It’s 8 o’clock on a weeknight. The kids are in bed and my wife goes to bed early. I feel like a lost soul. There is a laundry room to clean, basement to organize, and dishes to do, all practical and helpful things but they feel like drudgery. Those kinds of tasks are things I actually often enjoy doing but not right now. They are what my mind tells me I should be doing. But my heart and soul and body are crying out to be heard. They are trying to tell me I am worth more than all the shoulds I check off my daily to do list. I get so stuck in all the shoulds I have internalized over my lifetime. I have forgotten how to listen to myself. I have gotten lost along the way. I know I need to hold onto myself but I don’t know what self that is to hold onto.
The idea of exploring what makes me happy or gives me life feels selfish and self serving. But the constant giving of all that I am and all that I have has left me feeling empty and at times resentful. This isn’t lifegiving for me or anyone around me. Today I have felt convicted that I need to carve out space in the day for me to just be. A time to be quiet and still and listen. To let go of the demands of the world.
So, here is the space I worked on today. A space for art, reflection, and stillness. A place I can practice presence.
I have started this blog post a half a dozen times and I never seem to get anywhere. I want to say everything but I don’t know where to start. My wise wife suggested I start with how I feel right now…
So…in this moment, I am looking at the tattoo I got on my forearm a few weeks ago. It makes me feel safe, and whole, and excited for my future.
The past year and a half has been about transitions, change, growth, and self-discovery. A common theme has come up for me over and over in my self help books, my book/bible study group, the podcasts I listen to, and parenting discussion groups I am a part of. This theme is the inherent goodness and worthiness of every human being. It is something that cannot be earned or gained but also cannot be lost. A concept I now describe as “enoughness”.
Last week, I was listening to The Listurgist Podcast and Hillary McBride said it beautifully:
Here are some things that are true:
You are good.
You have always been good, right from the beginning.
And I’m sorry if anyone told you otherwise.
This breath. These hands. Those feet. That smile. Those ears. That heart.
This heart. This beating heart.
This breath. This breath. This breath.
It’s good. It’s all good. So, so so good.
You are loved. You are so loved. You are loveable.
You have been working so hard and I don’t have to know how to know that it’s true.
You are precious. You are not a mistake. You are very on purpose.
You are not broken. You never were. I am sorry that you might have thought that. I’m sorry that anyone made you think that. That wasn’t about you.
But you, you are enough. You are totally enough.
You don’t have to earn your enoughness. You don’t have to grovel for value, for love, for goodness. You already have it. You already are it.
You are loved. You are loved. You…you are good, so, so good.
I can see hope each and every day that I am unlearning the lies my ego has been telling me for all these years about my enoughness. Every time I forget something important, there is grace. Every time I sit down to play with my kids even if the house is in chaos, there is joy. Every time I spend an evening with my wife instead of washing dishes, there is love. Every time I give myself space to consider what I need in this moment instead of giving weight to all the “shoulds” running through my head, there is enoughness.
I hope that today, you believe that you are enough in this moment just as you are. Not after your have finished your todo list. Not after you lose 10 pounds. Not after your child achieves some accomplishment. Not after your marriage is finally perfect, but right now.
I’ll leave you with the words of Coach Blitzer in the movie Cool Runnings:
I had made winning my whole life. And when you make winning your whole life, you have to keep on winning, no matter what…A gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you are not enough without it, you will never be enough with it.
Today, Ms. K, my son’s preschool teacher stopped by the house for a visit. We had been talking about the visit all day and he was so excited to show her the obstacle course he built. Then when she arrived, his little personality changed. He mumbled when he spoke and often darted around the corner out of sight. He wanted me to do everything for him, especially speak for him.
I tried not to pressure him. I tried to be gentle and patient but inside I was sinking into feelings of failure and embarrassment. I wanted him to be the artistic, bright, and creative self that I see everyday. I wanted to feel pride in my parenting skills. And I hate that I had expected my 4 year old to give me a sense of self worth.
