Estrangement and Discomfort

I have a problem with being uncomfortable.  I don’t like ambiguity; everything has to be clearly spelled out in big, black, block letters. I don’t like the unknown.  I don’t like situations in which I am not in control.

I have read countless articles that focus on learning to sit with the feeling of discomfort and learning to be content with the unknown.  That these are important skills to help navigate the unpredictability of life.  But when your life story includes estrangement, avoiding uncomfortable situations becomes second nature.  When your childhood is filled with trauma, then walking on eggshells, blending into the background, and making as little noise as possible are your survival mechanisms to lessen the discomfort or avoid it altogether.  We don’t have the liberty or the coping skills to sit in these feelings, but instead we do everything in our limited power to distance ourselves from situations that cause them.

And when you’re a child that learns the power of invisibility, you become the adult that “flies under the radar” as I have been told many times.  I avoid situations in which I would be the center of attention.  And my wanting to always feel safe has translated into attempting to control everything within my world.  

The problem is now I have a spouse and children.  And from what I have quickly learned, people don’t like to be controlled.  My husband affectionately calls me a “helicopter parent,” and I admittedly have an inappropriate level of panic when something bad or unexpected inevitably occurs to someone I love.  I find it hard letting my children make mistakes, fall down, engage in play that I know may result in injuries, fight their own battles, or cry.  I feel very strongly that if I can’t sit in discomfort, no one should.  

Contrast this to my husband who grew up in a healthy, loving family home, and still considers his parents to be his safety net.  He was given permission to take chances, make mistakes, and be loud without the threat of punishment or the fear of withdrawal of love.  In turn, he’s a far more confident person and bigger risk-taker than I will ever be.

So here I am as an adult, learning to finally sit in discomfort.  Constantly needing to remind myself that everything has a way of working out, that I can only control my own actions and emotions, and that I am ultimately worthy of goodness as well.  I’m a work in progress like we all are, but at least, decades later, the thought of being uncomfortable causes slightly less discomfort.