Call to Action
I live next to a police station.
I see the police men and women hurry off in their cars. Sometimes lights on and sometimes sirens. I’m in the presence of direct action as a response to a call. Something has happened, somewhere in the city. They haste away to handle a situation I imagine they often know little about. But they do know it is their job to show up when called to act and to do whatever is needed and in their power to do.
I know almost nothing about what it’s like to be a police officer. I know a lot about what it’s like to be a mother. I have been one for 20 years, counting them individually sums it up to 54 years.
When I see the officers rush out in response I come to think of motherhood. As a parent you show up and respond to what a situation requires you to do. When someone calls for your attention I have often felt that I’m ready and in action-mode before I even know what I’m supposed to act upon. The calls vary, and are always urgent. “Oh no, I’ve forgotten I have homework, can you help me NOW”, “Oh, I just remembered, we have a school trip today, I need a lunch pack NOW”, “Where the hell is my new shirt, I’m going out with my friends NOW”, “Could you send me money NOW, I’m next in line to buy coffee”, “I need new shoes NOW, we have a tournament tomorrow” and so on, I know you know what I mean.
Maybe the situation of responding to a call is the same whether you are a police officer, a parent, or, let’s say, a nurse or a taxi driver?
Or if I turn the question around:
What gets in the way of a good response?
I have noticed that when my mood is okay and I have little on my mind, the sudden changes in my schedule due to what any child of mine throws at me are no problem at all. None. It’s like my shoes have wheels on them, you know like on a shopping cart, the tiniest push in any direction moves me and I’m immediately in a new direction to handle yet another situation. I kind of just know what to do and I do whatever it is with no thoughts about it. I’m in the calm center of the whirlwind of life. It’s a place I enjoy being in. I’m there with my child and it’s meaningful and kind of fun.
However. Another possible scenario. I HAVE thoughts about it. Like: “Why is it ALWAYS up to me handle homework/lunch packs/clothes shopping? Why did [insert child’s name] not plan this better? Am I some kind of assistant in this family? Does [insert child’s name] think he/she think he/she lives at a hotel?”. Or: “Does it seem like I’m made of money?”(yes, I know, my imagination is limited in these situations, the lines are copied verbatim from The Handbook for Resentful Parenting).
What is always true when I end up in these cranky moods?
My mind leaves what is right in front of me and I make up a story about how this situation is like other situations in the past. And I give this story flesh and blood and coat and a Sunday hat. I name it. I make it seem like this situation has anything to do with the other times I did similar things. And you can guess the look in the child’s eyes when I suddenly bark at them, since those other times I smiled and said “No problem, honey”.
Well, this isn’t a reflection about me being a terrible mum. I’m okay, I think. It’s not about how to, by magic, finding the ingredients to make a good enough lunch to pack. It is a reflection of the ideas I have of wanting to do something else in that moment, thinking I have something of importance that has to be done in work or with other responsibilities. Instead of saying “Sorry, love, I’m on my way to…” I make up a story about the relentless urgency of both the thing I wanted to do and the new thing that was thrown at me. If I fail at either b a d t h i n g s will happen. Undefined horrors. Most of them to do with me feeling like a failure. And I suddenly have a need to defend myself. As if in the corner of my mental boxing ring there is a referee ready to count down from 10 and I could win or loose this fight.
Instead of this pointless match with myself, that inevitable comes out as tension, shortness of breath, a strained voice or yelling, I find there is a beautiful little moment where I get a glimpse of something else. The tension, that builds instantly, is a message and there is a soft voice I can hear if I then stop and listen. This voice says “All is okay and, hey, let’s just see… Hmm… Well… Could we do it like this…!?”. That little moment of silence is an open door back into the present moment, where I don’t have to believe the story I know I’m about to tell, it gives access to responses that go beyond what I can think up in the stress I think I’m in. And once again my feet have wheels and I can twirl and dance and spin and be there for the beloved child. And sometimes say “Sorry, honey, cant’t help you, I’m on my way to…”.
The context and volume of mothering, nursing, taxi drivning and policing are of course different. But when we get a call to action, the state of openness to the situation, not believing the stories of stress that we could tell all day, free of preconceptions about the situation or the people in it, will help us see what kind of response is really needed. A nurse needs to see when someone is scared, a police officer needs to remain calm in a situations of panic and aggression, a taxi driver has to find patience to handle peoples moods, percentage of alcohol in their blood, and opinions about what route to take, in the midst of intense traffic and jam packed schedules. And a mother will find that presence and love will help her listen and will pave the way for any message she has to deliver or any spin, twirl or change of direction she needs to make.
Love
/Johanna