Does "Good Enough" Really Mean "Good Enough?"

My guilt is not about being a perfectionist. For me, guilt is not about seeing all the little things I do wrong and hating myself for it; it is about seeing the absolute disaster that is my life. It is about seeing everything I do as a failure. It is crippling. When I see my children, when I spend time with them, there is a cloud around them.

"You used your mean voice. You should be more patient. Too much screen time. Not enough vegetables. You don't help with homework. Not enough personal attention. You don't read to him enough. This behavior is your fault. You should love him more. You should want to be with her more. Why don't you want to play with her? Her hair's not combed. He's still not potty trained. You're not trying hard enough. He's not learning to clean up. She thinks you don't love her. This is your fault. This shouldn't be hard. You should be enjoying this. He needs you. You should help her. You should want to help her. You should be nicer to him. If you loved him you wouldn't talk to him that way. You're bad at this. You're neglecting your kids. You're abusing your kids. So-and-so would never treat her kids this way. What if your parents saw you? What if your in-laws saw you? You'll never be able to do any better. How could you treat such a sweet child that way? You are a morally depraved person and your children are suffering because of it. You're not good enough."

That cloud is panic inducing. I hide. I hide from my own children because it is overwhelming. I breathe in that cloud. It suffocates me, blinds me. "You're not good enough."

And it certainly isn't just about my children.

   Driving down the road: "It's not good enough."

   Folding laundry: "It's not good enough."

   Putting my kids to bed: "It's not good enough."

   Sitting in church: "It's not good enough."

   Cleaning around the house: "It's not good enough."

   Down time at work: "It's not good enough."

   Cooking a meal: "It's not good enough."

   Reading about current events: "It's not good enough."

   Reading my scriptures: "It's not good enough."

   Saying my prayers: "It's not good enough."

Lying down  in bed because I'm so exhausted from the constant guilt: "You're not good enough."

Were any of you taught that you should never be satisfied? That you should always be working on a goal? That if you aren't moving forward you are sliding back? I was. And guess what? Now all I can hear in my head is:  "It's not good enough."

Any problem I have, the automatic thought is "You're not trying hard enough." I just need to try harder. What I'm doing must not be enough. It's not enough. It's not enough. It's not enough.

It sucks the energy out of me, emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and even physically. I get too tired to try anymore. It's never good enough.

My hope is that being aware of this problem will be the first step in healing it. Maybe somehow I can clear that guilt cloud around my children. Maybe somehow I will start hearing: "You're doing fine. It is enough."

Maybe it isn't about being "patient with yourself." That implies that you have to be patient until you ARE good enough. It implies that you are not good enough YET.

Maybe it is okay to be satisfied. Maybe it is okay to NOT have a goal sometimes. Maybe life doesn't have to be some struggle not to slide down into hell. Maybe love and contentment are better motivators than guilt.

It's Not Funny, Jimmy: My Thoughts on Kimmel's Halloween Youtube Challenge

Who here thinks it's funny to lie to your kid, devastate them, record their misery, laugh at them, and then share that video on the internet so that everyone else can laugh at them too?

Jimmy Kimmel thinks it's hilarious, and is encouraging parents to do it. Apparently, it is a "beloved holiday tradition" (his exact words.) Around Halloween, Jimmy Kimmel, on Jimmy Kimmel Live, challenges parents to tell their kids that they have eaten all of their Halloween candy, record their reactions, and share the videos on youtube. Some people get a kick out of watching the kids throw fits. I find it painful. At the risk of sounding judg-ey, I hate it. I think it's wrong.

It's not funny, Jimmy. How would you like it if someone you loved and trusted said "By the way, I emptied your bank account and you're never getting that money back." Okay, you'd be upset about the money, but you'd be more upset that they violated your trust. Then they watch you go through the stages of denial, grief, anger, and depression and then tell you it was all a joke. Oh, and they record you and post it online because to them, your misery is prime entertainment. Do you suddenly feel better because thankfully you still have your money? Huffington Post encourages us to remember that "the parents didn't actually eat all of their kids' Halloween candy." As if that makes it okay.

