Caring Gently

I was recently in a meeting where someone said the common phrase, “People make time for the things they care about.” The comment was made in response to a discussion where we were expressing the challenge of getting people to commit and follow through on a particular thing. I had shared that in my current season of life, I too struggled with this commitment. When the comment was made, I instantly felt my defenses rising, but couldn’t entirely explain why. I think I rambled out a response along the lines of, “Yes, but sometimes people care about things and genuinely don’t have time.” This response felt insufficient and up until today, I couldn’t figure out why this was still nagging at me, weeks later.

I care deeply about a lot of things. I care about my family, both within my four walls, and extended. I care about knowing my neighbors and being in my community. My job requires I care about it if I wish to continue receiving a biweekly paycheck. My church matters deeply to me, as does being hospitable and volunteering on a regular basis. I care about my friends, good books, a regular exercise schedule, and my morning cup(s) of coffee. These are broad strokes, but most of you know that caring about one thing (or person) brings many extra cares with it.

For instance, caring about my 2-year-old means I make sure she has food, clean clothes, and all of her various needs met. It includes scheduling her doctor’s appointments and keeping up with her speech therapy. Every now and then, it involves chasing her down the sidewalk when she escapes from our house. To care about her, I must spend time with her, investing in her, and figuring out the best ways to connect with her to cultivate her development. Take any of the other aforementioned cares on my list and you will see the list of subsequent cares expand exponentially.

All of this probably tracks with you, but here’s where it gets icky. If you asked me this time last year, I would have agreed with the cliché. If something matters to you, make it happen. Sure we all have busy days, with finite resources. But we also all have the same 24 hours to make it work. In my mind it was a matter of being organized, getting clear on my priorities, and living with a high level of discipline. I was REALLY good at this. Give me a rule of life to live by, and I will maximize the crap out of it. Streamlining and efficiency are my love languages. Trust me, it sounds as bad to me writing it as it does to you reading it. And not to worry, I got my slice of humble pie.

In January, I welcomed my second daughter into this world and was promptly walloped by postpartum. Anytime a new family member is added, the sense of equilibrium is thrown off and takes a moment to stabilize the new dynamic. But this was different. I found myself paralyzed by this utter inability to just get up and get a task done, all while my mind was shouting at me to be productive and get over myself. Never in my life had I lacked the ability to muscle up and chug through a to-do list. Yet there I was, on my couch, physically listless, while my brain screamed loudly all of the things I wasn’t accomplishing. The part of my mind that cared about many people/things and the part of my mind that propelled me to take action on those cares were severed. My energy levels were at an all-time low (did I mention I also have seasonal depression? Coupling that with postpartum was really something). Getting through the slog of each day drained all of my resources. The choice was made for me. I would be cutting back on what I invested in.

When your mental health plummets, a certain kind of raw honesty is forced upon you. You must tell the truth about what absolutely has to happen in day-to-day life, find a few kind life-giving activities to keep yourself afloat, and either put the rest onto your support system or let it fall off for a season. Making time for what you care about isn’t always a luxury you are afforded when your mind is waging war with itself. I would have loved to invest in friendships, check in on how my people were doing, open up my home, and more, but almost every available resource went into my family, with most of my free time spent attempting to restock energy for the next day/week.

There is no way to overstate the shame I felt in my newfound inability to be a cog in the machine of productivity. Surely everything around me would absolutely end up in shambles and everyone I loved would judge me for having needs. Yeah, a few things fell to the sidelines in less than ideal ways. But the people who really loved me were surprisingly kind. I think my husband felt relieved that I finally showed some capability to give myself a break. It turns out maybe he had been waiting all along for me to share the load a bit better. Who knew?

I’m still battling some intense feelings of inadequacy. It’s far more difficult for me to accept my own limitations and provide care for myself than it is to try harder, accomplish more, and achieve always. The silence in some friendships has bumped me up against the unfortunate truth that I was the one putting in the work to keep us together. But instead of feeling like those people don’t care about me because they haven’t reached out either, this compassionate lens I’m learning to look through helps me believe that maybe they also are overwhelmed and barely hanging on. Silence doesn’t always indicate a lack of care.

In learning to be kinder to myself, I have also taken a kinder perspective towards others. Mental health and the general challenges of daily living are no joke sometimes. And let’s be honest; we probably could all do with a little less judgment . If I could encourage you with one thing, it would be to assume the best about people. Some people have bad intentions, but I have found those people to be in the smallest minority. The vast majority of us are doing the best we can. So let’s stop throwing potentially hurtful clichés into the void and lean in to what someone’s silence or lack of commitment might be telling us. If we have time to care, we may just find how badly they need it.