Type B (a poem)

I wrote this poem at the end of a long day. The words sprang up from my heart, and perfectly captured the inner wrestling I feel as a parent of young children.

They say I’m a Type A person,

And on the outside, that may well be.

But beyond the noise and the doing,

Type B beckons to me.

Type B is less inclined to talk,

She’d rather just observe.

She's content to sit by the side of a stream

while her little ones listen for birds.

Type B doesn’t worry about dinner,

or lists, or keeping things clean.

She’s fully engaged in the moment she’s in,

and it is there her eyes truly see.

The bluebird, darting back and forth,

to and from the enormous oak tree.

The creativity of her children,

as they turn mulch into lemonade-tea.

The scales are shed.

Type A put to bed,

for a moment I can finally breathe.

How I long for Type B to be constant.

My alter-ego to stay for a while.

And then it strikes me,

perhaps Type B IS my true self.

And all this “A” stuff is just a disguise…

Off with it!

Away!

Shed these layers!

Say good-bye!

Farewell to you, once and for all.

No more competing, achieving,

aching and bleeding.

I’m ready to be done with it all.

Now, hideout, and listen,

Come away, hear My whisper

and emerge, restored from The Fall.

I don’t need to perform to gain His approval,

He loves me just as I am.

Just me.

Type B.

Still heart.

Set free.

Finally free to be me.

Empathy without Ownership

I had an experience this past week of feeling overwhelmed with the wrongness of the world while scrolling through my newsfeed on social media.

This happens to me more often that I’d like to admit.

I love the way social media creates a stronger sense of connectedness to friends, family, and acquaintances near and far. But I don’t love the bombardment of information overload that social media encourages.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh wrote about this feeling way back in 1955 in her book Gift From the Sea:

"Modern communication loads us with more problems than the human frame can carry. It is good, I think, for our hearts, our minds, our imaginations to be stretched; but body, nerve, endurance and life-span are not as elastic. My life cannot implement in action the demands of all the people to whom my heart responds."

 A typical scroll through my Facebook feed on any given day will surface news stories about injustices overseas (and in my own neighborhood), friends of friends who are battling terminal illness, and tragic stories of loss and harm.

And, as Lindbergh so eloquently puts it, my heart responds. I feel deeply.

In some cases, my response produces good results. I have contributed to campaigns for causes I care about, I have said prayers for acquaintances battling sickness, and I have sent notes of encouragement to friends facing hard times.

But other times, I’m overwhelmed so much with what I feel that one would think the problem is my own.

“When empathy moves me to a place of personal ownership, it is generally unhealthy and counter-productive.”

What I have noticed about myself in these situations is that when empathy moves me to a place of personal ownership, it is generally unhealthy and counter-productive.

Here’s an example: Several months ago, I read on social media of a tragic car crash that killed a former classmate. Since that time, I have had occasional flashes of getting into car accidents with my children. I can’t seem to get it out of my head.

Another example: Last week, my husband was super-stressed. His stress made me stressed, and then we both were crabby with each other and our kids.

I have found myself asking God: “How do I express empathy without owning someone else’s problem?”

My first thought is perhaps it’s not possible. The definition of empathy is “the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.” 

But then I read, “my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

And then, I had a lightbulb moment about empathy while reading the book “How to Talk so Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk” by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish.

The first principle they present is the importance of acknowledging your child’s feelings.

It sounds simple enough, but how often do I tell my daughter:

“You’re not hot. It’s cold outside. Keep your coat on.” 

“Of course you like broccoli; you ate it yesterday.”

“You’re just tired. You need a nap.”

Woah. I’m not empathizing with my kid. I’m just jumping straight to trying to solve her problem.

For me, this insight translated directly back to how I relate to difficulties I am confronted with in the lives of those I love and even in my newsfeed.

Take a moment. Feel it. Acknowledge the stress my husband is feeling, but don’t take it on as my own. Acknowledge the tragedy of the loss of life, but don’t carry the unnecessary burden of fearing it will happen to me.

I don’t have this down to a science. I’m still learning. But I do feel like I’m on my way to learning how to express empathy in a healthy way.