Not today.

Of all of the coping mechanisms that I employ, this is perhaps the easiest and the most effective.  

I don’t know how I’ll feel tomorrow…
…tomorrow is a different day

Music has always been a big part of my life, and this song holds special significance to me.  The first time that I heard it was on the television program, “Joan of Arcadia”.  Joan, who regularly talks to God in various forms, has been diagnosed with mental illness for believing that she is talking to God.  She’s returned home from a summer camp for crazy kids, and trying to return to her previous life.  It was heartbreaking to watch her try to explain her struggles to those around her, knowing that they are judging her and watching for any sign of recurrence.  

And I wanna believe you,
When you tell me that it'll be ok,
Yeah, I try to believe you,
But I don't.

There are days when I feel like everything is out of control and I just can’t take one more ‘hit from the snake’, so to speak.  I can tell that my resources are low and that given the right trigger, I’m going to lose it.  Over the edge.   I’m not sure if it will be fits of crying, or anger at anyone who looks my direction, but it won’t be pretty.

My mind starts to wander, and it never heads into a good neighborhood.  I start listing all of the things that are wrong in my life, all of the things that I have failed at.  I start to overthink everything, and see patterns where they don’t exist.  

Everything begins to take on a sinister twist, and I’m sure that the universe is conspiring against me.  To be fair, I’m sure that the universe is simply trying to balance the scales against my failures, but it is against me, nonetheless.   

I get angry that no one seems to notice that I’m hanging by a thread.   

That’s when this song starts to play in my head.  Because even if I can’t take one more minute of today, there’s always tomorrow.  If I can just get through THIS day, things will be different.  

Gimme a little time,
Leave me alone a little while,
Maybe it's not too late,
not today

                I feel myself retreating into the darkness, but not succumbing.  I can pull back and let myself recover.  Take a breath.  I can let the darkness surround me while I hide in the shadows and look out.  Not so far that I can’t see the light, but far enough that I’m not going to get burned. 

              

                 And I wait.

And I know that I’m not ready
Maybe tomorrow

Maybe tomorrow, I’ll feel stronger.  Maybe I’ll be in control of myself and my surroundings.  Maybe someone will see my struggle and take my hand.  Maybe, the world will just be better tomorrow.  And if not, I’ve given myself the time that I need to keep it together.

Things can be so much worse if you let yourself get dragged into the darkness.  

And I wanna believe you,
When you tell me that it'll be ok,
Yeah I try to believe you,
Not today, today, today, today, today...

Tomorrow it may change

For now, I’m going to bed.  Taking a bath.  Not going to think about the walls that are closing in on me.  A good night’s sleep is never a bad thing.  Tomorrow is, after all, another day.

Is it over yet?

Is it over yet?  Can I open my eyes?

So swells the song by Kelly Clarkson, “Cry”. 

Is it over yet? 

Can I open my eyes? 

Is this as hard as it gets?

Is this what it feels like to really cry? 

A few years ago, I attended the State Wrestling Tournament.  The championship matches are intense, as they have come so far, and they are not going to give up now.  Some are seniors, their last chance at achieving greatness.  Some have had an undeafeated season, and don’t want their last and most important match to be the first that they lose.  The emotion is compelling, and it’s almost as entertaining to watch what happens off of the mat as it is to watch what happens on the mat.

Upsets are usually accompanied by jumps, flips, and sometimes even whooping.  Coaches slap one another on the back and wrestlers jump into their arms.   It’s enough to make your heart swell.  But remember, there are two competitors.  The losers show equal amounts of grief, anguish, and despair.  There are a few that behave like gentlemen and congratulate their opponent heartily, but not that many.  A few are downright angry and behave like children, hardly shaking hands with each other or the coaches.  Then, there is Starfish Man.

