My Super Power
I was part of a call earlier this week to discuss some fairly significant delays in project deliverables because of changes to the scope of work. I joked that I’m taking said changes in stride because of how naturally flexible and spontaneous I tend to be. Everyone burst out laughing. No one has ever described me this way.
I’m just not a go-with-the-flow kind of person, although my ability to tolerate wrinkles in plans is better than it once was. I like lists, scheduling events in pen, and avoiding shades of grey at all costs. Failure to abide my this rigidity leads to anxiety and/or a general sense of impending doom.
My cousins will find humor in reminiscing about the summer of the spontaneous swimming towel I kept in my car. Many years ago, I decided that I wanted to swim more. My thinking was that if I drove by a cool swimming hole or a bridge perfectly suited for jumping into a body of water below, if I had a towel to dry off with, then I would be much more likely to stop for a refreshing plunge. You know what I did there? I planned for spontaneity. Isn’t that some sort oxymoron?
As fun as it is to make fun of my anal retentive traits, there’s a method to the madness. See, This time of year has always been tricky for me. When I say always, I mean every single year of public school, every single year of college, and every single year of grad school. Even as a young adult, without children, and without any schedule change aligned to the academic year, I floundered a bit. A major fall transition is probably ingrained after so many years on repeat. And now, with kiddos of my very own, who are adjusting to new classmates and schedules, I continue to ride the struggle bus.
You know what’s equal parts appalling and hilarious? I’m supposed to be the one supporting my children through difficult periods of change. How in the name of Jesus Christ Superstar can I help them when I have such difficulty helping myself?!
Over the last eleven years of motherhood, a feeling of guilt has ebbed and flowed as I have watched both boys struggle with periods of nervousness or worry. I’m not sure yet that I would diagnose it as anxiety. Any guesses on which parent passed along this fun little quirk via genetics? Hint: It’s me. I once voiced this thinking to one of Max’s preschool teachers and she replied in the most magical way. She told me my anxiety and sensitivity and empathy are gifts. I personally think it’s more of a super power. My super power pays attention to people around me. It connects me to people on a deeper level. It senses when people need help. It helps me to remember birthdays. It reminds me to send cards and texts when my people are hurting. It allows me to be more present than I would otherwise be.
But most importantly, my super power supports my children in exactly the right ways. Because I feel my emotions so acutely and am so sensitive to the world around me, I am well-equipped to anticipate the needs of my kids. I am great about informing them of their schedules, checking in about how they are feeling, asking them about their needs, and allowing them time and space to adjust to changes. It’s hard to say whether they feel things with the intensity that I do, since they don’t yet have the words or emotional intelligence to express themselves fully. But I can say, with 100% certainty, that whenever they are ready to talk, they know I will be available to listen.
I think that’s the best any of us can really do. 🖤
