With fresh eyes
This past weekend, I went to my hometown of Ringgold, GA, to celebrate my mom’s 70th birthday.
I made the World’s Greatest Salmon (recipe here), and my sister made our family’s signature chocolate cake with chocolate icing.
It was a perfect weekend - spent chatting on the porch, watching a lot (like, a lot) of Jeopardy, and having the best Sunday brunch.
As usual, I stayed in the guest room at my mom’s house - and I kept looking over at this picture of me and my siblings, which sits in a frame on the vanity.
It’s probably my favorite picture of the three of us - for a reason I’ll explain later.
It was taken around the year 2000 when my brother was at Army Basic Training in Ft. Benning, GA. The army didn’t let him come home for Christmas, so we brought Christmas to him. We traveled for about five hours with all our food and presents to celebrate together at a Comfort Inn.
We spent Christmas morning in the hotel lobby, playing games around the fireplace - I believe we were pretty much the only guests.
Anytime I look at this picture, it brings back a nostalgic feeling - sorta a mix between an ache and a longing.
My siblings and I have an interesting dynamic.
I’m the middle child. My brother, Joe, is 18 months older than me, and my sister, Becca, is 15 months younger than me. We are close enough in age to have experienced most of life together - going to the same schools, participating in the same sports, and even having many of the same friends.
Despite the fact that I have always been very close with both my brother and my sister, they’ve never been all that close. It’s not that they don’t like each other - it’s just that they are a bit indifferent to one another.
Both have a strong sense of self - meaning that they don’t often change who they are to fit some sort of family or societal expectation.
I, on the other hand, would do literal summersaults to get people to like me.
When we were growing up, I assumed the role of people-pleaser in my family.
I would play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for hours with Joe. I would laugh at all his sarcastic comments. I would do everything I could to be the perfect little sister.
With Bec, I was a second mother. I took it upon myself to anticipate her every need. I would go to great lengths to make every birthday perfect. I bent over backward to ensure she never felt any pain.
And, you guys, I was SO good at it.
I didn’t feel an ounce of resentment or frustration - rather, I wore my “Best Sister Ever” title like a badge of honor.
Being well-liked came so naturally to me. I effortlessly molded myself into whatever my loved ones needed me to be - and I was rewarded with their complete adoration.
However, as I wrote about last week, I’ve begun to examine some of the patterns I developed in my childhood. I’ve started to look a little deeper and ask myself some hard questions.
This weekend, I looked at this old picture with fresh eyes and realized why I love it so much.
I love it because, in the photo, Joe and Bec are happy.
Joe is looking lovingly at Bec. Bec is smiling. And I am at perfect peace.
Everyone is happy - so I am happy.
As I was staring at the photo, I realized that I have spent literal years of my life worrying about how Joe and Bec feel.
No one asked me to do this - it’s a role I just decided to assume.
This made me think about the book I read a few months back - A Radical Awakening by Dr. Shefali Tsabary.
Dr. Tsabary talks about this savior mentality. She says the need to caretake comes from a desire to “save myself from the pain of seeing others suffer.” She says being the savior allows me to feel “competent, powerful, and in control.”
Dr. Tsabary changed my life when she said, “The antidote to the savior is to realize that there is no one on the outside to save or fix.” And when she said allowing others to care for themselves frees me up to “turn to my own pain and the many ways I have avoided the discomfort it brings.”
Wow - cool, cool, cool. 😳 🤯
The truth is so clear - I’m not doing Joe, Bec, or myself any favors by trying to fix and solve everything.
If I could tell my 18-year-old self anything, I would say, “Rachel, they are more than capable of solving their own problems and of caretaking their own needs. Let’s focus on what you need instead.”
Letting go of this impulse to anticipate the needs of others allows me to be more present with and for myself.
I am confident I’m not the only therapist that struggles with this pattern.
In fact, I think therapists are disproportionately prone to caretaking the needs of others at the cost of their own well-being.
I’m curious, is this a pattern that you’ve noticed within yourself? If so, I’d love to hear more about how you are unlearning it. Feel free to reply here and share your reflections.
Warmly,
Rachel
Rachel McCrickard, LMFT
CEO/Co-Founder, Motivo
rachel@motivohealth.com