I am well aware that not everyone in this world is a worrier like I am (ah, the biting envy to be like they!). But sometimes well- intentioned non- worriers like to dole out advice. And as a worrier, I can see the purpose, but the message gets lost. And so I would like to provide this list of things that are completely unhelpful for worriers to hear.
1. Relax.
Huh, you know what? You're right. I should just relax. I don't know why I didn't think of that sooner. I will go ahead and find that handy off- switch in my brain and turn it. Then I will calm down, and you will be my savior for imploring me to do so.
2. Don't worry about it.
This one isn't all that different from "relax" but it's perhaps a softer blow-- the diet version of "relax" because it's less of a command. But again, okay, I will inform my brain to stop worrying. That ought to do the trick. If only I were as smart as you and could have figured that out before, my life would be so different. Thank you for suggesting I should change my brain.
3. You can't do anything about it, so worrying won't help.
This one intrigues me. It's partly based on rationale, and rational thinking is commonly known as a good thing. It's like one of those proof things in Logic class: since I can't do "a," I shouldn't do "b." But the mind of a worrier is far from rational. We can know something intellectually and still have that knowledge be of no use. Of course I know that worrying won't really change a situation, but, again, I can't turn worry mode off. Plus, you sound so direly negative when you present the fact that I have no control. Throw me a bone here. Let me think I can do something.
4. If X (bad thing) is meant to happen, it's going to. So just don't even think about it.
Well, now there is some real sunshiny thinking if I ever heard any. I get where you're going with this-- let the world go on as it will; stop trying to intervene. The universe has a plan, yadda- yadda. But all you are doing is making me worry more that the universe has a bad plan for me. You're also telling me not to think about something, which shall, consequently, make me dwell.
5. It could be worse.
Yes, the world can always be worse. I know this. An avalanche of cruelty can always hit. But right now I am focused on worrying about this one thing. All other possibilities are irrelevant, and your mentioning them makes me worry about them. Please don't point out the obvious-- that in life, someone always has it worse. No brainer.
6. I totally get why you are so worried.
This one is my favorite because I can see more clearly than with any of the others the truly good intention here: commiseration. The non- worrier wants to let the worrier know that he or she understands and the worrier is not psychotic. But what we hear is, "Yes, there is a very good possibility that horrible thing is going to happen, so your worry makes good sense." It's definitely kind to let someone know he or she is not a lunatic, but when you confirm one's worry, you perpetuate it. I would rather hear someone say, "Dude, you are being a psycho. That bad thing is never going to happen." I can then repeat that to myself as a mantra.
I'm not just going to bitch about the things people say that are wrong. I am going to also offer up some suggestions for perhaps more successful comments when dealing with a chronic worrier.
1. What would help to ease the worry?
Sometimes I myself need to think about this question as I get so very wrapped up in a rumination. Asking me this question may make me slow down and pause and see how I can find a solution. Even if you don't want to, offering a listening ear could make a world of difference. After all, worriers love venting. We need to get it all out there, all 12 tons of garbled, nervous mess.
2. Stats-- if they are good ones
As I have blogged about before, I have a love- hate relationship with the Internet when it comes to worrying. I can find stats that scare me, but if I look hard enough, I can find ones that satiate me. If you can point out to a worrier the scientific unlikelihood of a possibility, it'll probably help. (If the stats go in the other direction-- and only prove how LIKELY the bad event is-- please, please refrain.) A true worrier will still be a little convinced he or she will be in the wee percentage of the victims, but hearing that you've got a better likely outcome DOES help.
3. LOL-- you are being crazy!
Or something light and airy to that effect. It goes in tandem with what I said in number 6 above. Please do make me feel crazy. I trust your opinion, so I may step back and go, "Huh-- maybe I am psycho." I won't be able to fully relent, but I will a bit.
4. Want to get a beer?
Call me a lush if you want, but a good cocktail can do wonders. Unfortunately, this one is not an option if you are pregnant or at work. Well, I guess some people drink at work, but the vast lot of us don't. Never underestimate the power of a table or bar, a bartender, and good conversation. If you want to hear me put something to rest fast, suggest beers, let me vent for like ten minutes, and then casually move the conversation away. Sometimes talking about it over and over is the key-- and you are going to need some alcohol to deal with the listening.
