When it comes to disdain for not having children, I have witnessed virtually no difference between the secular world and the Christian world. Both groups seem to be equally judgmental (or equally accepting) and offer up most of the same bingos. The only difference would be that some religious types would invoke God’s name and use adjectives like “rebellious” or “sinful.” Fortunately for me, I have had very little first-hand experience with any church organization or individual member deriding my decision.
Be that as it may, a couple of weeks ago when the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life released the results of a survey showing that many Americans don’t know much about religion (particularly Protestants and Catholics, who scored the lowest when answering questions about even their own religion), I had sort of an “aha” moment that perhaps this is why some “Christians” think that a childfree life is evil. If you don’t know, for example, what the first book of the Bible is, how likely is it that you really know what else is or is not in there?
This also reminded me of one of the reasons I have a hard time attending church services anymore. I have thirteen years of private Christian schooling in my background, and so I spent a large portion of my life in very rigorous and intensive study of the Bible, including doctrine, apologetics, and inductive Bible study (i.e., how to study the Bible, not just reading what it says). As such, I often take it for granted that a Christian would be familiar with the structure and layout of the book, the stories, the cultural context, and so forth. But in most church services I attend, I find the messages empty. The content has been “dumbed down” to just a few platitudes. I then realize that if it were not for my background, if it were only for listening to sermons, I would probably know very little myself, and I would not understand the themes and connections that run throughout the whole book.
If people really knew what they were supposedly following, and if they were willing to take Christianity as a whole -- not just a verse here and there that supports what they desire -- I expect there would be more acceptance and understanding of each other.
Related (what people seem to not realize is in the Bible, or not):
Is "Childfree Christian" an oxymoron?
The Purpose of Marriage
Religion that is pure...
Don't Say I Didn't Warn You
Monday, October 11, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Childfree Confessions, #9 (parenthood)
I don’t think I would like myself as a parent.
I have observed a few parents in action who really seemed to know what they were doing. They are firm yet clearly loving toward their children, and the well-behaved kids respond with adoration. Obviously, there would be times of conflict as there are in any family, but I look at them together and think, “Wow, they were really made for each other!” Mind you, these parents aren’t “perfect,” but they are realistic, pragmatic, loving, and humble.
I wish this were the norm. I encounter plenty of people who are bad parents, but it seems that the largest proportion of parents (in the circles in which I run, at least) are just “ok” parents. They aren’t abusing their kids, but -- perhaps in an attempt to be “perfect” -- they might be overly permissive, indulgent, or weak-willed, raising narcissistic children who have too few manners and little self-control. Or at best, they are run-of-the-mill parents raising more run-of-the-mill children.
I have been told, despite my protests, that I would be a great mother. And though I protested, upon reflection it occurred to me that I probably would be just as good a parent as most everyone else… read: mediocre. I am certain I would not be one of the few excellent parents I admire. In fact, I would probably be a lot like my mother was: impatient, frustrated, angry, yelling a lot (I’m sure we kids gave her plenty reason for this). I would probably make up for it by doing an adequate job most of the time, but as a perfectionist, that is not good enough for me. I would not want to be that person.
I have observed a few parents in action who really seemed to know what they were doing. They are firm yet clearly loving toward their children, and the well-behaved kids respond with adoration. Obviously, there would be times of conflict as there are in any family, but I look at them together and think, “Wow, they were really made for each other!” Mind you, these parents aren’t “perfect,” but they are realistic, pragmatic, loving, and humble.
I wish this were the norm. I encounter plenty of people who are bad parents, but it seems that the largest proportion of parents (in the circles in which I run, at least) are just “ok” parents. They aren’t abusing their kids, but -- perhaps in an attempt to be “perfect” -- they might be overly permissive, indulgent, or weak-willed, raising narcissistic children who have too few manners and little self-control. Or at best, they are run-of-the-mill parents raising more run-of-the-mill children.