As I reflect on how I felt, I want to get rid of that part of me. I want to ask people to give me a step by step plan that will change me. But maybe I already know what to do. He is his own person. And I am my own person. I need to believe that I have worth and am enough as I am right now, without making any changes. Then moments like that can’t threaten my self worth because my worth is an irrefutable truth. I don’t have to earn it through my own actions or the actions of my children or my wife. And only I can give my child that gift of worth and enoughness as well.
This post was a reflection from early December 2019…
After moving to the city two weeks ago, Lily had to leave for a business trip yesterday. I was concerned about my mental stability parenting the kids on my own in a house that still feels a bit chaotic in a place we are still just getting know. I went through my mental checklist of top priority things that needed to be done and just picked one thing…well maybe it wasn’t just one thing since that one thing did kind of have a few prerequisite steps. But to me, it was really just one thing compared to the rest of the list.
A day after the events of Sunday, I am beginning to realize where I might have started to go wrong. In the process of prioritizing this one thing, my mind shifted without me realizing from “This will help me have a better week with the kids” to “This is the only way I can possibly have any hope for a good week with the kids and thus, without this one thing, our week can’t be anything but awful and miserable for all of us”
And so, on Sunday, while trying to accomplish this one thing, I admitted to myself it probably won’t happen. That admission just broke me. In that moment, I became so overwhelmed. I didn’t understand how not accomplishing this one thing could so deeply unhinge me. I felt overwhelmed by anger, hurt, and, frustration. And I hated feeling all of it. I just wanted to turn it off. I wanted to go back to being able to suppress my feelings because feeling all of it was terrifying. I didn’t feel in control and I didn’t know how to get it back. I tried to push through and just get the project done. My body and mind cried out and, eventually, I listened. I stopped pushing forward. I paused.
It was hard to start the conversation. It was hard to put words to what I was feeling but I needed to share them with Lily, even if I used all the wrong words. I didn’t have time or the mental capacity to come up with the best optimal way of sharing my story. I just needed to share it. And Lily listened. She showed up and was present. And she loved me through it.
I gave in to self care. In that moment, it meant giving up on accomplishing the “one thing”. It meant allowing life to be ok even in the midst of what felt like chaos. It meant cancelling plans to hang out with friends because I knew I couldn’t let myself heal if I was also trying to where my hostess hat even for friends I knew could care less if my house was a mess and all I served them was room temperature water. So, the whole family curled up on the couch with blankets at watched Little Women and it was just what my soul needed.
A day later, that one thing still hasn’t been completed but I am one step closer. And I and the kids were able to have many wonderful moments today. That is enough.
I am afraid of being honest. After a lifetime of practice, I am pretty good at figuring out what role people want me to play and if I care about what they think of me, I play that role well. Now, at 32, its hard to figure out what parts of me are me and what parts of the roles I have unintentionally played. As I figure them out, it’s even harder to let go of those roles. They are safe. They are known. I know how people react to them. I don’t know how people will react to me, the real me. It feels like there is so much at stake. What if the real me is rejected? Can I let that go? Can I be at peace with that?
I desire to be loved. I desire to be well thought of. And I desire to be me.
I cannot have it all.
