I only have one surviving grandparent. It's my mom's mother, Ann. She is bat shit crazy. I know I'm a Christian and I know I'm not supposed to say that kind of thing about people but in this case, it's absolutely true.
She and I stopped getting along when I turned 11. She has only ever been interested in my weight. Literally, that's really the only thing about me for which she expresses concern. She used to sit me down to try to express to me how concerned she was about my weight. It always came off as condescending, especially because it was usually right after she had goaded me into eating some dessert. She even went out of her way to comment on my weight when I was four months pregnant with Bekah. I mean, c'mon. Really?
Right after I ran my first marathon, she flew in for my parent's wedding. (They are remarried to each other after a period of having been divorced. A whole book wouldn't cover the entire subject.) I was the thinnest I had been for a long, long time. She fawned all over me because of the weight loss and had nothing to say about the major accomplishment of having run 26.2 miles without stopping.
She has never really been the warm, fuzzy grandma that is so idolized in our culture. I've never been ladylike enough, petite enough, thin enough, anything enough to get real approval or accolade from her. I have tried to love her as she is but she's incredibly prickly, especially as she has gotten older.
The point I'm trying to make is this woman is crazy but not in a packing the cat as a present, including cat food in the jello kind of way. She's crazy like "I-need-to-tell-everyone-how-I-feel-regardless-of-whether-they-want-to-know" crazy.
Now I have a wonderful husband, three beautiful kids, friends of every shape, size, kind, religion, etc. There were gobs of people cheering me on at that first marathon. I have had people show up to celebrate birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, milestones, etc with me. My kids tell me almost 10 times a day that they think I'm beautiful. My husband has always thought I'm beautiful.
I have posted my weight on Facebook pretty regularly since I started on this current weight-loss journey. Not a single soul has had anything negative to say about it. Once in a while someone will tell me to take it easy on myself, but otherwise even perfect strangers have been supportive of my efforts.
It's this strange phenomena, really, that the voice(s) I hear in my head, the ones that I give the most credit to, are negative. I could have a day that only happens in movies, where everything happens as I think it should, something I was worried about paying for gets paid for magically, Jeremy has a banner day at school, I've lost weight, my business has a great day....and yet one negative comment and all of that is undone.
Just one e-mail, comment on Facebook, off-handed remark, sarcastic reply to something and my mind wraps it in neon lights, sets an alarm off and suddenly, that's all I'm able to consider.
Today has been one of those days. It doesn't help that I am fighting either a cold or an ear infection. I'm still sleep-deprived from the other night, when Jeremy was ill. I am overwhelmed with a volunteer position I hold. I am on the precipice of hitting a good stride with my business, but I'm still climbing the hill that looks over the valley of success. I know it's just over the hill but I'm tired from all the climbing. Emotionally, I'm drained from so much. Physically, I'm drained. Mentally, I've got nothing. Really, nothing--aside from the huge, flashing Broadway-type negativity sign dominating my brain.
I am generally a positive person. I really do look for the silver lining in situations. I want to try to help people accentuate the positive. I love November because even though I refuse to join in the gratitude game on Facebook, it helps me get on a path of remembering the good stuff in life (however small it may be). I know when I am focused on what I have--versus what I don't have, how much money aren't making, what things we still need to buy--life is really pretty good. I am Peter walking on the water toward my best friend.
If I'm standing staring at the flashing Broadway sign of negativity, I am suddenly being swallowed whole by the waves that have been at my feet the whole time.
I wish I was the person who let things run off my back like a duck. I think I was never a popular kid in high school because everything hurt so much. I had such a tough time letting things, people, situations, bad interactions, go. To my credit, it all became fodder for my writing and I won a few awards for it all. Maybe there's something there, huh? But my point is, I always took myself and my life way too seriously.
I wish that there would be a day that I could just accept Ann Shannon (my grandma) for who and what she is. I wish I could just internally chant "what she says doesn't matter, what she says doesn't matter..." and it would form a barrier of protection around my heart and mind. I don't know why I'm so bothered by her but I'm sure it's because I'm like her; not in the oversharing, bitterness and craziness but in that I'm trying to recover from that and so I'm even more acutely aware of it. It's like when I quit smoking. Toughest thing I have ever done. I don't judge anyone who smokes because I've been there and I get it.
At the same time, cigarette smoke gives me a headache every time I'm around it. I hate the smell and do everything I can to stay away from it. I want to be the cool friend who says, "no, that's okay, you can smoke around me," but honestly it's just a migraine waiting to happen.
In the same way, I have worked hard to learn how to keep my mouth shut, to keep thoughts to myself, to keep advice to myself, etc. I think part of me is pissed that my grandma gets to do, act and think however she wants. Granted, she's miserable, no one wants her around and she literally is pissed at my grandpa for dying and leaving her alone. I'm not joking, she wishes she was dead. Like I said, bat shit crazy.
So she's not getting away with it but she's also not bothered by it and that bothers me. I don't know. It's so screwed up that I am so hyper-focused on the 0.1% of people who feel I'm failing on many fronts. I wish I could call that a margin of error and be done with it. My life would be so much easier. Then, though, I wouldn't need to lean on God so much. And there's the rub. If I'm not struggling, God is an afterthought. If I'm in a season that's tough or dealing with difficult people, God and I are best buds. I can see why he'd want to be my best bud. I am pretty awesome.
Yeah, I think I'll start chanting that tonight.
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