I have been told, despite my protests, that I would be a great mother. And though I protested, upon reflection it occurred to me that I probably would be just as good a parent as most everyone else… read: mediocre. I am certain I would not be one of the few excellent parents I admire. In fact, I would probably be a lot like my mother was: impatient, frustrated, angry, yelling a lot (I’m sure we kids gave her plenty reason for this). I would probably make up for it by doing an adequate job most of the time, but as a perfectionist, that is not good enough for me. I would not want to be that person.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Kids Have Feelings Too
It’s old news that the online world seems to give people a sense of anonymity or a sense of bravery/recklessness that causes them to put things in writing that they would never say to someone’s face. And though I have experienced this myself, I still find it a bit shocking. Say it to someone’s face, and you can deny it later or claim that they heard you wrong (unless there is a recording of it). Put it in writing, and it has the potential to follow you for the rest of your life!
It is also old news that online community sites like facebook have become bastions of all manner of overshare, in particular parental overshare. Be that as it may, I am consistently shocked at what some of my friends and family -- generally good and decent people -- will post about their kids. If it’s a quip about vomit or feces, I’ll just roll my eyes and move on. However, I feel a surge of anger when parents air grievances about their children or post sensitive information that could humiliate or antagonize their children. Granted, because he is not on facebook yet, 6-year-old Billy might not know that mom just told her 248 closest friends that Billy has been wetting the bed lately. But does that make it right?
I may be overly sensitive on this issue because as a child, I was very shy and I embarrassed easily. I could not abide adults laughing at me if they thought I did something silly or if I said something they thought was cute. I did not like being talked about, teased, mocked, or condescended to. Whenever I heard my parents tell a story about me, I found it completely mortifying -- and I don’t mean stories like “I.Am.Free got all A’s on her report card!”. I mean stories of a medical issue I had, or stories of something embarrassing that involved me (at which the adults would have a good chuckle), or stories of something serious I said that the grown-ups thought was funny. And of course, as I traversed my adolescent and teen years these feelings were magnified one hundred fold. I have learned to laugh at myself as an adult so that I don’t embarrass as easily as I used to, but I still have vivid and painful memories of adults who treated me as if I had no feelings.
So when people start posting about their 12-year-old daughter being a mouthy brat, or asking rhetorically if their 8-year-old will ever be potty-trained, or sharing the most “hilarious” (serious) observation made by their adolescent son, or wishing that their growing daughter would wash her armpits, I wonder how these kids feel about it? Whether or not the kids are on facebook, it seems that if you share this information with 200+ people, something is going to get back to the child.
In the instances where I feel close enough to the offender to say something, I do call them on it, as diplomatically as possible. I just hope it makes enough of an impact to save some of these kids from future wounds and scars. Let’s show these kids a little respect, OK?
It is also old news that online community sites like facebook have become bastions of all manner of overshare, in particular parental overshare. Be that as it may, I am consistently shocked at what some of my friends and family -- generally good and decent people -- will post about their kids. If it’s a quip about vomit or feces, I’ll just roll my eyes and move on. However, I feel a surge of anger when parents air grievances about their children or post sensitive information that could humiliate or antagonize their children. Granted, because he is not on facebook yet, 6-year-old Billy might not know that mom just told her 248 closest friends that Billy has been wetting the bed lately. But does that make it right?
I may be overly sensitive on this issue because as a child, I was very shy and I embarrassed easily. I could not abide adults laughing at me if they thought I did something silly or if I said something they thought was cute. I did not like being talked about, teased, mocked, or condescended to. Whenever I heard my parents tell a story about me, I found it completely mortifying -- and I don’t mean stories like “I.Am.Free got all A’s on her report card!”. I mean stories of a medical issue I had, or stories of something embarrassing that involved me (at which the adults would have a good chuckle), or stories of something serious I said that the grown-ups thought was funny. And of course, as I traversed my adolescent and teen years these feelings were magnified one hundred fold. I have learned to laugh at myself as an adult so that I don’t embarrass as easily as I used to, but I still have vivid and painful memories of adults who treated me as if I had no feelings.
So when people start posting about their 12-year-old daughter being a mouthy brat, or asking rhetorically if their 8-year-old will ever be potty-trained, or sharing the most “hilarious” (serious) observation made by their adolescent son, or wishing that their growing daughter would wash her armpits, I wonder how these kids feel about it? Whether or not the kids are on facebook, it seems that if you share this information with 200+ people, something is going to get back to the child.
In the instances where I feel close enough to the offender to say something, I do call them on it, as diplomatically as possible. I just hope it makes enough of an impact to save some of these kids from future wounds and scars. Let’s show these kids a little respect, OK?