Monday, December 16, 2013
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Groups
There is a picture going viral on social media right now. It's of a group of 20- something girls. Three in the front row, recently engaged, are showing off their new rings, and the girls standing around them are pointing to said bling admiringly and cheerfully... except one. One girl is holding a mock- gun to her temple.
It's hilarious, I think. And it got me thinking about groups.
For most of my early to mid- twenties I was part of the married group. I guess I never thought of my status as anything special, or even as a grouping. But it was a group: not necessarily a good one or a bad one. Just a group of people who were partnered up-- supposedly for life.
When I got separated and subsequently divorced, the pang of the grouping started to hit slowly. At first, I was relieved-- and at times elated-- to be in "group: single." It was the promise of a new opportunity to "find myself" (blech, I hate when people say that), and there was a curious joy I felt in having it thrust upon me that I would take care of myself completely. I had many single friends, but almost all my friends from college were married and most were having babies. I remember going to lunch in Mystic, CT one Sunday-- I think in 2008-- and one friend brought her newborn, while three of the others bore their pregnant bellies in the group photo we took. I stood on the end, happy to be there, but feeling the division more sharply than ever. I was the only one drinking a Mimosa at that brunch, and the symbolism was poignant.
It wasn't ever that I couldn't be happy for friends who had moved on to different stages of life way faster than I had. Yes, I was overjoyed for the births of their kids. But at the same time, I knew I wanted a family, and I also knew the prospect was not a guarantee for me. It was daunting, and so, as much as this makes me sound like a terrible person, there were times I didn't always love being around my friends who were in "group: family life." Maybe I am weak and selfish, but I was not only bored by the conversations around pack- n- plays-- I was terrified of these discussions, and even resented them. I felt pitiable-- which may have been all in my head-- but my social constructs to that point had made me feel that way. "They must think I am really pathetic," I would wonder.
Looking back, there are events I avoided altogether because of the pain they brought: a friend's wedding (not a best friend, but a friend) a month after finding out about my ex's new squeeze; a couple of birthday parties. I couldn't bear to be around the things that were now gone. My mom told me about how she had to avoid a baptism after she had a bad miscarriage, because it was too much to handle. She said in time she was fine with going to baptisms, but that's probably because she DID by then have babies of her own. And if I am being 100 percent honest here, I didn't feel fully confident around "group: family life" until I was there myself.
It doesn't mean I avoided people like a hermit, or that I refused to honor my congrats and well- wishes for people. I am not THAT evil. But I migrated toward people who were in my boat, and I wanted to spend most of my time with people who "got me" and what I was going through.
Over time, I have seen that the groupings are stupid, but you can't avoid feeling them. I think the girl in the viral picture has had enough of "group: engaged" and while she isn't hating the idea that these friends are hitched, she can't help but feel sharply the fact that she isn't.
Becoming part of "group: parent" means I do look when people post parenting questions on Facebook, when before I would have scrolled past ever- so- rapidly. Stories about suffering babies and kids hit me way more crushingly than before. And I can chat about sippy cups and playmats as much as the next guy. I am not sickened by these conversations over lunch anymore.
But I get it that some people are. Society has sort of created these groups, and then we can't stop reinforcing them in our own minds. When I'm around my single friends, they are always so good to ask about Mabel and J, but I try hard not to chat about family stuff the whole time. I think my friends in "group: single" have lives just as cool as mine, only in different ways. And most of them are actually way cooler. I feel the grouping in that I can't make it to most things they do on weekends, but, in some ways, I hate that I have moved groups. I try, therefore, to blur the lines. I don't want to be thought of only as wife and mother; for several years, I was someone totally different, and I came to like her. I don't want to let her go, and I am so, so grateful for the time I got to have being her.
A lot of people won't admit to the grouping they feel; and while I don't want to, I have to. Pigeon- holing has always annoyed me, but I wasn't born yesterday. I get the social and societal layerings and groupings that exist around us at all ages, but especially as young adults. And so to the girl in the pic, you rock that mock- gun at the temple. It's how you feel-- it's where you are. I've got you.
