I was a girl, you were “the man”
I was too young to understand
I was na?ve
I just believed
Everything that you told me
Said you were strong, protecting me
Then I found out that you were weak
Keeping me there under your thumb
’Cause you were scared that I’d become muchMore than you could handle
Shining like a chandelier
That decorated every room
Inside the private hell we built
And I dealt with it
Like a kid I wished I could fly away
But instead I kept my tears inside
Because I knew if I started I’d keep crying for the rest of my life with youI finally built up the strength to walk away, don’t regret it but I still live with the side effects—“Side Effects”
When Tommy suggested we go to couples therapy, I was surprised. Unsurprisingly, hetold me it would have to be with his therapist, who he had been seeing for years.
Nevertheless, this was a monumental step for both of us. Our careers, and consequentlyour marriage, were constantly in the public spotlight2. But no one had ever been allowedinto the dark interior of our relationship. I’d never had anyone to confide3 in about how Iwas living—or not living. I had carried the burden of believing that because I was able towrite, sing, and produce my songs, become famous, and gain access to unimaginablewealth, I didn’t deserve personal happiness too. I truly believed everything good in my lifewould cost me, and that Tommy’s control was the price for my success.
Honestly I was really only trying to gain five minutes of peace—the opportunity to beable to walk down the stairs into my own kitchen to grab a bite to eat without the hiss4 ofthe intercom and his menacing “What ya doin’?” buzzing out of it. Also, I didn’t trustanyone—by then I was estranged5 from my immediate6 family, and everyone around mewas connected to Tommy and scared of him. I knew that anything I said would get back tohim, and I would suffer his constant rage.
I had started to develop hives-like breakouts. I went to see the dermatologist7, whoassured me that my otherwise unblemished skin was having a reaction to severe stress. Itwas suggested I make some dietary changes and add a few new cleansing8 routines to helpsoothe the symptoms. When I told Tommy the doctor’s diagnosis9 (it was not goodbusiness for your top-selling artist to be hived out), he barked back, “Stress?! Fuck yougot to be stressed about?” Lawd, let me count the ways.
Therapy was a lifesaver. Our therapist was a kind, older Jewish woman with shortamber hair and alert eyes. She had a cozy10 office in her classic Westchester home. I likedher more than I thought I would, as I assumed she would be on “Tommy’s team,” but shewas refreshingly11 impartial12 and a real pro1. And he respected her. (Which was a majorthing.) At that point in my life, I didn’t have many relationships with stable, professionaladults whose livelihoods14 weren’t connected to my record sales. There were very fewplaces where I wasn’t overcome with anxiety: first, there had been the recording15 studio,and now there was the therapist’s office.
Though even in my “safe” spaces, Tommy’s presence would infect the atmosphere. Iwould be in the recording studio writing and vibing with producers or other artists, and hewould often crash in at 6:00 or 7:00 p.m. to pick me up, as if I was his nine-to-five “officegirl” and not a recording artist who had her own creative process, which you couldn’tplace on a timer. (Not to mention, who collaborated16 with various rappers and hip-hopproducers, many of whom—like me—don’t recognize time, especially daytime.) As soonas he walked in, tension would eclipse the lightness of creating; all laughing would cease,and we’d all shrink a little to make room for the pressure that accompanied him. Andwhile I can’t say I felt completely safe or equal in the therapist’s office (or anywhere), itwas the closest thing we had to a neutral space where Tommy and I could attempt tocommunicate.
It was a profound breakthrough for me that she listened to both of us objectively. Andshe believed me. She had been treating him for years, like Tony Soprano and JenniferMelfi, except she was more mother figure than sexy scholar. She might have been the onlyperson who had some kind of insight into his psyche17 and could completely conceive of therepressive and paranoid conditions he imposed on me in our marriage and home life. Shewas the first to recognize and name the abuse I was living under. I already knew the havocit was wreaking18 on my spirit, but she identified the damage it was doing to meemotionally.
After some of our sessions she would ask Tommy to go sit and wait for me in the car,so that she and I could decompress and speak honestly. Once, during our alone time, Iasked her, pleading really, “Why can’t he just let me go to the spa or to the movies, or doanything? I did nothing wrong!”
She took a pause and said, in her dry, matter-of-fact New York accent, “Sweetie, it’snot normal. Why are you acting19 as if you’re dealing20 with a normal situation? It’s notnormal!”
But I had no frame of reference for normal. Our marriage had been a demolition21 sitelong before we made it to therapy.
After our eight-year relationship my life had become like a psychological thriller22. It hadgotten to the point where Tommy’s very presence to me was a hostile occupation.
