Be Kind to Yourself

Why is it that most of us have no trouble being kind to other people, but when it comes to ourselves, we just can't do it?

We dwell on the mistakes, imperfections, humiliations--the times when we felt "less than." Less than what others expected of us, less than what we expected of ourselves.

Even though I have had moments of epiphany when I have discovered that it's okay to be imperfect, that imperfection is normal and that perfection is rarely obtained, and that imperfection usually doesn't matter at all, it is still very, very hard for me to accept this in myself.

I know that God accepts me in all my imperfection, that He loves me, and that he appreciates my striving to be better. and that I can cast my burdens at His feet.

All humans are worthy of love and belonging, including me. We are loved by, and belong to, a wonderful Heavenly Father. We follow Him by extending His love to all--and we must accept this love for ourselves, imperfections and all.

Liking What One Has to Do

In my sophomore year of college, I read a very thought-provoking quote posted on the dorm floor's bulletin board.

"The secret to life is not doing what one likes, but learning to like what one has to do." (Dinah Maria Mulok Craik)

This is very true. As I was forcing myself through my exercise class today--I really dislike exercise of any sort--I realized that most of the time, I am doing what I have to do, not what I'd like to do. What I really like is the end result of the things I have to do, such as a stronger, slimmer, flexible body, a clean floor, draperies in the living room, a delicious meal.

I do enjoy the process of knitting as well as the finished product, but that, for me, is rare. Oh, and I like spending money and reading. But I can't, and don't, spend money I do not have and I try not to read when I have other responsibilities that are more pressing.

The thing is, I have learned that being an adult means that you exercise the self-discipline to do things you don't really like, but that benefit your family, or yourself sometime in the future.

College was not an enjoyable experience for me, and I was too immature to try to figure out how I could learn to like what I had to do. If I had just given myself permission to take some classes for fun, rather than zoom my way through just what I had to take to graduate, perhaps it would have been a better experience. Still, it was something I had to do--and I was able to support myself after I graduated.

I took upon myself obligations and responsibilities when I got married, and I have learned to like at least some of the things I have to do. I feel proud of myself when I hold my tongue and resist nagging my husband, and I feel happy when I see the stacks of clean, fresh laundry or the beautifully made bed.

Dedication to the gospel of Jesus Christ has brought with it obligations and many tasks I'd rather not do, but I am grateful to God for my health and strength and other blessings, so I don't begrudge the service I give in His kingdom.

Doing what one likes all the time does not bring happiness or self-esteem. Discipline, courage, and remaining positive when doing what one has to do, does.

More on Joy

My feeling is that pleasures are short-lived--the pleasure of eating a delicious meal, reading a good book, watching a movie, finishing a task and admiring the result. Joy, on the other hand, is deep happiness that threads its way through a well-lived life.

I read this quote, by Brene Brown:

"Twinkle lights are the perfect metaphor for joy. Joy is not a constant. It comes to us in moments--often ordinary moments. Sometimes we miss out on the bursts of joy because  we're too busy chasing down extraordinary moments...A joyful life is not a floodlight of joy. That would eventually become unbearable."

Brown goes on to say that because we are anxious, joy and gratitude can be very vulnerable and intense experiences, so we sabotage the joy because, perhaps we fear it won't last, or we are worried that the other shoe will drop. My mother was the master of this kind of thinking. It robbed her of happiness her entire life.

I know that joy and happiness are part of God's plan for His children. I believe that living with an open heart, with benevolence toward others and forgiveness of oneself, is the road to deep and lasting joy.

Cup of Sorrows, Mountain of Joy

Kahlil Gibran is supposed to have said, "Your cup of sorrows is carved from your mountain of joy."

Sometimes it seems to be the other way around.

This month has been a terrible emotional roller coaster. My youngest separated from her husband of less than eight months. She told us this three days before I left to attend the birth of our first grandchild.

The couple has sought counseling and she moved back in with her husband, but she seems to have abandoned her responsibilities. Stress makes her anxious, and she is quick to rewrite history to support what she wants to do right then--run away. The entire situation has made me physically ill. My heart literally feels like a broken weight in my chest. This is the same girl who was a lovely bride last fall, taking on herself serious religious commitments and responsibilities!

There has been much prayer and temple attendance, which are great blessings, but I fear that she has not changed her heart and may never do so.

The baby took his time making his appearance, so I extended my stay (at great expense) twice. I will have been here over three weeks by the time I leave on Friday, June 22. The Lord wanted me here for my children, and though it has been very tough, I am trying to submit myself to this trial meekly.

But then there is the mountain of joy. Our little grandson was born on Monday, June 18, his great-grandmother's 91st birthday. He is beautiful, and doing well. Babies are such a miracle. We are so happy to have him in our family!

An amazing revelation occurred to me today: My life is far from perfect. I keep trying to make it perfect, and berate myself for the imperfections. This wrong. No more! I need to embrace my life--and live it as my own, as imperfect as it is, because it is mine. It's okay just to do my best, honoring my covenants and repenting when I need to. I embrace my interesting, imperfect life.

And it is beautiful.

The Loss of Humble Skills

I came of age just after the New Feminism (ushered in by Betty Friedan's "The Feminine Mystique," the Pill, and early-seventies consciousness-raising) had its heyday. So I still experienced traditional home economics classes in junior high (the boys took shop classes). We had a semester of sewing and a semester of cooking. Enough to at least learn to get by in the kitchen and to make a basic skirt and blouse.

