You only have to do your part
Release the weight of feeling responsible for the world
I grew up in the 1980s as a “latchkey kid.” This isn’t a term you hear much anymore. I just looked it up to see how it might be defined, and the definition left me feeling unexpectedly empty and sad inside:
A latchkey kid, or latchkey child, is a child who returns to an empty home after school (or other activities) or a child who is often left at home with no supervision because their parents are away at work. Such a child can be any age, alone or with siblings who are also under the age of maturity for their community.
I was a latchkey kid starting from first grade. This meant that I was sort of parentified from a young age. I remember trying to make myself a snack once, when I was maybe seven or eight years old, after school. We’d received one of those Hickory Farms gift baskets for Christmas (anyone remember those?) and I was determined to cut some of the sausage to put with cheese and crackers for my after-school snack. Spoiler alert: the knife slipped when I was cutting and I found myself with an intensely bleeding finger and no one at home.
My dad was almost always out to sea (he was in the Navy and worked on a nuclear submarine, deep underwater and totally incommunicado for six to nine months at a stretch) and my mom worked a half-hour’s drive away. I called her at work and she told me to go to the neighbor’s house. I don’t really remember what happened, if I went or if I managed to patch it all up on my own. I do remember that for years after that, in our family address book that sat by the phone, there was a brown stain on the particular page that I flipped to on that day, a relic of my Hickory-Farms-induced accident. Every time I saw it, I was reminded of the fear and aloneness I felt when faced with having to handle this emergency on my own at such a young age, mixed with the parallel feeling that if I didn’t handle it, no one else would.
I believed from a young age that I had to do it all, and all on my own, both in order to be “good” and in order to be safe.
Why do I digress to tell you all this? Because I’m a nearly 50-year-old professionally trained counselor with over a decade of intense psychoanalysis under my belt and I kid you not: I still feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. I feel like if I don’t take care of everything, everyone, always, then total chaos will ensue. Of course, I know rationally that this isn’t true. I’m consciously aware of it, so I do the work to “stay on my side of the street” (as the brilliant Terri Cole advises in her book Too Much). Still, there are lasting effects of a latchkey-kid childhood in which I was responsible for things that were too early for me. It’s hard to release the feeling that if I don’t “handle it,” no one will.
The illusion of ‘it’s all on me’
The idea that we’re individually responsible for every. single. thing. is an illusion. It’s an illusion because we were never meant to go it alone. Asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness, even though our dominant capitalist culture—which thrives on the idea of hyper-individualism and personal achievement at any cost—would have us believe this is so.
Breaking the cycle of trying to do too much isn’t easy. I know, because I struggle with it on a daily basis. So today I wanted to share a story with you that helps me when I feel overwhelmed. If you are able, I encourage you to watch Kenyan political activist and Nobel Peace Prize winner Wangari Maathai tell it herself in this video:
If you can’t watch the video above to hear the story told, then here’s a written paraphrase of the parable:
One day a terrible fire broke out in a forest and all the animals fled. Once they were out of danger, they stopped at the edge of a stream to look back and watch the raging forest fire as it burned.
They felt powerless as they watched their entire world go up in flames. There was nothing they could do. Then they saw a hummingbird going the opposite direction of all the animals who were fleeing. The hummingbird was filling its beak as full as it could, carrying a few drops of water from the stream, going back into the fire, and putting the drops on the fire.
It kept doing this, over and over, again and again, as all the animals watched. They couldn’t understand why the hummingbird was making the effort. A few drops of water weren’t going to put out the fire.
The other animals chided the hummingbird, mocking it for wasting its time.
“Why do you even bother? You can’t put out this fire by yourself. You’re not enough.”
The hummingbird responded: “I’m doing the best I can.”
Just do the best you can
None of us are expected to put out all the fires all by ourselves. In fact, when we finally realize that we actually can’t because we have limitations that are beyond our control, then we’re free to let go of the expectations we place on ourselves to do all the things, all the time.
Doing the best you can is going to look different on different days at different times. Some days your best might simply be getting out of bed, brushing your teeth, doing grocery shopping, making a meal. Other days you might have the energy and inspiration to conquer the world. The important thing is to realize you can only do your part, you can only do your best, and your part and your best are enough.
Just do your part: no more, no less. The world isn’t going to collapse if you take a break, if you rest (remember: rest is not a luxury). Really.
Have the courage to be ordinary.
Today, don’t go it alone.
Today, let go of any expectations or pressures you put on yourself to be everything, do everything, and “handle it all.”
Life isn’t supposed to be one big forest fire you’re constantly responsible for putting out.
Ask for help. Allow others to help you.
Create a community of care around yourself and contribute: doing your best, doing your part.
I leave you with a meditation from someone who inspires me daily: author, activist, and theologian Tricia Hersey and the Nap Ministry’s Rest Deck.
