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Monday
31Mar
amazing. grace.
During my very first session with Diana (the 2007 breakdown therapist), she kicked things off with some variation of the standard, “So, tell me what’s going on?” question.
I said, “I need some more joy, gratitude and abundance in my life.” I had rehearsed it several times and I thought it was a great first line (as far as sexy therapeutic pick-up lines go). It was honest, upbeat and, most importantly, on the sane side of the crazy continuum.
Who knew that a midlife quest for such simple things would trigger a breakdown, ignite an emotional revolution and spark a fierce and unexpected spiritual awakening? Who knew that searching for joy, gratitude and abundance would mean spending an entire year walking through fear and vulnerability AND excavating the blame, anger and self-righteousness that goes along with scarcity?
Seriously, why didn’t anyone prepare me for the humbling experience of becoming the kind of person that I’ve made fun of for 20 years? You know, an openly vulnerable weirdo with a soft, mushy heart and a penchant for arts and crafts.
Last week I was consumed by scarcity. It festers and grows and festers and grows. I’m getting better at recognizing it, but, unfortunately, I normally don’t put the breaks on until there’s some collateral damage.
Here’s what it is: In economics, scarcity is defined as the condition of human wants and needs exceeding production possibilities
Here’s the problem: Fear of needing more sleep, attention, validation and alone-time than can be produced by two well-meaning, first-born, rule-following parents with a 2 kids, 2 careers, and too much to do.
Here’s what it looks like:
There's a rhythm to it that always starts the same way:
Me: “Man, I’m tired.”
Steve: “Yeah. Me too.”
Me: “No, I’m really tired. Bone tired.”
Steve: “I hear ya. I’m wiped out.”
Me: Mumbling under my breath, but loud enough to hear, “Perfect. He’s tired too. What’s new?”
The scarcity soundtrack starts playing.
Me: “I need a break.”
Steve: “Sounds great.”
Me: “Whatever.”
Music is louder and starting to drown out my better judgment.
Steve: “What’s wrong?”
Me: “Nothing. I’m good. In fact I’m just GREAT. I’m going to run to the store, drop off the cleaning, pick up a birthday present for the party this weekend, drop off Ellen’s camp form, take this new contract to the lawyer’s office, answer these 214 e-mails, get my article to the publisher before I miss my deadline; and get my eyebrows waxed. You get some rest.”
Steve: “OK”
Me: “OK???? OK??? Are you kidding me?”
Scarcity music is pounding . . . there’s not enough . . . we can’t both be tired . . . we can’t both have work to do . . . there’s not enough.
Me: “Perfect. Just frickin’ perfect. You’re going to watch TV and take it easy for a 20 minutes?”
Steve: “Yep. I’m wiped. Come sit down. Let’s rest for a few minutes then I’ll split the list with you.”
Me: “Trust me. We can’t both rest. And, obviously, your rest is more important. So you just make yourself comfortable.”
Steve: No longer paying attention. Rolling eyes and focusing on DVD of “Lost: Season One.”
Scarcity music gives way to the martyr march. Off I go.
Hup, two, three, four . . . who can always do more?
Five, six, seven, eight . . . watch me suffer . . . I’m so great.
Five, six, seven, eight . . . watch me suffer . . . I’m so great.
I hate that scarcity grabs hold of us first. Steve is so reasonable. He really would scoot over, hand me the remote, and split the list. I just can’t do it. There’s too much to do. Time is running out. Got to do more. Now. I’m crawling out of my skin.
But here's the rub: when I don't keep my head down and soldier on, things don't get done. Important things. Big things that we both need to have done. Little things that make our family run smoother and work better. This is also part of the messy truth.
If the soldiering and scarcity is bad – like it was last week – it spills over to my friends and family. When I’m in a good place, a friend can have something without me needing it, being jealous or judging it. I can celebrate great things happening to and with other people without wondering when it’s going to be “my turn.”
In general, abundance means people can be different without being better or worse. Scarcity leads me to comparison and, as my friend Laura says, “Comparison is the thief of happiness.” Who is the most tired? the most sad? the worst off? the best off?
After I posted my Love Thursday truth post, I prayed. Hard. I prayed for the only thing that moves me from scarcity to abundance: Grace. Both prayer and grace are new for me and I feel a little, "Can I get an amen?" as I type this; however, the more I see, the more I believe. And, the more I believe, the more I see.
Amazing. Grace.
On Thursday evening, I found myself in Amarillo, Texas, at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church. I was there for a potluck dinner and a lecture (I was giving the lecture). I left Houston exhausted and praying for grace. I found myself in Amarillo standing in grace and brimming with faith. My night at St. Andrew’s was a deeply spiritual experience for me. The people were kind-hearted and open. They had gathered as a community to share a meal and learn more about shame, resilience and compassion. They embraced me as one of their own. I arrived tired and left renewed.
Amazing. Grace.
Ellen came with me on the trip so we could spend some time with my sister, Barrett, and her husband, Frankie, who live in Amarillo. There was sewing and giggling and snuggling. We all needed it.
Amazing. Grace.
