🌊 On Hyper-responsibility

+ Sunday Springs

4-year-old in the pasture recently with Papaya (and Penny)

I’ve been thinking about responsibility—and how, for some people, it gets twisted from a normal, healthy level of respecting commitments to an extreme, existential level of feeling Responsible for how things go. It turns into worry, stress, self-blame, anxiety, discouragement, depression, and most of all, pressure.

I think it’s the unhealed little kids inside—the little kids who got emotional demands without emotional support—who feel this capital-R, hyper-Responsibility. They feel the pressure of threat-management as a solitary, chronic burden: it’s up to them to make sure things go okay. But since life is not actually in their control, it’s a losing battle.

Rest, little one. You’re trying so hard
to carry all this weight,
to bear responsibility
for making things okay—

but try as you might, controlling life
is something you can’t do.
You’re not that big. Nobody is.
The blame is not on you.

— from my poem “Rest, Little One”

I’m trying to learn to first hear, and then soothe, that little one inside me.

For example, when I notice myself feeling panicky and trembly (or flinching away from those feelings), I try to listen for the little one’s underlying beliefs/stories/fears, such as “I’m a failure” and “I’m letting everyone down.”

Then I can try to soothe her from the adult perspectives of my thinking brain, such as, “It’s okay. You’re doing great. It’s not your job to do everything perfectly. You’re a creature, too. Come on, let’s try to help you get calmed down.”

Just navigate each moment 
through its facts as they arrive—

    watch, and feel, and treat myself well.
    I'm not the controller of life:

        I’m but a creature experiencing,
        in this moment, alive.

— from my poem “I’m But a Creature Experiencing (My Feelings Matter)”

I’m trying to help myself learn that I am not Responsible for everything, in the way that my unhealed inner “littles” think I am.

In fact, this is an area that calls for some boundaries and some healthy anger about boundary violation: “F*** OFF” to messages of shame, blame, pressure, and expectations of me to be some kind of superhuman magician.

The replacement messages I need are these: I am just a human. Just a creature. I have limits, and so does reality. I can only do what I can, with the time and energy I have. I can only act in the present; I cannot control the future. My own needs and feelings matter just as much as other people’s; and in fact, respecting my own boundaries is one of the main things I am actually responsible for!

Maybe, with lots of patience and repetition, my inner littles will begin to grasp this.

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Sunday Springs (section posts roundup)

I haven’t gotten to post much in the past couple of weeks…I’ve been quite worn down. The only section I’ve gotten to post in is “Serenity Splashes.” I’m glad for those posts, though…“You Make Some Hope” in particular has been helpful for me.

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🪷Serenity Splashes

🪷 The Comfort of Denial

Reflections in the style of (my girl) Emily Dickinson

Oh, the comfort of denial—
the sweet without the salt—
the predetermined smile—
till reality’s assault.

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🪷To radically look for more

Reflections on patterns I observe in myself and others around me

We pace in our loops like a dog on a chain.
We strain at the limits we learned before—
until we outsmart our rut-bound brain
and begin to radically look for more.

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🪷 You Make Some Hope

When you’re already tired, 
  and you fall in the rain, 
when life just feels 
   like pain after pain,
and in the news, chaos 
   and cruelty reign,
you want a rope to grasp—

so, link by link, 
   you make a chain:
you add bits of beauty, 
   glimmers of grace,
pieces of purpose, 
   kindness, and space—
and you make some hope to clasp.

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🪷Foggy Mind

...because sometimes this is how it is.

Can I moggy find
     my foggy mind?

   The clay grouds
      of gray clouds

      and mist seep
       (by missed sleep)

   and skew my
          mind’s sky.

This rhyme attests:
   it’s time to rest.

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🪷 The True Queen

An autobiographical story-sonnet

Once upon a time, I learned to serve
the High King (and His minions) on the throne,
for I was lowly and did not deserve
to live, He said. My life was not my own.

I tried to serve the King with every breath
and never question. Loyal, low, I stayed.
I served Him until living felt like death,
for which, down on my knees, I wished and prayed.

I saw no other way out—till, bereft,
I slipped outside the castle walls and left.

Astonishment: out here was life and joy,
and all along, the High King was a ploy,

and I was the true queen of my domain.
Now, with kindness, truth, and growth, I reign.

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