Starfish man was a tiny little guy, probably about a 125 pounder.  He finished his match, and with tears streaming down his face, he shook hands and walked off the mat with dignity.  And then he crumbled.  I mean, literally fell into a heap on the tarmac, just off of the mat.  He lay prostrate on the ground, pulling at the hair on both sides of his head.  His coaches bent to speak to him, but he didn’t move.   They patted him on the back, but he didn’t move.  They looked at one another and tried to lift him up, but he was dead weight.  They shrugged and just stood there by him until he composed himself and stood up.   It took quite some time for him to come to this point. 

I can identify with that.  In my depressed state of mind, I’ve always felt like I wanted to be a starfish, laying on a rock somewhere.  The water can wash over you, but it can’t move you.  You become one with your surroundings, so much so that you become…invisible.     I could just BE and let everything wash over and past me and I don’t even have to react to it.

I imagine that Starfish man felt the same way.  He was in a crowded stadium with no less than 20,000 people in it, but in that moment, he was all alone.  Face down, eyes squeezed shut, he  could imagine that no one could see him, no one could touch him.  He could let the hurt and anger and frustration just wash over him.

Being depressed becomes such a  great deal of work.  You fight to keep your head above water, you fight to maintain your dignity, you fight to keep the demons from closing in on you.  Your enemy is your own mind, and you cannot escape it.  I’ve envied starfish for so long.

Is it over yet?

Can I open my eyes?

Is this as hard as it gets?

Is this what it feels like to really cry?

The first time that I heard this song, I stopped dead in my tracks.  That’s exactly how I feel when I think that I can’t go on anymore!  When I’ve been battered by the waves for so long, and there’s no end in sight.  If I knew that daylight were just around the corner…if I knew that this was the worst of it…then I might be able to bear the unbearable.    

This past couple of days have been rough in our household.    We’ve had some standard family drama, with a bit of door slamming, raised voices, and emotional outbursts.  We’ve not had a great deal of this with the boys growing up, thankfully, but now that they are nearly grown, we’ve added girls to the mix.  Enough said?

Things were said that I’m sure that we don’t mean, not really.   In the heat of the moment, it is blurted out and then there’s no taking it back.  You can apologize, but the damage is done.  That kind of hurt takes a while to wash away.  The really difficult part is that in loving my children, in wanting the best for them, I fail.  It is the desire to make their lives perfect that exacerbates the situation and frustrates me.  Their inability to understand these actions and more importantly, their motives, often puts me in an adversarial position. 

One of my children has turned his back on me, and my heart is broken.  It might be for a day, for a week, or for years, I have no way of knowing.  Is it over yet?  Can I open my eyes?

I feel like I’m waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop.  The fear creeps in.  The doubt.  The self-evaluation.  I should have, I could have.  I haven’t done enough.  I’ve done too much.   I begin to see so many other things that I have failed at.  My failure as a child to my parents.  My failure as a mother.  My failure as a wife, as a disciple of Christ, as a worker, as a friend, as a sister, a cousin, a .  They are all so connected, and when one thing falls, it brings the whole lot with it. 

I’ll give myself a few days to feel sorry, to worry, to feel helpless.  I might even lay down on the floor and pull my own hair.  Is this as hard as it gets?

And then…it will be time to get up off of the mat and leave the stadium.  You can’t be a starfish forever, and you can’t let the depression and cognitive dysfunction sweep you away.  What’s left?  Where do you go from there? 

I’m not sure yet.  I have no idea what the future holds for me and my child. I guess that is up to him.  It has definitely pointed out that we have some things to work on as a family.   Right now, it feels like everything is my fault, and everyone is placing the blame entirely on my shoulders.  Thanks to a great therapist, I know that is not true, and there are more personalities involved that need to share in the responsibility.  I know where I need to get to, I just don’t know how to get there. 

I have to let go with my little suckers, leave the rock, and just keep swimming. 

Save Your Freaks

This is a skill that I learned when I was rushed to the hospital at 32 weeks pregnant, unsure of whether or not my baby would be born prematurely, scared to death that he would be in the hospital forever and have complications. I knew that things could go from bad to worse in a matter of hours…or minutes…and I also knew that once the tears started, it was not likely that I’d get them to stop.

