Let It Be

When my kid is angry or sad or anxious, it literally makes my stomach hurt. As a child, I felt that I had to measure the “temperature” (mood) of the room at all times, and therefore I continue to do it as an adult. I can sniff out others’ unhappiness like a droopy old hound.
I’m like the Peanut’s character with the little cloud over his head? Except I’m worried about that one kid’s blanket issue, and Charlie Brown needs to stand up for himself to Lucy, and what is Lucy’s trauma that makes her so cranky? And where are the parents, for god’s sake? The only adults around seem to have a speech impediment and need to be seen by a speech therapist. And I think there may be some financial assistance available, let me help you fill out that form.



I want to fix everyone’s problems. I want to go to the Veteran’s Administration Hospital in Wichita and tell them to fix my dad. I mentally keep track of his symptoms as they are reported to me, at one point I even had a list of his medications on my computer. I’ve diagnosed my mother with several issues through the years. I have a friend who has sunken into a deep and paralyzing depression over the past few years, and I want to put Lexapro in his coffee. I am dismayed and anxious about another friend’s money problems, so similar to my own, that I ask her the very questions which make me cringe, I can’t help that it just flies out of my mouth. I worry about people’s relationships with each other, their communication issues, their health, and their overall wellbeing. If you are my friend and you’re feeling bad in some way, I will try to fix you. (I have a vision of myself wearing a homemade cape and flying around with “Dora” bandaids, money, bags of happiness, sparkles, and sunshine. ) That would be so cool. And so sick. If someone tells me they have a problem, an illness, or are simply sad… I just want to FIX it. And because I can’t fix it, it may appear that I’m keeping my distance, or that I’m uncaring or unresponsive. Don’t worry, I’m listening to you. I’m just trying to figure out the answer to all your problems while we’re having this little chat.


My choice of work in the field of social services was mainly as “service coordinator” or “employment specialist”. Translation: I’ll tell you who to call for help in Lawrence… no wait, let me just dial the phone for you. I’ll help you get a job/advocate for services/find a date. Well. Not the date so much. That’s a whole other issue. But if you need a ride? A $5 loan? Lunch? I’m totally there. I’d like to be the helper and fixer.


I like to think of myself as a “thoughtful parent”. Translation: Crazyobsessiveparanoidworriedscared parent. I watch Grace like a hawk… attuned to her every mood and need to the point of finding myself exhausted at times. I’m not doing her any favors, either. She needs to learn boundaries. She needs to understand that dropping your fork really doesn’t warrant the same tremulous response as, say...dropping a bowling ball on your foot. Everything in moderation? She’s learning. Slowly. She does not know how to sleep in her bed through the night, and I continue to let her crawl into mine each night. Since she was born I’ve worried over her… studied her…analyzed her every behavior and feeling and today I can tell you that I know the answer. She’s three. This too, shall pass. Too fast.


At least I feel this way most of the time. The odd moment comes about (well, almost every day) that I wonder what psychological damage I am inflicting on her when I insist on shutting the bathroom door to go poop without her. I’m the biggest pushover because I hate seeing those big brown eyes welling up with tears as her lower lip trembles and she says, “You hurt my feelings!” or “You’re stupid and mean!” Oh yes… at the age of 3. I’m already stupid and mean. Game. On.


Turns out I am not consistent at letting Grace learn to modulate her feelings, think through her problems on her own, or just be sad/mad/bored. I’m usually thinking about how to avoid situations that could make her anything but happy. I think this way in terms of myself and most of the people close to me.


I wish I could say that this “aha moment” is all I need to turn this way of thinking around. I suspect that avoiding these patterns will be a struggle for me, and I’ll slowly learn what works and what doesn’t. This revelation, by the way, was brought about by a lovely magazine I like to called “Brain, Child”. Oh, I guess that’s what it’s actually called. Anyway, this article:


Recovering Mom: Everything I should've known about motherhood I learned in Al-Anon
by THEO PAULINE NESTOR
 Al-Anon! Who knew! Turns out they aren’t a bunch of ladies sitting around bitching about their drunk husbands. It seems (and I wouldn’t know for sure as I have not visited yet) that they are all about figuring out their part in things, and according to the article, “struggle with a deep need for everyone to be happy at all times.” Well sheeeeeit. I can relate to that. Most regular readers know that I am 5 years sober and that’s happened in no small part by attending AA meetings and having friends in recovery. It never occurred to me that the patterns found in certain troubled families may mimic those of an alcoholic family, such as the deep need to please others, a fear of criticism, difficulty caring for oneself, tendency to isolate and worry. Really? ‘cause a therapist once told me this, but, you know… who listens to their therapist? Another AA friend has repeatedly told me it would be good for me to go check out Al-Anon. I don’t listen to him either.


In the meanwhile, deep breaths. I’m practicing observing other people’s problems and offering advice only if solicited, knowing that I’m not responsible for the outcome. I’m practicing observing my own thoughts and catching myself when I start to think I can fix everything. I’m practicing letting Grace be unhappy and/or experience the consequences of her actions. We were having a princess dance party and she climbed on the coffee table and slipped and smacked her chin on it. I’m glad she didn’t lose a tooth or cut her chin open, but I’m also glad she will remember that climbing = falling. Until the next dance party. And I’ll remember that worrying = crazy. Until the next crisis.  As a friend said recently: “ It’s gonna be what it’s gonna be.” I’m not the one in the driver’s seat. And thank god for that, ‘cause I’m actually a really bad driver.