I’m Sorry If I _______

I spend a great deal of time thinking about why we are who we are. Some of us question everything we say, agonize over something that could have been misinterpreted, and worry that our words might have unintentionally offended or hurt someone. Others bumble through life completely oblivious that their words or behavior might make someone feel bad. And still others, when alerted that they hurt or offended someone scoff that the person was too sensitive, claim their words or actions were misinterpreted, or worse turn the situation around and blame the victim.

Some people pride themselves on speaking their mind, having no filter. That’s fine, live and let live. I believe that meme* that says how people treat others says more about who they are than who I am. I strive to speak kindly to everyone, but often that is easier outside of my home than inside.

Once, a friend at church said, “How do you always have it so together?” I love her. She is a gem. But, I love her too much to let her believe that I have anything together. So I told her ten minutes earlier I was screaming and swearing and threatening my children’s lives if they didn’t get their teeth brushed as my husband calmly tried to hustle everyone out the door. He has it pretty well together, thank goodness.

But even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t spend hours analyzing his behavior. He rolls through life without the burden of analyzing what people say to him or what he says to them. He does not give a second thought about who said what to whom or what so-and-so might have meant when she said such-and-such. Lots of people can do this. I don’t think it’s a male-female thing because I know super-aware men and completely oblivious women.

So what is it that makes some of us able to let stuff go while others are compelled to ruminate? While I haven’t found an answer, extensive research (and tons of overthinking) has lead me to the following principles that I try to follow:

1. Surround yourself with genuine people. Then you don’t have to worry about passive-aggressiveness and ulterior motives. I promise you I never wonder what any of my friends meant by what they said because they meant exactly what they said.
2. Think before you speak. If you have to preface something with, “I don’t mean this to be offensive,” it’s probably offensive, so just don’t say it. I practice this with my mom all the time: She says, “I don’t mean for you to take this the wrong way,” and I say, “If you are concerned about my taking it wrong, you probably shouldn’t say it.” She always says it anyway.
3. Apologize freely. Not in a submissive or “giving away your power” way, but in an honest-to-goodness you mean something to me and it hurts me that I inadvertently hurt you. I mostly apologize to my kids and my husband as they bear the brunt of my bad behavior. But now, instead of wondering if I’ve offended someone, if I think I did, I apologize.
4. Stand up for yourself. You don’t have to be confrontational to tell someone that their words or actions upset you. I’m not a super-huge Dr. Phil fan, but this line of his always sticks with me: We teach people how to treat us. Sometimes we need to remind them what is and isn’t okay.
5. Don’t offer unsolicited advice and opinions. They are rarely helpful and nearly always taken the wrong way; refer to #2. (I’m already thinking that you might be thinking this list is unsolicited advice. Touche. This is just what I do though, I’m not telling you what to do.)

I still overthink a lot of what I say and do, but I don’t read as much into others’ behaviors. This frees up an enormous amount of time and energy to criticize myself. Kidding. Mostly. What works for you?

* I wanted to insert an image, but I couldn’t find a grammatically correct one. I can’t support that.

God in Me. God in You, You, You, and You Too.

On Sunday, my daughter got on a plane and flew to the other side of the country. This is the farthest she has ever been away from me. She’s never flown without me. The last time we were this far apart, I was in Las Vegas, and she was reading Harry Potter. That was nine years and one child ago. My reason for sharing that is: My world is a bit off-kilter, and I am using that as an excuse for bad skin, unexplained crying, crappy eating, not working out, and this is starting to sound a lot like pms…

Anyway, that wasn’t my point for writing. My point was this: I have been reading this awesome series (and if you have a penchant for self-awareness or just appreciate great writing, you should read it as well) and every day little granules of truth plunk me in the head.

Most recently I’ve been overthinking how we all process the same things so very differently. In my family of origin, if you ask each of us to describe the same event, you’d get five different stories. When my other two brothers were alive, their stories would be different still. Add in my parents’ views and you’d have even more. Each person firmly believes his or her version is the truth. Many of them were the hero in their version. But, it’s kind of like this:

Remember the time:
No, that’s not how it happened. It was like this…
OHHHH yeah, but then you said…
No, that’s close, but I said…
You did not…
She wasn’t even there…
Were you even there?
Oh, I remember, we were having Neopolitan dinner dish…

Even though we experienced a lot of the same things (we all lost our brothers and our dad), each of us walked away–except the two who didn’t–with different scars, stories, and memories. A few weeks ago one sibling summed up another sibling’s behavior with, “That’s just how he processed the shit that happened to us. We all dealt with it differently.”