On Friday morning I took a few minutes to catch up on my phone messages. There was a lovely message from my friend Marilyn. She’s a palliative care social worker, a therpist with a private practice, and a Cantor. She called to invite me to be her guest at a very special Women’s Seder this week. She is an extremely loving person and, for me, song is the most powerful form of prayer. I can hardly wait.
Amazing. Grace.
That same day I received an email from a wonderful Iranian women’s rights activist who thanked me for my work and told me that a copy of my book is finding its way to an Iranian library this week (there are lots of security issues). Iranian women are in tremendous struggle right now and need our support. It meant so much to me to hear from her.
Amazing. Grace.
Friday evening ushered in the beginning of a 3-day retreat for a group of deacons from the Episcopal Diocese of Northwest Texas. I led the workshop and, for three days, we laughed, cried, talked about compassion, burnout, faith, shame and hope.
The retreat was held right outside of Amarillo at a conference center that used to be a working ranch. I learned that coyote is really pronounced KY-OTE (there’s no EEEEE) and that roadrunners are actually called chaparrals. I learned that making eye contact with a mama owl that’s sitting in her nest with her two little babies gives me chills up my spine. I learned that watching the sun come up in Amarillo is a holy thing (see above). And, most importantly, I learned that there are some very special people who are quietly doing God’s work in West Texas. It was an honor to be with them.
Amazing. Grace.
Last, I shared my truth on this blog and you responded with more truth. Truly amazing. Truly grace. Thank you.
03.31.2008
Reader Comments (22)
I am not a mother or an author or a speaker and so will not attempt to say that I know how it feels to be walking in your shoes with all that is demanded of you. But I do know what it's like to be a recovering perfectionist, someone who is seeking grace and peace in her own soul, and someone who cares deeply about helping others reach this same place. I'm glad to have found you. I look forward to learning more about you.
Peace and grace,
Christianne
What a beautiful picture you paint. I truly believe we are messengers of grace to one another, through connectivity and community, often in ways we don't even realize.
And I'm glad you found the grace in a Panhandle sunset. Too often people miss the beauty that is there amidst the austerity. Coming from a gal who grew up out there - I can tell you, it can be a cruel and brutal place, but the beauty never leaves you.
I'm glad you experienced grace this weekend. I suspect others experienced through you at the same time.
Five, six, seven, eight . . . watch me suffer . . . I’m so great. " put the frosting on the cake, so to speak... ah yes, scarcity, and how to maneuver thru it's land mines...
Beautiful, beautiful piece...
xo, jenny :)
I, too, am fairly new to this site. I guess Grace has led me here. I've been feeling burnt out and tired and kicked around--No time for myself or for even thinking of being creative. Thank you for sharing, and for providing encouragement.
Keep sailing!!
I too am trying to turn off scarcity's soundtrack. It's hard. Really hard. But I know there is hope.
I'm looking forward to my own retreat later this month. The destination isn't as quiet or pretty or remote as yours, though. The convention, however, gave me a good kick in the soul last year, and I'm hoping for the same or more this year:
http://www.gelconference.com
Send me your address? I have the DVD from last year, I think you'd enjoy it.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I am in Amarillo. I am so glad you found some Amazing. Grace. here this weekend.
Also, thrilled that you learned the proper way to say coyote. (too funny!)
Your blog truly inspires me.
Thank You for being so perfectly You.
Amen, indeed.
Scarcity-- that's a new 'term' for me but all to much of a reality. Just this weekend I labeled it my struggle with playing the martyr. This is where I will go along with something that isn't really what I want just so I too can sing the chant of watch me suffer.. I'm so great.
Your writing reminds me of a Mary Engelbreit magnet I have which says... You give my mind a lot to grow on.
Before, I sort of felt like a huge failure for my conflicts where I am right now (you know where). After you spoke with me though, you were not telling me something I wanted to hear (heh). You were telling me the truth -- what I needed to hear in order to survive and to be better at my profession.
I take things too personally, and I don't listen to feedback with a clear mind. I get defensive because of the experiences I have had in the past. It really gets in the way sometimes of who I can become if I would just let things "be".
A couple of weeks ago, I started crying to my husband. I said, "Babe, I never realized this (I'm getting teary now), but I don't take the time to just be... be spontaneous. I don't do this or do that, because I'm a control freak, and I'm trying to desperately plan my life. I can't plan my life. I have to let things just flow... just smell the flowers... enjoy the breeze across my face... I NEVER do that. I have been where I am at for 3 years and have not done that ONCE. I can't believe how much I deprived myself"
And then I smelled the air... and felt the breeze across my face... touched my husband's face with the back of my hand...smiled... and appreciated him and everything around me (in your verse, felt gratitude) of what "is"... to live in the moment... perhaps for me, I gave grace to myself.
Thank u Brene for all you are and all you do. I will always be forever touched by your courage and strength to touch life with all you have...
I l-u-u-u-u-ve your posts!!
And can I just say .. you have the most eloquent, and wise commenters? Wow! I love reading the comments to your posts. So inspiring and honest.