Tiptoeing around and protecting myself was my daily existence. I never thought I wouldbe strong enough to leave Tommy. I thought I would just continue to deal with it. I prayedthat he would realize how he was stifling23 me, and that he would do the work and thingswould change. Some days I really did just want to be like Peter Pan and fly the fuck away.
Mostly I tried to just take whatever shit he was giving, no matter how outrageous24, and justhope he would become more lenient25. Being married to him really was the equivalent ofhaving a strict father who ruled with fear and controlled everything you did. I kept hopinghe would just ease up and give me space to just be, so that we would have a chance. It wasour only chance.
I wrote in Butterfly what I had so hoped Tommy would be able to see, and say, to me:
Blindly I imagined
I could keep you under glass
Now I understand to hold you
I must open up my hands
And watch you rise
Spread your wings and prepare to fly
For you have become a butterfly
Oh fly abandonedly into the sun
If you should return to me
We truly were meant to be
So spread your wings and fly
Butterfly
Right away Tommy’s therapist advocated for me to have more independence. Shesupported the idea that I had to create some boundaries for myself and encouraged me togo places on my own. It seemed like a miracle — I’d never had an ally before. Sherecommended we do things in stages, something like probation26. But unlike probation, thepurpose was not for me to get reacclimated to society, but to moderate Tommy’s behavior,since he was so extreme. He had control over me as an artist. He had control over mypersonal life. He had control over everyone in my professional life. And even though Iwas the biggest artist on the label, he was still the most powerful person in my life, andseemingly everyone’s life. Everyone was scared to death of Tommy—the executives, themanagement, legal, other artists—everyone.
After ferocious28 negotiation29 with the therapist, we agreed the first step towardindependence was that I would finally attend acting classes. For years I had wanted actingtraining. Songs are like monologues30, so I knew I had good raw material and certainly arange of emotions and life experiences to draw from. But I hungered to learn some craft,to explore, develop, and discipline another passion brewing31 inside me. As with singing,from an early age I was obsessed32 with films and often memorized lines as an escape.
Acting was both a dream and something I felt I needed to do. Tommy “agreed” I wouldhave private acting lessons—unsurprisingly, again, with a coach he knew and approved.
Like the therapist, this acting coach was very qualified33 and worked with incredible, world-class actors.
The acting coach was an ample woman who seemed to thoroughly34 enjoy hervoluminous breasts and the fleshiness of her body. She moved with abandon. She swishedaround in layers of Stevie Nicks–esque flowy garments and made grand gestures with herarms, even during casual conversation. She was part earth-mother hippie, part privilegedprincess, part aspiring35 guru, and I liked her.
She taught out of her bohemian-luxe Upper West Side apartment. Like her, the spacewas eclectic and welcoming. It was filled with the scent36 of Nag27 Champa, which impressedme the most because it was immediately soothing37, and back then, I was not easily soothed38.
In our first session, she had me lie on a mat on the floor and close my eyes to do somebasic deep breathing and relaxation39 exercises. Sitting in her chair on high, she instructedme to breathe deeply and try to relax. “Relaaaaaaaax.” (Easier said than done, lady.)“Close your eyes. Breathe. Breathe.” I was struggling but listening and trying tofollow her instruction. “Relax, Mariah. Relax your muscles; breathe and relax your body.”
It was then I realized my shoulders were shoved up to my earlobes. Even lying on thefloor I was in a tense fight-or-flight stance—mostly fight; I’d been protecting myself for sovery long.
“Breathe. Breathe. Check in with yourself,” she said calmly. Check in with myself? Ididn’t know what that meant.
Sensing my resistance, she said, “Go to a place where you feel safe.”
Nothing.
“Do you have a place where you feel safe, Mariah? Go there. It can be from yourchildhood.”
Nothing.
“Imagine you’re little, you’re six. Go there.”
I was in the deli house. Not safe.
“Maybe you’re a little older. Go there.”
I was back in the shack40. Not safe.
She kept pushing, thinking certainly there had to be a place. “It could be sometimemore recent. Just go to a safe place.”
I was feeling nothing in nowhere. I could only feel the hard floor flat against my backas I searched around in my own emptiness. I was looking for a space in my mind andwaiting for a comforting vision to arrive. There was nothing. I was blank. I opened myeyes and stared at the ceiling. Suddenly I felt cold and alone. It dawned on me that therewas nowhere, inside or out, where I felt safe.
Then the coach asked, “How are you doing, Mariah?” A wave of sadness rushedthrough me and poured out in a deluge41 of tears. My entire being was heaving, sobbing42; Iwas unsure if I would ever be able to stop.