At the same time, raised by a working mother, I swallowed hook, line, and sinker the idea that to be a true success, a woman must have a Meaningful Career. And I thought I wanted that, until I had a child. Suddenly, someone else's well-being was more important than mine. I necessarily slammed the door shut on my own professional ambitions.

Unfortunately, the situation has worsened over the intervening 30 years. Now, more women than men graduate from college, and they are bound and determined to use those degrees to live lavishly and build up stock portfolios and 401(k)s.

This is not necessarily a good thing.

We have raised a generation of women who, in pursuing careers as being morally superior to any other option, do not know how to cook, clean, or raise children. Men too have suffered; they cannot do simple wiring or building construction, or even change the oil in their own cars. Blue-collar work is frowned upon, regarded as the last resort of the redneck or the immigrant.

True homemaking has been replaced with doing crafts and heating up frozen foods--though occasionally elaborate desserts are made from scratch. The maid does the floors; I have seen even t-shirts in protective plastic bags awaiting their owners at the dry cleaner. Kids go from the daycare center to the school, then to sports or other classes. All yard work is hired out; the car goes to the dealership for everything.

Does anyone besides me think this is dangerous? Does anyone else realize that when a parent puts work first, her child gets the message that work is more important than he is? That you can't give your best to both your family and your career? That being able to take care of one's own belongings and dwelling are important life skills?

Women, I suggest you go home. Learn to live with, and on, less. Discover the joy in caring for your family and your husband to a higher degree. Slow down. Enjoy growing a few flowers or sewing some curtains. Fix a family meal from scratch--no microwave needed. Make your home an oasis of calm in a hectic world, instead of one more hectic place where everyone just stops for a change of clothes.

The Burden of Motherhood

My kids all at one time or another, have praised their childhood and said they were happy compared to a lot of other people.

No more.

I tried very hard to encourage positive things and discourage negative things. But I have one child in particular who took my chastisements very hard, evidently. And this child refuses to forgive and move on.

Was I an alcoholic? Abusive? A sloppy housekeeper? Selfish? Neglectful? Did I ignore them? No. My husband and I were at almost every game and performance. We went on field trips. Healthful meals were on the table. The rooms were decorated with custom-made draperies and bedding. We paid a good portion of the college tuition, and they went to the schools of their choice. We took them to church. We encouraged them to be creative, letting them use cameras and art supplies. We have a wall of books, which they were free to read. They all graduated from early-morning church seminary, and I was the one who got up and made sure they got there. They had beautiful homemade Halloween, Colonial Day, and Medieval Day costumes. They had hand-knit sweaters. I made homemade cakes for birthdays. Christmas was a beautiful, festive event. We We went to both Disneyland and Disney World, the beach, New York, Niagara Falls and other places on family vacations. We paid for lovely wedding events. I taught them to write thank-you notes. But I still went wrong, evidently.

We were not perfect. My husband and I argued in front of them sometimes, we griped about our responsibilities, and we didn't have Family Home Evening or family prayer and scripture study on a regular basis. We did set a good example, though. There was not nearly the level of arguments and strife in our home that both our parents had. We went to the temple, we fulfilled callings in church, we helped them participate in both Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts.

Still, somehow I went so wrong that this child has long-simmering resentment and anger. I didn't understand this child's sensitivity well. Unfortunately, the past is past and there's nothing I can do about it now, but hope that someday my children realize how much of my heart and soul I put into them.

My children do not realize how hard I pray, how much I care, and how fervently I hope that they will all be with us in the life after this. I took, and take, my job as parent very seriously. I know that ultimately, they are responsible for their own actions, and that their father and I are responsible for our own. But oh, how much of my heart they hold in their hands!

On Forgiveness and Redemption

It's been three years since I went to stay with and care for my mom for two weeks, the year she died.

As her incapacity grew, so did her anger and frustration. She was a tormented, angry person at all times, and this only became more marked as she aged.

I have to say that I didn't always treat her with compassion. Partly, I did not understand the true nature of her problems. I have come to the conclusion that her behaviors were textbook borderline personality disorder, and I also suspect she was abused at some point in her childhood. She may have had a measure of ADD as well.

Why none of this was ever diagnosed by a medical professional will always puzzle me. She went to several psychiatrists and psychologists over the years, and saw her last general-practioner a lot. But that is the way it was--and I certainly do not have the whole story, since I didn't speak with these people.

Unfortunately, she took out her frustrations on my sister, my father, and me. I wish I had known about BPD ten years earlier; maybe I could have handled it better, and discussed it with her doctors.

Stuff swims up in my memory, and although I know she loved me, as much as she could, there was so much that was unfair and just plain bad. Try as I might to get rid of it, the influence of my upbringing still comes through in my life and into my relations with friends, colleagues, and family. I'm not a mean person, and I try to be uplifting in all that I do, but a rough childhood is hard to overcome. Living with a mentally ill person, even if it's relatively minor, is a lot like living with an alcoholic.

To this day I am trying to forgive my mother for her domineering, rigid, eccentric beliefs and behaviors. Just as I need to be forgiven of my faults.

What this all boils down to is whether or not I believe in the Atonement of Jesus Christ and its universality. Intellectually, I do. Intellectually, I know it applies to me and my mistakes as well. And I pray for forgiveness, of my own shortcomings and to be able to forgive others' that affect me.