The Dreaded Phrase
Nothing brings out fear and dread to me like the phrase "We need to talk." It's funny, As an adult, nothing major usually comes out of it, and it's usually a solvable problem.
And yet, it still brings on anxiety attacks and extreme worry. What did I do this time? Or now, "What did my kids supposedly do this time?"
As a kid, this phrase never brought on good news. One teacher just said I was lazy and there's no way a girl with my IQ could have ADHD. The Vice principle told me that I was wasting tax payer's money.
In one of the Churches, a few people in authority told me that if I don't stop this "forgetfulness," and "daydreaming" (in air quotes, of course), I was going to hell for unrepentant sin. I don't know how many services, Wednesday night Bible studies, and revivals I was at the altar praying for forgiveness because God forbid I would die with unrepented sin. Glad my parents left that church.
When I started working (I home-schooled at the time), the management was a little more forgiving and found it funny when I would respond with "what did I do now?" After a while "We need to talk" was no longer an anxiety-inducing threat.
Later, I married to Mike (the most patient man in the world IMHO), and life began to go on. We did well, lived in a smallish house, had our kids, homeschooled them with the computers we were able to afford. We weren't rich (which was fine with me) but we weren't doing too poorly, either.
I became pregnant with Ethan. Again, it was no big deal. We were making enough to support another without any problems. Mike had insurance. We could handle this.
Four months later, Mike became a casualty of office politics, which is another story in itself. He lost his job, and we felt that God was calling us to move to Texas. It looked like that Mike might have a job when we got down there.
I gave birth to Ethan, and everything began to go wrong. I didn't rest as I did with the other kids, so I had to deal with PPD. Not the crazy I-want-to-kill-everyone-and-myself kind, just the weepy, I'm-too-tired-to-do-anything kind. It's another long story on every single disaster that happened that ended up us cramming three months of work into six months. I certainly didn't help matters any. In retrospect, I realize that it wasn't entirely my fault, but that wouldn't fit into my "I'm too much of a burden" narrative I had going there.
Then when we moved to Texas, we lived in a campground. It was only supposed to be a few months; it ended up being for more than two years. The Job for Mike never Materialized.
There was someone there who didn't like kids and would lie about "witnessing" my kids breaking things. Every single time, he was proven wrong, but he kept doing it. The threat of getting kicked out at any time brought those attacks back. The only break I would have is when someone else with kids would move in. Of course, they could leave as readily as they came - and they would - making us as a target again.
Fast forward to today. We live in an area where I get along with the property manager; things seem to be going well. I get compliments on the kids at church, and the church has been more than generous (I'm forever grateful and have no idea when I will be able to pay it back, or "pay it forward" if you will).
The kids fight, but not as much as they used to. It went from I-don't-think-I'll-live-past-40 to well-they-are-siblings-after-all.
I finally settle into a routine that allows me to do more, and now, I'm looking for options that will let me make money from home.
Then, today, the dreaded phrase with no context:
"I need to talk to you and your husband... with the youth minister. Is Saturday okay?"
Well, shoot. I thought we were doing better.
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#anxiety #psychology #dread #religious #fear #life
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