Setting up roadblocks to intimacy...

I'm not talking about that kind of intimacy.  I'm talking about the kind where you open your self up, the very core of your being, to another person.  It's scary, because it's a very vulnerable position.  How much easier is it to put up a false front and keep others at a safe distance?  I recently saw this segment on our local lifestyle show and thought it was definitely worth sharing. Family therapist Julie Hanks talks about the things that prevent us from letting other "step in our shoes."

Or you can read the written article as well.  Just some food for thought!

The difference between "owning it" and "you're on your own."

The other day I posted this quote from Albert Ellis:  "The best years of your life are the ones in which you decide your problems are your own.  You do not blame them on your mother, the ecology, or the president.  You realize that you control your own destiny."  


Then I received this comment from a reader named Genevieve:  "I agree that it's up to us, but I also think sometimes we need help. I went to a funeral today for a woman who apparently didn't have help, and her "demons" got the best of her. So tragic."


It struck me that there is a disconnect here between what I read in that quote and what she got from it.  After  reading both the quote and her comment a few times, I could see her point and felt that I needed to address it.


To me, this thought is all about the blame game.  There are so many times that we want to shift the blame for our problems to other people or to circumstances beyond our control.  "I wouldn't be so fat if my parents had taught me better habits." "My kid would do better in school if the teacher would just pay more attention to him." That may seem easier, but in reality it takes away our power to change our lives.  Taking responsibility for our lives can be scary, but it also means that we can make changes and decisions that will be true happiness and peace.    Other people and circumstances do affect our lives, but we cannot allow them to control us.  We "own" who we are, imperfections and all, in order to become who we want to be.


I think the danger in this thought, and what Genevieve was observant enough to pick up on, is if you just focus on the phrase "your problems are your own."  Believing that our problems are entirely our own affair can wall us off from the people around us, as I wrote about in a previous post "I thought I was the only one..."  We must be willing to let our guard down and let people in so that we can get help when we need it.  And everyone needs help once in a while.  Admitting that we need help empowers other to ask for help as well.  Sometimes we need a strong shoulder to lean on (or cry on), and sometimes we can be that person for someone else.  But if we keep up a facade of perfection, we are cut off from both roles.  We can't ask for help, and others don't feel comfortable asking it of us.


Taking control of your life should not mean that you are on your own.  It means that you face yourself and your choices with honesty, changing what you can and allowing yourself to ask for help where you need it.


Now, I'm going to go quit blaming the over-flowing closets on a mutant outgrown-clothes breeding phenomenon and do some de-cluttering.  Feel free to come over and help if you want... :)

In Honor of "You're My Favorite" Day...

 Yesterday marked the 3rd anniversary of the passing of my sweet little sister Carissa.  Words cannot express how much I love her, or how much I still miss her every day.  Carissa was 22 years old and had Down's Syndrome, and I truly believe she was an angel walking on the earth.  She had a greater capacity to love than any person I have ever met, and she used that capacity to lift every person she met.  She told everyone she met: "You're my favorite!" And she truly meant it every time. She made us all feel like the best version of ourselves. She smiled and hugged us and wrote us letters and made silly faces and told ridiculous jokes and always, always told us she loved us. 

My brother Dan of Single Dad Laughing has written a beautiful tribute to her here that everyone should read, and the main focus of what he wrote was about how Carissa was able to love people because she never thought of herself as better than another person.  This could not be more true. And while I could write for days about the things I learned from her, today I want to just write about the flip-side from what Dan wrote.

Carissa also never thought of herself as less than any other person.

Just think about what that means for a second.

My beautiful girl

I truly believe that Carissa never looked at another person and only saw her own shortcomings. She never thought to herself, "Oh, that person thinks they're better than me" or "That person is better than me/smarter than me/richer than me/more beautiful than me/happier than me/more good than me/etc." Carissa saw each person only as a brother or a sister, someone to love and someone who would love her in return.  She never doubted that everyone would love her, and as a result, everyone did.

I have written a lot on this blog about how we let our perception of our own imperfection stand in the way. We don't reach out in love or in service because we're afraid that what we have to give will never be good enough. We don't explore and expand the gifts God has given us because we don't think we'll be able to do it as well as others.

Carissa never let her imperfections hinder her from being who she was meant to be. And I'm not just talking about the limitations inherent to her disability.  She also had normal imperfections -- she was stubborn as a mule, and she got sad and mad and scared just like the rest of us. But she accepted those parts of herself and allowed the beautiful gifts that she'd been given to shine through.  Let me just tell you one story to illustrate this point.

