Tuesday, May 22, 2018

When The Story Gets Too Heavy

Naturvetenskap 1

 I am a storyteller and I have been my whole life. I carry them inside me, work on them, figure out the best way to share them. But sometimes the stories get heavy. Before I ever put anything on the page, the words and feelings chase each other around and around inside, making connections and trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. When I sit too long with the stories, they start to burn and I know it's time to walk or go pull weeds. Somehow, being outside helps the sentences flow and combine in ways they can't when I am indoors.

The stories of the last year and a half are heavier than many that have gone before, and I'm finding that walking takes on a new urgency for me and it also requires a focus I haven't been forced to have before. These days, I have to walk farther away from home and immerse myself in places that are new and expansive in order to divorce myself from the circling thoughts and feelings. I have found an open space surrounded by trees where few people go and at least once a week I walk there and sit and untether the words from each other, and also from my head and heart. Sitting in this place just breathing helps to re-string it all in a way that offers clarity.

I am learning that there is a sort of chemical reaction taking place as I assimilate the stories and try to keep my heart and my head on the same level. Most days, the two are at war, fighting for supremacy, which sometimes means wild swings from sadness to anger. My brain can only witness so much grief before it burns it off with anger, like alcohol in a skillet. My heart is simultaneously relieved of its burden and seduced by the beautiful flames, but the anger is also expansive and  at some point I realize it is taking up too much space in my head. The sadness dissipated, but the stories are still there and they are all about other people. I imagine a large section of my brain colonized by the stories of others, the actions of others, the words of others, and I am impatient to evict them.

When I was in college, the days I spent in the Chemistry lab were some of my favorites. The cool, cave-like room with its expanse of concrete worktops and glass beakers and pipettes and orderly rhythms gave me a stillness and a focus. There were rules, a set of steps to be taken, and all that was asked of me was to do one thing at a time and remain curious - observe and report. Even if I knew what I was supposed to be creating, somehow the cascading chemical reactions along the way were always enchanting - sometimes it was a smell or a particular color flame that I hadn't expected. Witnessing the magic kept me from getting caught up in the story or the sequence. I had my instructions. Observe and report. Remain curious.




Wednesday, May 09, 2018

Tough Love is For the Birds...

and for the parents. 

If you were raised in the 1970s and early 1980s, you might be familiar with the "tough love" approach. It was my dad's go-to method of parenting. Figure out how to treat your kid like they'd be treated in "the adult world" and apply that. And tell them it was "for your own good - you'll thank me someday." 

I didn't. Ever. Thank him. 

I have, on occasion, been sorely tempted to employ the Tough Love method of parenting - telling my kids to suck it up, stop sniveling. Urban Dictionary defines it as "being cruel to be kind;" Dictionary.com says it's "promotion of a person's welfare, especially that of an addict, child, or criminal, by enforcing certain constraints on them, or requiring them to take responsibility for their actions." I call bullshit. 

Tough love is about the parents, it's not about the kids. When parents use these tactics, it's because they're uncomfortable with their own kids' pain. Every time my dad told me to stop crying it was because he couldn't stand to see me cry. (I didn't know that at the time - I thought there was something really wrong with me that I cried so easily.) Every time my dad told me that I had created the mess so I'd have to figure out how to fix it, it was because he didn't have the bandwidth to sit with me, listen to me, soothe my feelings, and help me talk through how I got here and how to move forward. 

I'm not saying he was a monster. He was a product of his time, and that was the prevailing parenting wisdom in those days. But I am saying that it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with him, his discomfort with strong emotions, and his insecurity with parenting overall. If he convinced himself that he was doing what was in my best interest, "promoting my welfare," he could wipe his hands of the affair altogether. It was mine to figure out. I'd be fine. I'd pull myself up from my bootstraps and learn (or I wouldn't, and he still wouldn't be accountable or have to jump to action).

How do I know this? Because the other day when I was supremely frustrated with my kid, worried about a choice she was tasked with making, and so overwhelmed with emotion about the entire situation, I considered taking the Tough Love approach. Not because she's nearly 16. Not because I thought it was in her best interest. Because I. Was. Tired. Because I couldn't stand to see her struggle anymore and if I just told her to figure it out on her own, then I wouldn't have to think about it anymore. 

It was about me and my pain, not hers. It was because hanging in there, holding space for her angst and confusion and really empathizing with the fact that there was no easy answer felt too hard. I'm happy to say that instead of channeling my dad, I took the dogs for a walk and gave myself some space to breathe and remember that I know how to do hard things, especially when I'm doing them with people that I love fiercely. I was reminded that walking beside her, being exactly who she needed me to be in the moment of her biggest challenge, and not throwing her to the wolves is my job as her mother and her champion. I can model for her that sticking by the people you love when things are hard is what we do. I can remind her that she can lean on me when she's tired and it all feels too much. And I can remember that, no matter how difficult this all feels to me, she's the one living it, and the least I can do is let her know that I won't go anywhere. 

Screw tough. Just love. 
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...