The Buck Stops Here

Hi friend,

I’ll admit I was incredibly nervous when I posted about my IVF journey earlier this year.

But I was blown away by the outreach I received in response to that post from people offering words of empathy, love, encouragement, and support, as well as their own vulnerable stories of struggle, grief, strength, joy, and every conceivable emotion in between.

To each and every one of those people, thank you.  You have touched and inspired me more than you could know.

I’ve been equally moved by the notes of gratitude I’ve received from people thanking me for giving them permission to share about a struggle or challenge they’re currently enduring rather than feeling like they must just put on a happy face and play the “everything is perfect” part to which so many of us have grown so well-accustomed.

It’s for those people that I am writing this post (about which I am admittedly even more nervous).

My wonderful and exciting update is that my husband and I are expecting a baby girl this February. 

We are over-the-moon delighted, excited, and head-over-heels in love with her already (albeit a little terrified, which I’ve had many people assure me is normal!).

AND… (here comes the more complicated update), the complete truth is that the early months of my pregnancy were really, really hard.

The physical symptoms and limitations were one thing – and let’s be clear, they were pretty debilitating.

But it was much harder for me to process – and it is far scarier for me to talk about – the deeply challenging THOUGHTS and FEELINGS that often accompanied that debilitation:

How DARE I be experiencing feelings of frustration and resentment now that I’ve gotten something I’ve been hoping and praying so hard for, especially while knowing that there are countless people still struggling on their own fertility journeys who would kill to be in my shoes?

So WHAT if I feel like I’m currently a shell of my normal self?  If I haven’t been able to look at, much less stomach, food in weeks – notwithstanding being ravenously hungry?  If my energy seems to evade me in the times when I desperately want and need it most?

What is WRONG with me that I can’t seem to muster the level of enthusiasm and delight that my doctors expect when I’m trying to get them to focus on the fact that I barely feel like a human – much less an ENTHUSIASTIC human – right now?

These thoughts and feelings are perfect examples of “the second arrow.”

According to the Buddhist parable of the second arrow, any time we experience pain or misfortune, up to two arrows may fly our way.  The first arrow is the painful experience itself, which is often beyond our control.  The second arrow is our reaction to that experience – the guilt, shame, blame and self-criticism or self-doubt we have in response to the first arrow.  

Being struck by the first arrow is painful.  But being struck by the second arrow is always exponentially worse. 

And, unlike its predecessor, this second arrow we can control.

In my case, the initial feelings of frustration, anger, and resentment (and, of course, the debilitating physical symptoms themselves) were the first arrow.  And yes, those were hard.  (Really hard!)

But it was so much harder – and infinitely more painful – to grapple with the thoughts and feelings of shame, judgment, and self-doubt that I experienced in response to those initial feelings.  

The ones that told me that I was selfish, ungrateful, and bound to be a bad mother because I was experiencing anything but pure gratitude and glee.  The ones that told me that I absolutely should not share these challenging sentiments with others and must instead just put on a happy face.

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before my Recovering Type A+ Perfectionist alarm bells started sounding the red alert, helping me see these self-critical thoughts and feelings for the second arrows that they were.

It was then that I developed an even deeper and more nuanced understanding of how one of the three key types of fear underlying perfectionism – the fear of negative emotions – can play out.  

(There’s no question that my pregnancy journey has also forced me to grapple with heightened versions of the two other primary types of fear underlying perfectionism – the fear of failure and fear of success – but I’ll save those stories for another post.)

The fear of negative emotions is the pressure we feel to appear happy, energized, and confident all the time – like we can never display any signs of vulnerability or let our positivity or energy dip.

This stems in part from fixed mindset, whereby we believe that if we’re struggling or suffering it must mean that there’s something wrong with us – because if we were just good enough then things would be easy and come naturally to us and we could avoid all struggle and negative feelings.

This is the fear that causes perfectionists to armor up, keeping others at arms’ length, masking and suppressing any negative emotions, and judging themselves when they feel anything of the sort.  

This fear is further amplified among people-pleasers, who regard their negative emotions not only as an indicator of their unworthiness, but also as an imposition or burden that they must refrain from placing on others.

And in the case of motherhood or caregiving more generally, this fear takes on a whole new meaning – and is imbued with an even greater dose of guilt and shame – by virtue of the all-to-commonly-held assumption that if we REALLY love or care about someone, we should want to serve them unconditionally (and be damn happy and even grateful to do it), even when it means sacrificing our own well-being in the process.

This assumption is of course both toxic and completely erroneous – and yet it’s remarkable how many people subscribe to it.  And the sad reality is that it does so much more harm than good not only for the caregivers themselves, but also for the people for whom they are currently or will eventually be caring.

Why?

First of all, as cliche as it sounds (and I know it sounds cliche), it is truly impossible to pour from an empty cup.  At a certain point, if we just give and give and give without replenishing our own reserves, we will inevitably reach a point where we have nothing left to offer others – or, at least, where the support we’re able to provide pales in comparison to what we could offer when we’re at full capacity.

Moreover, the repressed emotions and pain/exhaustion that stem from continuously ignoring our own needs and putting ourselves last will eventually bubble over in the form of burnout and/or resentment (not to mention chronic pain and all sorts of other mental and physical ailments) – further inhibiting our ability to provide loving care.  Trust me, the body keeps the score, and the longer we try to bury our pain and difficult feelings rather than allowing ourselves to process them in a healthy manner, the more disruptive they will be down the line.

And finally, if, as caregivers, we operate on the assumption that we must suppress our own needs and negative feelings for the sake of those we love, we are implicitly teaching those people (especially those that are young and impressionable) that they must do the same.

That is, if I push myself to suppress any feelings of anger, frustration, or resentment for fear that acknowledging and honoring those feelings would make me a “bad mother,” I will be implicitly passing down the “good girls don’t rock the boat with their hard feelings” message I internalized during my own childhood – and which I’ve been fighting for decades to overcome.

And that is the absolute last thing I want for my daughter.

While I recognize that I have infinite amounts to learn about parenting, the one thing about which I am certain is that when it comes to perfectionism-perpetuating practices, the buck must stop here.

I want my daughter to grow up knowing that it is OK to be fully human, negative emotions and all.  

I want her to know that contrary to the perfectionist black-and-white thinking to which so many subscribe, it is OK to have complicated – and even seemingly contradictory – thoughts and feelings without having them necessarily negate one another.

I want her to know that she can be incredibly sad or even angry (perhaps the most off-limits emotion for many girls), and still be joyful, kind, grateful, and generous.

I want her to know that she can make a mistake – or even a thousand of them – and still be smart, capable, and downright extraordinary.

And most importantly, I want her to know that she can be – and indeed she always will be – worthy and lovable, exactly as she is – mistakes, flaws, negative emotions, and all – and that I positively adore her even when I’m sad, frustrated, or stressed out myself.

It is for these reasons that in the remaining months of my pregnancy, I will be doubling down on my self-compassion practice and making it my #1 goal and commitment to fortify my belief that the same truths apply to me.

I hope you will join me, friend.  If not for your own sake (though please know that your own well-being is more than reason enough!), then for the people who currently or may eventually look up to you.

Remember, we can control that second arrow.

The buck stops here.  Let’s break some patterns.

With love,

Jordana