Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Chalk One Up For Positivity

Frankly, I would rather be neither of those things. I'm not interested in being the guy who flattens others, and I certainly don't want to be smushed face-first against a windshield.  I know there are days when my kids feel as though those are the only two options, though, and you can't blame them with all of the social dynamics they are navigating in high school and middle school.  But, as the Chief Positivity Officer in our household (well, Bubba's pretty good at that, too, but frankly, I'm willing to be more in-your-face about it), I'm always looking for ways to re-frame their experience.  When you're surrounded by kids jockeying for position, stressing about homework and quizzes and their place on the team all day long, it can be pretty easy to feel as though life is a constant fight.

Enter my new invention: The Appreciation Board.  Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not crazy enough to have actually called it that. Nor am I naive enough to have presented it in some sort of formal way. I simply commandeered the chalkboard in the kitchen and altered it a bit.  This is what it looks like now

 I kicked things off quietly by circling Eve's name with a piece of white chalk and finishing the sentence. By the time everyone got home from school and work, the board read, "Eve is SO awesome because she is such a great friend." Eve noticed the change when she came in for dinner and shook her head quietly. She is not a sentimental person (or at least that is the story she tells herself), so she looked at me, cocked her head to the right and rolled her eyes, BUT she couldn't suppress the twitches at the corners of her mouth. It felt good to be called out for something like that. She was smiling despite herself.

I am an idealist, but I am also realistic, so I didn't expect an instant sea-change.  I left the first message up for a few days and then quietly changed it again, this time circling "Dad" and reminding everyone that he is so great because he cracks us all up.  This time Lola was the first to notice when she came down for breakfast.  She immediately picked up the chalk and added some reference to an inside joke the two of them have, chuckling to herself.

On Saturday night, Bubba and I had plans for dinner with some friends, so we made the girls some food and headed out. I was hoping the two of them would have a relaxing evening watching movies and eating popcorn and talking about all of the things they don't want their parents in earshot for.  When we came home around 11pm, we all headed straight for bed without doing much of anything but hugging each other goodnight. I was the first one up on Sunday morning and as I headed to the coffee maker, I stopped and saw the board.  It read, "Mom is SO awesome because she is such a good mom (and a good person in general)." What was so staggering is that it was in Eve's handwriting. My cynic. My practical, non-sentimental kid took the initiative to write something that brought tears to my eyes. Of course, when I thanked her for it later in front of her sister, she denied writing it at all, but later she confessed that it was her and shrugged it off like it was no big deal.  Except that it was.

We have settled into a routine of changing the board every few days with someone spontaneously erasing and writing in some new lovely compliment for another member of the family.  Lola has been reminded that we love her adventurous spirit, and on Monday morning as she was packing up for a three day camping trip with her class, she wrote that she appreciated what a good sister Eve is to her. My heart melted.

I love this simple way of reminding our kids that looking for something positive about others is important and powerful. So often our communications at home are centered around things that have to get done or small conflicts we have with each other. Yes, we thank each other for small kindnesses (getting someone a glass of water when they're already at the dinner table or carrying something up the stairs for them when their hands are full), but it isn't often that we take the time to call out the things we really admire about each other and there is something really profound about seeing it in writing. To have someone take a moment to put into words how amazing you are is a pretty cool feeling.  Who knows, maybe this small boost of public appreciation is just enough to help carry us through stressful times of the day with a more realistic assessment of how awesome we really are.

Friday, September 26, 2014

What Would You Do if You Knew You Would Not Fail?

Patience is a virtue, but so far, it isn't one I possess. Unfortunately for me, I just happen to be hard-wired to make decisions only after I sleep on them for a while. I have learned, on some occasions quite painfully, that when I make quick decisions about big things, I often regret my choice. There are people (my husband and Eve, for example) who can check in with their gut and know almost instantaneously what they ought to do. I am not one of those people.

For a few months now I have been trying to define my next steps. The girls are getting increasingly independent and I am getting restless, looking for something more substantial to do besides freelance writing here and there.  I put the word out to some trusted allies this summer and have begun scouring the internet for volunteer and job opportunities that might fit my passions. On several occasions, I have been tempted to apply for positions with organizations I admire, despite the fact that the position itself is not quite right. Either the hours are wrong or I know I would be bored in a few months, or the organization does great work but it doesn't light a fire in my belly.  Thus far, I have resisted, hoping (but not really knowing deep down) that the right thing will present itself.