You might say "Sheesh! Lighten up! It's just candy!" I admit, it's funny sometimes to watch a kid throw a tantrum over something trivial, but I try to remember that to them it isn't trivial at all. They haven't lived very long, and they cherish the simplest things. They don't understand that candy is trivial because it is seriously one of the most amazing things in their lives. They don't understand that they'll get candy next year because they have only lived a few years and probably can't remember more than one or two Halloweens and those were ages ago to them. They don't understand that they can just go out and get more candy because, well, they can't. You are the master of the candy flow (hopefully) and this one time they got to go out and "earn" their own candy by dressing up and asking for it politely, and you have taken that away. It was a wonderful experience, and the candy is a cherished reward and a reminder of a special memory. It's a big deal to them, so it should be a big deal to us.

But it's not about candy folks. I'd rather have a parent who actually did eat all my candy, fessed up, and apologized, then a parent who just said they ate all my candy so they could watch me cry and then mock me for it.

That kind of treatment is cruel, and it's abusive. It is a sign that some parents don't understand how their children feel. Either that or they don't care.

I am horrified that this kind of treatment of children is not only trivialized, but accepted and encouraged in the media. If you feel the same way, you are welcome to share this.

Be kind to your children. Try to understand them. Nourish their trust and show them that they are emotionally safe with you. Don't lie to them. Don't laugh at them. If you mock their pain now, they will be too scared to come to you for comfort and advice when it really matters. You may not understand why they are distressed, but they are. Your job is to be there for them when they are hurting, not to intentionally hurt them so you can have some entertainment and get your ten seconds of fame on Youtube.

Sources:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/11/04/jimmy-kimmel-halloween-candy_n_6099866.html

Abstractions

Ethereal in the Abyss
and Broad
sealed up the broken pieces--all in good order,
and worried me with unknowns

like an arachnid
eight limbs hunkered down
a desperate stubborn grip.
hunkered down
against the running water.

Try to stop me.

I asked for more or less, but preferably more.
So I'll stand here with my cheese and bread
in my mismatched socks
facing the door (I think it's blue)
Until it opens

5/28/2008

In the morning

In the morning, I laid next to her.

she was not asleep.

she draped her arm across my shoulder

pressed her head against my cheek.

her warmth and lightness sank into me

and my little bird sang to me

as I floated in sleep















Art by Egon Schiele found on Wikimedia Commons
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Mothers_in_art#mediaviewer/File:Egon_Schiele_052.jpg

Taking the Long View

Shortly after finishing my first year of college, I cut my hair off in a fit of depression. It was an alternative to self-harm but still not a very healthy way to deal with things. I got my hair fixed into an adorable pixie and started seeing a doctor and a counselor. That was when I was first diagnosed with depression. It is generally under control now. I am one of the lucky ones for whom medication works really well. But my hair has never recovered. I loved my pixie for a while, but I really began to miss my curls and the versatility of long hair.  I keep trying to grow it out (which explains the unkempt poodle look.) But I can never succeed.

I realized long ago that my hair is a symbol for me. When I'm feeling down, when I feel like I have no control over my life, when I grow impatient with everything, I cut my hair. It gives me a sense of power, a sense that I have changed something, a sense that I can make things happen faster. But I still want my hair back. My desire to make things happen faster means it doesn't happen at all.

Resisting the urge to cut my hair has been especially hard for the last few years. About 2 years ago my husband developed severe anxiety and depression. He began struggling with work, home life, and especially school.  Trying to stay strong sent me into my own deep depression for a while. Things got really bad.

In an attempt to find our feet again we moved in with my husband's parents early this year. Progress has been slow. After several months my husband finally obtained steady full time work with benefits. However, it does not pay well enough for us to live on our own. Finding treatment for my husband's anxiety and depression has been slow and difficult. The most recent setback was a decline in my own health. I hope it is temporary, but it has been interfering significantly with my ability to take care of things at home.

A couple of weeks ago I began to feel the weight of it all.  I was discouraged and afraid.  My in-laws are wonderful, and amiable people to live with, but I wanted us to be on our own. I wanted independence so badly that I struggled to be grateful.  I wanted to get better. I wanted my husband to get better. I tortured myself trying to come up with something, anything, that would get us out of this situation quickly. I considered cutting my hair, but I decided it wasn't worth it because it wouldn't actually change anything. I felt like giving up. I knew things would probably get better eventually, but I didn't think I could hold on any longer.  Finally I just talked to my husband.

After I told him how I felt I asked, "what are we going to do?"  He replied simply, " I don't think there is anything to do. It is just a matter of waiting."