It's hilarious, I think. And it got me thinking about groups.
For most of my early to mid- twenties I was part of the married group. I guess I never thought of my status as anything special, or even as a grouping. But it was a group: not necessarily a good one or a bad one. Just a group of people who were partnered up-- supposedly for life.
When I got separated and subsequently divorced, the pang of the grouping started to hit slowly. At first, I was relieved-- and at times elated-- to be in "group: single." It was the promise of a new opportunity to "find myself" (blech, I hate when people say that), and there was a curious joy I felt in having it thrust upon me that I would take care of myself completely. I had many single friends, but almost all my friends from college were married and most were having babies. I remember going to lunch in Mystic, CT one Sunday-- I think in 2008-- and one friend brought her newborn, while three of the others bore their pregnant bellies in the group photo we took. I stood on the end, happy to be there, but feeling the division more sharply than ever. I was the only one drinking a Mimosa at that brunch, and the symbolism was poignant.
It wasn't ever that I couldn't be happy for friends who had moved on to different stages of life way faster than I had. Yes, I was overjoyed for the births of their kids. But at the same time, I knew I wanted a family, and I also knew the prospect was not a guarantee for me. It was daunting, and so, as much as this makes me sound like a terrible person, there were times I didn't always love being around my friends who were in "group: family life." Maybe I am weak and selfish, but I was not only bored by the conversations around pack- n- plays-- I was terrified of these discussions, and even resented them. I felt pitiable-- which may have been all in my head-- but my social constructs to that point had made me feel that way. "They must think I am really pathetic," I would wonder.
Looking back, there are events I avoided altogether because of the pain they brought: a friend's wedding (not a best friend, but a friend) a month after finding out about my ex's new squeeze; a couple of birthday parties. I couldn't bear to be around the things that were now gone. My mom told me about how she had to avoid a baptism after she had a bad miscarriage, because it was too much to handle. She said in time she was fine with going to baptisms, but that's probably because she DID by then have babies of her own. And if I am being 100 percent honest here, I didn't feel fully confident around "group: family life" until I was there myself.
It doesn't mean I avoided people like a hermit, or that I refused to honor my congrats and well- wishes for people. I am not THAT evil. But I migrated toward people who were in my boat, and I wanted to spend most of my time with people who "got me" and what I was going through.
Over time, I have seen that the groupings are stupid, but you can't avoid feeling them. I think the girl in the viral picture has had enough of "group: engaged" and while she isn't hating the idea that these friends are hitched, she can't help but feel sharply the fact that she isn't.
Becoming part of "group: parent" means I do look when people post parenting questions on Facebook, when before I would have scrolled past ever- so- rapidly. Stories about suffering babies and kids hit me way more crushingly than before. And I can chat about sippy cups and playmats as much as the next guy. I am not sickened by these conversations over lunch anymore.
But I get it that some people are. Society has sort of created these groups, and then we can't stop reinforcing them in our own minds. When I'm around my single friends, they are always so good to ask about Mabel and J, but I try hard not to chat about family stuff the whole time. I think my friends in "group: single" have lives just as cool as mine, only in different ways. And most of them are actually way cooler. I feel the grouping in that I can't make it to most things they do on weekends, but, in some ways, I hate that I have moved groups. I try, therefore, to blur the lines. I don't want to be thought of only as wife and mother; for several years, I was someone totally different, and I came to like her. I don't want to let her go, and I am so, so grateful for the time I got to have being her.
A lot of people won't admit to the grouping they feel; and while I don't want to, I have to. Pigeon- holing has always annoyed me, but I wasn't born yesterday. I get the social and societal layerings and groupings that exist around us at all ages, but especially as young adults. And so to the girl in the pic, you rock that mock- gun at the temple. It's how you feel-- it's where you are. I've got you.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
A Snapshot: Words
I realized it's been way too long since I have posted a snapshot of Mabel's doings. Guess I have been waxing philosophical and deep and emo as of late and have forgotten about the everyday joys and silliness of Mabel. Today I want to give a snapshot of Mabel's words.
