{What I Love} no12: my neighbors

(alternate blog post title: "when all the random little bits of knowledge I've gathered over the past week or so come together to form a comprehensive epiphany." I do love that, but it's sort of long.)

Last Sunday, I was watching my friend (and down-the-street-and-around-a-few-corners neighbor) Donna in church. She had graciously stepped in at the last moment to help out in primary (the children's organization of our church) because our music leader had gotten sick. Seriously—who does that? Just steps in and for 25 minutes keeps 35 or so little ones (all seven or younger) happily singing? Someone amazing. I watched her and that's what I thought: she is amazing! Her children are polite and kind and knowledgeable and I am 100% certain that Donna doesn't put up with stuff like kids complaining over dinner. She's straightforward and strong, and she also accomplishes all the stuff that moms try to accomplish. (You know...the stuff I routinely fail to accomplish.)

Early the next week, I was perusing Facebook for a few minutes and I read Donna's status. Someone had decorated her door with a hand-illustrated poster that said "This is the home of Donna, who is a Super Mom." They also left her a cape. That's nice! I thought. But then I read another comment from Donna herself, further along in the thread. She'd written something like "I really needed this because sometimes I feel like the worst mom ever."

And that stunned me!

Because there I was, just a few days ago, admiring her and thinking about how great she is with her kids, and at the same time she was walking around thinking that about herself. How could she think that? It was this simultaneous realization: one, if Donna thinks that, then *I* as a mom am in serious trouble and two, maybe everyone, even those who are awesome and amazing and strong and incredible, walks around feeling like they aren't good enough.

Then, on Thursday, I read this thought on my friend Karen's blog. It's sort of a long excerpt, but so what I needed to read to go a little bit further toward understanding what the universe is trying to tell me:

This is about thinking you can. Thinking that you have what it takes to conquer your next challenge. You have what it takes to achieve that goal. What it takes to operate on the level you want to be.

The trick is that once you think you can, you can.

I know it sounds simple and I also know that it isn’t simple. I go through bouts of insecurity in my life. Over work, over my art, over my ability to be a good wife or mother. Over everything that actually matters to me. And I’ve noticed that when I am in that state, I end up being sub-par. I actually make more mistakes. So then my view of how I am actually comes true. Which is a vicious cycle, of course. I think I am mediocre, so I perform mediocre and then end up actually being mediocre.

See how that works?

But then there are times when I feel good. I feel like I can. I am excited and powerful and confident. Which also makes me kind, helpful, and uplifting. And, man, nothing can get in my way during those times. I am a powerhouse. I know things. I learn things. I am always surprised by how much and how well I can get things done when I am in that place. I am a star.

Which is a truth I already know, but in a different form: if you think like a thin girl, then when you're faced with a boxful of donuts, you'll only eat one because you'll think "thin girls don't eat entire boxes of donuts." But if you're thinking like an overweight girl, you'll think "ah, to hell with it. I'm already an overweight girl. That's what we do, we eat a boxful of donuts" and then you eat the entire box of donuts and maybe half a bag of potato chips just to balance all the sweetness out. Believing you are thin girl helps you be a thin girl. I learned that after I lost my ability to think like a thin girl, and then thought like an overweight girl, and then somehow managed to get the thin girl thought process back (although, alas, not the thin girl body so much).

In other words: the more we believe we are what we want to be, the easier it is to be what we want to be. Self doubt is poison. It is a snare slathered in poison and one I am constantly all-too-apt at sticking my hand in. There's something nearly...self-protective about it. If I acknowledge my failures first then it means I beat you to it and you (whoever the yous are) are not able to point it out for me. It hurts less coming from me.

But it does more damage, somehow, when the criticism comes internally. Because it weakens our ability to be who we want to be. And it makes us, I believe, question everyone around us. That person must see how I am failing, we think. We think it is obvious and overpowering, while the other person is thinking "holy cow, Donna is amazing."

One more piece to the puzzle. A couple of weeks ago I read this article my friend Wendy sent me. It's a list of the ten reasons that hell is only full of men, and I'll sum up: the first one is because women do all the laundry, and the second one is because of what women do to women. (Those are all of the ten reasons.) And we do have that power, that strong and sharp ability which is the opposite of our power to create: the power to cut apart other women simply by way of knowing their weaknesses. (The article is much funnier than I am making it out to be.) I think we all know we have this power. Knowing we have it means we assume others are using it, even though some of us grow wiser than our cruel abilities. Some of us don't. Sometimes we do it inadvertantly. Sometimes, despite our greatest intentions, our tongues get away from us. Sometimes we do it on purpose, simply because we can or, perhaps, because our weaknesses need the accompanying bolster.