Eventually the storm of tears subsided43. I don’t think I had cried openly the entire timeI had been in the relationship with Tommy. Crying with him would’ve taken too muchcleanup, and the emotional cost was too expensive. He’d surely punish me if I cried. Hewas the one who cried during some of our more explosive fights. And I would end upconsoling him, completely abandoning my needs, my pain. It was ruthlessly manipulative.
Don’t tell me you’re sorry you hurt me
How many times can I give in?
How many battles can you win?
Oh, don’t beg for mercy tonight.
Tonight, ’cause I can’t take anymore
—“Everything Fades Away”
However, the crying exercise was a release, albeit44 a tiny one. I’d been holding somuch for so long. I began to breathe, a little.
My acting coach hovered45 over me, and I could smell essential oils, patchouli perhaps,seeping from her pores. She placed her hands on my shoulders and began to gently pushthem down toward my ribcage.
“Let go of the fighting stance and just breathe,” she whispered. I hadn’t realized howhigh and tight I was gripping my body. My breakdown46 was encouraging to her; I had freedsome of my suppressed feelings. Now she told me she wanted me to “feel free in thebody.” I was a bit wobbly when I stood to watch her demonstrate the exercise. She closedher eyes and began rolling her shoulders from side to side, letting her head fall back andaround with them. Then her hips13 joined in an aimless sway. She lifted her arms up andbegan flailing47 them like those weird48 inflatable tube men at the car wash. “Free in thebody!” she chanted. “Come on, get free in the body, Mariah.” I was watching her do hererratic, ecstatic dancing and just couldn’t make the leap. Just as I couldn’t dance forAddie, to prove I was Black, I knew I was too Black to do interpretive dance with her,even if it was a private session.
What I remember most clearly was the acting coach telling me I had difficultyaccessing my anger. I thought back to something the therapist had once told me: oftensadness is anger turned inward. Of course I kept it all inside—how else would I havesurvived? I realized I couldn’t express anger because I was never allowed to. Who was Iever safe to be angry with? Not my brother, certainly not my sister, not Tommy, not mymother, not anyone. There was no safe person and no safe place in my life. There neverhad been.
That woman-child failing inside
Was on the verge49 of fading
Thankfully I woke up in time
—“Close My Eyes”
The crush of Tommy was relentless50. After countless51 painful and dramatic fights, andafter I began some genuine soul searching, Tommy and I began to broach52 the notion oftemporary separation in therapy. It took a lot of personal work and getting in touch withmyself to even touch the concept. I was so scarred on so many levels. The emotionalstruggles with Tommy had been nonstop, and I couldn’t yet even begin to know the effectsof the trauma53, but getting to where we could discuss a reprieve54 from the pain was major.
He had pulled a lot of strings55 to tie me up. I really didn’t know how I would be able toescape him while he was still alive. He could be incredibly vindictive56. And his networkwas so far-reaching. I had a very real feeling my entire safety was at risk. With a littlesupport and a few new tools, I was able to clearly see that living with him was killing57 me.
I needed to create a place for me to breathe.
I was certain I needed to escape Tommy’s fury and access my own, and this would takesome help and strategy. Because we were in therapy, I didn’t have to be the one to “bringit up.” It was the therapist who told Tommy he would lose me forever if he didn’t try togive me a little space. So it was discussed as a temporary Band-Aid to “treat it like aseparation.” She was trying to convince him to let me go hang out with other people, forGod’s sake—for my sake.
After so much prodding58 and much ado, Tommy agreed to try the therapist’s advice andmade a deal to take certain steps to see if we could find a way to continue to live together.
I remember the therapist saying, in her motherly way, “Mariah has to start going places byherself, Tommy. It’s not fair. You’re stifling her.” I was at a breaking point, andsomething had to give. I wasn’t even asking for much, just a little time with friends. I wasdrained of my spirit, and at this rate, the relationship was threatening to take the remainingbits of my very soul.
My acting teacher’s building was connected by a private passageway to the buildingnext door. It was possible to access the neighboring building by going through the frontentrance of her building. It was like something out of the opening of the 1960s comedyshow Get Smart: you had to go through a nondescript side door and walk down a concretecorridor and through an enclosed back alley59, but it was possible to go from building tobuilding without ever going outside.
So I secretly rented a small apartment in the building next to hers. I was able to workwith the building’s management to arrange to have things brought in for me under a fakename. I had it set up very simply, with a convertible60 couch so I could sleep—by myself. Iwould tell Tommy that I was tired from acting class and staying overnight with myteacher, then slip over to my own little place and exit in the morning from my teacher’sbuilding. It was sneaky, but I was at the end of my fucking rope! There was alwayssomeone watching my every move. This was basic survival.
