Finding Beauty in the Year of Humility

“I can get through anything on pure determination.”  These are words that I fed to myself time and time again throughout the first 33 years of my life. They echoed within my mind when times were hard, or as my husband likes to say, “When life showed up.”  They have served me well through college, a military career, graduate school, my professional life, marriage, child-rearing, and working toward my PhD, that is until this last year.  Until last year I really did consider myself somewhat of a master of my own universe.  This concept is far from humble.

Since adolescence, I have worn an invisible cloak of invincibility.  No matter what happened, I always managed to land on my feet.  I had a loving family that helped when I needed a little boost, but there were no occurrences of utter failure.  I began to feel as if I could handle anything, as if I could control the tides in my own life.  Again, not exactly humble.  Perhaps a bit cocky.  I am a wife and mother. I own a counseling private practice. I present at conferences and work as a consultant.  I teach as an adjunct professor.  I am a graduate assistant at the university where I am obtaining my PhD.  I am a military veteran.  Hell, I even volunteer.  To the outside world, I am a woman who can do anything. I often have new people in my life ask how I do it all. Most of the time my answer involves a plug for my husband and family and the words “time management and a sense of humor.”  I rarely mention the hot mess full of sleepless nights and dirty laundry that lies beneath that statement.  This would involve being transparent, and quite frankly humble.

Then the last year of my life happened.  The negative event of my husband losing his job turned into a freight train of stress that would not stop.  Money became scarce as our emergency fund dwindled.  Events like Christmas and birthdays lost some of their magic as we scrambled to shield our children from the harsh reality of how much money had become an issue.  We have never been rich, but we were always able to get a couple of the items on “the list” or host a birthday party for friends full of pizza and backyard games.  These events that had always brought me so much joy caused panic inducing anxiety. We sat down with our oldest son to explain where in our family budget cuts had to be made. 

For the first time, I could not will things to be better.  Working more or putting my nose to the grindstone would not save me this time. The gap in making ends meet was becoming too large.  My husband relentlessly looked for work and took jobs as they became available to support our family.  How could this be happening?  How could I be so successful in my professional life, but feel like a failure as a wife and mother.  After all, I had chosen to pursue a PhD leaving my full-time employment a year earlier.  I was working more and home with my children less.  I could not simply make the job hunt end for my husband.  As I sped heavily down the track holding onto the wall of the train to keep my balance, I began to self-deprecate, self-doubt, and feel like an imposter living in my own life. 

When my husband lost his job I found myself going with what I know. I increased how much I worked to make up for the decrease in our income.  No one asked this of me, my husband continued to find work when he could.  I felt that if I could, then I should.  And, if you remember, I can do anything.  The more that I worked, the more that I felt I was failing as a wife, mother, and student.  After all, I needed to be there for everyone all of the time and still keep my 4.0 grade point average.  I do not fail.  In fact, when I would voice doubt to those around me, the answer that I received was often somewhere along the lines of, “You won’t fail. You don’t know how to fail. Women like you always land on your feet. You got this.” And then there it was, I felt worse. Yet again, I wasn’t living up to my own image.  My own hubris perpetuated my belief that I needed to believe these words again. I needed to take control.  Only control was not attainable. 

I wish that I could say that the story ended with financial strain, but then came mental and physical health concerns for my immediate family which again left me failing.  How could I help so many people as a therapist, but fail to help the people that I love the most?  I teach young counselors; I speak at conferences; I have managed programs centered on managing crisis situations. People call me when they need to figure out how to help navigate emergencies and crises.  Enter more self-deprecating, self-doubt, and feelings of inadequacy as I questioned myself nightly before drifting into fitful sleep.  So I decided to try harder, schedule appointments for everyone that I loved with the very best providers, engage the problems even more, continue to work, and continue to stay present for my husband, sons, clients, and students.  I kept it all going, until I couldn’t keep going anymore.  I made sure that my family and clients came first; after all, it is my obligation and honor to serve others.  As I ensured that everyone was ok, I became disoriented and felt like I was playing a role in my own life.  I was a passenger on the train rather than the conductor.  I felt more lost than ever and began to fall to my knees.  Life became humbling to say that least.

Soon those that I had always worked for, loved, or been acquainted with began to notice a change in me.  People close to me began to question that the fact that I seemed constantly tired, perpetually sick, and kept to myself when I had always been outgoing and gregarious.  Help began to be offered. At first I snubbed my nose at it.  I help others; I do not need help; the focus should be on those that need it more.  Humility was not present in my life.  But then, one day while sitting across from my therapist, he asked me why I thought that I could not accept help.  Quite honestly, I hadn’t even realized how much help I had pushed away in my spiraling need to control everything.

Why did I push help away?  Had I really grown that much of an ego over the years as a result of always surviving and landing on my feet?  Why couldn’t I focus on thriving?  How did I become so detached from myself?  I sat at my dining room table for nights after that thinking about these questions.  Eventually, I found my answer.  I didn’t like the feeling of being in need even though I have never had a second thought when helping someone in need.  I had unintentionally placed myself above others.  In a way, I had viewed myself as some super human who could handle any situation. 

The night that I realized that I was very much human, I called my best friend, talked to my parents and husband, and reached out for help from the same people that offered just weeks before.  This is where I found the beauty in humility, right at the moment of offering my needs to others.  For the first time I truly understood that humility is a virtue born out of vulnerability.  The days that came after finally asking for help opened a door to vulnerability and humility that I had never entered before.  No one thought twice about giving an extension for a project, helping me to clean up the chaos that had ensued in my home when I was so busy trying to be everything to everyone, or allowing me to simply take a nap.  The world did not stop because I stopped.  It turned out that I was not responsible for everything and everyone all of the time.

During those same days of asking for help, my oldest son snuggled beside me in bed one evening and said without prompting or any doubt in his voice, “You are a great mommy. In fact, you’re the best mommy. You help people to feel better and you always make me feel loved. I just wanted to let you know that.”  There is was in all of its glory: the beauty of humility.  In stopping to rest and surrendering to the fact that I was not perfect, the most perfect truth became apparent.  My son knows me as his mom, but he also knows me as a flawed human being.  And I am still everything that he needs in a mother at any given moment.  At that moment, failure seemed so very far away.  Farther away than it had been in a very long time. 

So what has humility taught me?  I will never again push myself to the limit that I did this last year. I have begun to feel like I once again belong in my own life. I will never again forget to be humble and ask for help.  After all, when I am well I am ready to help others and be present in everyday of my own life. In the end, we all need someone sometime. We’re only human.