So here was my theory…if I freaked out right from the beginning, something really bad might happen, and I wouldn’t have any ‘freak tokens’ left. I would already be over the edge, and have nowhere to escalate to. I told myself that if I stayed calm, then I would have plenty of ‘reserve’ freaking that I could do later if necessary.

What happened is that I was calm, cool, and collected. Okay, reasonably so. I felt the Spirit with me each day, and I was able to handle things fairly well. I liked knowing that I had reserved the right to freak … later.

I tried to teach this to my nieces, CJ and Allie last summer. Having a house full of boys, the drama is somewhat limited. Not so with two tweenish girls!  Everything is a big deal, and I know that for Bro and Sis, it’s bound to get worse. I was a teenage girl once. I know how it works.

One of them was upset about something, and started to stomp off and pout. I laughed and called her back, explaining the ‘save your freaks’ option of life. They thought that I was a funny, but I hope that in some way, I caught their attention.

Teens would do well to follow my advice, since everything is a tragedy. Problem is, after your parents (or friends, or boyfriends, or teachers…) have dealt with so many freaks, they lose interest. It’s like the boy who cried wolf. They no longer see your crisis as a crisis. It’s just another dramatic episode. Saving those really big freaks for a later date gives you that leverage to get their attention.

For me, it means keeping my emotions in check. I’m not bottling anything. I deal with the emotions in a much less stressful way. I force myself to think things out and decide if it’s really worth a nervous breakdown, or if I can save that for another day.

So far, no straight jacket, so I’m thinking that it must be working!

That I’m not a quivering mass of jelly is a real testament to my therapist….

Things change.
Stuff happens.
And it used to really throw me for a loop.
I worried.
I wondered.
I obsessed.
I panicked.
“What will happen to me? I like things the way that they are! Things could get so much worse! I don’t know what I’m doing! I’m not in control!”

Ah, there’s the rub. I’m not in control.

She taught me that sometimes, we hold on to something so tightly that our arms are not open to receive the next good thing. She taught me that SAME is not equal to PERFECT. She taught me that I’m better than the things that life throws at me.

Work is crazy right now. Things are changing. More responsibility is falling on me. That means, potentially, more criticism. More mistakes.

BUT! It could also be more praise. More success.

I’m taking things in stride. Things may change, but I don’t have to worry about it. It will either get worse or get better, with no intervention on my part. I’ll figure it out when I get there. We are just getting through today, and then we’ll worry about tomorrow.

I’m good at what I do. I have confidence in that, now. I have skills and talents that have been given to me by my Heavenly Father to do good in this life. Some of those skills also earn me a good living. They contribute to the success of a great number of people, who also earn a good living.

When I began this job, there were doubts. It’s a high-turnover property in a fast paced industry. I knew that my days may be numbered. I was warned that it might be too much stress; that my boss was known for cycling through employees faster than you could get your desk organized. He was demanding and difficult sometimes. Even my therapist talked about the inherent lack of longevity.

I walked in with both eyes open. I decided that if it didn’t work out, at least I tried. I’d been unemployed before, and I could do it again. I decided that I would just do the best that I could, and leave the car running, so to speak.

I also made the decision that I would not live to please men. (speaking figuratively, as in MANKIND, not the male gender!) At the end of the day, if I had pleased my God, then I had succeeded. It didn’t matter if I had failed to please my boss, or the big bosses, or even the board. As long as I had done a good, honest day’s work in all fairness to my employer, and I had been good to people along the way, then it was a good day.

I loved it right from the start. It’s stressful, it’s hectic, it is sometimes downright frustrating. There have been moments when I wondered if I wanted to go back. But I always do, and I look forward to it! It’s challenging and fulfilling in a way that I have not experienced in a long, long time.

Yes, my boss was difficult and demanding sometimes. There were days when I just let him rant, while I sat quietly. He expressed gratitude for those days that I let him “be himself” and vent a little. I didn’t take it personally, and I didn’t let it get to me. I know that he is not my final judge; my salvation does not depend on whether or not he is pleased with my work. I could let him blow up, because it didn’t concern me.