Being a parent of young ones has been humbling. It’s been hard to realize how much other peoples opinions of me affect my parenting. I can see my child and I know what they need but I am afraid of meeting it because what if I am judged for not performing in the socially expected way? Church is hard. My child need to move. I continue to take them each week and we take our seats in a pew. They color, and read, and play. We practice sitting and using quiet voices. And when my children have met their limit, I am learning to practice grace for myself as I follow their needs. A few months ago, I shared with members of my church how much each Sunday is a struggle for me. I would leave most weeks drained, sometimes in tears. I felt lonely and exhausted and I felt like I had failed yet again. I had failed to discipline in the right way. I had failed to get my kids to sit on the stage through the children’s message. I had failed to engage them in the service. I had failed to engage myself in the service. I had failed to be a “perfect” parent. Sunday afternoons ended being one of the hardest times of the week. I was miserable. But that time I shared these struggled with members of my church, my church reassured me that they loved my children. They assured me they remembered being there. They told me to continue to ask. They told me to go of my fears and worries. So, I choose to trust them and have begun to let go of my anxieties. Just last Sunday, as I was singing with the choir on the stage, my children joined me up there. I couldn’t see what they were exploring behind me. I thought about it for a moment but choose to let it go. I was up there to sing and serve. I have to take all the lessons I have learned from others, from books, and from my children and use them in a way that I am comfortable with because I am the one that has to life with my actions and my thoughts. I have a tendency to want to poll others for opinions on what I should do next. My therapist said to me a few weeks ago when I was asking about what to do, “I think you already know what to do.” It feels good to have the validation of others but I need to stop letting that desire for validation be a deciding factor in the choices I make.
Recently, I hosted a birthday party with my sister to celebrate my children’s birthday along with one of her son’s birthday with our extended family, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandma’s. I asked my wife if she wanted to come. She said she didn’t want to come. At first, I was hurt, offended, and insecure about this. My first thought was “What is everyone at the party going to think?” My first reaction was to put other’s opinions of me before what was really best for Lily and our family. I cared about looking like the perfect family more than being a healthy family.
She has always struggled in large group settings. As an introvert, they are extremely energy draining. Before transitioning, she struggled to play the role she felt like she was expected to fulfill. Now she is going through the slow process of figuring out who she is and what that looks like. She doesn’t have a guidebook on what to do or say. It is mentally and emotionally exhausting. If she came, she would need time the following week to recover. That would take away from the time she had to spend with Avery, and Adeline, and I. I would rather have that time with her.
I am thankful that she continues to teach me to stop being afraid of what other people think.
At that birthday party, Adeline got the book “Oh the Places You Will Go” by Dr. Seuss.
Congratulations! Today is your day, You’re off to Great Places! You’re off and away!
You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go.
You’ll look up and down streets. Look’em over with care. About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there”. With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet, you’re too smart to go down a not-so-good-street.
And you may not find any you’ll want to go down. In that case, of course, you’ll head straight out of town. It’s opener there in the wide open air. Out there things can happen and frequently do to people as brainy and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen, don’t worry. Don’t stew. Just go right along. You’ll start happening too. Oh! The Place You’ll Go!
I love what this book says about navigating life. There are paths/streets that are already planned out. They feel safe. I know where they go and what results they will bring. I know in general what people think of those who go down them. But I have to give up a little bit of what makes me “me” to stay on them. Instead of conforming, I could just head of out town. It is scary out here in the wide open air. Sometimes it is great and I feel like I flying. Other times it all comes crashing down and I feel stuck or like I am bumping around in the dark afraid to make the wrong choice. We read this book at least once every day this past week and I love it every time. I hope I can show my kids it’s best to try to be themselves. Trying and failing is a beautiful process. It is the only way I can really learn and grow. There are many helpful voices around us that can keep us safe. I hope I can learn how to better listen to the helpful voices and let go of the hurtful ones so I can in turn teach them.
Everyday is a new chance to be me. Today is my day!
P.S. This past spring we had photos taken of our family. We ended the photo shoot with a campfire. Please enjoy seeing the utter delight I experience when eating a s’more. As a baker it may be seem like an unlikely choice but, if I am totally honest, s’mores are my favorite dessert. Thank you to the talented Jaime Hughes at Birch and Olive for capturing it.