I don't know why, but hearing him say that softened my heart. I felt calm and hushed.

That night, lying in bed, I tried an experiment. I imagined where we might be 6 months from now, and 6 months from then, and 6 months after that. I began to see the long view. It was not just some distant idea of a better time, but a time-frame, and a picture growing brighter and more beautiful with each step.  I felt hope rising within me.

I learned something very important over the next few days as I pondered my experience. I realized that I had been fighting for control for so long because I was terrified that things would be hard forever. I was impatient because I was scared.  I wanted things to get better now so I could know for sure that they would. While I had faith that things would get a little better eventually, I did not have hope that things could be wonderful. I did not have hope that I could find happiness in the future.

Somehow this does all relate back to my hair.  My hair is a daily symbol for me of my newly discovered hope and patience. The best way for me to stay away from the scissors is to visualize how amazing my curls will be 5 years from now. The best way for me to keep from falling into the pit of despair is to imagine how wonderful things will be for our family in the next 6, 12, or 36 months. As silly as it seems, my shaky relationship with my hair has helped me learn a precious lesson: Faith is a start, but hope is the key to patience. Faith is the belief that something will come, but hope is the belief that it will be as glorious as you imagine.



See also: "Be of Good Cheer" by Thomas S. Monson, President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2009/04/be-of-good-cheer?lang=eng

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Cobblestone_roads#mediaviewer/File:Kr%C3%A5kgr%C3%A4nd_070405.JPG

In Which I Acknowledge a Gift

It has been with me since the moment I was conceived. God gave it to me. It is the reason I am alive. It is the reason I can be with my husband and children. It is the reason I can enjoy life. Without it I cannot be happy.

Yet I have been ashamed of it. I have spoken ill of it to my friends. I haven't given it what it needs to succeed. I have been angry with it when I didn't think it was good enough, and yet I knew it was doing the best it could.

It makes it possible for me to be with the one I love, but I blame it when I do not feel beautiful enough for him. It makes it possible for me to bring children into this world, but I blame it when the process is painful or uncomfortable. It makes it possible for me to raise my children--to kiss them, hug them, nurse them when they are ill, and laugh with them when they are happy, but I blame it when I am not able to do things the way I think I ought to.

Because of it I can see and hear. I can create and love. I can smell and taste and breath. I can serve and bless the ones I hold dear. I can cherish each touch from mother, father, sweetheart, and child. I can sing and dance and think and feel.

I realize now how wrong I was to hate it, to revile it and neglect it. It has served me every day of my life, and I have abused it. I have failed to see its beauty.  It has given me everything it could and I never thought it was enough. When it needed care I abandoned it and gave it things that only made it worse. I told it to get over it. I despised it for its weaknesses.

But it is alive, and I love it for that. I don't know how long it will be that way. I don't know how long it will be able to keep me here with the ones I love and help me do the work I need to do.  I will try to be more kind to it. I will thank God for it. I will try to care for it. I will try to love it and speak kindly of it, and be grateful every day that it is still here for me.

This post was inspired by a lovely post on essentialmums.co.nz called "Passing on Body Hatred." It was beautiful and nearly made me cry. Thank you to the author, Kasey Edwards, for helping me see my body for the beautiful thing it is, and how perfect it is just because it is alive. Here is the link:

 http://www.essentialmums.co.nz/mums-life/health/8757837/Passing-on-body-hatred

The image above was found on wikimedia commons under the file name love_and_happiness.jpg

10 Things You Can Do to Support Someone With a Chronic Illness

After I published my post titled "10 Things You Should Avoid Saying to Someone With a Chronic Illness" I got a request to write about things we should do for people with chronic illnesses. I really appreciated this suggestion because there are so many things you can do, and perhaps those are the things we should focus on. So here is my list:

1. Don't give up on friendship

The biggest problem faced by those with chronic illness is isolation.  It can be exhausting or overwhelming just to talk to people when you are dealing with an illness. If you call and don't get an answer, don't be offended. If they don't return your call, don't be offended! If they never seem to want to visit, don't be offended! They are not pushing you away!  Keep trying, again and again. The times that you get a chance to socialize may turn out to be some of the most precious experiences not just for them, but for you as well. I know from personal experience how hard it is to keep up a relationship with someone who is ill. I can attest that it is worth all the effort 10 times over.