By the time he left to work in another state, we had a system. We worked well together, and others commented that I had lasted a lot longer than they expected. He and I had an understanding, and I came to love and respect him. I think that he kinda liked me, too.

Now, we are waiting for another Director to be hired. He/she might be easier to work with. They might not. It’s all the same to me.

I’m dealing with things as they come, and juggling all of the balls that I can in the interim. I no longer feel the need to control everything to make sure that it happens the way that I want, because I know that my Heavenly Father knows better than I do what I need – or even want – and I can trust Him.

So, back to the title… my brief time in therapy not only brought me back to myself, but taught me some valuable tools to use every day. These tools allow me to step back, for a moment, and allow myself to see things as they are, and not as the depression would paint them.

I make mistakes without wallowing in them. I can leave work nearly in tears, but that by the time I reach my car, I have talked myself down. I’ve reasoned with myself and realized that in the grand scheme of things…it is not such a big deal. I can listen to songs with emotional intensity and be entertained and moved by them…and not feel them to the point of falling into the abyss. And thankfully, I can remember that not so long ago, I couldn’t do those things by myself.

My therapist probably has no idea that she saved my life. I had no idea, prior to my time with her, that depression was something that could be conquered. Until then, I thought that it was manageable. She needs to know that she succeeded on so many levels with me.

I think of her often, as I go about my day. As I confidently approach tasks that are new to me. As I direct others in their tasks. As I deal with confrontation. But especially, as I walk with my head held high and without looking back.

Next chapter: Tux is planning to move out. Hyperventilation ahead!!!

Indeterminate Bereftivity

You know what I mean…when you feel like you’ve lost something, but can’t remember what it is? Like it was wiped from your memory, but you still miss it.

That feeling that something is not right, but you are not sure what it is that is wrong? Or maybe it’s not wrong, but it’s definitely not right? Either way, it’s unsettling, but you have no idea where to go to fix it or fill the hole that it left behind, because you can’t even find the hole.

That’s today.

One of those days that you have to just fill the space with something good, something that edges out that empty feeling.

First step: giving it a name. Check.

Now, on to the good stuff!

Asking Yourself the Hard Questions

I believe that in order to truly be whole, we need to know ourselves. Of course, we know what our favorite color is, what we like to do…all of the usual things. But do you know WHY? Have you asked yourself the hard questions, and heard the answer clearly?

It’s so easy to lie to yourself. We do it all of the time, to justify our actions, or to eliminate pain. It’s a great defense against the barrage of messages that bombard us every day, chipping away at our psyche, making us question our beliefs.

But is it healthy? I’m going to say no, as a general rule.

Even our most mundane tendencies can usually be explained, and the explanation might just be as mundane as the idea itself. But what of the times that it is not? When the tendency is something that hurts us, or hurts our loved ones around us? That is when it becomes necessary to question our motives and discover what makes us tick, so to speak.

It sounds easy, doesn’t it? But don’t kid yourself, we are very good liars, especially when it is to ourselves! We WANT to believe the inaccuracies that protect us from making changes that may be painful to address.

Here’s a simple example: Seat belts. There are laws to ensure that we wear our seat belts, whether we like them or not. This practice may or may not save lives, depending on whom you ask, but our responses are more important. Do you readily agree to this, because it is a law? Or do you chafe against the idea that someone is telling you what to do? Do you avoid wearing your seat belt just to prove that you CAN? Even though you believe that it will save your life?

It gets more complicated.

I have a real pet peeve about people falling asleep on the couch, watching TV. It used to make me crazy! I would get so irritated at people, and I had quite a few friends who made a regular habit of it.

But why did it irk me so?

It came down to the fact that I am a schedule girl, a deliberate girl, and one that sees everything as a procedure. I simply cannot “fall asleep”, because there are things that must be done before one goes to sleep. Put on pajamas, brush your teeth, turn off the lights…that sort of thing. To simply drift off in front of the TV set implies that you have no regard for these duties. Or that you are too lazy to do so.

