Turning 40: Notes to My Younger Self. #7 Being Compassionate Does Not Mean You Have Self-Compassion

#7. Being Compassionate Does Not Mean You Have Self-Compassion

Henri Nouwen, one of your future favorite authors, said this about compassion:

“Compassion asks us to go where it hurts, to enter into the places of pain, to share in brokenness, fear, confusion, and anguish. Compassion challenges us to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those in tears. Compassion requires us to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, and powerless with the powerless. Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human.”

Compassion, I have come to learn, is a most beautiful response we can have to pain and suffering. Compassion is the act of bringing a balm to comfort the pain. That balm can take many forms: a listening ear, a comforting touch, words of peace, a prayer, food.

We feel called to be compassionate to those around us who are hurting. We seek ways to ease their pain, to lift their suffering, to help carry their burdens. In truth, we find that being compassionate gives us a great deal of joy. The act of compassion becomes an encouragement not only to the one we showed compassion, but also to ourselves for providing it.

Compassion is a beautiful gift we give to those around us. Most often, it is an easy gift to give and we find joy in the giving.

But being compassionate to others does not so easily translate to self-compassion.

Within you lies an inner critic that criticizes you for mistakes, for being stupid, for not doing better, for saying the wrong thing, for doing the wrong thing, for not paying attention, for trusting someone that hurt you, for being hurt again, for not saving enough money, for eating too much, for forgetting things, for procrastinating, for for for for for…

Being compassionate to others is a gift that God gave you. I am so thankful for this. But having self-compassion was not part of that gift. Learning to love yourself and be compassionate to yourself is a learned skill. It requires intentional metacognition. It requires time. It requires patience.

With effort and intention, you are becoming more self-compassionate and less self-critical. You are learning to give yourself the balm that you have so quickly and easily given to others. You will get there, but when you have listened to the inner critic for a long time, it takes time and effort to silence their voice.

Turning 40: Notes to My Younger Self. #6 Having a Relationship with Scripture is not Having a Relationship with God

#6. Having a Relationship with Scripture is not Having a Relationship with God

For a long time I believed that to have a good relationship with God, you had to have a good relationship with the Bible, with scripture.

I have long prided myself on being a daily Bible reader, having read my Bible every day since some time in 1992.

Truthfully, I have been legalistic and dogmatic about this behavior.

But, I know my stuff.  I know the scriptures.

There is nothing wrong with this in itself, it is very good to read the Bible. But it was about the reading and the learning and somewhere in there I did not commune with God.

So, as my Bible knowledge grew and grew, my relationship with God did not.

I did not understand God.

I did not understand what it meant to have a relationship with an omnipotent being.  

So, I read my Bible.

I did not stop reading.

But around the time I began to understand the difference between discipline and legalism, I began to feel different about my reading. In time it transitioned from a legalistic behavior to a discipline. I began to  meditate. I began to carry the words in my heart.

But what I truly learned was that having a relationship with God wasn’t about reading at all. It was about communing with an omnipotent being: through trust, through faith, through grace, through obedience, through discipline, through discipleship, through self-compassion, through love, through feeling in the heart and not just thinking in the head, through surrender.

I tend to intellectualize, so reading my Bible was easy. It can be hard for me to be emotive and feel. But learning to have a relationship with God was so profoundly impactful. It has made me a better, more loving, less judgmental, more tolerant, more understanding, more grace-filled person.

Knowing the person you were and knowing the person you have become is a beautiful thing to reflect on.

Turning 40: Notes to My Younger Self. #5 Discipline and Legalism

#5. Discipline and Legalism

In thinking that life was black and white, I spent much of my time focusing on following the law and doing the right thing, staying the course.

My goal was to be perfect, to be right, to have no wrong.

There is no wrong in that. There is no wrong in wanting to do right and to be right.

The wrong comes when the sole focus becomes about doing right and on being right for the sake of merit. The perceived merit becomes an arrogant badge of pride and perfectionism. The desire becomes that of one wanting to be seen as good.

That is what legalism is, being good to gain merit or favor with God. Legalism becomes the crux of the spiritual relationship and people begin to measure their value by their deeds, not their heart. They begin to ask themselves the question, “have I done enough”? They fear they have not worked hard enough to please God and they are not worthy of heaven. They fear a lack of value due to insufficient deeds.

And at other times, legalism can evolve to the point that people do good not only to gain merit or favor with God, but also from people. In time, they can become like the Pharisee praying in the temple (Luke 18) to be seen and heard by man and not necessarily heard by God. That narcissistic focus of legalism is void of heart and becomes like the empty sacrifices of King Saul.

I spent a good deal of time trying to build a relationship with God through legalism. Doing good to win favor. Doing right to be right, believing this would grant me favor and merit.

