People describe my mother as both a person who laughed all the time, and as a complainer. Strange as that seems to me, I admit that people could also say both about me, although I don’t think I handle it the way she did, or that I complain for the same reason. She did the two separately – laughing one minute and raging the next – and I am more inclined to laugh while I complain. I complain about things that I want to change. When I complain, I am usually blowing off steam to help me get over what bothers me and trying to generate energy so I can resolve a problem. Sometimes I am seeking advice and input.
Mom enjoyed complaining.
Sometime after she divorced the-mistake-she-married-after-Daddy-died, and while I still thought she was sane, and before anyone moved in and stole her money, I sat at her dining room table and documented her litany of complaints as she rattled them off. Sadly, I could have made that list at my own table, without her there. I had heard them all before, hundreds of times throughout the years.
When she finally remembered that I was there and paused, I smiled and held up the list. With great -although irrational - expectations, I read the list back to her and handed over the paper, commenting about how fortunate she was that each entry could be bought, and that she had the money to do it. She didn’t appear to share my excitement so I offered to take her shopping and help resolve her problems. After a long silence, I told her I would be happy if I could buy a fix for my problems, hoping she would realize – honestly feel – her good fortune. No such luck.
She threw the list at me and told me to leave. Actually, she didn’t tell me; she screamed at me to get out. Confused, I tried to get her to tell me what I had done wrong. She cried. She screamed. She repeated her complaints, adding something about me at the end but never really explaining how I had offended her.
And then it hit me. She couldn’t let go of that list. I was trying to take away something she held dear. I tried to apologize but she didn’t want that either. She wanted me to leave.
It was a bittersweet realization to discover now that an acquaintance shared what I thought was Mom’s unique attachment to discomfort. I don’t communicate with this person daily, or even on a regular basis. But in the decade or so that I’ve known her, she has expressed a number of repeated regrets.
Unlike Mom’s situation, money can not solve this woman’s problems. Many times, I listened, commiserated, encouraged, made suggestions, explained what worked for others and for me in similar situations, recommended books, and offered my assistance. And I genuinely cared.
I didn’t make a list for this person. If I were to do so, it would look like I had taken my gratitude list and reversed it. Everything that I treasure in my life, she has expressed disappointment for not having it in hers.
Recently, this acquaintance took a break from complaining to tell me that she is sad for me because instead of having fun, I waste my time trying to help others and fix the world. I thanked her for her concern, but assured her that my fixing the world activities are fun for me. Next, she pitied me for not having what she thought I should want. Again, I thanked her but let her know her pity was wasted on me; I have what I need, like what I have, do what I want, live as freely as any one I know, have stimulating friends, have accomplished everything on my personal to-do list, and my children are well-adjusted, intelligent, caring adults. I couldn’t ask for more.
You can imagine my surprise when she wished me a good rest of my life, which I interpreted as a permanent brush off, and said she wouldn’t want my life. It felt very much like having the list thrown in my face again. Fortunately, this time, I had years of understanding someone who rejects the very things that will make her happy. I know there is nothing I can do.
I’m glad to know Mom wasn’t alone.
Mom enjoyed complaining.
Sometime after she divorced the-mistake-she-married-after-Daddy-died, and while I still thought she was sane, and before anyone moved in and stole her money, I sat at her dining room table and documented her litany of complaints as she rattled them off. Sadly, I could have made that list at my own table, without her there. I had heard them all before, hundreds of times throughout the years.
When she finally remembered that I was there and paused, I smiled and held up the list. With great -although irrational - expectations, I read the list back to her and handed over the paper, commenting about how fortunate she was that each entry could be bought, and that she had the money to do it. She didn’t appear to share my excitement so I offered to take her shopping and help resolve her problems. After a long silence, I told her I would be happy if I could buy a fix for my problems, hoping she would realize – honestly feel – her good fortune. No such luck.
She threw the list at me and told me to leave. Actually, she didn’t tell me; she screamed at me to get out. Confused, I tried to get her to tell me what I had done wrong. She cried. She screamed. She repeated her complaints, adding something about me at the end but never really explaining how I had offended her.
And then it hit me. She couldn’t let go of that list. I was trying to take away something she held dear. I tried to apologize but she didn’t want that either. She wanted me to leave.
It was a bittersweet realization to discover now that an acquaintance shared what I thought was Mom’s unique attachment to discomfort. I don’t communicate with this person daily, or even on a regular basis. But in the decade or so that I’ve known her, she has expressed a number of repeated regrets.
Unlike Mom’s situation, money can not solve this woman’s problems. Many times, I listened, commiserated, encouraged, made suggestions, explained what worked for others and for me in similar situations, recommended books, and offered my assistance. And I genuinely cared.
I didn’t make a list for this person. If I were to do so, it would look like I had taken my gratitude list and reversed it. Everything that I treasure in my life, she has expressed disappointment for not having it in hers.
Recently, this acquaintance took a break from complaining to tell me that she is sad for me because instead of having fun, I waste my time trying to help others and fix the world. I thanked her for her concern, but assured her that my fixing the world activities are fun for me. Next, she pitied me for not having what she thought I should want. Again, I thanked her but let her know her pity was wasted on me; I have what I need, like what I have, do what I want, live as freely as any one I know, have stimulating friends, have accomplished everything on my personal to-do list, and my children are well-adjusted, intelligent, caring adults. I couldn’t ask for more.
You can imagine my surprise when she wished me a good rest of my life, which I interpreted as a permanent brush off, and said she wouldn’t want my life. It felt very much like having the list thrown in my face again. Fortunately, this time, I had years of understanding someone who rejects the very things that will make her happy. I know there is nothing I can do.
I’m glad to know Mom wasn’t alone.
