The goal leading to my latest psychological growth spurt was to better deal with a person with whom I must deal daily, and with whom I have constant difficulty. Isn’t that always the way? We almost never enjoin in any kind of spiritual or psychological journey because of some fault we sense in ourselves. We journey in an effort to relieve pain, to decrease stress, or to “fix” someone else.
Two weeks into my latest exercise, I made an unsettling, yet wonderfully emancipating discovery. I am a spoiled brat. And, true to form, I’m not just your garden-variety spoiled brat. I am a self-made spoiled brat. I studied to achieve this status. I worked at it. Work, though, is too small a word; I persevered.
“Spoiled brat…”
I’m sure I heard these words burst forth from my mother’s mouth, initially, and apparently more than once, as they come to mind fairly easily. My mother was given to name-calling when angry. She had several favorites. I believe “spoiled brat” was used in situations when her use of the word “No!” was met with some complaint, or perhaps when she sensed we were behaving in an ungrateful manner. I’m sure she directed these words at me on more than one occasion, though I’ve never felt deserving, until now.
My epiphany arose from a single question; “Did he mean to hurt?”
At the risk of sounding simple, I must admit I had never considered this part of the equation before. The question was aimed at a woman detailing her husband’s latest transgression. It seems he had forgotten to take out the trash, or something equally heinous. Then came the question, and I lost my sense of hearing as my brain began to whir, filled with misdeeds I had logged over the years. As they flashed before my eyes, the question repeated; “Did he mean to hurt?”, and inevitably, the answer was “no”.
It was an amazing exercise, and I recommend it to everyone. It’s hard to comprehend how much room is taken up by imagined slights. As I took out each hurtful memory and held it under this light, it disappeared, leaving me lighter, freer, happier. I began to experience people differently and give more of myself as the part of me that had been holding onto hurt was available for real interaction.
Strangely, though, as the hurt peeled away, I noticed a disturbing recurring pattern in my thinking. Roger called to ask if I could come to the gym a little early. My first thought was “I don’t want to.”. The dog trainer called to say she couldn’t make our Thursday evening appointment, but Saturday afternoon was open. My first thought was “I don’t want to.”. Shane asked if I could swing by the school after work to pick him up, so that he could stay for the basketball game. My first thought was “I don’t want to.”. The point is not whether I did these things, because I almost always do. The point is that my thinking immediately turned to what I wanted, and, chances are, if I did do the things I had already decided I didn’t want to do, my demeanor displayed my reticence.
I also became aware of how much of my quiet time is spent in thinking about what I want. Rush hour is prime time for this kind of ruminating. Usually, by the time I get home, my evening is planned according to my desires, and I don’t appreciate interruptions that divert me from my chosen endeavors.
The natural response to uncovering such a distasteful aspect of one’s character is to ask “why?”. The answer came easily. It was survival, really. My divorce left me a working, single mother of four children. Circumstances leading to the divorce left me ill-prepared for this, or any other challenge. After a pity-party that lasted several weeks, I looked around and realized five people were counting on me, and only me…for everything. I pulled up my boot-straps, just as my father had taught me, and forged ahead. In the process, as I felt the pressure of four sets of eyes trained solely on me, my eyes, too, focused inward. Somewhere along the way, I had come to equate strength with doing things my way. This may have worked, then. It may, in fact, have been the only way. But, blessedly, circumstances have changed, and that kind of self-interest is no longer in my best interest.
It will take some time to change a habit I worked so hard to develop. Awareness is the first step. This evening, as I sat amidst hundreds of other weary commuters, my cell-phone rang. The voice on the other end of the line suggested a diversion from my well-thought-out plan for the evening. My first thought was “I don’t….”.
That’s as far as it got…
And, that’s a start.
© Copyright 2007-2009 Stacye Carroll All Rights Reserved
Are We There Yet? 
I so relate to this train of thoughts, I wonder if sometime if I not getting worse. You might in my case call me a selfish Jerk instead of spoiled brat. I do find myself nagging my spouse about some of the most petty things, I must find a way to overcome this urge. Thanks for the great read .
As always Stacye, while reading this I saw myself in your words. Thank you for giving me that mirror.