But, despite knowing that we have this incredible power for cruelty, I also know we have the opposite within us as well. And we use that, too. Sometimes accidentally, sometimes on purpose, like with Donna's door.

On Friday, I called in sick to work so that I could take care of Nathan, who has been coughing his lungs out for weeks now because he had pneumonia—and I just kept telling him it was a cough that would go away. I was also taking care of Kaleb, who'd been throwing up for nearly 24 hours—which was made worse by the fact that when he called to have me pick him up from school on Thursday, I didn't believe that his tummy hurt. I just thought he didn't want to stay at school.

And you know my self-flagellation skills were out in all their gory power with those failures of mine.

But then, at about 1:30 or so, when Kaleb had managed to keep some ginger ale down and I don't think I'd heard Nathan cough for about 15 minutes, my doorbell rang. The kids raced to see who it was: the UPS man, dropping off a computer part. I was (ironically enough) cleaning the kitchen when Kaleb, who'd made it to the door first, called out "Mom! come see!" and so I dried my hands off, thinking the UPS man needed my signature.

Instead I saw this:

(In case you can't read it, the sign says I am the Queen of Clean, and the basket holds some Comet, a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser (oh, my, I have such a good story to tell about the magic eraser but, alas, it cannot be told on the blog), and my absolutely favorite chocolates, Lindt truffles.)

And in that moment of looking at my door and reading the sign and feeling a rush of love from whomever the "feel-good fairies" are, all my little pieces of wisdom clicked together. Because, let's face it: keeping my house clean quite often feels like one of my biggest failures. I try, and sometimes I'm motivated but usually I'm not, so the pantry is in a disarray and there's something questionable in the back of the produce drawer in my fridge and holy cow, someone really should do something about the dust on the fan blades. (See how easy it is? The self doubt?)

But maybe I'm not as bad as I thought. Maybe no one really has a perfectly clean house. Maybe every woman I admire for their clean house also has a super-messy cupboard or closet that no one ever sees. Maybe they don't scrub their sinks every day? Or, maybe the women who do don't also have some of what I have: the happiness that fills me up when I'm making something or the strength I feel from going on a run. Maybe they can't be happy sitting in a cluttered bedroom reading with their six year olds.

Or maybe they can, and none of that matters because my life is mine and not theirs. Maybe they are so busy feeling awful for whatever it is they feel awful over that they don't really see my mistakes. Maybe they, too, have conquered or at least cornered their Inner Mean Girl.

Because, you know? Those kindness fairies made me see that I am enough. They made me believe that maybe I do have an Inner Clean Queen. And more than anything, they showed me that I am also worthy of being loved. It took me at least five minutes to write that last sentence and I'm still not sure I should leave it there. Does it sound conceited? Does it sound pathetic or strange? I'm not sure. Maybe I should already know that by now. Or maybe I just needed to be reminded.

I do know this: my kitchen was perfectly clean by the time Kendell got home. And even though he joked "were the kindness fairies being ironic?" I chose not to listen. I chose to believe they were right about me. And I'm chosing—I hope I chose every day—to remember that and to use it to keep the cat-o-nine-tails in a closed-up corner of my psyche.

And that, dear blog reader, is the long story for why I love my neighbors—every single one of them, but right now, whoever is the kindness fairy is loved the most.

Comments

[Becky K]

That sign made me tear up. Gosh, I just want to kiss that person who hung the sign on your door! I think I love your neighbors, too.

[karen]

amy, my emails to you are bouncing. if u get this and have another email address, email me from it :)

[karen]

ok i came back to tell you two things:

1. weirdly enough, the second email is bouncing too. maybe you're supposed to just have rest from me today :)
2. are are worthy. that isn't conceited or pathetic or strange. i think it's the fundamental need we all have (the need to feel worthy of love and belonging) and I think it's something we all question way more than we should. (i know i do and I truly believe everyone else does too , more often than they may admit even to themselves.) so I, too, think you have the best neighbors ever!! :)

[karen]

ahem so .2 is supposed to start with "You are worthy." Darn it!!