A quick update on life. Last Tuesday, my beautiful wife had vocal feminization surgery. Not all trans women have surgery as a part of their transition process and those that do have surgery, don’t have the same kind of surgery. Some may even have multiple surgeries addressing different areas. As a trans women, the adam’s apple and the voice are strong indicators that they were assigned-male-at-birth (AMAB). The particular surgery my wife had took care of the reducing the prominence of the adam’s apple, and will hopefully result in a voice with a higher pitch that resonates in the head instead of the chest. Now that the surgery is over, we are playing the waiting game. She cannot make any sounds with her vocal chords for two weeks as her body recovers from the surgery. Then, as she begins to use her voice box again, she has to gradually work back up to her normal amount of speaking over the course of 4 weeks. The voice will most likely be all over the place, like a person recovering from laryngitis and it may still be months before we get to hear her new voice. But I am so excited. I can imagine if my own voice caused me discomfort, I would spend much of my life self-silencing. I would hide my thoughts from those around me because in order to share those thoughts, I would have to experience the sound of my own voice. My wife is a mom to two children. I want our children to hear their mother for who she truly is. They need that. She needs that. I need that.
Physically, her recovering is going well. The doctor reports there is very little swelling. She has slowly worked back into eating solid food. She still has pain when swallowing but it is less. She is completely off all pain meds. She has one more week off work but will be able to resume her normal works schedule next week since her work is done online and she can chat through instant messaging services.
I know that for those of you who knew ahead of time this was happening, some of you have asked how I am doing. This week has been harder than I had anticipated. When I first saw her after the surgery, there were two things I noticed. The first was how beautiful and slender her neck looked without the adam’s apple sticking out. The second was how much pain she was in every time she swallowed. It hurt me so bad to see her in pain. I wanted to take it away, to fix it but I was helpless. I wanted to run away so I didn’t have to see it but I was stuck. Later, when I told her about my desire to fly, to go back into the waiting room in ignorant bliss, she told me about how much my presence in that surgery recover room grounded her and reassured her that she was going to be ok. It took us longer than normal to leave the outpatient surgery center but eventually we made it back to our beautiful Airbnb that is on a hillside overlooking downtown Portland, OR.
For the next two days, my wife rested. I made sure she had help when she was moving around, prepared soft foods for her, and got her medications when needed. I thought I would love this time without little ones needing me every second of the day but I grew restless. I didn’t know what to do with myself without being needed constantly. At one point, we were sitting out on our patio and I just lost it. I was an emotional mess but I couldn’t quite figure out why. I went inside to hide my tears and text a few friends. I didn’t want to burden my recovering wife. My friends responded right away. I tried to put myself back together and get some dinner made. My wife noticed my absence. She texted me and asked what was wrong. But my thoughts were so jumbled, I didn’t know what was wrong. I didn’t have words. I, the person that could physically speak in this relationship, could not formulate any coherent thoughts in that moment. So she wrapped her arms around me and we just stood in the kitchen in silence and she held me. And slowly, her physical touch calmed me down. As much as I didn’t want to need anything from her while she was recovering, we discovered that I did still need her. We ended up spending the rest of the day on the couch binge watching Queer Eye and snuggling.
Communication and conversations have been hard since she is not speaking. But with some trial and error, we have found ways to make dinner conversations possible. I know it will be hard for the kids when we get back since they can’t read the text that she types out but we will make it work. We will learn and adapt. A smile on her face and a gesture with her hands can communicate more than a thousand spoken words.
Thank you to all of you for your thoughts and prayers and support. There are countless people, mostly family but not exclusively, who have loved on our children this week while we were gone. We couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you. And friends who have supported us emotionally or by caring for our animals back at home. Thank you. We feel loved.
On Sunday, I found my voice and was heard. Why do I feel so sad and lost? This doesn’t feel like a victory. We have a mountain to ascend. It feels like we chose to say “no” to the gondola lift and now have to hike up this mountain together…all of us, those who wanted to ride the gondola and those who said it wasn’t the right fit.