Is that true? Of course not! Everyone has different priorities and ways of doing things, and that does not mean that one is right and another wrong. Once I came to terms with this, I am much more tolerant of drifters. Which is the way that it should be, of course.

I had a real eye opener once when I was talking with a cousin that is much more laid back in her approach to parenting. At the time, I was a stickler for bath, teeth brushed, pajamas, put the babies to bed routine. I would pack to go visit my family, and it took many suitcases just for me and the two boys. She, on the other hand, arrived at home with a couple of suitcases and six children in tow. I was amazed that she could travel so lightly, so we were discussing how she did it.

She never carried her own hair appliances, as she would borrow her sisters’ when she arrived. And she only packed a few changes of clothes for each of her children. What it came down to is that she would allow her children to wear the same clothes, both day and night, for a couple of days. I was shocked. That was just….WRONG! Children need clean pajamas! Children need clean clothes! There was impropriety here! She simply shrugged it off, laughing that it really didn’t matter to her.

I thought about it for a few days after our talk. I simply could not bring myself to allow my children to sleep in their clothing…even if I planned to bathe them and put on clean clothes in the morning! (Dirty clothes in bed??? OH MY GOSH!)

She emailed me a few days later, laughing. She had pondered this thought, also, and as hard as she tried….she simply could not force herself to worry about her kids wearing clean clothes at every moment.

Part of this is simply our personality types. I am a germophobe, she doesn’t believe that they exist. I am a neat freak; she is more concerned about activities than whether or not her house could pass a white glove test. We could not change our basic “spots” if we tried.

But I’ve also learned that sometimes, her way works. Tuxedo Boy was my GQ kid. He insisted on changing his clothes if they got the least bit wet or dirty, and now I’m not sure if I trained him that way, or he trained me. Musician changed all of that. Musician was a dirt magnet. I could not keep that child clean to save my soul. I eventually gave up, and allowed him to wear dirty clothes…not just for more than half an hour, but sometimes even to BED! (I heard that collective gasp out there!)

And then you begin to dig deeper. I once lit into a friend of mine for getting new glasses that I hated. I even told him that! I hate your new glasses! Can you believe it?? It wasn’t until later that night that I really asked myself what the deal was, and I was disappointed in myself.

It wasn’t the glasses that I disliked. I’d had a bad day, and it seemed like everything was changing. I was trying to deal with new policies at work, new challenges, and new concerns with my family. The changing glasses were simply one more drop in that bucket that I simply could not take. I felt like things would never be comfortable – the SAME – again.

I apologized first thing the next morning, admitting my very immature and RUDE behavior.

Thankfully, however, I was able to find out exactly why it bothered me so much, and address it like an adult. (too bad I wasn’t adult enough to act appropriately from the start!)

I’ve since learned to ask myself quickly…and respond just as quickly. It solves problems much more easily, when you know what the problem really is, as opposed to the smoke screens that we throw up in front of ourselves as protection.

I’m happy to say that when I went to lunch recently and discovered that my favorite restaurant had changed the Friday special, I was able to recover. Even though it made me feel insecure and out of control, I talked myself out of it, and ordered the next best thing.

There are great advantages to having a deep and ongoing conversation with yourself! Someday, I hope to understand why I have such an aversion to butterfly graphics…

Hmmm. We’ll save that for another day.

Limp Tomato Plant

Today, I am feeling like a wilted tomato plant.

I only say tomato plant because we are just built a greenhouse, and we were nurturing sweet little tomato plants in the family room near the sliding glass door. The baby snapped one off one day, and by the time my hubby noticed, he had dragged it around the house for quite some time. The poor little thing was limp and bedraggled. He put it in a cup of water, and that darn thing took root! He transplanted it last week, and it seems to be surviving, but it’s not nearly as big as the other plants. (or the plant that the baby broke it off of…)

So back to me.