When we went for Mabel's 18- month well- visit back in August, I had been concerned about Mabel's speech. I am inwardly rolling my eyes at the "uh- oh, my kid might not be perfect" knee-jerk reaction I had. She's a thinker, an observer, a keen listener. While she's sensitive, she also LOVES to laugh. And she was talking, but not as much as I was thinking she should be (ugh, that ugly word again). I mentioned my concerns to Dr. B. who gave me a few strategies to encourage speech, but told me, "I'm really not worried," and insinuated that I shouldn't be either. I felt guilty after that appointment for the time I spent on baby websites, reading comments and comparing Mabel to other babies and wondering if she was okay.
In early November, I wasn't sure if Mabel had made the progress Dr. B. said she should make by Halloween. Again, with Mabel in tow, I trotted on in to the pedi office for Dr. B to take a look and let us know what she thought. Mabel had started to babble a lot more by that point-- to the point of nearly constant vocalization-- and we were pretty sure we could detect attempts at various words, but we weren't certain. Dr. B. said, yes, she had made progress. And enlightened me to the easy observation that Mabel is a quieter, more hesitant kid. She's contemplative, not outgoingly chatty. It's who she is. While I had been making this whole thing about ability or disability, I hadn't stopped to think about personality. It was eye- opening, and I felt ashamed.
Since that appointment, Mabel has started saying lots of words. She tells us both, "Night night!" every evening as she heads up to bed, and last night, even after I tucked her in and closed her door, she lay there, calling out "Night night!" for another few minutes. I melted.
She tells us "no" a lot, sometimes in a forceful repetitive string--" No! No! No!" It's fun that she is developing opinions, but not so fun that her most common opinion appears to be the one in the negative. Mabel points out "dogs" often, and last week when we were at her uncles' in CT, where there are 5 dogs, she followed them around with kibble in her hand, demanding, 'Eat! Eat! Eat!' She tells us when she sees fishies by calling them "shees," and wants to go out each day to greet the mail truck, exclaiming, "Mail!" That's got to be her favorite time of day.
Mabel likes to build "tours" (or towers) with her blocks and rings. When she wants a play- companion, she takes out the stackers and looks up to me, asking, "Tour?" Of course I am happy to comply. When said "tour" falls, she yells out perhaps her more common word: "Uh- oh!" We hear "uh- oh" over everything, from a dropped Cheerio to a non- lit- up computer screen.
Mabel loves to brush her teeth, and simply asks by saying, "Teeth?" When she sees a baby, she declares, "day- dee," and the mix- up of the d for a b is just so precious. She always has "two" of something-- even if she really has one or four. "Two" is apparently a favorite number, or is just easy to say. She might try to tickle you and will plead, "Tick? Tick?" Little does she know, J or I will beat her to it and tickle her cute little thighs first.
Other words include bottle ("buh- buh"), cheese, and a variation on "downstairs." She calls out for her "daddy" or "da-da" a LOT, and lately has greeted me with "mama," which might be the best sound in the world. I struggled for months waiting for Mabel's use of the "m" sound, and sometimes heard an actual "mama," but rarely to me. The other morning, I came down the stairs, and there she was in her high chair, shrieking, right into my eyes, "MAMA!!" When she brought the mail in with J yesterday, she delivered me an LL Bean catalog, prancing along toward me screeching, "Mama!," as if she thought I really wanted that one catalog in my hands. I had had a busy and stressful day, and in that moment, all the ickiness went away.
Some 21- month- old kids speak in phrases, or say way more words than Mabel. And some say fewer, still only babbling or maybe mustering just a few words. Some kid are virtual verbal- masters, and some like to climb and play and contemplate, and will speak "when they feel like it," as Dr. B advised. I know Mabel has a lot more word- learning to go, but I sure am glad I've pulled back and just let her be. I know I won't be a pusher as a mom, because I see adverse effects of that daily in my school kids. But I was worried for her, so I did what any conscientious mother would do in bringing her to the doc. If only I had known that time would be the answer, and to stay off that frickin' Internet, I would have saved myself a lot of worry and toil this summer. We will see how the next months go.
