The daily grind can feel exhausting. Maintaining a home, parenting, work, cooking, meal planning, chauffeuring children to and from extracurriculars, caring for the dog, endless loads of laundry, tending to the garden, mowing the grass, doing the dishes, exercise, etc. The to-do list is long. And seemingly never ending.
But actually, that’s not true. It’s not never ending. It will end. Some day, we will be unable to do all the things we do now. We will age. Or we may get sick or become injured. Maybe our children will grow up and move away and leave us with ample time and few responsibilities. Or perhaps it will end sooner than we ever expected through an unexpected death. Regardless of the circumstances, we will not always be able to do the things we do now. The seemingly never ending to-do list of our lives can evaporate at any moment.
I should know this. Just two short years ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer at 34 years old. I had four children under the age of nine, a husband, a dog, a career, and a full schedule. But cancer changed everything. When I began the long medical journey of chemotherapy, immunotherapy, and surgeries, I could no longer fulfill my normal responsibilities. Instead of cooking, people generously brought my family meals. Instead of exercising, I collapsed from exhaustion into bed each night. Instead of working, I attended medical appointments. Instead of chasing my children around the backyard, I watched as others cared for them. It was humbling to observe the world continuing to function while I was unable.
And yet, I am one of the lucky ones. When I became sick, I had resources to help. Medical insurance that made treatment possible. A loving husband that filled the gaps in our family life. A community that rallied around me and supported us in countless ways. A faith that comforted me. But still, I missed the daily grind. When I could no longer fulfill my daily responsibilities, I missed them terribly. I wanted to be able to cook for my family. I wanted to clean the house. I wanted to play with my children and attend all their activities. I wanted to work and to exercise and to do laundry. I wanted to get to do all the things that I normally complained about.
Despite the lessons I learned (or should have learned) throughout my cancer treatment, I sometimes find myself back in this all too familiar whiny headspace. Complaining about my responsibilities. Stressing about the to-do list. Huffing when work does not go as smoothly as I had hoped. Rolling my eyes at the dirty dishes in the sink or the piles of dirty laundry. Instead of appreciating my health, rejoicing in my blessings, and joyfully pursuing my work, I find that it is easy to slip into a negative mindset. We are so often tempted to resent the daily stressors that are typically just the management of our abundant blessings.
And so, we must battle the negative mindset temptation if we desire wellness and joy. We must develop intentional practices to foster positivity or we will drown in negativity. As a therapist, I love a simple reframe to reset a negative mindset. For example, instead of continually telling myself that “I have to…” and then feeling all the negativity wrapped in the obligation, I find it helpful to say, “I get to…”. It is simple but powerful. If I have to do the laundry, then I feel resentment in the responsibility. If I get to do the laundry, then I find joy in the freedom of serving my family. The I get to reframe incorporates a gratitude practice within the simple phrase. It implies that I am blessed to have a family, and to have clothes, and to have a washer and a dryer, and to be healthy enough to do the laundry. The blessings are always there, we just have to be mindful enough to look for them.
If history has taught me anything, it is that I will have to relearn this lesson over and over again. But our God is merciful and patient. He will remain faithful when I complain about the management of my blessings. And hopefully, I will continue to find my way back to Him. I am so lucky that I get to do this work.
All my love,
Jillian