We had Tuxedo Boy’s graduation ceremony from High School on Friday night. For me, that meant two days of decorating the gym with dear friends, mothers of his closest friends. It meant late nights, trying to finish the graduation gifts that I had in mind for these boys, which was more ambitious than I realized, and I had waited far too long to begin. I made them scrapbooks with photos of the four of them growing up together. It was many hours in front of the computer designing the pages, then mounting them. It also meant helping Tux to get the things done that he needed to do, dragging the Baby around as necessary, and then I got a call that Musician would be receiving an award at an assembly at the school…so we dropped everything and ran to that.

I’m tired.

I was nervous and excited about the graduation ceremony, and wanted to be sure that I got lots of good pictures of the boys. I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to make sure that it was everything that they expected, and more. I was worried that I wouldn’t get things done that I was supposed to do.

Once the ceremony was over, I was relieved and suddenly very, very tired. But then came the celebration, which included cake at our place with Grandma and Grandpa, then going to a friends’ gathering. We got home about 11PM, at which time it took me an hour to get the baby to wind down. He was crazy tired and I could hardly soothe him. Once I got him settled, it took me even longer to unwind, myself, so I was up late late late!



This morning, he woke up far too early. He is still crazy tired! I was tired. I had slept later than I usually do on Saturdays, when I need to be out and on my way at 10AM for a commitment. I ended up having very little time to prettify myself for the day, and just pulled my hair up in a clip. Thank heavens for those things!

Some hours later, I am sitting here feeling absolutely limp. My hair has gone from chicly swept back to a disheveled mess. Thanks to allergies, I’m not sure that there is any makeup left on my eyes. I could definitely use a nap.

These are the times that I find myself most vulnerable to negative thoughts. I know that taking care of my physical body has a great deal to do with my mental health, and I try to get the regular sleep that I need. My natural rhythm (especially when I am depressed) is to stay up all night, then sleep all day. But it’s a nasty cycle that usually leads me to those dark places.

Last night was a bit emotional, as well. I didn’t cry, but I did get a few tears as they showed the Senior slide show. I’m seeing my baby graduate and become a real adult…although he has not made any definite plans yet, he is considering the Air Force. Even if he just goes off to school, it means that he’s leaving home. That will be a tough one for me! I once had him convinced that he should live with mama until he was 47, but that’s not a good plan, either! It’s just going to be really difficult to let him take wing and leave the nest.

Just think of the shadowy places that my mind could go with those factors! I could imagine the most extreme scenarios…I could second guess every decision that I’ve made as a parent…I could obsess over his future.

But like the little tomato plant, I just need some time to rest up. Today is not a good day to think or analyze or plan. I just need to get some sleep and get myself built up again before I do any of that.

I used to ignore those guidelines and would forge on with my thought process without considering the factors that would affect it at this time. I would go from tired to worried to anxious to depressed to freaked in no time at all. This is one of those things that you learn as you work to control the disease. You have to listen to your body, and know that when your body is worn down, your mind is probably at it’s worst, too.

So today, I’m limp, and somewhat uninspired. But it’s okay, because a couple of days in my cup of water, and I just might be able to produce a tomato or two!

Letting go is a major theme!

I was looking through years of photos recently, and came across the picture of these shoes. They were my favorite shoes for such a long time! They were easy to slip on and off, comfortable, and because they were white, matched everything. This is actually the second pair, as the first became so dilapidated that I had to throw them out…but not before I had found an adequate replacement.

Actually, I had to resort to extreme measures to get rid of that first pair. I just could not part with them to save my soul. They were ratty looking and a filthy that even bleach and detergent could not correct. I had worn them so much and in wet and warm temperatures, and they didn’t smell very well. But I loved them! Every time I tried to throw them away, I would immediately fish them out of the garbage for “one last wear”. I finally put them in the garbage one day and then left the house. I called my husband to make sure that he would dump the garbage and take the temptation away from me!

Eventually, this second pair met the same death. I think this time, I left them in a hotel garbage, knowing that I could not go back to get them.

First of all, I’m a cheapskate. I love a good deal, and I will make something last forever just to make sure that I get my money’s worth. I rarely own more than five pairs of shoes at one time, because I am so practical; one set of black heels, one pair of black flats, tennis shoes, one pair of light colored heels, and something that I can slip on in a hurry. With these five, I can pretty much cover any outfit that I might wear, and I just can’t bring myself to buy cute shoes for every outfit.

