Just Fine

I'm beginning to think that gaslighting is a thing that I sometimes do to myself. Lately, things like chickens and dishes and teaching and friendships and family have overwhelmed me. And everytime the current pulls me under again, I choke and flail and overexpress on Facebook. There are too many worries, and I am drowning.

My father gives wonderful blessings. They are often inspired, and several times he has given me the same advice that I know is from my Heavenly Father. The advice and the power that he gives me is to discern between what is my job and what is not my job, and to concern myself only with those things that are mine to worry about.

This type of discernment is not easy, and it is not simple. On one side of the scale, we risk avoiding responsibility for our weaknesses and bad decisions, and on the other side of the scale we risk a much-inflated sense of self which leads to the self-gaslighting that I am just beginning to understand in myself.

It's a kind of social dysmorphia, to misappropriate a psychological term (Sorry, Miriam). It's not a dysmorphia of the body, personality, intellect, etc. but a skewed idea of one's role in relationships that basically boils down to, "if something is wrong then it must be my fault." And when lots of things go wrong at the same time I feel overwhelmed to the point of drowning.

But this morning I realized something: it's not my fault. I simply don't have that much influence, and that's actually a virtue. Having as much influence over others as I think I should have would be to reduce their agency, and no human should do that to another. Socially, I'm not as fat as I think I am.

I can't make people stay at home and listen to scientists. I can't help my parents move from one end of their state to the other. I can't make my politically oppositional family, friends, or neighbors respect me. I can't make the chickens love me. I can't make my distant friends understand how much I love and need them. I can't convince men to ask me on dates or want to be around me. I can't keep the house spotless all the time AND work a part-time job. I can't be an English teacher AND tech support. I can't make somebody hire me as a full-time employee with benefits. I can't even convince myself that they should. I can't be happy and wrong about myself at the same time.

And not being able to do all of these things (or any of these things) does not make me broken or insane. It does not make me inadequate. I'm just fine.

I am just me, and I can do some things. I can forgive myself for mistakes I make in a crisis. I can give my extra to my neighbors. I can forgive people who are dismissive and hurtful. I can listen to scientists. I can make sure the chickens have food and water, and sometimes a clean coop, and I can let my roommate be in charge of keeping them entertained. I can tell my friends that I love them, and I can mean it deeply, even when I get caught up in other things and we don't talk for longer than I like. I can love myself and my own company, and let others enjoy my company when they want to. Or not. I can understand that I am not to everyone's taste, and that's just fine, too. I can understand that some people malfunction and I don't have to fix it, even when it hurts me. I can pay my bills and keep working against our household entropy elemental, Howard. I can answer emails or questions one at a time, and reassure students and myself that sometimes we move quickly and sometimes slowly, but that getting there is the important thing. I can feel my feelings honestly, express them honestly, and give myself time to become what I am going to become.

I'm going to be just fine. And so are you.

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