things to remember

Remember when you were a kid and you wanted more than anything to not be in trouble. You tried so hard to be a good girl and be seen and not heard? And the part about playing with your little brother and being nice to him was huge? You actually liked to play school with him and teach him everything you were learning in school even though you were three years older? So he started school already knowing how to read and count and add and color in the lines and before long, he was reading the World Book Encyclopedia because he loved to learn?

Remember how you wanted so much to be good? You sat quietly in church and tried to sing just like your mom sang and walked in the hallways and never played on the stage or ran in the cultural hall.

Remember how you didn't get to help with the dishes or the cooking because you were too little and might break something, but all of your friends hated doing dishes and you could never understand how they could feel that way?

Remember how nervous you felt in school when the teacher called on you even if you knew the answer, because you would get so flustered that before you knew it, you were nearly in tears for fear that you wouldn't give her the answer she wanted to hear. And she would ask "are you okay?" and you would lower your head and nod and hope she would just disappear. And remember the time you fell on the playground and skinned up your knee so blood was running down your leg, but when you went back to your classroom, your teacher asked why you were in the school during recess and told you to go back outside, so you did, but later she couldn't apologize enough when she saw the dried blood on your knee.

Remember how you tried to remember all of the rules and play by all of the rules and be exactly what everybody wanted you to be, which was, after all, a happy nice girl who would just go outside and play. But sometimes, when your uncle came over to work on the camper he was building for his family, he would let you help out by sweeping up the sawdust for him? Like almost every other adult you knew, he was so kind to you.

Remember that time you got in the car with your mom and shut your hand in the door? And you cried but your mom was certain that after you held it in cold water for a while it would be fine. If only you'd known that was the end of your hand model career.

Remember though that cute little suitcase you packed and stowed under your bed in the third grade because one of those days you were going to leave and go live in the field behind the church where you could do whatever you wanted. Not that you'd even thought about what you would eat or whether or not you would be safe in that field that is now a mall. Just having the suitcase ready to go was enough. But remember that one time when you thought most seriously about pulling out that suitcase but heard your mom coming through the house so you slipped under the bed with your suitcase and laid very still, breathing ever so softly while your mother called out your name and even came into your room and sat on the bed, finally rising and leaving you alone in your room and you realized you didn't have to leave your room to find a place to be alone and you felt so clever laying on the cool hardwood floor under your bed.

Remember how as you got older, you were always grounded. And how there were times when you felt certain that your mother had grounded your friends and maybe even their parents as well? The spankings had stopped, but the grounding and the threats were constant. And you realized at some point that it was easier to take the heat if you got caught then to ask for permission because if you asked if you could go or do something with your friends, it was always no. Without a pause. But if you were careful, you might not get caught. And amazingly, you came through it all, stupid kidstuff and sneaking around and Ted Bundy on the loose, but you survived, intact.

Except maybe not so intact. Really pretty much clueless about why you behaved as you did or why it mattered so much to you that everybody around you felt happy. That was, after all, what everybody said about you, "You're always so happy." And you never realized that you didn't let yourself feel. Because if you felt or expressed your feelings, it made others uncomfortable or uneasy and you didn't want that. You wanted everybody to be nice and happy and just get along. And you wanted calm, not contention.

Possibly the most stunning part about it all is that you raised four amazing children. Of course, you had help. Good examples. Great pediatrician. Lots of self-help, how to raise amazing kid books, re-reading the ones that felt right and tossing out or at least filing away the ones that felt too oppressive, offering advice and methods that you could have never used with those four beings you treasured.

Remember that time--wait, you don't remember these things? This wasn't your childhood? Anxiety wasn't your constant companion, best friend, soul mate? See until this week, I thought everybody lived with constant anxiety. I thought everybody had the knot in her stomach, the clenched fists, the nagging worry and nonstop effort to take care of everybody else's feelings and needs.

This week was another epiphany at therapy. Victim complex, caretaker complex, anxiety, powerless to change or control anything.

But wait. It isn't true. I am not powerless. I do not need to take care of everyone else's feelings or needs. I cannot control the universe.

I can only care for my feelings. I can only tend to my needs.

The caretaker in me is screaming out, "WAHWAHWAH!!! SELFISH--YOU SOUND SO SELFISH!!" But it isn't true. The caretaker needs to take a break. Let Jack do dishes and take out garbage and hire a college student to vacuum and dust and clean bathrooms. And the victim needs to forgive herself and get over herself and love herself and live life.

And see. That is all good.