I feel sad about disappointing those who carefully chose this gondola ride for us. We asked them to pick a path forward and they did. And then we realized somewhere along the way, we didn’t communicate some important information. Maybe we didn’t know it was important until we were faced with the decision. But now we know. And now we have decided to forego the easy path. Will those who have chosen once have the heart to choose again? Can both sides say “I’m sorry” for the hurt and the misunderstanding?
I sometimes think about what would have happened if I hadn’t found my voice. What if we had all climbed aboard that gondola together, leading the reluctant ones on? What if we got halfway to the top and someone asked me what was wrong? What if I only then found my voice? Would people feel betrayed that I waited until it was too late to share? Would they feel like I lied to them when I didn’t share the concerns I had until it was too late? Staying silent felt like a lie. I can’t lie. I try so hard to be truthful, and honest, and open. It isn’t me to keep secrets. So I stood up and shared with a trembling voice and tears in my eyes. I shared my concerns which felt so personal and intimate. I shared because I am a part of this community and was making a choice to say “I am here and I am one of you”.
I hope those who are feeling hurt can find forgiveness for us who spoke. I am so sorry for your pain, sadness, and sense of betrayal. I know that you were making the best choices you could. I am sorry that I couldn’t say “yes”. I hope we can rebuild and start again.
I see this hike we are now embarking on will be long. I imagine there will be stumbles, scraped knees, and stubbed toes along the way. I also envision the scenery we might see along the way that we would have missed. I think about the conversations that a slow hike together may allow to surface and linger. I hope we will find healing on the journey. I hope we will end in a better place than we started.
When I was a child, I loved learning, and teaching, and math, and God. So it stands to follow that I idolized teachers and missionaries, and those who were both ranked highest in my mind. Most career choices don’t start with altar calls, but mine did. So when they happened, I went, every time. I felt so connected to the church. It felt like the best way to love and serve. I am sure the church pushed that all careers are important and certain careers aren’t more spiritual than others, but my one track mind didn’t pick up on them. I had one goal in mind and I ran with it. The church rallied around me. I was focused and loved and a part of something.
But now that is gone. Am I less of a person because it feels my goal has changed? Can who I was as a child and who I am now both be beautiful and good and based on loving God even if they aren’t the same? I love who I have become and who I am becoming. I love what work God has done in me. And yet I feel tension because I don’t feel like I am on the path I had started on and that feels wrong, like I have disappointed those who had helped me along that path. Can I be grateful for every step that has brought me to here?
Rachel Held Evans says in her intro to Evolving in Monkey Town
I was a fundamentalist because my security and self-worth and sense of purpose in life were all wrapped up in getting God right — in believing the right things about him, saying the right things about him, and convincing others to embrace the right things about him too. Good Christians, I believed, don’t succumb to the shifting sands of culture. Good Christians, I used to think, don’t change their minds….The problem with fundamentalist is that it can’t adapt or change.
I’m an evolutionist because I believe that sometimes God uses changes in the environment to pry idols from our grip and teach us something new. ..If it hadn’t been for evolution, I might have lost my faith.
So, I am no longer a fundamentalist but yet I still think like one. It’s comforting to have black and white answers and think there are clear right and wrong choices.
A few days ago, in choir, we sang an unfamiliar hymn that spoke to me where I was at.
“I was there to hear your borning cry,
I’ll be there when you are old.
I rejoiced the day you were baptized,
to see your life unfold. I was there when you were but a child, with a faith to suit you well;
In a blaze of light you wandered off
to find where demons dwell.””When you heard the wonder of the Word
I was there to cheer you on;
You were raised to praise the living Lord,
to whom you now belong.
If you find someone to share your time
and you join your hearts as one,
I’ll be there to make your verses rhyme
from dusk ’till rising sun.”
In the middle ages of your life, not too old, no longer young, I’ll be there to guide you through the night, complete what I’ve begun.
When the evening gently closes in,
and you shut your weary eyes,
I’ll be there as I have always been
with just one more surprise.””I was there to hear your borning cry,
I’ll be there when you are old.