I was with Carissa when she was admitted to the hospital for the last time. She was in serious distress from terrible pneumonia, and she was scared and in pain. A short time after she was admitted, a nurse came to insert a pic line into her arm so they could better administer her meds (any medical people out there will have to excuse my lack of medical expertise here). Carissa's veins were notoriously hard to find and I think they hadn't been able to get an IV in, so they had to go with the pic line.  The nurse told me that inserting a pic line was almost always very, very easy, but that sometimes it because very, very difficult.  Carissa's experience proved to be the latter. The nurse tried for what seemed like forever to get it in, basically digging a needle around in Carissa's arm trying to find the right placement. Carissa was in intense pain, tears rolling down her cheeks.  But that was not her focus. Carissa could see that the nurse was distressed about the pain she was causing.  Carissa started saying, "It's okay! You're doing a good job. Keep trying. I love you. It's okay," all while patting the nurse with her free hand. By the time she was finished, we were all in tears.  I actually don't remember if she was even able to place the pic line in the end.  But the spirit of love in that room was so strong that I will never forget it.

Carissa with my mom and my boys, just a couple days before she died.

Carissa was not focused on her own fear or pain or unhappiness, all things that would have limited her ability to reach out. Her concern was for the person she saw suffering in front of her. That was the suffering she wanted to alleviate. Throughout that last hospital stay, which lasted about a week, she continued to lift everyone who came in contact with her, despite her deteriorating condition.  Her hospital room had large windows facing out into the hallway, and she waved cheerily at everyone who passed.  We were told later that hospital staff and patients were going out of their way to walk by her room and see her smile. And to this day, the memory of her unselfish love pushes everyone who knew her to be a little more loving to everyone they meet.

Love conquers fear.  Love conquers every negative emotion or action in this world.  Because love for others -- others she saw as no better or worse than herself, only brothers and sisters -- was the greatest emotion in Carissa's world, she was able to lift and serve and be the best possible version of herself. 

I miss you, my sweet Carissa.  I will keep trying to remember your example every day.  You're my favorite!

If this post has touched your heart today, please feel free to share it wherever you share things.

***I just realized I never explained -- we call the anniversary of Carissa's passing "You're My Favorite" Day in her honor.  We try to celebrate the life she lived even as we still mourn her loss. I know that we'll be together with her again in heaven, and that even now she's with us in spirit, and I thank God every day for that blessing.***

"I thought I was the only one..."

Have you ever been in a pet store?  You see all the little hamsters and lizards in their glass cases, all stacked up so they're together, but separated from one another.

Have you ever felt like one of them? 

Buying into the idea of "perfection" puts each one of us into those little glass boxes.  We can see each other, but we put up walls that keep us apart. This can happen in all sorts of ways.

We look at the people around us and think, "Oh, they're so perfect.  They must think I'm so awful."  So we never climb out of our own glass box to extend a hand of friendship, just assuming that the other person would have no use for us.  When I first started writing this blog, my dear cousin Tiffany sent me this email (which I use with her permission):

     "In my ward [that's what LDS people call our congregation], there is a beautiful, petite woman with an incredible body that decorates and dresses well and eats healthy food...  I automatically assume that there is no way these seemingly perfect women would want to befriend a chubby, out-of-control with clutter, working mom that is constantly-exhausted and needing-babysitters, kind of girl."

Now, this is exactly how I would describe myself, so I was really surprised to find out that Tiff put me in the "perfect women" category.  But that's the truth of it -- we all see our own faults like we're looking through a magnifying glass, but we see others through a lens that only makes us suffer in comparison. 

But Tiff has a very good head on her shoulders, and her next statement really struck home for me:

     "Sometimes, I pretend that perfect ladies like this are incontinent or have thirteen toes or something.  I always need a reminder that no one is the best of the best all the time.  I imagine it's so hard for _____ if she knows how envied she is and thought she had to keep up to such insurmountable standards."

When we look at someone else's lifestyle or body or well-behaved children or job or whatever, we put them in a glass box as well, so that neither one of us can reach the other.   We feel like we can never measure up to a standard that we've usually imagined up ourselves, and they feel like they can never admit to any weakness without disappointing people. 

When you are in that glass cage, you can't ask for help, because that would be acknowledging that we are somehow not perfectly capable.  You can't build meaningful relationships with the people around you because you have to hold back what makes you human.  You can't appreciate the deep, complicated beauty of the people around you because you are too busy expecting perfection from them. 

A couple of months ago, at a family function, my sisters and I were chatting with some of our girl cousins and revealed some little imperfection.  Nothing serious or earth-shattering -- I would never have given in another second's thought -- but one of my cousins (not the aforementioned Tiff) was literally shocked at what I said.  She said, almost to herself: "I thought I was the only one..."  The moment passed quickly and the conversation turned to other things, but her comment has stayed with me.  How often do we think we're the only one?  We think we're "the only one" who struggles, who makes mistakes, who feels bad or lonely or misunderstood.  We assume others are judging us, or definitely would be judging us if we gave them the chance by revealing our imperfections.

Isolation.  That is the sad by-product of the myth of perfection.  Instead of accepting and loving and helping each other, we lock ourselves away and try to be content with solitary confinement.  It's all part of the prison we create by believing in "perfection." 

Don't let yourself be isolated by creating some imaginary standard you'll never live up to.  Don't isolate others by believing their perfection will never allow them to accept you.  Break down those glass walls -- you'll be amazed how well you can love and be loved, just by being the "real you."

A Happy Life -- a "Perfect" Thought for Today