This week, one of the folks who knows I'm looking forwarded a job posting to me, noting that it was full time (which I don't really want because I still want to attend the girls' sporting events and be flexible for their school days off), but that it was a local non-profit we both know and love and I would be very qualified for the position.  I read through the job announcement a few times, getting excited because it is a job I know I could do.  And yet.  There was something. If I'm being totally honest (and a little bit woo woo), I have to say that all of that excitement was lighting up the left side of my brain. I actually felt as though my head was listing to the left - no kidding. I put off applying for the job and emailed Bubba to see what he thought about it.  Before I received a response from him, I headed to a gathering of women who are going to a leadership retreat together in October and pretty quickly, I found myself talking to two of the women there about this job. They both know the organization and the folks who work there and, more importantly, they know me, so I asked what they thought.  Within moments, I realized that I had spent most of the day trying to talk myself out of applying.  Another moment passed and we were talking about a project I've been quietly working on all month that is scaring the crap out of me because it's such a big leap. And even as we spoke, I realized I had a fire in my belly. That despite the fact that I'm scared and my left brain doesn't believe I have the credibility or the qualifications to pull off this secret project, my right brain is all twinkly Christmas lights when I think about it.  Needless to say, my body language convinced both of these amazing women that I know what I really need to do.

I won't be applying for the job that was forwarded to me.  Bubba got a 'gut hit' off of it that, while it's a terrific position and I would do a great job at it, it's not right for me. And twice in the last two days, I have heard the phrase "what would you do if you knew you would not fail?" - not directed at me, but in the context of other things I've read or seen.  Both times, I stopped and asked myself this question and sat twisting my fingers in my lap as I answered, "the secret project that scares me." I can't say where it will go, but I will say that I'm a little closer to leaping. Wish me luck.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Borrowing Trouble

It occurred to me this morning that I've spent much of the last three weeks borrowing trouble. I am feeling a little frantic, fairly depleted, and terrifically confused and I have brought it all on myself.

I have been relying on my tendency to be a 'fixer' instead of sitting back and owning what is mine to own. To borrow a phrase, I have been "leaning in" far too much.  As a parent, it is difficult for me to separate what is mine from what belongs to my daughters, but every time I get entangled in their stuff, I learn the same painful lesson - namely, that nobody is getting what they need when I jump in and try to make things better.

Over the last three weeks, I've been fooling myself that I wasn't really getting involved. Instead of telling my girls what to do, I simply went and did a ton of research and offered up the Cliff Notes versions as potential solutions. I have done a great deal of listening, given many hugs and words of encouragement and left them with strategically-placed notes that I fervently hoped they would take to heart.  And then I have left the room and entered my own head. I have spent hours debating strategies, ordering and reading books that I thought might give me important insight, reached out to other mothers for ideas, and basically ignored all of my own stuff in an effort to help my girls.

I understand that it is important for my kids to experience pain and disappointment and come out the other side.  It is horrible to watch, but as a parent, I know it is more harmful to try and shield them from the slings and arrows of life than it is to let them feel the sting and discover that they will survive despite it.  That much I am clear on.  What I realized this morning is that because it is uncomfortable for me to see them suffer, my agenda involves them acknowledging their suffering and moving on quickly. I want them to take the fast lane to enlightenment, drawing on my experience and knowledge instead of taking the time to form their own, and have an "a-ha" moment in record time. I want their wounds to heal completely within days or hours and leave a scar that will help them incorporate this wisdom into their lives forever. Voila!

Ridiculous.

The other night when I pushed my way into Eve's room to offer all of the information I had gathered while she was at school, she got angry with me.  She tolerated my 20-minute download, but just barely, and then asked me to leave. My feelings were hurt. I felt unappreciated and instantly angry that she didn't see how I had sacrificed hours of my day to ruminate, investigate, and collate on her behalf.

Within minutes, I got a text message from her that made me sit down hard.