I rejoiced the day you were baptized,
to see your life unfold.”
God was there when I was a child. My faith then was authentic and real and was the best I could do with the knowledge and tools that I had. I couldn’t have done any differently. And now that I am here, no longer young, but not yet old, He is here in my process of growing and discovering and learning. I was doing the best I can back then and I am still doing that today.
I feel like as a child, I was at a trail head where many hiking trails begin. God pointed to a path on the map and said, “You love me, and you love people, this is the one for you.” So I glanced at the map legend and thought the name of the trail was missions and struck out with confidence. Every time my path neared another person, I proudly declared the path I was on and they cheered me forward. Every time there was a split in the path, I would ask God, which of these would help me to love Him and love people better and I would choose it.
Recently, I started paying attention to the sign posts along this trail and realized this path doesn’t have the name I originally thought it did. Frantically, I have thought back along my path seeking for the place I went wrong. Where did I stop listening to God or asking for direction? Where did I step off my path? Where did I decide not to be me, not to love God, and not to love people? And I can’t find it. Sure, I have made mistakes along the way where I stepped in the mud but ultimately I find peace from God that I am still on his chosen path for me. I haven’t strayed or wandered away. But God has nudged that maybe I misread the map legend at the very beginning…maybe my cursory glance caught the name that I thought was most loving of God and people and just assumed that was the name for the trail God choose for me. Maybe I had just been telling everyone the wrong name for my path. And maybe the name or destination doesn’t really matter. What matters is the journey, all the little decisions along the way. What matters is being faithful to the person I am called to be no matter where I am headed.
I am in a place I never thought I would end up. I am a member of a minority, the LGTBQ+ community. I have a wife. And my wife doesn’t share my faith in God. And yet, I am still the same girl that began this journey. I still love God and I still love people, both with everything I have and everything I am. I am bridging gaps. I am finding truth and love and God in unexpected places and I will share that with anyone who comes my way and wants to hear. So maybe missions can still be a honest name for this trail God has chosen for me. What matters most to me right now is that its name doesn’t define who I am. I want to shine God’s light and give others permission to do so as well.
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our Light, not our Darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you NOT to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightening about shrinking so that other people won’t feel unsure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us. It is in everyone. As we let our own Light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. – Marianne Williamson
I should have simplified my life more so I wouldn’t be a mess again.
I should, I should, I should…the list could go on and on.
should
/SHo͝od,SHəd/ verb used to indicate obligation, duty, or correctness, typically when criticizing someone’s actions.
As I think about all the times I use this word, I feel burdened by expectations, some mine and some I’ve allowed to be imposed upon me. I feel inferior to this fictional version of myself that I and the world have created. I am not a supermom, superwife, or superhuman. And I am not meant to be.
Genesis 1 reminds me that I am created by God. It reminds me that I am good. Period. And it reminds me that rest is good. I can’t earn God’s love by overworking myself and, consequently, my family.
A friend recently suggested that I listed to this podcast on Genesis 1. He thought that I would find the teachings on the Sabbath helpful. The podcast is produced by BEMA discipleship which is a program attempting to return to a more rabbinic approach to discipleship. Here is a portion that I transcribed starting around the 38:20 mark.