Saturday, September 11, 2010
You Would Make Such a Great (Dog) Parent!
Though very clearly a cat person, I love, love, love dogs… their smiling faces, their fur, their antics, they way they get excited and romp around, the way they snuggle when they are worn out. When I go to the home of someone who has a dog, I usually greet the dog before I greet the people.
Interacting with other people’s dogs is a special treat for me. I roll around on the floor with the dogs, I talk to them, pet them, hug them, and spoil them. I get up in their faces and kiss their noses; then I let the dogs lick me in return. Truly it must be comical, if not a bit gratuitous -- especially since I tend to be very quiet, professional, and poised around most people.
So I suppose it should not be surprising when people respond to my antics with, “Oh, you really should get a dog!” or “You would make such a great dog-mom!” And, frankly, I would love to have a dog, but dog ownership is not a good fit for my personality and lifestyle (nor DH’s). We did foster a dog for the humane society a few years ago, and although she was a most wonderful pooch, we quickly learned that we were not well-suited for the life of dog-parents. The energy, mess, and attention involved became very stressful very quickly. (It didn’t help that after a couple of weeks she became increasingly aggressive toward our cats, at which time we had to place her in a new foster home before there was a disaster.) I recall the drives home from work, wanting to just go home and collapse from a long, hard day, and instead feeling my anxiety skyrocket as I thought about the dog who would be so needy upon my arrival. In contrast, the cats would greet me at the door, ask for a quick scratch, and then go about their own business.
Interestingly, when people tell me I should adopt a dog and I briefly explain why I shouldn’t, most people are content to leave it at that. No argument, no judgment. I wonder why it can’t be just as easy to accept when you insert “kid” in place of “dog”? After all, my observation is that children require far more effort and commitment than dogs. If I cannot handle a dog (a creature I love being around), what makes people think I should or could handle a child?
Interacting with other people’s dogs is a special treat for me. I roll around on the floor with the dogs, I talk to them, pet them, hug them, and spoil them. I get up in their faces and kiss their noses; then I let the dogs lick me in return. Truly it must be comical, if not a bit gratuitous -- especially since I tend to be very quiet, professional, and poised around most people.
So I suppose it should not be surprising when people respond to my antics with, “Oh, you really should get a dog!” or “You would make such a great dog-mom!” And, frankly, I would love to have a dog, but dog ownership is not a good fit for my personality and lifestyle (nor DH’s). We did foster a dog for the humane society a few years ago, and although she was a most wonderful pooch, we quickly learned that we were not well-suited for the life of dog-parents. The energy, mess, and attention involved became very stressful very quickly. (It didn’t help that after a couple of weeks she became increasingly aggressive toward our cats, at which time we had to place her in a new foster home before there was a disaster.) I recall the drives home from work, wanting to just go home and collapse from a long, hard day, and instead feeling my anxiety skyrocket as I thought about the dog who would be so needy upon my arrival. In contrast, the cats would greet me at the door, ask for a quick scratch, and then go about their own business.
Interestingly, when people tell me I should adopt a dog and I briefly explain why I shouldn’t, most people are content to leave it at that. No argument, no judgment. I wonder why it can’t be just as easy to accept when you insert “kid” in place of “dog”? After all, my observation is that children require far more effort and commitment than dogs. If I cannot handle a dog (a creature I love being around), what makes people think I should or could handle a child?
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Love Being Married, Hate Being “Mrs.”
In contrast to my longstanding desire to not have children, I always did want to marry. Of course, being the nontraditional gal that I am, I was not planning guest lists, choosing flowers, and designing my wedding gown for a dream wedding, as some girls do from a young age. No, I think I was considering something more long-term, being married as opposed to getting married.
My friends started marrying off when I was about 19, and as I attended their weddings, I became distressed by all of the chaos, the pomp-and-circumstance, and the waste (I just about had a heart attack when one friend told me she was spending $800 on fresh flowers… this was 16 years ago; and don’t even get me started on the $5000 dress that you wear once and then store in a box in the attic for the rest of your life). I don’t like being the center of attention anyway, and all of this wedding stuff seemed too extravagant and tiring. I decided that I wanted something simple, perhaps a cheesy ceremony in Las Vegas with just me and my guy.
