Yesterday I was masquerading as a responsible grown woman with a child and a career and a husband today. I wore my pearls (they always make me feel grown up) and my best pink blouse. It was 8:05 am. I was attempting again to conquer my dental PTSD. Dear reader you may think I am joking about my PTSD but if you only knew.
I finished an assignment for school at 11 pm last pm that was due at like 12 MN and all my student reader friends can appreciate that. I had taken my teenager to school at 7 am this am. I had begun a load of laundry, taken a load out of the dryer and placed them nicely in my laundry basket. Anyone who knows me well at all, knows this. Vance and I almost divorced over laundry the first year we were married. Apparently, I am lacking in the folding clothes department, especially underwear and socks.
My friend with the great shoes, she promised me once that if I ever became incapacitated to the point that I couldn't care for myself, she would clean out my underwear drawer. Once I had to go to the hospital unexpectedly and she went to my house just to pack my underwear. Seriously. I have yet to fold a complete load of laundry since I first married but I do switch it from washer to dryer. My friend at the baseball field thinks I am beyond spoiled. I don't clean up after dinner either. Vance does. I lack loading dishwasher skills as well. I actually love, love, love my mother in law and could kiss her everytime I see her for teaching Vance those skills. BUT
I do cook, clean, attempt to manage household schedule, work, go to school, do garden work, parent...so I can be a tad overwhelmed.
Back to 715 am. I jump in the shower and decided since I was going to pretend to be an adult today I would shave my legs. My husband thinks I am far too dangerous with a razor. He thinks I shave too fast and he can't understand why I can't put the head of the razor on at all by myself. Today, I was little fast if the gash across my shin is any indication. It wouldn't stop bleeding. I just covered it with tissue. Took extra time with my hair, pressed my blouse, threw my pearls on, drank my tea, made the bed and said my famous
HELP! prayer again, took my antibiotics and I was out the door by 745 am.
At 754 am, checked in with the receptionist. I was pouring sweat. My heart was pounding. My hands were shaking and this was just a check up. No procedure at all. My blog friend at Momastery, she swears by Mitchum. She is a profuse sweater too. Today I wish I had bathed in it. I sit down.
At 755 am, my cell phone rings. It is the Davis' dentist, who I might add is RIGHT NEXT DOOR. I am sure they saw me walk by and thought, where is she going? Jill, the receptionist and I are really good phone buddies. She calls me 4 times at least before all of Davis' dental appointments and I always manage to miss the first one. ALWAYS. I had just made this appointment last week after his cleaning. He need sealants. It was for 800 am TODAY. She asks, "Kathleen, I just SAW you walk by... where is Davis?" I said the "HELP!" prayer again. She kindly said they would work him in after school. No less than 12 text messages later...Davis finally understands (I think) to come home straight from school, do not stop, do not talk, do not visit, do not hang out. Come straight home and I could probably travel at WARP factor 5 and get him there at 230pm.
So there I sent in a dentist office, scheduling another dentist appointment that I had forgotten, about to see a dentist, that I would not need to see if I hadn't had dental PTSD, and saw him when the tooth first broke and I had it fixed at Thanksgiving. I said the "HELP!" prayer again. Then I noticed. Everyone was looking at me. I just smiled and said, "I am in a dental PTSD recovery plan and I have fallen off the second step." The second step is believing a God or a higher power as you conceive him can restore your sanity.
First, I am not making light of 12 step recovery plans and I applaud everyone who is recovering. EVERY ONE OF YOU! In case dear reader you are not familiar with the 12 step plan, it is a plan designed to help anyone who is struggling with dysfunctional behavior of any kind. And yes,it is my opinion, we are all a bit dysfunctional and yes we all need to be in a recovery plan.
Funny when you admit your helpless, when you admit your powerless, when you admit your are a tad bit crazy out loud to people, your own embarrassment, your own humiliation, your own inner critic that is screaming at you, well it shuts up. And you feel empowered and you realize this very important thing...
YOU ARE OK. You really are ok. You learn that it is ok to fail, it is ok to screw up, it is ok not to be perfect (and we can't anyway-so why try) and you learn and this is so very, very important. You learn that everyone is as scared, as worried, as concerned about looking foolish, as self critical as you are. And the crazy stops. Admitting you have possibly lost your way, need help and aren't as in control as you like to think, that makes crazy stop.
Personally I don't participate in my own recovery enough. Personally I like to think I have it all together (and who does?), always have the right answer, always say the right thing (and who does?), am always on my best behavior, am always kind...well you get my point. I also think I wear great shoes, great accessories, have a great sense of fashion and color and they may be a tee tiny bit true.
The inner critic and we all have one, and my mother thinks this is Satan incarnate, well the inner critic drives us crazy. The inner critic never tells us the truth about who we are much less the truth about who we can be. Only God does that. God is never the voice or criticism, unless you happen to be selling doves for an exorbitant price at the local temple or not taking care of widows and orphans or praying really out loud in public or ignoring justice or not feeding the poor and hungry or visiting the sick or in prison, then God gets a wee bit pissed.
And here's the thing: our inner critic even criticizes us about the things God does care about. And guess what that is not God either. When we are kind to our children, when we our kind to our neighbor, when we care about Kony, when we care about people not having basic needs met, when we reach out just once to the needy...then God smiles. Then Jesus smiles. Jesus isn't really particular how we reach out either just as long as we aren't bottling all that love up and selling it for outrageous prices.
Jesus is so pleased when you do just the ONE THING and not ALL THE THINGS his face bursts with pride and I imagine his looks over at God... and says, "See, I told you she could do it. I told you when it counted she would make the big play. I told you to bet on her."
And sometimes we give Peter and company a bad rap. Sometimes we read about their antics and shake our head and say "Really?!?" That makes the inner critic feel so much better. But the inner critic is a lie. It is a lie and as my mother would say, "A lie straight out of the devil's mouth and into your ears." Where I applaud Peter and company: when they fell down, they asked for help and always, always got back up. They didn't lay down and continue to let that inner critic live rent free in their heads. They silenced that critic quite simply by admitting they were powerless and needed help.
I have come to believe that Jesus expects far more failure from us that we ever expect from ourselves. Jesus knows we are going to screw up. And still everytime we hop back on that step he raises his fist in triumph. He says, "You go girl...I know you got this." Jesus was many things but never a perfectionist. There is a mighty big difference from living a blameless life and BEING A PERFECTIONIST, a mighty big difference.
When we get that inner critic out our heads, something else happens to... We no longer are consumed by what people MIGHT THINK, MIGHT DO, MIGHT SAY. WE BEGIN THEN to LIVE...WE BEGIN THEN TO PARTICIPATE IN OUR OWN RECOVERY...WE BEGIN THEN TO GROW UP...
Praying all my dear friends: give God a chance to restore sanity...
Kathleen
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