On the Value of Compliments and Positive Thinking
I have been forbidden to get on my blog and write posts in which I am inherently negative or in which I attempt to psychoanalyze myself. It probably does not come as a surprise that I use my blog as a sort-of cathartic public cleansing ritual. I throw myself out into cyberspace and feel like I’ve gone to confession. Without the irritating repentance part.
But, sometimes, I must admit, I regret having posted. I get a knot in my stomach thinking that maybe I’ve been too sarcastic, too honest, too intimate, too banal. Sometimes, I get obsessive about my posts. Analyze myself even further. Wonder if I sound like a total psycho-loser.
It’s the nature of my personality– to throw everything out on the table and then worry about it later.
Still, I rarely remove a post. I try to force myself feel no shame. To remind myself that everyone thinks, feels, and does things off the mark, out of habit, that are difficult to admit. (Of course, the fact that I have only a handful of readers makes it less than difficult to feel truly exposed. But, thanks readers! A big sloppy kiss to ‘ya!)
Still, in my last therapy session, we had to contemplate whether my blogging was helpful or hurtful. Why not try writing directly to your husband, she said. Or, how about sticking to only positive posts. Maybe try not writing about serious struggles in your life in a comedic tone.
However, as with any of my other coping strategies– healthy or no– I find myself addicted to posting. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to force myself to be positive. I don’t want to stop re-framing my most ill moments through the lens of comic relief and sarcasm.
So, I won’t.
But, I will try, at least for now, to focus on the positive. I believe that our circumstances are we expect of them. Look for the negative and suddenly everything seems glum. Find the light at the end of the rainbow (is that a saying, or am I making it up?) and suddenly things really do seem all peachy and maple-syrupy and delicious.
So, when asking myself about the positives as of late, I am happy to report that I am, despite a rough little emotional patch, making progress toward stress-reducing, family-strengthening, wellness-provoking goals. Such goals as leaving the stack of papers to be graded in the car (or at work! What a novel idea!) instead of staying up past a previously agreed upon bedtime to tackle the stack of preposition quizzes, working on securing a baby sitter so that Paul and I can go on a date, reintroducing carrots sticks and exercise back into my busy life, and admitting that I am merely human and not superhuman and that few households with two working parents and a sick toddler look pristine.
I am also reminded that in the last week, I have been the lucky recipient of a string of unexpected compliments. Is there any better little uplifting event than having two people in two days refer to you as “skinny” with one of those two (who is just naturally thinner than I am) state that when she looks at me she is “jealous”. Uhhh, not what I was expecting at all. (And yes, there are probably lots of better, truly passionate uplifting events, but since I am admittedly obsessed with my weight– and I’m not apologizing for it– it felt pretty damn good to me.)
If that wasn’t conceit-provoking enough, our media center specialist, who isn’t one to dole out little fuzzy feel goods for the heck of it, stated that I was quote “the best, most phenomenal teacher of all time” and then she got, and I’m not exaggerating here, teary-eyed.Then, my therapist, who I do love and trust, and who often tells me like it is, revealed that despite all of the ugly little secrets that I have thrust upon her (for the record, she didn’t call them ugly little secrets, I think she referred to them as “intimate moments of distress” or something like that) she not only still sees me as a well put-together, talented, and confident woman and mother, but that she is actually in awe of my creative abilities.
And, of course, there are the students that draw little love notes for you or hug you and say that you are the best teacher ever. (Sometimes even when they are a seventeen-year-old former meth abusing, car tagging, wannabe gangster that sees you in the grocery store and tells you that not only were you the teacher that kept him in school, but that he loves you. And then goes as far as to ask his sister to take a photo of the two of you together at the checkout aisle and then carries your groceries to the car. You know, that’s always a nice touch.)(And, yes, I know it’s hard to believe, but I guess I am finally old enough to have taught adults when they were in middle school…)
Anyhow, there is nothing like a few well-meant compliments to pull you out of your self-loathing, thigh-hating, pity partying funk. And though you shouldn’t need the compliments, sometimes you do. Acceptance by others, while we wish it didn’t really matter so much, is a huge part of our self-identity. Is it not?
And then there is always the knee bouncing, arm waving, ga-ga sounding reception that I receive from Silas when I get home!
Oh, man! Talk about a rush of love.
So, now that I have solidified my warm fuzzy feeling by not only accepting the compliments but by sharing them with you dear reader, (I am that type of person that has to restate, revisit, and share aloud my thoughts and feelings to make them real), I can move on to working toward a more positive day.In concurrence with my last post (yeah, so what if I just posted it an hour ago, I have a right to move forward as quickly as I like), I am committed to doing the following to make home as hunky-dorey as work:
I’ve just opened the curtains to let the sun in because who gives a flying, uhhhh, frog butt, what the neighbors think of my living room.
I’ve also just styled my hair and put on a touch of make-up. (Just got my hair cut last night and it feels so good. Oh yeah, and someone asked me if I was going to cut it all short and sassy again because it looked just adorable. Oh, and I did. Thank you!)
I’m planning to meet my husband for lunch on the town. (Maybe I’ll even have some ice cream since– and I never would have guessed it– I somehow seem to appear “thin”.)
And, I’m going to try to begin a process of healthy home organization with working mom expectations instead of striving for perfection and then becoming overwhelmed so that the pendulum swings in the other direction and I find myself crying in the middle of the kitchen floor because my house looks like it has been taken over by squatters.
Yeah. Si, se puede! I can do it! I can make home a happy and happenin’ place.
Of course, if you are so inclined, I am open to your suggestions, your encouragement, and your lavish compliments. (Who started that vicious rumor that begging for compliments is tacky? Here, I beg!)
I’ll follow up and let you know if, by the end of the weekend, I feel like a wildly creative and easily successful mother, wife, homemaker, housekeeper, reader, writer, chef, landscaper, and remodeler (okay, I’m not really remodeling just hanging those curtains that I bought in secret on my World Market card…).
It might be tough, but it’s doable. Right? Right.
A toast to a wine glass half full!
And, P.S., I think your ass looks good in jeans, too!