Of course, things don’t always go as planned, and when a long-term relationship crumbled, I found myself wondering where my life might be headed next. I was at first frightened but then excited about my newfound freedom, and I rededicated my life to God. Because of the pain I was still feeling, I could not imagine ever being close to someone again. Maybe I didn’t need to marry after all. I met a missionary woman who married for the first time in her late 70s. I could do that! And if I never married, that was OK too.
But again, God looked down and saw a couple of misfits and thought, “These two will be much better off together than they would be apart.” DH (dear husband) and I sometimes joke that it is almost tragic that we found each other because we could have been such shining examples of confident, secure, and happy single people. Be that as it may, I believe God saw fit for us to minister to each other. We play off each others’ strengths; we make up for each others’ weaknesses. And we absolutely love being married.
In case you are wondering when I’m going to cut out the sappy sentimentality and get to my point… cultural expectations of married women drive me nuts. I do not define myself by being married, and yet others sometimes want to define me that way. My very first “bingo” came when I returned to work after my honeymoon. As I was clocking out for the day, a coworker smiled and said to me, “So now you have to go home and make dinner for someone.” Huh? I replied, “No, actually, he is supposed to have dinner waiting for me when I arrive!”
We have an agreement about certain roles in our house. He cooks, I do the laundry. I load the dishwasher, he does the dishes that need to be hand-washed. He makes the phone calls (for insurance quotes, hair appointments, car repairs, etc.), and I make the money. I mow the lawn, he removes spiders from the house.
When we first moved to our current town and began attending church here, people there kept asking me, “So did you move here for DH’s job?” Not, “What brings you to this town?” or “What attracted you to this area?” No, the assumption had to be that I was following DH around and had no aspirations of my own. As I explained over and over that we moved here for my job, no one had any issue with that, but I grew tired of the assumptions and the looks of surprise.
I think this also irritated me because I had looked forward to a teaching career since I was a child, so it was one of the major goals of my life. These incidents brought back bad memories of a guy I dated in high school who said he wanted a good job so that I wouldn’t “have to” work when we were married. I remember being offended and disgusted that he could belittle my ambitions and my calling by implying either that I should not teach or that it would just be my “hobby,” something I did not “have to” do.
At work, despite that I introduce myself to my students as “Professor,” many insist upon calling me Mrs. __, even before I tell them that I am married. Not only do I find this unprofessional, but I kept my family name, so when my students call me Mrs. __, it sounds like they are talking about my stepmother. Meanwhile, they readily call their male instructors “professor.”
This probably adds to the laundry list of reasons that I would not want to have children. Despite that the women in my social circles are highly educated and career-oriented, I have watched their gender roles/disparities become far more pronounced after having children. By cultural expectations or by their own choice, every such woman I know has become shackled with the responsibilities of full-time career and full-time motherhood while dad carries on his life as if little or nothing has changed. And worse, if mom doesn’t continue her career, she is considered a drain to the family financially. And if she doesn’t do all of the right kind of mothering, she is considered a disgrace as a wife and mother. She can’t win.
As my commenters and I have often summarized after my rants about people’s judgment of the childfree, I think all of this boils down to respecting people’s choices and callings in life. Don’t disrespect someone (female or male) for leaving a paying career in favor of a career raising children; don’t act condescendingly to someone who chooses not to have children at all. Don’t treat someone differently because s/he marries; don’t treat someone pitifully because s/he is single. Don’t try to put people into a box that fits your expectations. Yadda yadda yadda.
There is more to me than the ring on my finger.
(By the way, we did marry in Las Vegas. The wedding cost $120.)
My friends started marrying off when I was about 19, and as I attended their weddings, I became distressed by all of the chaos, the pomp-and-circumstance, and the waste (I just about had a heart attack when one friend told me she was spending $800 on fresh flowers… this was 16 years ago; and don’t even get me started on the $5000 dress that you wear once and then store in a box in the attic for the rest of your life). I don’t like being the center of attention anyway, and all of this wedding stuff seemed too extravagant and tiring. I decided that I wanted something simple, perhaps a cheesy ceremony in Las Vegas with just me and my guy.