I don’t find my value in the fact that my life is put in order. I found my value because I am simply created and loved by God. And all of Sabbath is about that thing. If what I am doing on Sabbath, if I am doing any work, I am doing it wrong. If I am not playing and resting, I am doing it wrong. If it’s not reminding me I am loved by God. Sabbath should be a day that sets us free to remember what is most true about God’s creation. One of those refrains we talk about it is was good. This story flies in the face at what humanity as taught us; that the world is screwed up. But that is not the most fundamental, core, essential truth about creation. Creation is good. The first lesson in the scripture tells us what is most fundamentally true about creation is that it is Good. That when God made it He rejoiced over it and enjoyed it. And invites us to today still, even in the midst of its brokenness, to do the same thing, to remember what’s most true about creation and what’s most true about us. Not the lie that we want to buy into the other six days of the week. And I think that rest that you were asking me about, its also metaphorical, it’s big picture. It’s not just practical. I think it’s also a posture we carry through life. We either live in a posture of fear and insecurity. That we don’t have enough and we aren’t enough. And we just have to keep doing because God is angry at us and God is mad at us. And Genesis says “God’s not angry at creation. God’s not mad at creation. God’s not inflicting chaos. God loves creation. God rejoices over creation. It was good. It was good. It was good. It was very good.” God rejoices over creation. And that effects my posture in life. If I believe that God really feels good about creation and values and accepts me, it changes my posture from one of scarcity to one of abundance. I either have the view of scarcity. That there is not enough. That everyone is mad. That is all going to fall apart. Or I have the view of this life that is an abundant. A view that there is more than enough. That God has given this world everything he needs to and that he loves it and care for it deeply. And if this is lesson number one then it’s going to shape the way we read all the rest of scripture.
I need permission to just be, to rest, and to heal.
I have always operated with the mentality that if I can physically fit a task, meeting, or activity into my schedule then I should do it. I needed to prove my worth to my self and to the world.
A few weeks ago, I sat in my unheated sun room on a -4oF day soaking in the surprising warmth of the sun overwhelmed by all the ways that I wasn’t enough, with no capacity to move forward or figure out how to get unstuck. After 30 mins of my downward spiral of negative thinking, an idea came to me. What if I stopped myself every time I began to think or say the phrase “I should” and replaced it “I can” or “I could”. Can and could indicate possibility, not obligation.
Living a life focused around lists and should ofs feels like living in the future, always looking ahead and focused on what can be. It feels like trying to earn love and belonging because of what I do, not because of who I am. My kids are forcing me to learn to live in the present and I am ever so grateful for this lesson. I am learning to ask in stressful moments (which usually involves being needed by one or both of my beautiful children), “What can I do well right now?” Often the answer is not something on my conscious or sub conscious to do list. Often it is something like:
Have a dance party in the kitchen
Go on a walk
Snuggle on the couch and read a book
Build with Legos
I decided a few weeks ago to try an experiment. I decided to stop over thinking and over planning future events. I decided to stop allowing should ofs and lists to dictate my days. During this experiment, I did a mini lesson on bread making with some friends. I chose to spend a set amount of time planning and prepping for this event and then I chose to stop and let it be. It turns out, I did not bring everything I needed but it was fine. We made due with what we had and my friends enjoyed it. I saved countless mental hours from not over planning. Another part of this experiment has been to stop making daily to do lists that dictate what I do around the house. Our house is messier but we are thriving. There is more laughter and giggles. There is more book reading and snuggles. There is more playing and loving each other. And there is a significant reduction in crying. The laundry and dishes still get done but at better times. If the kids or my wife need me, then I stop and do that instead. I find other times to take care of my families basic needs. They do get done.
I am learning to give myself and my family permission to rest. I am showing myself and my family that love isn’t conditional on what we do but who we inherently are. I still want to be the best version of myself but I am learning that looks different then I once thought. Sometimes playing with my kids is my best version. Resting on a Sunday is my best version. Jesus’ life usually didn’t look like what those of his time thought it should and neither should mine.
Dr. Brené Brown asks in her book, Rising Strong, “Do you think, in general, people are doing they best they can?”
I feel like such a jerk to admit it but throughout most of my life, my answer would have been, “No”. I have always held myself to unattainable, high standards and while I have said those standards don’t apply to those around me, they have. And I hate that. I know those around me have felt that. They have told me in one way or another over the years. I have tried to reassure people and myself that I don’t apply the same standard for myself to others. But when I read that question a few weeks ago, the truth felt like a slap across the face.