I’m also hesitant about change, because with change, there is the possibility that I will not be as happy with it as if I had stayed with my original option. I get attached to things and people easily, and it’s hard to break that attachment. I actually miss those shoes, even now, and it’s been years. Which is one of the thinking patterns that I need to break. I hold on to things (as previously discussed, like grudges) even when they are not good for me. My poor white shoes, for instance, that were stinky! I knew that they were stinky, and I sprayed them and washed them and all of that to try to get rid of the smell, but they were still stinky. Even so, I was comfortable in them, and I couldn’t bring myself to just throw them away. I keep clothes that don’t fit or are ugly, because I might need them someday. I keep odd things because they are sentimental or might be used in a craft project. Every so often, I have to purge my stash, just to keep my home from being overrun. I have to take full advantage of those moods, because it’s the only time that I can get rid of things and not feel bad the whole time!

I know that this is what happened in my last job. It had become something that I wasn’t benefitting from, and might even be hurting me. Yet, I could not let go because letting go was scarier than facing the facts.

I held on to the friends that I had because they were my friends. Even when it became apparent that they were not making me feel good about myself, or supporting me in the good things that I did. I held on to them because I was afraid of not having any friends. I held on too long, and it made the separation that much more painful, because I had let them hurt me before I walked away. I should have stepped back when things were still good, so that I was able to say goodbye without the anger and resentment.

I love the email that circulates that talks about friends being there for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Sometimes, people come in to our lives for a reason. It might be fleeting, and when they have served their purpose, they move out of our orbit. Other times, they are there for quite a season before falling out. Some friends will be there for a lifetime. I just haven’t figured out how to use this in my life. I keep trying to hold folks close when they are past their time -- their expiration date, if you will! I don’t want things to change, I just want to add to my life. But that’s impossible; one cannot continue to add people to their lives and never change their roles. My counselor says that I miss them because I haven’t replaced those spots in my life, and she is right. I’m working on that. We do need to maintain a certain number of people in our lives, or we will be lonely and isolated.

This doesn’t change the importance of those people in my life at the time that they were supposed to be there. I had some wonderful times with them, I learned from them, and I value the memories that I have. I’ll keep the memories. But the old shoes have got to go!

Letting Go

The year that I graduated, we had two Mothers of the Year, as there were many admirable mothers in our class. My mother was chosen, along with the mother that lived at the other end of the district and had had an effect on an entirely different group of classmates. It was a great honor for these women, and an apt reward for the years of service to not only their own children, but to all of the others that passed within their circle of influence.

When my brother graduated, the Girl’s Club advisor was the school secretary, a young single woman who tried to be the students’ friend more than a teacher. Her intentions were good, but she was young and not quite ready to be an authority figure to teens. She sent out the ballots for Mother of the Year and instructed the Seniors to vote for the woman who had done the most for their class. Again, there were several women deserving, and it came to a tie. Rather than allow the tie to go forward, as my class had done, she asked for a re-vote. This time, instead of sending out a list of the Senior mother’s names, she just asked them to vote for the woman who had done the most for their class.

Somehow, the vote came back with her name as the top ballot winner. An older, more mature advisor would have stopped right there, thanked the students for their praise…but had them vote for specifically a Senior Mother. I can’t begin to explain why she allowed them to award it to her, but she did, and it caused quite a stir amongst the mothers in attendance.

Even if the mother did not believe herself to be the rightful winner, she knew another mother that she felt deserving of the prize. My mother was rightly disappointed, as she had felt that any number of women would have qualified, but that this woman had misused her position and taken the honor from others more deserving. It’s something that has been discussed and rehashed many times in our household, and it always ruffles Mom’s feathers.

