Month: May 2013

I’ve spent the last several days in Little Rock with my daughter.

A couple of weeks ago she asked me to come and help her with some things in her life that weren’t going the way she wanted- she was actually a bit more dramatic than that.  I agreed, and here I am.  It’s been a good visit, but…the truth is it hasn’t all been easy.  I could say that the reason is because of my daughter.  But that would be a big fat lie.  The truth is I have a hard time watching her struggle.  And even saying that isn’t really the truth, because she isn’t struggling, she is figuring out what she wants in her life and asking for help when she wants it. I’m the one who is struggling.  I’m struggling with the thoughts in my head about my daughter and the stories I make up.  For instance, I have a story that says she is having a hard time and she needs, not wants my help.  Without my help I am not sure what will happen (but in my head it is dire).  The only trouble with the story is reality.  Let me tell you a little about my daughter.

She is grown and has lived away from home for the past 8 years.  She graduated magna cum laude with a double major, she was awarded for being an outstanding student in her field, and she has a job (the first one she interviewed for), an apartment, and a group of good friends.  She also plays the piano and violin, has a small greeting card business as a hobby, and just finished a half-marathon.  Does that sound like someone desperate for help?  I don’t think so.  But the stories in my head are worry, doom gloom, disaster, etc.  These stories are not constant or very obvious.   Rather, my brain churns out quiet little tales of woe.

 This didn’t start with my daughter and isn’t limited to her either.  My brain was making up stories about people and situations well before she was born.  The idea that dire things would happen without my help started early in my life.  And because brains love to find patterns, it has kept on finding evidence for that belief.

When my children were very small, the years before I slept through the night again, I had an older friend with teenagers tell me that these would be the easiest years of my life.  I thought she was insane.  In reality there has been an element of truth to that. I found that it is much easier to deal with nighttime feedings and earaches than with my own brain.  One left me physically exhausted the other mentally and emotionally tired.

Needless to say, I have spent more time than I would like worrying about things that never happened or things that were really no big deal.  And even the times when things were a big deal my worry never helped solve the problem, and usually my kids would find a perfect solution without me..

So here I am, once again worrying about my precious child.  But here is what I have learned over the years.  My worry doesn’t help-nope, not a bit, not anyone.  My worry has the opposite effect it signals that I don’t believe in her abilities, makes my body tense and tired, and brings a feeling of control and anxiety to the situation.  And it leaves less room for love.  And love is what I want for both of us.

So I am noticing my anxious feelings and the stories my brain says are true.  I am accepting that I am not perfect and giving myself oodles of compassion.  Finally, I am offering my brain proof of the truth.  Remember all that stuff I told you about my daughter?  Well the evidence suggests that she is pretty capable of figuring out how to do anything she wants to do.  My mantra has become, “All is well.  All will be well.  Everyone is well.  There is nothing and no one that needs fixing.  I might as well go have fun.  FREEDOM!! All is well. (In a Braveheart voice)”.

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“The happiness of you life depends upon the quality of your thoughts.” ~ Marcus Aurelius

 

I am not sitting on my porch with Mao this morning..

I am in Little Rock, Arkansas visiting my daughter.  Breakfast this morning was a multi-generational, multinational affair.  Skin colors ranged from my very white to dark brown and lots of shades in between.  Ages similarly ran the gamut from 80’s to very young.  I heard at least four different languages and I’m just guessing ten different nationalities were represented.   We clothed ourselves in everything from tank tops to head coverings.  Not bad for a sleepy southern town.  I loved it. Laughter and smiles were the common language among everyone.  Good will seemed to be the prevailing sentiment.  I watched.  I love to watch.  Families, friends, and couples were all going about the business of breakfast.  I was struck by the sameness within our differences.

Psychologists say that at our core we all have the same needs and experience the same fears (psychopaths excepted).  It doesn’t matter where you live or what your culture.  After basic physical and safety needs, we all want to feel loved and significant.  And we fear anything that might bring the loss of that love and significance.

So if I could strip away the age, the clothes, the language, the skin, the sex, and look into each of the hearts sitting around me they would all look like mine.  They would want food, clothing, shelter, and protection.  They would want to be loved and accepted.  They would want to feel like they mattered.

I think we might all cover our hearts up in different ways, depending on our culture, family, and experiences, and we probably have different strategies to get the love we want and avoid the rejection we fear.  The stories we tell ourselves about ourselves and each other would be different, but if we dug down we would find the similarity. I want to feel safe and full.  I want to be loved.  I want to be accepted as me.  I want to matter and contribute.

If you’ve ever flown on an airplane you have heard the flight safety drill, “ In case of emergency an oxygen mask will drop down.  Put on your own mask before attempting to help others.”  Bet you can guess where this is going.  But truth is truth, no matter where it happens to show up.  I can’t love you until I love me.  I can’t accept you until I accept me.  So if I want to love better it has to start with me and then spread.  This is not selfish contrary to what I, and perhaps you, were brought up to believe.  It is a basic principle.  I can’t give what I don’t have.  So today, how will you care for your own heart?  How will you give yourself safety, shelter, food?  How will you give yourself love and acceptance?  How will you feel the truth of your own significance?  Just pick one small action today.  I have a friend who say’s “You turn a ship one degree at a time?”   The first is the hardest.  What’s your one degree today?  Mine is to write this blog (trusting that what I have to say is significant).  And maybe I’ll take a nap later.

“…as I become a better caretaker of myself, I care better for everything.” ~ Sarah Ban Breathmach, Simple Abundance, A Daybook of Comfort and Joy

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