The Toolbox
Since my mother’s death three years ago, I’ve been on a reluctant journey to heal some things from my past. Compared to other families and their dysfunction, we came out fairly unscathed. Still, she was a powerful force with wounds of her own. According to her generation, we were taught not to have feelings, and we certainly didn’t have problems. That’s made for quite the stomach issues for me as that stuffing has manifested.
One book I’m reading is Untangle Your Emotions by Jennie Allen. Although I’m not done, I’m learning a lot. My go-to for years and years has been to deny the feeling, good or bad, and keep on trucking.
Now I’m 54 and find myself easily overwhelmed and dealing with anxiety I never saw coming. As I face the root of those things a huge revelation hit me.
I’m a silent fixer.
Let me explain.
My mom wanted to give my sister and I such a good life that often she just did things without talking about it. When my family first moved to Ohio, my husband and I didn’t do much as a couple because our youngest was chronically ill. Mom visited to babysit and when we returned, we had new curtains.
It wasn’t what we would have picked. We didn’t ask. We didn’t want them. But she was trying to help via fixing. She was so public about it that years earlier (I was on bedrest and my husband came home to find carpet torn up…) that I vowed I wouldn’t take over lives like that. She meant well, but for a season there were four people in our marriage: God, Tom, me, and my mom. Not healthy, and she grew to understand and even laugh about it.
But I grew too into a silent fixer.
No, I didn’t pull up carpet or gift tools as a hint to get a project underway, but I’ve lost sleep and made myself sick going over scenarios where I say that perfect thing and everything changes for the better.
In my mind I have
Stopped divorce around me
Convicted people to knock off their sinful behavior
Healed depression
Counseled many to turn the path they are currently on and choose the better one I have in mind for them.
Ugh. Do you know what the reality is? In my quest to not be blatant, I’ve kept these thoughts to myself. You might think that’s great, good for me. What I’ve done is re-hash my worries to ruin my digestive system. In three years I’ve had two or three scopes. I have very active acid reflux. My esophagus doesn’t work properly.
I read that our core, the stomach region, is also home base for emotions. By worrying and trying to fix everything in my head, I’ve only managed to bring about sleepless nights and stomach problems.
My mom? Although her smoking was a secondary cause of death, her stomach was a mess too. She admitted in her last months that she thought she smoked for weight management. The reality was she had been anxious her entire life. Worried. And on a quest to fix everything wrong around her.
Fixing broken things is noble, right? So why the need to surrender the toolbox?
Because it’s not my job to fix broken people.
And it’s not yours.
Love them? Absolutely. Set boundaries? Yes.
But fix them? Go all in planning, plotting and maybe even executing your agenda to turn it all around? Not my job.
What is my job?
Most of the time it is simply listen. That’s it. People are hurting and they want to vent. Listen. Really listen. Don’t think of what you’re going to say to make everything right. Listen.
Should there be a toolbelt somewhere? Yes, I think so. My faith in God through Christ has a perfect track record. Not on my end, but on His. Every time I have surrendered a worry/situation/person, He has never ignored it. Does it work when I want it the way I want it? No.
It works BETTER.
Still, this is a rather new revelation for me, so obviously I have a lot of surrendering to do. I love sleep. I enjoy an unclenched, churning stomach. Those aren’t benefits in my life. Peace is.
And the same can go for you.
Surrender the toolbox. We are not meant to be fixers. Be an active listener. If you’re like me, notice when your mind jumps on the fixing hamster wheel. Stop those thoughts and let them go. For me, I picture myself taking a sack of my thoughts/worries/fixing tools and dropping them off at the feet of Jesus. And not taking them back. Walking away, free.
Can you relate? Are you a bold fixer like my mom was? Are you a silent fixer like me?
Oh, the chocolate mention? My mom loved a caramel. The kind with the white in the middle. The Kraft squares. Inside a candy bar. That was her favorite. How about you?