Tag Archives: compassion

Work of Human Existence

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The other day Mattie asked me, “When I’m  a grownup, will I work, too?” I was a little slow to respond as I thought through how to answer, but eventually just said, “Yes, honey, you will”. He just nodded his head, taking that in, and went back to what he was doing.  It didn’t turn into any big conversation about what he was going “to be” when he grows up, in part because, when I think of work, it’s about so much more than that. As grownups, we’re nearly always working. Whether it’s for income, inside our homes (cooking, cleaning and creating a comfortable, nourishing environment), raising our children, tending our gardens, or working on ourselves and our relationships, the work-to-play balance shifts in adulthood strongly in favor of work.  

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I am very grateful to be able to work part-time, from home, so that I have more time for child raising, home creating, garden tending, and the like. However, this can be a tricky thing to balance with my partner, who works out of the house more. Lately, my dear, wonderful husband, Ken, has been busy with not only his day job, but also his creative work (lots of gigs this month), and a new foray into Shambhala Buddhist wisdom and meditation training. Let me stress how completely supportive I am of all of these things — before I voice the fact that I’ve also been feeling resentment about how much everything else falls to me while he pursues these other things. Don’t get me wrong, he does his best to contribute, even when he’s out of the house so much. But when the things that feel like burdens (washing dishes, doing laundry, and cleaning toilets, for example) seem to fall mostly to me, I get grumpy and resentful.  

Fortunately, I’ve also gotten pretty good at noticing what’s happening inside me and voicing it as soon as I notice.  And, thankfully, Ken’s response is most often a compassionate one.

Take this morning, for example. After pouting silently for a little while, I realized what was going on (aforementioned resentment) and pulled Ken aside in the kitchen to share what was happening in me. I emphasized that I’m aware that it’s not just the imbalance around physical tasks, but also the lack of connection between the two of us (since we’re often like ships passing in the night) that makes me feel so stormy. Ken graciously received this with understanding and tenderness. Whew!

He even took it a step further and stayed home to do the dishes before leaving for work. This means, of course, that he will spend less time working today, which means that he’ll (we’ll) earn less money. But the relief of being seen, acknowledged, and reminded that the burdens of daily living are shared, and not mine to shoulder alone, makes the loss of income feel very worth it.  

I also notice, however, that I feel shame and guilt about sharing that interaction, and that mean voices in my head say things like, “I can’t believe you made him stay home to do the dishes.  How childish.”  Except I didn’t make him. And there isn’t anything wrong with sharing my very real feelings or asking for help. But the underlying secret feeling, that also belongs to the inner critic part of myself, is this: I should be able to do it all, without asking for help, and definitely without feeling resentful. I should be able to cook, clean, care for our child, earn an equal income, and not need help with any of it.  

What the fuck is that?!

I suspect that the answer lies buried deep in my lineage somewhere.  And, I also suspect that many other women feel this way.    

How does any family find a balance that works without resentment, or martyr syndrome, or one partner, (or both), burning out from either too many hours at the office or sweeping too many floors and changing too many diapers?

The answer lies in the ongoing paying attention and communication, I think. I know that we’re on the path to this balance that I seek, even on the days when it feels elusive. There is an ebb and flow to this, and there will be imbalances on a daily, or even weekly or monthly basis. But on days when I’m not feeling it, when everything feels out of balance and I’m grumpy, I hope I can remember that the commitment, from each of us in this particular partnership, is there in the long view.  We have committed to supporting one another’s creative endeavors, to ongoing exploration and communication, and to sharing burdens as well as joy.

I’m damn lucky to have a partner who is so engaged in this work with me.

This is the work of human existence.  

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Where I’ve landed at the end of writing this makes me want to circle back around to Mattie’s four-year-old question again. This is what I want to say to him, and to myself also:

Come to think of it, my dear boy, we come into this world working; even as tiny infants we are working to understand the world around us, ourselves, and the people in our lives. That work continues all our lives, and other kinds of work get added in to earn income, care for our homes and families, and to seek fulfillment and live out our values and purpose. It will be up to you how you choose to balance the work of human existence, but may you find joy and meaning in the exploration and the journey.  

And may that be a reminder to me, too. Let there be imperfection and mess and even joy in the exploration. It’s okay to not know how to do this. There won’t be balance every day, but trust that it will even out when you work to make it happen. Seek out nourishment and connect with others to fill your own bucket. Priorities and even purpose can change over time. Melt into spaciousness and trust, and allow the unfolding to occur.

Passing on the Empathy Gene

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When little Maggie first heard the story of Little Bo Peep and how she lost her sheep, she cried. When she was just two years old, she was gifted with a small, sweet cup with illustrations of Little Bo Peep and said sheep. Every time little Maggie saw this cup, she cried. She was so concerned for Little Bo, imagining how sad she must have been without her beloved sheep. Her momma had to put the cup away, because it upset her so.

This was the first indication of the depth of empathy and compassion that little Maggie felt. It is the hallmark story told by her momma to describe Maggie’s sensitivity from the very start.

Fast forward thirty years or so and momma Maggie is watching Curious George with her son, Mattie, also two years old. It is the Zoo Night episode and as usual Curious George is busy being curious – this time resulting in getting locked inside the zoo after dark. As he tries to find his way out he winds up finding the zookeeper’s keys and opening the doors to various animal cages; there are some silly altercations but he also gets chased by a rhino and meets a roaring lion. We talk about all of this as it happens, but it is just a bit too much for little Mattie. He gets a most concerned look on his face and begins to cry – in earnest – and through his crumpled face and tears, gasps to his momma:

“What happened?! Where did his papa go?!?”

They stop the video and talk about what’s happening. Mattie wants to watch more, but again cries, so concerned about the little monkey.   Momma Maggie is reminded of herself and her reaction to Little Bo Peep, seeing her own sensitivity to the circumstances of others in her son. It has been passed on, she realizes.

But she doesn’t discourage Mattie from watching Curious George. He asks to watch it again, and he cries, and they talk about it. Then he doesn’t want to watch this particular episode for a few days. In the meantime, he asks regularly about what happened, even wanting his momma to tell friends and family about it. Momma Maggie recounts the whole story again and again, patiently describing the plot in detail while also including Mattie in discussing his concern about what was sad or scary.

Eventually, he asks to watch Zoo Night again, and his momma asks if he’s sure. This time, they get through the whole episode with no tears, talking about it all the while. And Mattie is overjoyed when George is reunited with his papa (the man with the yellow hat) at the end.

Now Mattie watches this episode over and over AND OVER again.   He also likes to talk about what he would get to do if he were locked in the zoo at night (with his momma or papa, of course!).

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I can only imagine what has occurred inside Mattie through all of this. All I know is that I have helped him make sense of it. We processed his feelings together, so gently, again and again, and the result seems to be an internalized acceptance of the whole story. He watched something sad and scary happen; after talking about it enough it wasn’t sad or scary anymore. This seems to have built trust in our relationship and new confidence in Mattie.

While I’ve always viewed my own sensitivity and empathy as positive traits, I’ve also had a tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve a little too freely, and I’m not always good at recognizing the line between where I end and someone else begins. Perhaps I can help Mattie to see these tendencies as gifts, but also to build muscles of resiliency and create self-protective boundaries (though I’m still learning and building them myself).

Or maybe this is just an opportunity to witness my own compassionate response to my sensitive little boy – and to remember to save some of that compassion for myself.