I don’t know a ton about how the brain works, or how the heart works, but I know that for me these last two years of having the kiddo in our life, of me being the primary wage earner because of that, I’ve learned there are certain feelings that get me by.
OMG. Okay. Let’s try.
Those three phrases sort of help me survive when there are moments that I don’t think I might survive, but they also allow me to continue existing without going into paroxysms of anger or despair.
Moments like last week when I was worried I didn’t make enough money as a writer, writing coach, and editor.
Moments like last week when I wanted to argue with someone on Facebook.
These little phrases are like prayers if you think of prayers not as something you chant, but as something that comes out almost wordlessly from your heart to god or the universe or whatever it is that you believe in.
I had to use them recently. One of my Facebook friends posted about a really negative experience her little girls had at our neighborhood playground with an aggressive, threatening little boy who called her kindergartener stupid and was making “bad monster noises” at her. The sweet mom beat herself over how she responded quite a bit because she’s lovely like that. She’s one of those people who are always positive, trying to post good things, trying to be a good person, and often hard on herself.
That’s the backstory.
And then there was a comment amongst all the supportive comments that was supportive to the mom as well, but then said,
“When I was a TA for kindergarten we had a child who would sometimes say the sake (sic: same) thing about hating and killing. It could be anti-social behavioral issues or it could be how he was treated at home. You never know what occurs behind closed doors - the nature of how he is being raised.”
And out of my heart roared, “OMG.”
Why? Because yes, sometimes this is true.
But also no, sometimes this is not true at all, and it’s a bigotry. All parents who have kids who are angry or anxious, hostile (or whatever darn adjective you want to condescendingly through on them) do not have bad things going on behind closed doors.
This year our kiddo talked about hate and killing at school when their anxiety peaked and flared and went spiraling into hyperbolized language because they don’t yet have the mechanisms for modified speech to express their really deep emotions. Yes, we talk to them about it every single time it happens. Yes, we do not model this sort of speech. We model non-violent, non-hyperbolized speech.
My OMG when I read that comment was a deep roar of my own pain because nobody said to the commenter, “Hey, you know what? You’re making some big, negative assumptions about the parents of kids who aren’t behaving the way society wants them to behave.”
Instead, the poster loved the comment.
And a few seconds later, I moved on to OK.
Because I knew that having that OMG feeling was fine and releasing it was healthy. Emotions, even negative ones, happen and they are okay.
But then I had to move to the next step and think about the commenter and where she might be coming from.
And I accepted that she wrote it even though I didn’t like it and it hurt.
Here’s the thing: Every time our kid acts out, I know that someone thinks, “Ah, it’s probably their parents’ fault.”
Or maybe: “What kind of parents does this kid have?”
I have to remind myself to not care about what other people think of me, of us; to not worry about their preconceived notions, or their holier-than-though moments. I can’t control what other people think of me. I can only control my actions, what I do, how I live my life.
And every time I meet someone who realizes I’m the kiddo’s bonus mom, I can feel that preconceived notion shatter. I’m articulate and kind. I’m funny and engaging and warm. And that shocks them.
So, I let it go. Send my ‘okay’ out into the universe, let it resonate and then I move on.
That’s the biggest part of my trio of phrases: Let’s try.
Trying indicates hope. Trying is a plea to yourself and the universe and god (or whatever you want to call it) for change, for becoming.
Becoming.
That’s probably the most resonating word of all.
As Shaun and I navigate the kiddo’s upcoming neuro-psych eval, finally get a case manager to coordinate their care and therapists and options, and hopefully get them into a safe enough space so that they can go back to school again, all I can hope for is that becoming.
Becoming better.
Becoming healthier.
Becoming who we want to be.
All I’ll use my little trio mantra to help me get there.
Omg. OK. Let’s try.