What I did not understand, though, was that focusing on my actions left no real room for God, for Jesus, for the Holy Spirit, I left no real need for the Holy Trinity. I did not understand that I could never really do enough. Sadly, I did not appreciate that the Trinity had already done it all for me.  So, I spinned my wheels working, doing, attempting to earn.

You would periodically ask yourself if you had done enough, if you were good enough, if you were worthy enough. But a time will come when life will shake you. You will realize the absurdity of those questions and the true irrelevance they possess.

You will begin to evaluate the focus of your life. You will find that the focus is not to earn merit with God through legalism, but that the focus is to love God and to want to please him. Wanting to please Him comes through discipline and through true discipleship, not legalism.

In time, you will see how true discipline yields the spiritual relationship that you wanted. When your heart and your behavior change from legalism (focusing on what I can do to please God) to discipline (focusing on loving and pleasing God by what I do), then you begin to understand the true unconditional love of the Trinity.

Living a God-centered life through discipline versus a me-centered life through legalism results in a very different focus, a very different heart, a very different spiritual relationship with the Trinity. It also provides a great deal of peace, as you realize grace is not having to be good out of fear, but wanting to be good in love.

Turning 40: Notes to My Younger Self. #4 Expectations are Not Dreams

#4. Expectations are Not Dreams

Growing up I expected a lot of things.

I expected to get married.

I expected to have children.

I expected to stay at home.

I expected to live close to my sisters.

I expected for us to share daily life.

I expected for our kids to play and grow together.

When none of these things happened, I was confused and disappointed. I felt like a failure. I felt like I did not do the things I was expected to do. I wondered what purpose my life had.

Growing up I often thought about a lot of things.

I thought about having my own dogs.

I thought about having an extraordinary job.

I thought about having my own house.

I thought about reading the daily paper and working out.

I thought about having kids and about the kind of mom I wanted to be.

I thought about flying airplanes and riding horses.

Most of the things I thought about have happened. Most of the things I thought about I have done.

Expectations are not dreams, but I believed those expectations were my dreams. I felt and often still feel like a failure because I did not achieve those things and done the things I expected I would do.

Sometimes, when you place a significant amount of value on expectations, you do not have the ability to appreciate things outside of the expectations. Sadly, I never took the time to consider alternative outcomes. Therefore, I never gave any value to the alternatives. So, I feel confused, disappointed, and like a failure when the sole expectations I had for myself did not manifest.

Letting go of expectations can be hard. A part of me will always grieve not having kids and being the kind of mom I wanted to be. A bigger part of me greatly values being an aunt and not being bogged down by expectations of the kind of aunt I wanted to be.

What I know now, though, is that expectations are not dreams. What I know now, is that all those thoughts were my dreams. Most of my dreams have become my reality. Most of my dreams have come true.

The task now at hand, is to give value to my dreams. Hopefully, giving value to my dreams will eventually nullify my feelings of failure. Hopefully, giving value to my dreams will give me permission to have even more dreams.

Turning 40: Notes to My Younger Self. #3 There is so much freedom in saying I don’t know.

#3. There is so much freedom in saying I don’t know. 

Impostor syndrome is a real thing.

When I was younger, I was terrified of not knowing. I was terrified that I would be found a fraud, a fake, an impostor.

I was afraid I would not be enough.

So, in fear, I always felt I had to have an answer. I had to know the right thing to say. I had to know the right thing to do. It was a fight to prove my competence, a fight to prove my value.

That fear comes from a lack of experience and a lack of confidence. Fear that often motivates an insecure individual to try too hard. Trying too hard often manifests as an individual who is a know it all.

The last thing I wanted was to be found as incompetent, as stupid.

With time, comes experience. With experience, comes maturity. With maturity, comes confidence. With confidence, comes competence. With competence, comes peace.

It is in being at peace with where you are, with what you know, with what you do, that you no longer feel the need to prove your competence, or your value. Time has already done that.

As time passed and I matured, I realized I was not an impostor. The thing which I feared was not. If my fear was not, then the action and response to it became not as well.

Ironically, competence often comes when you have the confidence to say, I don’t know.

My dear young self, one day, you will hear your self saying I don't know. There will be much freedom in that. Freedom from fear. Freedom from being thought an impostor. Freedom from insecurity.  The people you are talking to will still respect you, you will still respect you.

Turning 40: Notes to My Younger Self. #2 Having a Support System is Vital

#2. Having a Support System is Vital

While this may seem like an elementary concept, I assure you, it is not. You have long adapted to the ideology of western culture and have prided yourself on being independent and self-sufficient. This ideology has often led to loneliness, isolation, and, at times, depression. 