2. Make reasonable accommodations

There are little things you can do to  make socializing easier for someone with a chronic illness. Arrange social gatherings in comfortable spaces. Many people with illnesses are sensitive to heat or cold, so keep that in mind.  Consider offering an easy exit or personal space. Be aware of dietary needs. Above all, ask them what their needs are and make an effort to accommodate them without making a big fuss. If you are not able to make accommodations, let them know that you regret not being able to. Just knowing you tried will show them you care and that you understand.

3. Respond appropriately

Just as you would with anyone else, reflect their emotions when they talk. If they are only being matter of fact about their health, you do not need to be upset or make a big deal of it. Often, people with an illness avoid talking about it because they are tired of people feeling sorry for them. If they are obviously upset, share their sorrow, but if they are just making conversation, make conversation back. Listen actively and ask questions. Don't make suggestions or try to fix it. Become comfortable talking about serious health issues.

3. Remember

Remember what is going on with their health and follow up. They will probably be surprised that anyone cares enough to keep track. This one can be tricky, but anything you remember will be appreciated. Remember other things about their life. Ask about kids, work, hobbies, the garden. Knowing you care enough to remember will make a big difference.

4. Be understanding

Don't be offended if they miss events, even important ones. They can't control their illness. Realize that it is hard for them to have to miss things. Pray for them. Take pictures to share with them later. Let them know that they were missed, and that you understand that it was difficult for them to miss out.

5. Accept the situation

Accept that your loved one is sick. Accept that they may never "get better." You may have to go through a mourning period. I have had to do it myself. Be aware that it can be difficult and take time. It is easier to deny the truth, to fight it with anger, to wear yourself out trying to make everything okay. Everyone has their struggles, and while the degrees may vary, suffering is universal. There is service you can give, but you cannot make it all better. Remember that while things are hard for them sometimes, there are good things in their life as well. When you accept the situation as it is, you can begin to see them as a real person, and not just a sob story.

6. Accept that it is not their fault

People with chronic illnesses are a manifestation of our fears. They are a reminder of the frailty of the human body and of our own vulnerability. Even the best people can be struck down by bad health, and we don't like to face that. So we make things up. We make up ways they must be at fault for their illness, because if they are at fault, then we can avoid the same fate by doing all the right things. Face your fears. Face the facts. Do not blame others for their illnesses because you can't stand to think that the same thing could happen to you.

7. Share your own troubles

Don't be so intimidated by their problems that you never share your own or ask for help. True friendship goes two ways, and if you never allow them to support you, you can never be a true friend. Most likely you will find that they are compassionate and empathetic, and it will bring them joy to bless your life. Even if there are some things they can't do, there are many things they can. Serve them, be their friend, and give them the opportunity to reciprocate. Remember that they love you and want to help. They aren't always up to talking or serving, but don't stop giving them the opportunity to do so.

8. Be realistic

Some people seem to have this idea that when someone is sick, they are so refined by their trials that they must be angelic. Or even worse, that if you already have to deal with someone's illness you shouldn't have to deal any other annoying idiosyncrasies.  People with chronic illnesses have character flaws just like everyone else. Be patient, and be forgiving. Remember that these character flaws may become pronounced during times of stress or particularly bad health, just as they are for everyone else.

9. See them for who they are

Even if chronic illness seems to take over their life, it does not define them.  Notice their good (and not so good) qualities. Are they funny? Are they wise? Are they no-nonsense? See them for their talents, their past, their future, their habits and hobbies.  See them for their worth and love them for who they are.

10. Be a friend

True friendship is a greater blessing than any physical service. Remember to ask about their life and tell them about yours. Talk about your favorite shows, your families, sports, games, books, religion, and interesting issues. Talk about shared interests. Talk about the good things in life. Talk about the sad things in life. Find fun things to do together that they can handle. Pray for them. Share your thoughts and feelings with them. Make sure they know you are there for them and then be there when they need you. When all is said and done, just allow yourself to enjoy them as a friend.

Also check out my friend's blog called Beyond the Bipolar, and her post entitled "When Hawaii's Not an Option-How to Help Someone Who is Struggling Emotionally."

http://beyondthebipolar.blogspot.com/2014/01/when-hawaiis-not-option-how-to-help.html

Images found on Wikimedia Commons under the following file names

800px-Old_friendship_!.JPG
800px-Laughing.jpg