I was scrolling through Facebook on a leisurely Saturday morning when I came upon a post from my wise friend, Jenn, about motherhood. It was one of those insightful commentaries that literally nailed the silent anxieties of being a mother, a teacher, a caretaker for older parents. One line in particular spoke to the essence of my life, “It’s not the doing that’s exhausting, it’s the thinking for everyone.”
The fact is that the lives of women are so often quietly filled with tasks that might appear to be small or even menial. We are the ones who are constantly planning, preparing, adjusting, making sure that we are ready for any eventuality. We know when the birthdays are and purchase cards and gifts accordingly. We watch the dogs and feed the sick neighbors. We notice the worrisome changes in family members. We plan for Christmas two months ahead of schedule. We quietly fill the pantry with the foods that everyone needs. We lie awake at night when everyone is asleep thinking ahead, remembering the days gone by, wondering if everyone is okay. It is in our natures to be fearful that someone we love is not doing well or needs something that we don’t seem able to give. We may smile and joke even while our hearts are burdened heavily with a thousand tiny concerns.
I always laugh during my annual check up when my doctor asks me if I have been feeling anxious. My inclination is to tell him that of course I am feeling anxious. I am a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a woman. We always have worries brewing under the surface. We just don’t let them loose most of the time. We have learned how to control them so that we are still able to function as though everything is just fine. It is a learned behavior of mothers and women in general.
Little girls are always looking around, noticing things. In study after study girls are more likely to notice the nuances of a situation. Boys are curious but focused on one thing at a time. Girls are keenly aware of even the smallest changes in the environment. Perhaps our brains are built to be that way. Maybe we are destined to be the ones who are thinking for everyone. Maybe we are trained to be that way from the time that we are born. Perhaps there is a bit of both nature and nurture in our development. Whatever it is makes life sometimes feel overwhelming in the quiet times when we struggle to slow down our brains and just let things go.
I saw the difference in men and women in full view when the hostages from Russia returned to the United States. President Biden and Vice President Harris were on the tarmac ready to greet the freed men and women when the plane touched down. President Biden was gloriously happy to see the Americans back home. He eagerly shook hands with them and talked with them, but it was Kamala Harris who looked over and saw their relatives longing to finally hug the loved ones who had been imprisoned and away from them. She interceded and nudged the former prisoners toward their families, smiling and urging them to be reunited. Hers was a typical response, one that all women would recognize. We see not just the big picture, but all of the tiny details.
I have grown unafraid to voice my worries publicly. I no longer pretend to be totally put together. I want others to know that we are all so much alike in the concerns that we carry beneath the surface of our stoicism and smiles. I now freely cry when the moment hits me. I have learned that my grumpiness in tense situations is normal and quite okay. I allow myself to be imperfect, to make mistakes and admit to them. I have not become wimpy. I have become honest, authentic, and in much better mental health than I once tried to be by stifling the feelings that seemed wrong.
I greatly admire heroes like Simone Biles and Michael Phelps who admit to experiencing depression or anxieties. The truth is that we all get discombobulated now and again. Stuffing our feelings inside only creates ulcers and panic attacks. We all get a case of the ‘twisties’ that frighten and disorient us. When we are willing to admit that things are not quite right and we reach out for help we demonstrate great courage. If we tell others about our trials and how we struggled to overcome them, we pave the way for more and more people to be sympathetic to each other and to themselves.
I used to hide most of the concerns that I carried in my heart. I was not willing to tell anyone how much my father’s death derailed me. I rarely mentioned my mother’s mental illness and how difficult it was to care for her. It took me years before I began to crack from the pressure of pretending to be perfect. I remember the day when I finally let go and confided to one of my coworkers who instantly understood how I was feeling and counseled with me on the spot. We became closer than ever because of our human connection and he urged me to be more open all of the time.
I now know so well that each and every person is working out something in their minds. We women tend to dwell on a million things at a time and often feel reluctant to ask for help. Good health demands that we know our limits. We will be much stronger when we honestly admit our imperfections. We may know that we will never be able to turn off the thinking, but by boldly admitting to our frailties we can find the help that we need to carry on.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 