Tag: dread

On Preparing for the “Other Shoe to Drop”

Screen Shot 2013-06-16 at 10.35.49 PMMaybe it’s happened to you before too…

You look at your child who may sleeping, or being themselves, or doing something they love …and your heart fills with a rush of joy and good pleasure. This is quickly followed by dread.

“Maybe it’ll all be taken away,” you think.

Maybe something terrible is about to happen. Maybe things won’t work out. Fear.

Or perhaps this sort of dread will surface right after a big personal victory or good news.

It’s like that perfect moment of happiness has a gremlin that pops up and spits on it. For many of us, especially if we endured a bit of pain or disappointment, our Joy is followed by foreboding.

This strange death grip on joy is quite common. With a self-protection machete we slash down joy or happiness with contingency plans and preparation for the worst. Upcoming disappointment won’t catch us on our heals, we think.

It’s all about avoiding feeling vulnerable according to Brené Brown who talks about this in her book Daring Greatly. She’s done the research and says that those who’ve done regular preparation to avoid pain still aren’t prepared when disaster strikes. Instead they are devastated, just like the rest of us. But sadly, they have mortgaged away their joyful moments in on-the-spot while bracing for potential disappointment and pain.

So what can inoculate us from from short selling our joy?

It’s simple: In-the-moment gratitude.

Instead of waiting for the other shoe to drop, push aside the tormenting doubt, dread, or mistrust. Sideline the foreboding that steals that moment and latch onto to gratitude. Hold on with both hands. Gratitude sustains joy. It’s like a Defense Against the Dark Arts skill, says Brown. She’s right. It works.

It might go something like this, “Oh, my, we’re all picnicking and enjoying a wonderful time outside. No one’s fighting and everyone’s happy to be here. Yes, it might not last, but my how grateful I am in this very moment, this perfect beautiful moment. I’m going to let it soak into my bones. I’m breathing it in.”

Stay with it as long as you can. There is a guiding light in gratitude… and gremlins, as we know, are afraid of light.

The truth is that joy and sorrow are linked. They do a dance our whole lives, really. But, hope and resilience can win the day. That’s an important bit of useful knowledge to give our children, too. With some intention, we can live in the Joy.

Oh, and when the other shoe drops, use it as a planter.

(photo source)

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Shame and wanting to poking out your own eye

There’s a feeling you can get, after you’ve done something horrible. It’s so bad, that you might consider poking your own eye out (if for nothing else than a viable distraction.)

My first job (besides babysitting) was as a hostess at Eat’n Park Family Restaurant. A woman about 10  years older transferred there. She had been a waitress for a long time (even a decorated one. Yes, Eat’n Park is special like that.) She also had the name “Lisa,” just like me. That’s about all the ingredients needed for good communication and lasting friendship, right? um. No.
Background:
Sometimes I’d goof off and crack jokes in passing with Lisa. No big deal. (If you know me, this is all highly typical behavior.)
WELL-
One day, like a stoke of non genius, it came into my head to wisecrack when I noticed Lisa had a blue pen scribble on her forearm. I noticed it was actually a very sloppily rendered mark of her own name. The “L” was super long on the bottom, and not in a cursive way. It was just odd. It struck me as humorous. I already knew she had a 4 year old daughter. Her little girl had probably been playing with her waitressing pen and wrote out her mom’s name all by herself. Or maybe Lisa had done it–for a joke, or because she was bored. So, feeling my comic Einstein vibe coming on me (which is inversely proportionate to my rational thought and good judgment), I said–rather flippantly, I might ad–“Hey, what’s that on your arm? Is that so you don’t forget your name?”

Sudden. Dead. Powerful stare.
Awkward pause. I could hear a spider near the salad bar blink.
Then I noticed she had a sort of sad “How could you, you freaking jerk?” look on her tired face. (I picked up on that because I’m really good at feeling people out!)
It was a tattoo.
A horrible one.
A mistake.
Perhaps a drunk boyfriend or trashed stepdad scrawled it there. Who knows. But whatever the story was, it was part of a painful past. A past she did not want thrown in her face by some stupid and insensitive quip from a dumb teenager.
My heart froze with panic. It’s the kind of panic where you start to smell yourself. A cold sweat mustache erupts on your lip usually, too
.
Would she stab me with a steak knife?
Plan to burn me “accidentally” with a scrod entrée platter? (Wicked hot, they are!)
I fumbled around, and got out, “um… hahah… I’m just kidding.” I was trying desperately to appear nonchalant. I considered whistling a tune to prove it.
Still, she just looked at me–steadily.
“I’m sorry,” I said, getting up the nerve. It felt like a blanket of shame washed over me. Self-loathing–all over the place.
She shook it off, and went back to work. From then on I tried to be extraordinary nice to her, in every way I could think of. I bused her tables, and got her refreshing beverages, and tried to be as pleasant, and positive as I could. She didn’t hold it against me, beyond a day or so.
Once, after a 10p.m.-5 a.m. shift when my dad failed to pick me up, she even drove me home in her weary beater of a car.
I still wonder about her.
It was poke-your-eye-out shame.
I’ll never forget it.

Have you ever had “inner death by shame”? (you can just answer yes or no, unless you want to be brave and tell your story)