Of course, things don’t always go as planned, and when a long-term relationship crumbled, I found myself wondering where my life might be headed next. I was at first frightened but then excited about my newfound freedom, and I rededicated my life to God. Because of the pain I was still feeling, I could not imagine ever being close to someone again. Maybe I didn’t need to marry after all. I met a missionary woman who married for the first time in her late 70s. I could do that! And if I never married, that was OK too.
But again, God looked down and saw a couple of misfits and thought, “These two will be much better off together than they would be apart.” DH (dear husband) and I sometimes joke that it is almost tragic that we found each other because we could have been such shining examples of confident, secure, and happy single people. Be that as it may, I believe God saw fit for us to minister to each other. We play off each others’ strengths; we make up for each others’ weaknesses. And we absolutely love being married.
In case you are wondering when I’m going to cut out the sappy sentimentality and get to my point… cultural expectations of married women drive me nuts. I do not define myself by being married, and yet others sometimes want to define me that way. My very first “bingo” came when I returned to work after my honeymoon. As I was clocking out for the day, a coworker smiled and said to me, “So now you have to go home and make dinner for someone.” Huh? I replied, “No, actually, he is supposed to have dinner waiting for me when I arrive!”
We have an agreement about certain roles in our house. He cooks, I do the laundry. I load the dishwasher, he does the dishes that need to be hand-washed. He makes the phone calls (for insurance quotes, hair appointments, car repairs, etc.), and I make the money. I mow the lawn, he removes spiders from the house.
When we first moved to our current town and began attending church here, people there kept asking me, “So did you move here for DH’s job?” Not, “What brings you to this town?” or “What attracted you to this area?” No, the assumption had to be that I was following DH around and had no aspirations of my own. As I explained over and over that we moved here for my job, no one had any issue with that, but I grew tired of the assumptions and the looks of surprise.
I think this also irritated me because I had looked forward to a teaching career since I was a child, so it was one of the major goals of my life. These incidents brought back bad memories of a guy I dated in high school who said he wanted a good job so that I wouldn’t “have to” work when we were married. I remember being offended and disgusted that he could belittle my ambitions and my calling by implying either that I should not teach or that it would just be my “hobby,” something I did not “have to” do.
At work, despite that I introduce myself to my students as “Professor,” many insist upon calling me Mrs. __, even before I tell them that I am married. Not only do I find this unprofessional, but I kept my family name, so when my students call me Mrs. __, it sounds like they are talking about my stepmother. Meanwhile, they readily call their male instructors “professor.”
This probably adds to the laundry list of reasons that I would not want to have children. Despite that the women in my social circles are highly educated and career-oriented, I have watched their gender roles/disparities become far more pronounced after having children. By cultural expectations or by their own choice, every such woman I know has become shackled with the responsibilities of full-time career and full-time motherhood while dad carries on his life as if little or nothing has changed. And worse, if mom doesn’t continue her career, she is considered a drain to the family financially. And if she doesn’t do all of the right kind of mothering, she is considered a disgrace as a wife and mother. She can’t win.
As my commenters and I have often summarized after my rants about people’s judgment of the childfree, I think all of this boils down to respecting people’s choices and callings in life. Don’t disrespect someone (female or male) for leaving a paying career in favor of a career raising children; don’t act condescendingly to someone who chooses not to have children at all. Don’t treat someone differently because s/he marries; don’t treat someone pitifully because s/he is single. Don’t try to put people into a box that fits your expectations. Yadda yadda yadda.
There is more to me than the ring on my finger.
(By the way, we did marry in Las Vegas. The wedding cost $120.)
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
If Something Really Is Worth It, It Goes Without Saying
Of course, that is just my personal opinion. I’m sure there are others who would disagree. I mean, this cliché is used not only in reference to parenthood, but even the most mundane of activities…
“The concert tickets cost $150 per person, but it was so worth it!”
“It takes forever to mow my 2-acre front lawn, but it’s so worth it!”
(And I’m really referring to the “bitch and backpedal” use of that phrase. What seems to be different about the parenthood references is that they occur over and over and over. No one feels the need to tell you ad nauseam how worth it the concert or the big yard is.)
