Sometimes the most important things get the least of my attention -- and it took a translucent bottom-feeder combined with this week's episode of Parenthood to reveal that nugget of wisdom to me.
We've been through several fish in the past few months, but only a little ghost shrimp could survive the missed feedings and infrequent tank cleanings. I fed him when I remembered to feed him -- while searching for earphones so Javi can listen to the iPod in the house, before crawling into bed after gathering with my family at my aunt's house, two days later on our way out the door to her burial -- and it was usually as a side note to something else.
Never in the past week or so did I actually stop to peer into the tank to observe the water level and quality and ensure that the little guy was still hanging in there. When I finally bent to take stock of the fish tank, I immediately spotted a lump of brownish-gray matter caught in the leaves of an artificial, orange bush. There, decomposing in the murky water, was our now-dead ghost shrimp.
I'd neglected him like I've neglected so many other important things. You know, such as my marriage and my extended family and my day job -- things that should get the full brunt of my attention and the complete span of my focus, but don't. For various reasons. The kids, the household responsibilities, the social calendar, the volunteer obligations, the sidework obligations, and the things I'm not proud of (ehem, a slam-full dvr schedule and the tendency to get lost in Facebook and texts).
I couldn't help but draw a parallel to Parenthood's alterna-Bravermans Suze and Phil Lessing, who we learn are separating under the strain of raising their son, Noel, who has Asperger's syndrome. Phil claims that Suze's entire world revolves around Noel, which pushes her marital relationship so far off the back burner that it's hit the floor. Suze, the overwhelmed and trying-to-control-the-variables mom, seems a lot like me ... right down to her belief that Phil simply refuses to understand and have compassion for all that she must hold together.
Our son doesn't have Asperger's, but his ADHD does require my analysis and patience and work and juggling and attention. I don't spend nearly the same amount of time working on my marriage as I do working on my child -- despite knowing that, statistically, marriages in families with a special needs child are highly likely to end in divorce. I allow my side projects and my volunteer choices and so much else come first.
My aunt died on Sunday -- and it'd been months since I last saw her. My aunt who was a grandmother to me, who was my Papa's favorite sister, and who wasn't that much older than my mother and her siblings. I have a lifetime of memories with her, but I hadn't wrapped my arms around her in too long. And suddenly, she's gone.
And so is the shrimp. But my marriage is here and it's strong. My jobs, often done hurriedly and at the last minute, are here. My family -- the many cousins and aunts and uncles -- are here. For now. The time to invest in them, to enrich and revel in them, is now. Now while we're here together. Now while our hearts are open and able to receive the gifts we have to offer.
I don't want to wake up one day as Suze or Phil Lessing, wondering when the last door closed and why I didn't hear it, so full of regret that I can't stand the sight of myself. It has to be now. Because later isn't guaranteed. Not for any of us.
Showing posts with label parenthood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenthood. Show all posts
23.9.10
16.9.10
Lessons in Parenthood
Every Tuesday night at 10 pm I settle in with a bowl of popcorn and a big glass of ice water for my television therapy. Rather than pay big bucks for psychoanalysis or to work through my marital grievances, I watch Parenthood on NBC. Somehow, I always feel more understood by 11 pm.
This week’s season premiere was perfectly timed. I was feeling overwhelmed with three freelance jobs, two volunteer positions, a company that’s based on volunteer work, children in two different activities, five blogs, and a husband who seems more and more resentful that my time is stretched so thin. Does anyone else’s chest feel tight all of a sudden?
But then here’s this scripted drama that’s so smartly written and that covers so many of my bases. Throughout the episode, the family patriarch says over and over again to the family matriarch, “I hear you and I see you,” as they have learned in marriage counseling. It’s creepy ... until it sinks in. And suddenly the theme emerges from every story told in the hour — and every part of our personal lives.
The son-in-law who finally breaks after his wife’s father continually treats him like an ineffectual and inexperienced moron. The sister who has to fight for the credit she deserves when her idea for a new shoe product is pitched by her brother. The father who has to scramble to prove his dedication to his company under the harsh glare of a demanding boss. The daughter learning to drive as her mother screams from the passenger seat.
And the storyline closest to my heart: The child with autism who melts down in the most heart wrenching way (complete with screeching and flying limbs and screaming with eyes shut) when his carefully laid plans for a sleepover are ruined. Oh, Max. You have my heart, buddy.
For each storyline, the closure comes not from the characters suddenly getting their way. Life doesn’t work like that. The closure is a result of the person on the other end — the father-in-law, the brother, the boss, the occupational therapist — saying in loud and clear voices I hear you and I see you. You exist. Your feelings are valid. You have every right to be upset and you’re right, this sucks.
This is a life lesson for me, for all of us. Rather than act out or shut down when the world starts spinning out of control and we feel like collateral damage, how about we just stop and give ourselves or our loved ones the same verbal massage that Max gets: “I know you’re upset. You have every right to be; it’s not fair. I know you’re upset because I’m upset, too. But this isn’t going to help. Let’s make another plan.”
I know. I hear you. I see you. We’ll get through this. Together.
I don’t have to feel stressed out and alienated. Neither does my husband. Instead, we can take the time to see each other. We can step back and find compassion for each other’s individual struggles. And then we can create a plan that works better. And we can do it together.
Do you watch Parenthood? Is there another television program that works as therapy for you? What lessons have you learned about yourself or your life by watching?
This week’s season premiere was perfectly timed. I was feeling overwhelmed with three freelance jobs, two volunteer positions, a company that’s based on volunteer work, children in two different activities, five blogs, and a husband who seems more and more resentful that my time is stretched so thin. Does anyone else’s chest feel tight all of a sudden?
But then here’s this scripted drama that’s so smartly written and that covers so many of my bases. Throughout the episode, the family patriarch says over and over again to the family matriarch, “I hear you and I see you,” as they have learned in marriage counseling. It’s creepy ... until it sinks in. And suddenly the theme emerges from every story told in the hour — and every part of our personal lives.
The son-in-law who finally breaks after his wife’s father continually treats him like an ineffectual and inexperienced moron. The sister who has to fight for the credit she deserves when her idea for a new shoe product is pitched by her brother. The father who has to scramble to prove his dedication to his company under the harsh glare of a demanding boss. The daughter learning to drive as her mother screams from the passenger seat.
And the storyline closest to my heart: The child with autism who melts down in the most heart wrenching way (complete with screeching and flying limbs and screaming with eyes shut) when his carefully laid plans for a sleepover are ruined. Oh, Max. You have my heart, buddy.
For each storyline, the closure comes not from the characters suddenly getting their way. Life doesn’t work like that. The closure is a result of the person on the other end — the father-in-law, the brother, the boss, the occupational therapist — saying in loud and clear voices I hear you and I see you. You exist. Your feelings are valid. You have every right to be upset and you’re right, this sucks.
This is a life lesson for me, for all of us. Rather than act out or shut down when the world starts spinning out of control and we feel like collateral damage, how about we just stop and give ourselves or our loved ones the same verbal massage that Max gets: “I know you’re upset. You have every right to be; it’s not fair. I know you’re upset because I’m upset, too. But this isn’t going to help. Let’s make another plan.”
I know. I hear you. I see you. We’ll get through this. Together.
I don’t have to feel stressed out and alienated. Neither does my husband. Instead, we can take the time to see each other. We can step back and find compassion for each other’s individual struggles. And then we can create a plan that works better. And we can do it together.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
