I had a long talk with my husband last night, trying to figure myself and all my crazy behaviors out. I generally feel like men are much wiser than women. Maybe it's my family. I don't know. But I have grown up with the perception that women are emotional weaklings who need men to point them in the right direction, to help them see the big picture, to smack some sense into them when they're freaking out about the milk being left out on the counter for a whole half an hour and how it's going to spoil if it's not put away now and does my daughter really think that money grows on trees and how am I going to pay the bills, etc. etc. etc. (And no, that whole line was not taken from my history as a parent. It was something I experienced when growing up, okay?) Anyway, I find that the men who were in my life were rather wise and stable and had a good grasp on the big picture.
So I mumbled to my husband about how horribly embarrassed I was that my friend said I was hardly faithful at all and that I was quite ridiculous as far as Catholics go. This was humiliating for me to face since my friend rejects religion altogether. I mean, I should be a good example, a faithful witness, somebody that somebody else might possibly want to be like. Apparently, I have been none of those things. I have simply been ridiculous.
That was hard to take. And the worst part was that I instantly knew it was true. I'm not always like this, but sometimes I fall into this mode where I use my religion in a superstitious way. Like if I just say enough rosaries and enough divine mercy chaplets, if I say the right prayers the right number of times, if I call upon the right saints and use the proper title of Mary when seeking intercession, then all the cards will play together and help me have the winning hand.
Deep inside, I know this is not the way the Lord intends us to indulge in the fullness of truth. But still, I tend to be quite controlling and so sometimes, even though I don't think it consciously, I try to make God my puppet, my vending machine. And I get annoyed, disappointed, sometimes desperate, and very rarely enraged when things don't work out the way I had planned they would.
My husband put it well: "You need to allow God to work through you. You cannot try to work through God." Yes, that was what I was trying to do. Sad, but true.
In my efforts to prioritize my life and to stop being so self-focused, I have taken up teaching again this week. We've been off of school work for about seven weeks now and there has been no order in the house, no routine to our lives. It has allowed me to become quite self-absorbed. It has allowed me to stop really being a mom and to just sort of referee the sibling squabbling. My husband even had a dream last week that he was in the truck following the van and all the kids were in the van and no one was driving it. He was feeling my absence in the family. My non-presence despite my being home all day every day.
But yesterday, I started my journey back toward the sunshine. I read books to my kids and took them to the library. I washed the dishes and folded the laundry and made the beds. I listened to my kids. I listened to my friends. I listened to my husband. I re-engaged myself into their lives. Today, I went out to lunch. I took care of my business. I listened my my music which makes me feel so much like me. And tomorrow, I plan to run a race -- a 2-miler. And I will run it with a friend of mine. I never feel more like myself than when I'm running. And it's always best when running with a friend.
When I was teaching this morning, I realized that I was returning to normalcy. By guiding my boys in their lessons, I was able to take on the adult role. I was able to be calm and steady and encouraging. I was able to stop being like a kid myself.
I do firmly believe that homeschooling is best for my children and for our family. But I realize too that it is best for me as a mom. It fulfills my need to be needed. It helps me know that I'm making a difference in some one's life. It enforces that feeling that I crave -- that I truly am unique and irreplaceable, that no other person can do this job as well as I can. Sometimes I am tempted to think that I'm doing it just for me, but I've prayed about it often and I do believe it's best for all of us.
Watching my sons learn, I realized again the truth of what my husband said last night: "Every person is on his own journey. You cannot make him go in any particular direction. You can only point the way and give him encouragement. But ultimately, you have to let him make his own decisions and discover things on his own." I didn't just discover this last night. But like I said, life goes in cycles and sometimes I have to rediscover it and accept it in an even deeper way than before.
I don't like to harp on hurts and I don't like to blame everything on my father's absence in my life, but I do think it has affected my entire outlook on who I am and how I perceive my relationships with other people. I grew up knowing that my father's abandonment wasn't my fault, but somehow always deep-down believing that it was. I realize now that I've carried around this notion -- I'm mostly over it, but I still cling to it from time to time -- that if I had just been a better little girl, if I just could have controlled myself more and not been so naughty as a two year old, the man that should have been my protector and my rock and my reassurance would not have walked out of my life. I understand now that I've always thought that if I could just do everything right and control my emotions and be better than I am at the moment, then I could change the men in my life to be the persons I always wanted them to be. Hearing myself now, it seems incredibly ridiculous. And that brings us back to where we started -- my ridiculousness.
I understand -- once again, in a deeper way this time -- that I cannot change anybody. I need to just be myself. I don't need to be perfect. I just need to be who I am. The people who accept me accept me and the people who don't don't. That's just the way it is. It's not my fault if they choose to move on. I can be loving and kind and merciful and forgiving all I want. But in the end, I cannot force anyone to do anything. And in the end, I need to be all those things with myself as well.
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