I Am My Response...

Ever have an exchange with someone either your child or husband and wish you could take it all back? I have had a few of those times with an individual last fall. I wonder if things can be any different with the person in the future other than parting ways? I am not sure. I will let you know as I think this through.


The 3 Second Pause That Can Save a Morning & Spare Some Pain

“What becomes available to us when we greet one another as fully human?
”
- Margaret Wheatley

I wish I hadn’t taken my husband’s coffee pot and smashed it in the sink. I knew it the moment I steadied my shaking hands against the metal basin filled with jagged slivers of glass.

Regret hurts.

I wish I hadn’t peeled out of the gravel parking lot simply because things weren’t going according to plan. I knew it the moment my baby in the backseat began to cry.

Regret burns.

I wish I hadn’t run through the pouring rain, cussing and screaming about not being able to find my vehicle in a lot of thousands. I knew it the moment my daughter looked up at me with fearful eyes and asked if I was okay.

Regret aches.

I could go on. My list of overreactions is long, and it is shameful. I’d always liked to have things go just right, but during my highly distracted, stretched-too-thin, over-committed and under-rested years. overreaction became my middle name. And regret was right there beside it.

Regret follows on the heels of overreaction every single time.

These unbecoming incidents—the coffee pot, the gravel-spitting tires, and the parking lot confusion—have resurfaced in my mind lately. Although they happened years ago, I can remember them clearly now, more clearly than ever.
I remember being so upset that I was unable to think straight. I remember coming so undone that I couldn’t get myself back together. I remember detesting myself in those moments. I remember wanting to run away. But most of all, I remember not wanting to be that person anymore.

Regret can be a powerful motivator.

How did I begin to choose calm over crazed, reasonable over senseless, composed over fuming? One of my strategies was making a conscious effort to spot the “flowers” instead of the “weeds” in situations and in people. Another tactic was adopting a mantra to silence my inner bully. Whenever a critical thought came to mind, I immediately interrupted it with the phrase, “Only Love Today”. Another tactic was to envision my angry words like a car crash, inflicting damage to the person on the receiving end. But it wasn’t until one week ago, after thinking about several embarrassing outbursts from my past, that I realized there is something else I do. I give myself a 3-second preview of how a situation could play out if I choose controlling hostility over peaceful compassion.
It was my children’s first day back to school after a two-week holiday break. The school bus was due to pull up to the corner in four minutes. My daughters were doing their last minute gathering of shoes, coats, water bottles, and lunches.

“Don’t forget it’s Tuesday,” I called to my eight-year-old daughter as she headed for the boots lying next to the door. “Tennis shoes for P.E.,” I added.

My child stopped dead in her tracks. She turned to face me, gripping her right arm with her left.

“Mama, my arm hurts today. Could you write me a note that says my arm is sore?”

You want me to write a note now? You should have thought of it sooner.
Sore arm? Let me guess—too much Wii? I am not writing a note for that.
You will be fine. Come on, we need to go. The bus is coming.

I thought those responses. I thought them all. But I didn’t say them.
Because as I was thinking about all things I wanted to say, I gave myself a 3-second preview of what those responses would do for the situation. From past experience, I knew those particular words would not help the situation—they would only cause it to deteriorate.

But here’s where the real beauty happened:
While taking that 3-second pause, I noticed something. I noticed there were real tears welling in my daughter’s eyes … real tears she didn’t want to fall … real tears she was actually pushing back with her fingers.
That 3-second pause was just long enough for me to realize this sadness, this pain, this worry of my child’s was real. And a note to the P.E. teacher was very important to her that day.
Grabbing a notepad out of the junk drawer, I scribbled a quick note to the P.E. teacher and handed it to my child.