Personally, I try to avoid the cliché altogether, partly because I don’t feel the need to justify my choices to the world and partly because I believe that it should be self-evident when something is worth it. When I think about the things in my life that have meaning, or the things that have been my greatest challenges, or obstacles I have overcome, I cannot recall ever feeling the need to say that it was all worth it -- nor has anyone asked me if it was all worth it.
I think of graduate school. College had always been “easy” for me, so the challenge of graduate school was unexpected. I had to learn how to study and how to expend mental energy in ways I had never done before. I tell people about how difficult it was, how much stress and anxiety I was constantly under. I tell them how I awoke every morning feeling as if I were going to throw up. No one asks if it was worth it. The way in which my life has been positively impacted is abundantly clear.
I think about my animals and how they can be messy or annoying at times. It can be stressful to find someone to watch them when I travel. Veterinary care isn’t cheap, and most animal health insurance does not provide enough benefit for me to justify the cost. But I never feel the need to complain about any of that, so people never have to ask if it is worth it.
I think of home ownership… new roof, new furnace, backed-up pipes flooding the basement, painting, maintaining, repairing. Even when homeowners sit around comparing horror stories about collapsed ceilings or carpenter ant infestations, no one ever justifies home ownership to me with “but it’s all worth it.” It goes without saying that owning a house is what some people want, and it has its opportunity costs. You accept it for what it is, or you choose not to buy a house.
The list could go on about jobs/careers, marriages or other close relationships, charity work, feats of physical endurance, living a Christian life, etc.
On the other hand, I will be the first to say that something is not worth it if I believe that information will save someone time, money, energy, or grief. At the very least, I am willing to question whether something is worth the costs and to share my knowledge with others, not to coerce them into joining me but to educate them so that they can make an informed choice.
I love my job, but it definitely has its stresses and frustrations. I am willing to share those with others, and I am willing to admit that a teaching career is not for everyone. During the times that the rewards outweigh the difficulties, I find the desire to continue. But when times are bad, I make it no secret that I am considering my other career options.
For many years I have fostered animals for the humane society. There are times of fun and joy, and times of sadness, suffering, and death. Having to break the attachment when the foster service is over is always extremely difficult. I frequently ask myself why I do this over and over, and without hesitation I will share that sentiment with other people. I do feel as if I am making a difference, and I do know that I have saved lives… or at least soothed suffering. Is it “worth it”? I cannot say. I always leave it to the listener to decide.
Obviously, the major difference between these two examples and parenthood is that I can always change careers and I can always stop fostering animals. But what I think they should have in common is the absence of the cliché “but it’s all worth it.” Just tell the truth, and let the evidence speak for itself. Then leave it for those around us to decide for themselves.
“The concert tickets cost $150 per person, but it was so worth it!”
“It takes forever to mow my 2-acre front lawn, but it’s so worth it!”
(And I’m really referring to the “bitch and backpedal” use of that phrase. What seems to be different about the parenthood references is that they occur over and over and over. No one feels the need to tell you ad nauseam how worth it the concert or the big yard is.)
Personally, I try to avoid the cliché altogether, partly because I don’t feel the need to justify my choices to the world and partly because I believe that it should be self-evident when something is worth it. When I think about the things in my life that have meaning, or the things that have been my greatest challenges, or obstacles I have overcome, I cannot recall ever feeling the need to say that it was all worth it -- nor has anyone asked me if it was all worth it.
I think of graduate school. College had always been “easy” for me, so the challenge of graduate school was unexpected. I had to learn how to study and how to expend mental energy in ways I had never done before. I tell people about how difficult it was, how much stress and anxiety I was constantly under. I tell them how I awoke every morning feeling as if I were going to throw up. No one asks if it was worth it. The way in which my life has been positively impacted is abundantly clear.
I think about my animals and how they can be messy or annoying at times. It can be stressful to find someone to watch them when I travel. Veterinary care isn’t cheap, and most animal health insurance does not provide enough benefit for me to justify the cost. But I never feel the need to complain about any of that, so people never have to ask if it is worth it.
I think of home ownership… new roof, new furnace, backed-up pipes flooding the basement, painting, maintaining, repairing. Even when homeowners sit around comparing horror stories about collapsed ceilings or carpenter ant infestations, no one ever justifies home ownership to me with “but it’s all worth it.” It goes without saying that owning a house is what some people want, and it has its opportunity costs. You accept it for what it is, or you choose not to buy a house.