Brené’s husband, Steve, is a pediatrician. He deals with the parents of sick children everyday and probably sees many of them at their worst. But his answer to the above mentioned question is so full of compassion.
I don’t know. I really don’t. All I know is that my life is better when I assume that people are doing their best. It keeps me out of judgment and lets me focus on what is, and not what should or could be.
I am sure he has children’s best interests at heart and will do what it takes to keep them safe. As a parent, I read that from him and think about how safe his office must be. When my own kids are sick and we end up in the doctors office, it can been easy to feel defeated and disappointed in myself. It must be my fault. I should have been able to do better.
My daughter has clubfeet. Her journey has been longer and harder than normal. It is so easy to fall into a cycle of self blame. I should have figured out that her treatment wasn’t right the first time around. I should have been more consistent with her stretches. I should have spent more times playing with her in ways that naturally encouraged correct feet positions. I can be so hard on myself. But then I look back on the last 16 months and remind myself I have done my very best every step of the way. Her current doctor, who is an amazing clubfoot specialist by the way, smiles at me every time I come in and says, “You are doing a great job.” He sees so many clubfoot cases of children who have been incorrectly treated in the past and has a justifiable case for being negative towards the parents and previous doctors of these children but he projects an assumption that we have all done the best we could for our children. It frees me from the cycle of guilt and self-loathing. It gives me permission to give that to others.
Jean Kantabmbu Latting is a professor of Leadership and organization development. While working on her post graduate degree, Brené recalls in Rising Strong during times of conflict with colleagues, Latting would ask:
What is the most generous assumption you can make about this person’s intentions or what this person said?”
During an insightful conversation with a friend last week, I told her about a loved one’s response to Lily’s coming out. I assumed their response was because they were ashamed of Lily and thus myself. My friend saw their hesitation as form of love. She suggested that maybe their hesitation came from a fear that they could no longer shield us from the world if more people knew. As I thought about the act of shielding or protecting someone, I thought about the amount of love that behavior requires. This shift in assuming their intentions in the most generous light, whether true or not, highlights the beautiful and life giving parts of our relationship.
Assuming people are doing their best with they tools they have right now, making the most generous assumption about their intentions, changes everything. It feels like freedom for me and, I hope, for them as well.
Cue the music…
Wait, wait, wait…there has to be a catch.
Maybe too much freedom, too much understanding and generosity can lead to being taken advantage of, to being hurt more. Hypothetically, if I assume everyone is doing the best they can, what happens if it still hurts? Do I have to allow it to be a part of my life, since it is their best?
I explained that very early on in my work I had discovered that the most compassionate people I interviewed also have the most well-defined and well-respected boundaries. It surprised me at the time, but now I get it. They assume that other people are doing the best they can, but they also ask for what they need and they don’t put up with a lot of crap. I live in the opposite way: I assumed that people weren’t doing their best so I judged them and constantly fought being disappointed, which was easier than setting boundaries. Boundaries are hard when you want to be like and when you are a pleaser hellbent on being easy, fun, and flexible.
Compassionate people ask for what they need. They say no when they need to, and when they say yes, the mean it. They’re compassionate because their boundaries keep them out of resentment. – Brené Brown
I have said “yes” to things or volunteered out of self imposed obligation so many times in my life and it almost always leads to resentment. I am learning to identify my own boundaries and then learning how to express them. I feel guilt when I do, like I am being selfish. It reveals that I have limits, that I am human and that I am learning is a good thing. I am human. I am not a machine. I am not perfect. I cannot be everywhere. I cannot be everything for everyone. I am a mama bear. I am protective of my family. I have limits on what positions I will allow my family to be in. And as I have slowly expressed our boundaries, I don’t feel like I have to be quite as defensive. I still feel like I am in the thick of things but I can see its better.
My current season of life has been dynamic due to changes in our family’s lifestyle. It pushes me to to grow, and learn, and be honest about who I am.
Friends, please continue to be your authentic self. I want to learn from you. You inspire me.
