Sometimes, the expectations of the people around me are so dislocating as to make me feel like I am two, or three, or twelve people, all trapped in one body and all fighting for their time in the sun. One can consciously make choices about which expectations to honor and which to ignore or negate, but to have to do so every time is tiring and frustrating. I know that I have a few people that I attempt to honor with my time and efforts on a regular basis, but most people’s expectations I tend to ignore. Or do I?
Frankly, I’m rather appalled when I sit and listen to my internal voices, my good old judges, as one of my former teachers called them. And what appalls me even more is how often I hear those voices speaking with my own mouth, attempting to mold others to a useless form that was somehow pleasing to some bygone dictator who originally began the march of judging through the years. Things like, how dare you cut in line in front of me (how often does it really matter if I’m ahead in line?), or you can’t expect my respect while wearing that outfit (as if I ever deeply believed that clothes made the man), or why can’t you keep your darn child quiet? (as if all of us, at some point, didn’t wish we could wiggle and stomp and shout out to the world when we were told to hold still, be quiet, Do As You Are Told!!!).
What bothers me even more, as a daily survivor of panic attacks and depression, is how often I will catch those words of negation, of fear, and of degradation coming from those internal voices. I’ve actually started a little game with them when I am driving to and from work. If I start thinking about the horrible things that can happen if that truck over there just *happened* to have a tie-down break loose and drop all those logs in the road, I start telling myself to hush. It doesn’t really work, so I made a deal with my road panic voice. I told her that, should she begin to talk silly stuff, I won’t listen. If, however, she keeps me up on real hazards that I might be able to avoid, then I will listen and praise her astuteness. It sounds silly when you think about it, but believe it or not, it actually works. I now only have to remind that voice once at the beginning of each driving period of our deal, and I have few (if any) reminders of my scared driving past. Sweet relief, but strange backseat driving company.
Where did these expectations originate? When and where did I gain an internal voice that was so adamantly sure that I was going to die an awful death? I wish I knew the answer. So often, that huge, leaping shadow on the wall simply hides a cowering mouse, if only I could shed my light in the right direction. But until my lamp learns that direction, I am reduced to negotiation, flattery, and bald bribery of my own thoughts.
Now, if I can figure out how to use this to become a better parent, it’ll all be worth it, eventually.