My six-year-old daughter is teaching me a lot these days
(and giving me gray hair!) If you asked
her if she were loved, she is likely to tell you “No. I have a terrible life and people are mean to
me. I do not like being me.” She may also include that I am mean to her
and not her siblings because I do not allow her to have her way and sometimes
she has to wait for others to do some activity.
If you were to watch her interact at school, or really
anywhere other than home, you would see a smart, kind, creative, happy little
girl. The thoughts she carries deep in
her brain are so incongruent with the life she lives.
The therapist in me sees warning signs for a future of
depression and anxiety. The mom in me is
heartbroken that she truly has a difficulty seeing herself as loved. If she were not my child, I would wonder what
type of home environment was feeding these thoughts. We are not a perfect family. I am not a perfect mom and at times I say
things I regret. But, we are a loving,
safe, consistent, and fun home. We
cuddle under blankets and read or have a movie night. We hug frequently. We say “I love you” several times a day. We laugh together. Play games.
Talk during car rides instead of watching movies or listening to music. Every night our children are tucked in by
parents – songs are sung, backs are rubbed, prayers are said, and those quiet
and deep questions are explored. Our
home screams “we love our children deeply”, and yet there is one for whom this
love does not penetrate to the same depth it does the others. There remains one in our home who feels
different; who feels alone and unloved.
I get my six-year-old child for I too carry the same burden
of feeling unloved. Here is where my
child is teaching me – I blamed my childhood and some of the traumatic events that
took place. I am sure that played a part
in keeping weighing down the burden. Now,
looking at my own child who has to the best of my knowledge never experienced a
traumatic event, I wonder if there is not an innate personality trait that must
simply be accepted.
As I explore my motivation for achievement and having a long
list of accomplishments, under this is my insecurity and fear that I am not
loved or even lovable. I hear people
talking about their faith life and how they can sense God’s love and feel it,
and I mean really feel it. I have had
glimpses of this, but something in me says they are experiencing something more
that I can imagine. The temptation is to
be jealous and envious at their spiritual togetherness and to berate myself for
not allowing my heart to experience God’s love in this palpable manner.
So here is my theory.
It is not fully formed and I am not settled that it is completely
right. I toss it out for
conversation. What if this dysthymic
disposition I carry and it seems my oldest child also carries, what if this is
who we are and something that must be accepted?
St. Augustine wrote about not allowing our feelings to be our final
authority, but rather our intellect.
What if then, our act of faith is to act with the cerebral knowledge
that we are indeed loved, to cling to the rationale argument that supports the
fact we are loved despite feeling the opposite at the emotional level?
I became a therapist to fix this problem – to heal the
emotional life; to heal my emotional wounds.
I still believe in therapy. I
believe I have experienced a great deal of emotional healing and wounds that
were once raw and infectious are now scarred over and healthy. I am though questioning the authority I have
given emotions. I follow my gut in
making decisions, and frequently my intuition is accurate. But, if feelings are counter to the rational,
I must choose to go with the rational.
The truth is in the facts. My
oldest has two parents that would lay down their life for her, friends that
enjoy her, teachers that adore her, grandparents that would give her the world –
she is well loved. I am surrounded by
love and kindness. And God’s truth – I am
with you always . . . I am love. These
are the facts.
My theory – I may never “feel” loved the way I want to on an
emotional level and perhaps I need to accept this as part of my personality
structure – part of how my brain works.
Instead of fighting to try and fix what I think is broken, maybe I need
to accept that it is not as broken as I think and instead may actually be a
gift. Perhaps it is this dysthymia that
allows me to be compassionate and empathic towards the unloved because I know
the pain that accompanies this emotional poverty.
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