The list could go on about jobs/careers, marriages or other close relationships, charity work, feats of physical endurance, living a Christian life, etc.
On the other hand, I will be the first to say that something is not worth it if I believe that information will save someone time, money, energy, or grief. At the very least, I am willing to question whether something is worth the costs and to share my knowledge with others, not to coerce them into joining me but to educate them so that they can make an informed choice.
I love my job, but it definitely has its stresses and frustrations. I am willing to share those with others, and I am willing to admit that a teaching career is not for everyone. During the times that the rewards outweigh the difficulties, I find the desire to continue. But when times are bad, I make it no secret that I am considering my other career options.
For many years I have fostered animals for the humane society. There are times of fun and joy, and times of sadness, suffering, and death. Having to break the attachment when the foster service is over is always extremely difficult. I frequently ask myself why I do this over and over, and without hesitation I will share that sentiment with other people. I do feel as if I am making a difference, and I do know that I have saved lives… or at least soothed suffering. Is it “worth it”? I cannot say. I always leave it to the listener to decide.
Obviously, the major difference between these two examples and parenthood is that I can always change careers and I can always stop fostering animals. But what I think they should have in common is the absence of the cliché “but it’s all worth it.” Just tell the truth, and let the evidence speak for itself. Then leave it for those around us to decide for themselves.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
The Lies We Tell Ourselves
I’m terrified of most spiders. For as long as I can remember, the mere sight of a spider would induce panic, and spiders have been the subject of many a nightmare. A spider bite 10 years ago that has left me with a dime-sized scar has not helped my phobia either.
Particularly in the summer in my region, yard work needs to be done. And indeed, I actually enjoy weeding, tending to flowers, and raking leaves. Unfortunately, with gardens come spiders; and what’s worse, spiders are beneficial to the garden and should thus not be driven away. I am learning to coexist with them through the systematic desensitization of working side-by-side with them, but most of the time I just lie to myself.
So when I recently heard the infamous “Bitch and Backpedal” it’s-all-worth-it speech yet again, it struck me at a much deeper level than it had before… is this self-talk the exact same coping mechanism I am using in my garden? Merely a lie so that one can endure the task at hand?
That idea is nothing new to me or to anyone else. Years ago, Wanda Sykes did a hilarious stand-up routine about it (watch here). Even I have blogged about related issues and potential regret in the past. What was new to me, I suppose, was an ability to empathize. Though I have always been puzzled and skeptical about “it’s all worth it” (because I never felt the need to justify anything in my own life in that way), I have only recently realized that I was doing essentially the same thing when it came to coping with my fear in the garden.
I think I finally understand.
Particularly in the summer in my region, yard work needs to be done. And indeed, I actually enjoy weeding, tending to flowers, and raking leaves. Unfortunately, with gardens come spiders; and what’s worse, spiders are beneficial to the garden and should thus not be driven away. I am learning to coexist with them through the systematic desensitization of working side-by-side with them, but most of the time I just lie to myself.
“There are no spiders here.”I lie to myself so that I can cope with the fear and discomfort of what lurks behind every shrub. I lie to myself so that I can function well enough to complete the work that needs to be done. I lie often enough so that I can behave as if I really believe it.
“That was not a spider web that I just walked through. And if it was, there is no spider dangling from me.”
“There are no spiders here.”
I keep repeating it.
I see a spider. “Well, that was the only one, and he has run away. There are no more spiders here.”
So when I recently heard the infamous “Bitch and Backpedal” it’s-all-worth-it speech yet again, it struck me at a much deeper level than it had before… is this self-talk the exact same coping mechanism I am using in my garden? Merely a lie so that one can endure the task at hand?
That idea is nothing new to me or to anyone else. Years ago, Wanda Sykes did a hilarious stand-up routine about it (watch here). Even I have blogged about related issues and potential regret in the past. What was new to me, I suppose, was an ability to empathize. Though I have always been puzzled and skeptical about “it’s all worth it” (because I never felt the need to justify anything in my own life in that way), I have only recently realized that I was doing essentially the same thing when it came to coping with my fear in the garden.
I think I finally understand.
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