I’ve often been accused of being tightly wound. I fully embrace such critiques because I know that they are true. I actually recall a time in my life when I was not so, but circumstances made me wary of walking through life carefree. A series of events overtook me without warning and left me determined to be more observant and proactive in controlling the world around me.
Perhaps it all began just after my youngest brother was born when my favorite uncle was dying and I was whisked off to school a year earlier that my parents had once planned. My chaotic entrance into the world of learning might have been a horror had it not been for a wonderful teacher who lovingly saw my plight and a young girl with braids who compassionately watched over me. My five year old world was in chaos and somehow the hits just kept coming. When I entered the third grade I had settled down to a lovely routine that was interrupted by a year long journey from new school to new school culminating in my father’s death.
I felt lost and crushed and unable to find my confidence, so I quietly pushed myself through my childhood by taking control of every possible aspect of life that was in my power to do. I perfected routines and learned how to be observant enough to see bad news coming. I ordered and prepared my life like a general going to war. I was determined not to be caught unaware ever again, but of course such is never totally possible in the real world. When my mother was sidelined by mental illness I was completely flummoxed. Totally ignorant of such situations, I made many mistakes including believing that she would be forever cured and able to move on from that horrific moment. Reality taught me that little is as simple as we hope it might be.
I was indeed able to take control of my life once again and soon found myself including my mother and my children in my tightly wound plans. I became an expert in reading a room, predicting tragedies before they even happened. My skills in seeing the world at a deeper level than most people made me an excellent teacher. In a room of twenty seven students I had my pulse on each and every youngster. I intuitively knew when someone was struggling and I had already prepared to intervene when such things happened. I perfected schedules and planned for extraordinary circumstances. I was in control even when things went out of control. Being a teacher was the perfect career choice for the personality that I had developed.
I was able to raise a family of my own, carry my students to adulthood, keep a well run household, monitor my mother’s mental health and still enjoy a loving relationship with my husband. I seemed like a human dynamo, but inside I fought a battle with myself. wondering if my attempts to keep things from falling off of the rails was actually asking too much of me and the people around me. I knew that I often went too far in trying to keep everyone safe and happy. Ultimately it became an impossible task.
No matter how well I thought I had prepared for the unexpected I was nonetheless surprised again and again. I have learned that I am capable of fixing many situations, but sometimes I will and do fall short. While I instinctively know that I can’t be all things for all people I often push so hard that I anger the very people that I most want to protect. The hardest thing I have had to learn is to know when to simply back away and allow others to be themselves, even when I fear that they are heading for a fall.
I admit to being tightly wound. It has been my hallmark for decades but I have had to let go and remain silent in many situations. I know I don’t have all of the answers and certainly do not believe that there is one best way of proceeding through life. Sometimes I have to simply be silent and watch suffering without interfering. At this juncture in my life I am sincerely attempting to know when to catch someone who is falling and when to let them float through the air. I am learning how to wait for them to ask for my help. I am realizing that some people prefer not to hear my ideas even if they are well intentioned. I am understanding that it’s good to loosen my own compulsions to act now and again.
I’m trying my best to learn how to relax, to turn over the reins of control to a younger generation that has its own ideas about how things should be. The odds are rather good that at my age it should not surprise me at all to witness more and more loss of friends and family members. There is little that I might do to stop the progress of time. I suspect that I should more and more often begin to heed a piece of advice from my grandfather who urged me not to always worry like my grandmother had done.
I laugh when I think of my always anxious grandmother warning me that I was just like her. She even told me to watch for signs of “gut trouble” which she and her relations all seemed to have. Somehow she realized that she and I were kindred spirits wrought from similar cloth of responsibility. She sensed that I would always be tightly wound just as she had been, but now I wonder if I can once again find the carefree little girl that I once was before the chaos entered my life. I liked her and laugh out loud when I think of her. Maybe a bit of her is still there. I think I may try to unwind just a bit and see if she will return for the final years that lay ahead. I suspect that it will be better for everyone if I once more relax.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 