You have always been surrounded by various communities and been involved in a myriad of relationships. You have lived your life being a good friend to most everyone, but it has been rare that you have allowed others to actually be your friend. You have worked hard to keep people at arms length and, therefore, spent the majority of your life maintaining a high level of distance. You have done this for personal privacy and as a defense from the fear of being unloved and unwanted. Sadly, this will result in significant limitations on your ability to have true intimacy, authenticity, and transparency. 

It is within true intimacy, authenticity, and transparency, within the sacred place of vulnerability, that deep connection and support is found. 

Life and time has taught you the need for change. Life and time demanded that you lay down the pride and fear and learn to trust. Laying aside shame and confusion you have learned what vulnerability looks like, feels like. You have learned to be authentic and transparent to those close to you. You have learned to let people be your friend, learned to depend, learned to need. 

Life was not meant to be lived alone. We read that:
"Two are better than one.”
“It is not good for man to be alone.”
“A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”
“if two lie together, they keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone?”
"Bear one another’s burdens”

 My dear young self, in time, you will find that you have allowed yourself to have a support system. A strong, life saving, support system. And once you have it, it is then that you will know how profoundly vital it is. 

Turning 40: Notes to My Younger Self. #1 Life is Not Black and White

My dear Tara,

It is amazing to think that so much time has passed. In truth, it is almost unfathomable. Yet here we are, sitting at the precipice of turning 40 and entering a new decade of life. So much of what is and where I have found us to be, is not what I expected. So much of life is harder and simpler and louder and deafeningly silent in ways that I had not understood or imagined.

Yet, as I said, here we are. So as we are turning 40, I wish to give you, my younger self, notes on what I have learned.

#1. Life is Not Black and White

When we were young, we put so much stock in right and wrong. Rules were rules. It either was or it was not, but there was no in between.

In truth, there is some safety, some security in this ideology. There leaves little room for confusion and expectations are clear.

But, there also leaves little room for compassion, for understanding, for grace.

Understanding that life was not black and white was painful. It shook the ground and rocked the foundation that you had planted so much of your own truths on. Learning that grey existed resulted in confusion, fear, and, honestly, some anger.

When you base your life on the ideology of black and white, right and wrong, how can there be grey? What do you do with the grey? How do you feel about people who live their lives in the grey? What does grey mean for truth?

But, in time, understanding that life is full of grey will actually become a comfort. The safety and security that you felt with black and white will begin to feel constricting and dismissive.

Living in the grey is where you will learn about life. Living in the grey is where you will learn about love. Living in the grey is where you will meet God. Living in the grey is where you will eventually find peace.

There are some truths that are still very much black and white: murder, lying, hate, love. But most truths are really understood in the grey.

babies

Mary turned four on Tuesday.

She’s funny. She likes to send me pictures of cats and tells me that she loves me and asks me to be her friend. I love that. I love her.

 I love all the kids. I love watching them grow. I love watching them become their own person.

I always thought I would have a lot of kids. For a long time I wanted 5. I had names picked out and furniture and dreams. I had dreams.

I babysat and nannied and cared for so many children for a long time. I thought I knew so much about so much. There was a time when I had changed more diapers than all of my sisters put together. And I was so proud of this. I was so arrogant.

So much time has passed and that arrogance has fallen to wisdom and now I understand how ignorant and naïve I really am. I understand now how little credit the act of changing diapers actually grants you in comparison to loving and raising a human. I understand, that in truth, I don’t even remotely understand what it means to be a parent, to love your child, to be solely responsible for another human.

There are 12 children: Haydn, Louise, Jonah, Ava, June, Sophia, Caroline, Corinne, Sadie, Olivia, Rosalie, and Mary.

Mary is the youngest. The youngest is now four.

For years and years we had baby after baby after baby. And now, the baby isn’t a baby.

That time in our family has passed.

I always thought I would have a lot of kids. I had dreams.

Normal

I stepped out into the hallway. She began yelling at me. “Why aren’t you saving them?! Why aren’t you doing something? Save them!” I had already talked with the family. There was nothing more to do. I had worked for hours. She blamed me.

I stood there and she continued to yell at me. I bowed my head. The elevator doors opened. I stepped in, away. The patient died.

* * *

The patient was going to code. I knew that the moment they arrived. I told the family. Told them there was little we could do. They wanted everything done. They hoped for a miracle. I worked for hours. The room was full; family and staff. We had been waiting for the heart to stop, to initiate CPR. It stopped. We started. For a good while I ran the code. It was efficient, streamline, well-oiled. Great staff that night. One of the best codes in a long while. But the ACLS cycles were not profitable. The rounds were unproductive. I told the family two more rounds and I would stop. One round. Two rounds. I stopped the code. The family member stood up. Eyes pleading, begged me for one more round, said they’d pay for it, just one more round.