Later on, my survival cave became my personal office and private studio. I had asimple wall of mirrors installed, and it was there I did the best bodywork in my careerwith the incomparable Debbie Allen. Ms. Allen had gotten in touch with me and said shewanted to work with me because she really connected with my music. What a Godsend!
She was masterful. She analyzed61 how I moved or didn’t move. She taught me stretchesand other tools to help liberate62 and ground me. She worked with me on choreography forperformances. She created moves that worked for me. She had dancers surround me,literally giving me support. And that was what I had needed for so long—someone to bepatient with me as I discovered my own body.
I had been totally disconnected from my body for so long. I only knew how to letmyself be completely taken over by a song. I had no clue I fluttered my hands the way Idid until I saw one of my early performances on TV! It took the fabulous63 Kiki Shepard todiscover I didn’t really know how to walk in heels. She pulled me aside and had me walkup and down the stairs on the side of the stage at the Apollo until I got it right. Pow.
Guardian64 angels do exist—Debbie Allen was surely one of mine.
The therapist put together a plan for me to go out socially without Tommy for the firsttime. This was major. It was going to be new to me too: I had gone straight from acomplicated and careless childhood into the treacherous65 music industry and a toxic,tumultuous marriage. And I was barely in my midtwenties. But I was finally starting toaccess a different kind of courage—one that was there to protect my life, not just mysongs.
Tommy had been adamant66 about me not acting because he feared I would be onglamorous sets with attractive actors or directors or whatever. The fact that he conceded tome having an acting coach (who he thought was loyal to him) was mildly promising67. Hedidn’t have the same pull in Hollywood as he did in the music business. Me taking actingclasses in the city perhaps wasn’t so threatening to him, because New York was his townand he had eyes everywhere. But me being out with my peers, people my age, for fun?
That was deeply threatening to him. What was scariest of all was the notion of me beingseen without him and, God forbid, photographed without him. He couldn’t bear to thinkpeople would see Cinderella out at the ball without her prince and savior.
Controlling public perception was vital to Tommy, and before social media andsmartphones, it was fairly achievable. So the deal was, we would go to a big eventtogether, be seen, have it documented, and then afterward68 we’d split up, and I would beable to hang out with my friends. Tommy was likely less afraid of losing me to cheating(which never crossed my mind) and more afraid that he would lose his influence over me,which was far more valuable to him than my fidelity69. Though he was opposed, he knew hehad made a deal, and in his world, a deal is a deal. So we negotiated my first solo flight asa social butterfly.
Our relationship was very much like a teen- and- parent arrangement whereindependence is earned in increments70. I was close in age to a teen, but it was Tommy,clearly my senior, who needed to be taught to be an adult about the matter. It was all sotwisted, but we were trying to give normal our best attempt, sweetie.
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pro
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| n.赞成，赞成的意见，赞成者 | |
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spotlight
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| n.公众注意的中心，聚光灯，探照灯，视听，注意，醒目 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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dermatologist
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| n.皮肤科医师 | |
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cleansing
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| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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cozy
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| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
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refreshingly
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impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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livelihoods
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| 生计，谋生之道( livelihood的名词复数 ) | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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collaborated
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| 合作( collaborate的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾结叛国 | |
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psyche
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| n.精神；灵魂 | |
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wreaking
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| 诉诸（武力），施行（暴力），发（脾气）( wreak的现在分词 ) | |
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acting
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dealing
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demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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thriller
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stifling
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outrageous
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lenient
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probation
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nag
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ferocious
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negotiation
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monologues
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| n.（戏剧）长篇独白( monologue的名词复数 )；滔滔不绝的讲话；独角戏 | |
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brewing
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obsessed
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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thoroughly
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aspiring
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scent
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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flailing
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| v.鞭打( flail的现在分词 )；用连枷脱粒；（臂或腿）无法控制地乱动；扫雷坦克 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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broach
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| v.开瓶，提出(题目) | |
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trauma
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| n.外伤，精神创伤 | |
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54
reprieve
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| n.暂缓执行（死刑）；v.缓期执行；给…带来缓解 | |
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55
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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56
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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57
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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58
prodding
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| v.刺，戳( prod的现在分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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59
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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60
convertible
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| adj.可改变的，可交换，同意义的；n.有活动摺篷的汽车 | |
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61
analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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62
liberate
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| v.解放，使获得自由，释出，放出；vt.解放，使获自由 | |
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63
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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64
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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65
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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66
adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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67
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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68
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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69
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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70
increments
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| n.增长( increment的名词复数 )；增量；增额；定期的加薪 | |
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