I tell you this because I attended Tuxedo Boy’s Senior Mother’s Tea just last week. We had refreshments and tea games, and then the Seniors stood to say something to each of their mothers and present us with beautiful spring flowers. My son thanked me for putting up with his crabby moods, which was appropriate! Two of his friends thanked the group of four moms that had worked together many years ago in Scouts, and have remained dedicated to this group of boys. We cherish each one of them as our own, and have been pleased to see them grow up as friends. It was so sweet, and meant the world to me. (In Tuxedo Boy’s defense, he said that he was stressed and just forgot to thank the other mothers)

When we got home, we were talking about the Tea with my parents, and Mom asked who had received the Mother of the Year. This is a tradition that died years ago, to my knowledge, and could likely have died the year that my brother graduated, for all that I know, but was not awarded this year.

And then she said, “I was SOOOOOO mad the year that your brother graduated!”

I stopped her right there by laughing and reminding her that I’d heard the story some 10,000 times before, I agreed with her, but that it had happened TWENTY years ago and she needed to get over it.

I tell this story not to chastise my mom, who obviously had very hurt feelings over the whole thing, but to emphasize a concept that I struggle with: Letting go.

I have a tendency to hold grudges. My dad and I often joke that “we don’t get even, we keep score”. While this is pretty common in most folks, I have some things that I simply cannot let go of. They are tossed around in my head like clothes in a dryer, waiting to stick to something else that might be taken out and used. They show up at strange times and cause such a visceral reaction that it takes me off guard. Sometimes, I’m not even aware that I’ve remembered such a thing, only that I am angry about something that is happening now and I’m not sure why.

The first step to letting it go is to identify what it is in the first place. When I suddenly get angry and it has little to do with what is actually happening, I have to stop and ask myself what it reminds me of…how it makes me feel, and what else makes me feel that way. This is, incidentally, the most difficult part! We do a very good job of keeping these things from ourselves! It’s a coping mechanism, but not a solution mechanism.

I also believe that there must be some sort of resolution to things. In this illustration with the Mother’s Tea, there was no resolution. No one stepped down…not likely, anyway. No one apologized…and while you certainly wouldn’t expect the winner to apologize, I think that Mom would have liked for her son to apologize. (are you listening??!! Hee hee)

We all need to come to some sort of “end” in order to get over things, and I’m finding that most of the time, I have to find the end myself. It cannot be something that comes from others…because that usually doesn’t happen.

I’ve been working with a therapist to begin to think more effectively. I’ve had a lot of years of depressed thinking, and it’s hard to break that pattern. In this case, I have to decide what I can live with. I know that I cannot live with grudges, because they eat away at you, a little bit every day. You end up with an empty inside and it hurts no one but yourself.

I was recently feeling overwhelmed with sorrow about how people that I thought were my friends could treat me in the way that they had. My therapist pointed out that I may be misinterpreting what they had done. Maybe they stayed away from me because they didn’t know what to say…or they just got busy…or whatever reason that they had. I had to work at this way of thinking, because I know that if the roles were reversed, I would want to keep in touch with them.

And then she said something that put it all into perspective. She asked me if I still wanted to spend time with these people…did I want to be LIKE these people? The answer was clearly no, in my heart. Then, she asked, why does it matter if they still like you or not?

Good point.

My family loves me, and I still have friends … maybe not ones that I see every day, or even every week… maybe I don’t have someone calling me all of the time, but I have friends. Ones that really care, and when they do call or talk to me, they really want to know how I am. Ones that are good, truthful, with no ulterior motives. Ones that I want to be more like. I’ll surround myself with THESE people, and the people who don’t like me…well, that would be their baggage.

I’ve been blessed with a few friends who have been very caring and supportive during these times, you know who you are! Thank you…thank you. There are not words to express my appreciation for you. And for all of you who have been a good friend to anyone who is struggling. That is the measure of a true disciple of Christ, to help someone when there is no reward for doing so…except knowing that you have made a difference.

What are you holding on to that you might let go? What is really important, and what is not worth the energy that it takes to be offended? What can you decide that will help you to LET GO, and move on?

And Mom, you’ve always been Mother of the Year to me. Does that make it any better?