When we went for Mabel's 18- month well- visit back in August, I had been concerned about Mabel's speech. I am inwardly rolling my eyes at the "uh- oh, my kid might not be perfect" knee-jerk reaction I had. She's a thinker, an observer, a keen listener. While she's sensitive, she also LOVES to laugh. And she was talking, but not as much as I was thinking she should be (ugh, that ugly word again). I mentioned my concerns to Dr. B. who gave me a few strategies to encourage speech, but told me, "I'm really not worried," and insinuated that I shouldn't be either. I felt guilty after that appointment for the time I spent on baby websites, reading comments and comparing Mabel to other babies and wondering if she was okay.
In early November, I wasn't sure if Mabel had made the progress Dr. B. said she should make by Halloween. Again, with Mabel in tow, I trotted on in to the pedi office for Dr. B to take a look and let us know what she thought. Mabel had started to babble a lot more by that point-- to the point of nearly constant vocalization-- and we were pretty sure we could detect attempts at various words, but we weren't certain. Dr. B. said, yes, she had made progress. And enlightened me to the easy observation that Mabel is a quieter, more hesitant kid. She's contemplative, not outgoingly chatty. It's who she is. While I had been making this whole thing about ability or disability, I hadn't stopped to think about personality. It was eye- opening, and I felt ashamed.
Since that appointment, Mabel has started saying lots of words. She tells us both, "Night night!" every evening as she heads up to bed, and last night, even after I tucked her in and closed her door, she lay there, calling out "Night night!" for another few minutes. I melted.
She tells us "no" a lot, sometimes in a forceful repetitive string--" No! No! No!" It's fun that she is developing opinions, but not so fun that her most common opinion appears to be the one in the negative. Mabel points out "dogs" often, and last week when we were at her uncles' in CT, where there are 5 dogs, she followed them around with kibble in her hand, demanding, 'Eat! Eat! Eat!' She tells us when she sees fishies by calling them "shees," and wants to go out each day to greet the mail truck, exclaiming, "Mail!" That's got to be her favorite time of day.
Mabel likes to build "tours" (or towers) with her blocks and rings. When she wants a play- companion, she takes out the stackers and looks up to me, asking, "Tour?" Of course I am happy to comply. When said "tour" falls, she yells out perhaps her more common word: "Uh- oh!" We hear "uh- oh" over everything, from a dropped Cheerio to a non- lit- up computer screen.
Mabel loves to brush her teeth, and simply asks by saying, "Teeth?" When she sees a baby, she declares, "day- dee," and the mix- up of the d for a b is just so precious. She always has "two" of something-- even if she really has one or four. "Two" is apparently a favorite number, or is just easy to say. She might try to tickle you and will plead, "Tick? Tick?" Little does she know, J or I will beat her to it and tickle her cute little thighs first.
Other words include bottle ("buh- buh"), cheese, and a variation on "downstairs." She calls out for her "daddy" or "da-da" a LOT, and lately has greeted me with "mama," which might be the best sound in the world. I struggled for months waiting for Mabel's use of the "m" sound, and sometimes heard an actual "mama," but rarely to me. The other morning, I came down the stairs, and there she was in her high chair, shrieking, right into my eyes, "MAMA!!" When she brought the mail in with J yesterday, she delivered me an LL Bean catalog, prancing along toward me screeching, "Mama!," as if she thought I really wanted that one catalog in my hands. I had had a busy and stressful day, and in that moment, all the ickiness went away.
Some 21- month- old kids speak in phrases, or say way more words than Mabel. And some say fewer, still only babbling or maybe mustering just a few words. Some kid are virtual verbal- masters, and some like to climb and play and contemplate, and will speak "when they feel like it," as Dr. B advised. I know Mabel has a lot more word- learning to go, but I sure am glad I've pulled back and just let her be. I know I won't be a pusher as a mom, because I see adverse effects of that daily in my school kids. But I was worried for her, so I did what any conscientious mother would do in bringing her to the doc. If only I had known that time would be the answer, and to stay off that frickin' Internet, I would have saved myself a lot of worry and toil this summer. We will see how the next months go.
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