowed on motorcycles, surprise, surprise, but I was in too good a mood to protest.

  That night was Christmas Eve. Jenny and her family came over for dinner. I made stew (No shepherd’s pie! Never again!) and Murray helped out by lying below, waiting for droppings. There were no presents under the tree yet—I was waiting for the kids to go to sleep—just a large white tree skirt made of shaggy faux fur. Murray, who had never had a house to call his own, made his way over to the tree and lay down under it as if he’d been part of the family for years. Liam curled up next to him. A dog and his boy, side by side under the Christmas tree. It was a Norman Rockwell moment.