"I'm sorry I was rude. But I didn't ask you to do all of that. I have a plan. I am figuring out how to deal with this and you have to give me a chance to do it my way."

She was right. In running around searching for answers and spending time and energy fixating on how to help my girls deal with the disappointments they experience, I am serving my own need to be useful, to solve a problem, to fix something.  There is a fine line between giving thoughtful advice when it is asked for and projecting my own stuff onto someone else. In my experience, it is always easier to see how to solve someone else's problems than it is to work on my own.  When I hover over my kids and offer solutions, even if I'm not advocating for one over another, the message I'm sending is that I don't trust them to figure it out on their own (at least not as quickly as I would like). I am also not giving them the chance to truly integrate the lessons of these challenges into their lives. They can't remember pain from the scars I carry and as much as I might talk to them about my personal mistakes, in order to learn, they have to make their own.

All of this isn't to say that I can't love my girls fiercely and worry about them and offer my two cents. I will also not hesitate to jump in if I think there is a situation they absolutely are not equipped to handle yet, but getting emotionally tied up to the point where I set aside my own life in order to spend hours thinking about how to help my kids is a waste of energy. This morning I found myself exploring several scenarios in an effort to help Lola with something she hasn't asked for help with and it stopped me short. I have a lot to do today and Lola's got this. If she doesn't, she'll let me know one way or the other, but indulging my desire to have things tied up neatly and see my kids happy is only going to make us all crazy.

Friday, September 05, 2014

Mothering Moments I Dread


I’m going to tell you something you already know: it’s easier to be angry than it is to feel sad. It is harder still to acknowledge the fear that lies behind both the sadness and the anger without becoming entangled in it and letting it take over.  And the most challenging scenario I’ve yet encountered is when the fear and anger and sadness spring from incidents that involve my children.  There is a certain intensity to the feeling, the difference between a freshly-honed butcher knife and the paring knife you’ve used for everything from slicing apples to cutting bread to peeling cucumbers. That sharp edge makes all the difference and it gleams in the light.

Even though fear underlies both sadness and anger, the anger comes with a drive to act, a sense that I can do something to mitigate or repair or eradicate. It feels like a positive force, propelling me forward. The sadness feels like a pit, a low spot in the landscape where I have to just sit and see my limited view of the horizon for a while. That feels hopeless and helpless, especially when it comes on behalf of someone else, someone who will benefit more from quiet compassion and understanding than any action I could possibly take.  I am much more comfortable being the Mama Bear, putting out a forearm to block incoming trouble and uttering a frightening roar because it feels proactive and empowering. Sitting in that ditch with my kid while she sobs is not so satisfying.

If I were a caveperson, I would understand. Sitting in that sad pit will get you eaten. Injury to the soul is of little consequence when you aren’t sure whether or not you will find a meal or be the meal. And so I suppose it is a consequence of our relatively luxurious life that I can feel so acutely the emotional pain of my children and long for a solution that will instantly make things different, or at least one that will give me the illusion of control.  But the backdrop of luxury doesn’t make my heart hurt any less. And reminding my kids that they’re not the only one this has ever happened to doesn’t make their hearts hurt any less. It is nice to know you’re not alone, but it sucks to know that you still have to make your way through the hurt in your own way, in your own time, no matter how many people have been there before and how many others are sitting cross-legged in that damn pit with you.

And as a mother, it is far more difficult to watch my children make their way through, in fits and starts, with frustration and doubt and, sometimes, utter desolation, and know there isn’t a damn thing I can do but love them and love them and love them until my heart feels like it will burst with a single touch. As I walked the dog this morning I wished for anger, for someone or something to project my fears onto because holding this emotion is exhausting and anger is exhilarating in its power, even if it is often destructive.  Anger feels galvanizing, strengthening, and when I go all Mama Bear, I am certain my kids know I’ve got their backs and it feels good to express it publicly. Telling them quietly that I acknowledge their pain and sadness and letting them see my sadness feels supportive but falls flat because it doesn’t have all the attendant bells and whistles of action. It isn't necessarily in my nature to choose the easy way out but, man, do I really want to sometimes. 
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...