I felt the room of 20+ people all staring at me. Deafening silence. I don’t understand the money side of it, I don’t understand insurance. We had already spent the money on a 2^nd crash cart, it wasn’t empty. It wasn’t about the money. It was about the patient. Seconds felt like hours. All the staff looked at me, knowing it was futile, but waiting on my word and they would restart, reluctantly, but they would. All the family looked at me with unyielding hope and desperation, desperate for one more round, two more minutes of work.

No. We’re done. I said. The family member threw their body on the patient. Cries rang out. Staff quietly left the room. I stood there, bowed my head. Tears stung my eyes. Moments later, I left.

* * *

They were much too young. Yet there they sat, alone, trying to make decisions for their dying parent. They called a sibling, they were even younger. They talked. The entire thing was horrific. I had spent hours in that room. There were things I could do but they would be futile. The patient wasn’t strong enough. The family member said no. They decided to stop.

As we stood in that room with the ugly truth, my work phone rang. I stepped to the side. Another patient was crashing. I gave the nurse some stat orders. Told her I would be bedside within 10 minutes or so.

As I hung up the phone I looked at that young person sitting alone and noted them staring at me with horrified eyes and a confused look upon their face. Is this what you do? They asked. Do you only take care of dying people?

The parent died. I so deeply hurt for that child.  

* * *

I once watched a movie. Overall, it wasn’t a very good movie. A woman found herself in a war torn part of the world and she was reporting on events there. Time passed and she had been there for years. Events occurred and she didn’t really respond anymore. She talked with a friend and the friend said, you know this isn’t normal. How we live and what’s going on here. This isn’t normal. The woman realized it had become normal to her. Bombs and death and horror. It had stopped affecting her, she didn’t respond anymore. So, she left. She went home. She started to feel again.

I think about this movie often. Remind myself that my life isn’t normal. Watching people experience the worst parts of their life on a weekly basis isn’t normal.

In time I won’t remember these horrific events. I don’t remember the patients or the families. New horrific events will take their place and in time new ones will take theirs.

Not so long ago, a nurse told me I cared too much. This may be true. I often find my eyes sting with tears. My heart heavy.

When it’s over, they always hug me, they always say thank you. Even the angry ones. I have learned that I need to receive their hugs and their words as much as they need to give them. I have found them to be a comfort to me. I suppose when it stops comforting me is when I will need to leave.

Historicity

There has been so much constant and significant change in my life for so many months and years now. Moving from place to place, job to job, space to space, house to house.  Wrestling with so much uncertainty and restlessness and fighting to define self and home and place.

I have now lived in Dallas longer than any place since 2009. In these last eight years and 4 months, I’ve moved 10 times. I’ve had amazing opportunities and met wonderful people and discovered so much about this life and about myself. But I’ve also yearned for a sense of belonging and place. I know where I’m from, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I know where home is, but it is not where I am from.

I’ve thought a lot about historicity lately. Mainly my own. Being jealous of people who can go “home” and have ties with people and places from their earliest of memories. Being in a place now that I am not from and have not lived within its history. Being at home with my parents and not knowing their friends and peers and having no knowledge of the place they now live. Not living close to or speaking frequently to many people who I deeply cherish, yet who I do not live life with anymore. Living life with people I have no history with. Understanding that so much of our surroundings define who we are, how we see ourselves, what our culture is. Understanding that I define so much of myself by past people and places. Feeling foreign in my present.

Only time can build historicity.

I am aware and proud of the things I have accomplished in my 37 years on this earth. But I am also surprised and confused at times by the things I have not accomplished. I am not married. In truth, I have no interest in being married. I have no children. I will always deeply grieve not having children and never meeting that baby I’ve seen in so many dreams. I live alone in a house much too big for one person.  I am burdened by this.

I am good at my job. The younger me would be in awe of the current me. I am confident and strong and commanding. I can come across as intimidating and mean. I am responsible for lives. I meet that responsibility with intensity. I wonder sometimes though how working such an intense and stressful job has affected all the other areas of my life. I wonder how it has changed me. I wonder who I would be if I had chosen a different vocation.

I remember very few of the thousands of patients I have cared for. I wonder what they remember.  I suppose in some ways my historicity is found in them. Funny to invest oneself in a venue that does not have the ability to invest back in you.

A recruiter has been calling me lately, there have been multiple e-mails and phone calls and discussions. I told him I wasn’t interested. But over time I bit and we scheduled a time to interview. But as the time approached I canceled the appointment.

 I don’t feel so restless anymore.