I recently read Carry On, Warrior, and my biggest take away was her description of “Namaste,” acknowledging that the divine in us recognizes the divine in those we meet. That was bigger than a granule, it was like a rock on the head. God in me; God in you.

Ughhhhhh…we all process it differently…we all have the same God in us…My daughter’s on the other side of the world, and I have pms, OBVIOUSLY…

God is in my brother. He is in my mom. He is in that person who annoys the CRAP out of you. He is in the guy who cut you off in traffic. I’m not entirely convinced that there is the same amount of God in everyone…I’m kidding; calm down. God is in the Fed Ex driver that can’t find my house–dude…really? God is in the union guy that calls my husband at 1:00 a.m. and drags him out of our warm bed. He is in your boss. He is in the four disgruntled old ladies who complain the entire time in line. He’s in your kids. He’s in your mother in law. He’s in that homeless man, and you walked to the other side of the street to avoid him.

It is not my job to fix you, nor are you called to fix me. I may not change the world, but I can love and accept you and me as God loves and accepts us both. We might never be best friends, but I will see past your humanness and look for your divinity. Today my prayer is to step out of my own way as the divine in me reaches out to the divine in you.

Maybe Not.

I read a great essay today about agreeing to disagree. Additionally, I’ve been following the amazingly talented Molly Field as she takes on some of Carl Jung’s most famous quotes–check it out! And I’ve been reading Revelation (aka the crazy book of the Bible.) That smell? It’s my brain. It’s frying. No worries.

At some point a few years ago, I hung up a note card emblazoned with The Four Agreements (Be impeccable with your word. Don’t take anything personally. Don’t make assumptions. Always do your best.) This is how I take on challenging life changes. Some people go to therapy; I write shit on a note card and hang it in a place where I’ll see it all the time. One of my best friends does the same thing, so we encourage each other that this is most effective. Our bathroom mirrors and cupboard doors are brilliant.

Some of the cards really are brilliant such as: “In search of God I went to Mecca and to Rome. I visited many churches, temples, and mosques. I climbed the tallest mountain. I looked in the books of old eastern religion to no avail. I opened my heart: That is where He was”-Mevlana. And some of it is more banal: “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”–on the pantry door. Whatever. Sometimes it keeps me from eating a bag of Doritos. Not always but occasionally. You can judge me. I’m not taking it personally; remember? And as long as we’re examining ourselves, what does your judgement of me say about you, hmmmm?

All of this brings me to a central idea: Controlling my thoughts rather than letting them control me. 2 Corinthians 10:5 (NIV) says “…take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” This blog is called Adventures in Overthinking because that is what I do. Overthink everything. If you and I had a conversation ten years ago, you might not even remember meeting me, but I still probably revisit that conversation from time to time. Taking captive my every thought is exhausting and nearly impossible. But I’m trying. 

And God helps. The Holy Spirit nudges me, and I have a forehead-slapping DUH moment. You might call this same thing your conscience, your inner voice, whatever you choose. I believe it’s God, but whatever you believe, try to listen because they can be ever so helpful. 

These nudgings often come in interactions with Lily, my six-year-old clone and life coach. She’s not my life coach in a gives-me-amazingly-sage-advice way–that’s Chloe. And she doesn’t teach me by drawing remarkably enlightening parallels–that’s Peyton. She gives me great lessons in very basic ways. 

For example if Lily eats junk food, she gets wild. If I eat junk food, I get cranky. If Lily doesn’t get enough sleep, she whines and cries…me too. If you yell at Lily, she yells louder at you. If you talk kindly and patiently to her, she listens and understands. If you tell her to do something “because I said so,” she doesn’t do it, or she does the opposite, but if you explain to her the logic behind what you’re asking, she gets it and does it. And on and on and on.

Maybe we have Oppositional Defiant Disorder–I haven’t ruled that out. Maybe this is just a lot of projection and overthinking. Maybe this is the result of too much reading, analysis, and an overactive imagination. Maybe this is pathological self-awareness. But maybe not. I have great faith in God and the maybe not.