Friends and Colleagues,

I want to tell you a vulnerable story. One that might help you compartmentalize some of the ongoing stress we’re experiencing. If the story is relatable to you, I hope it helps.

My son is 15 – he’s kind, funny, smart, and outspoken. He’s always had a strong constitution and he does not back down easily. He exudes friendliness and compassion, especially for younger children, family, and animals. He’ll be your number one fan, your loudest cheerleader and his love is limitless. But, you will not miss what he thinks nor where he stands on an issue. He can be cutting.

Last summer, as we made endless rounds through our rodeo circuit, we encountered long, hot, tiring days. Rodeo requires sacrifice for families. Don’t get me wrong, it’s worth it and rodeo families are some of the kindest, hardest-working, family-oriented folks out there. But it’s also hours in the car, hauling horses and hay, coordinating lodging, entering events, and attending performances. For parents, it’s hours of waiting, holding horses, nagging your child about the horse’s food, water, and care to be sure they don’t forget amidst their excitement and underdeveloped brain that there’s an animal depending on them for their performance, their safety and ultimately, how well they do. It’s nail-biting, stomach-clenching, worry-inducing events of the likes I have not seen in many sports. There are times that my son’s safety is in the hands of other cowboys, horses, and luck. And did I mention, there’s no electricity or running water in youth rodeo – my son often camps under the stars and has no respite from 100+ temperatures, nor does his horse.

During one weekend, amidst overseeing five events for him in one day, I was at my wit’s end. Hot does not describe the temperature – in fact, if you remember last summer, the heat was unrelenting. Coordinators decided to rodeo from 7-11 am, break, and then resume at dusk. This meant Jack was “on” from 7 am until almost 2 in the morning. I was worried about food & hydration – for him and for Jett. At one point, walking behind him in a hurry, I asked (again) if he’d had lunch or water. Scurrying along in the dreadful heat, I held a sandwich and Gatorade. In a moment of frustration, he turned to me with a look of irritation and overwhelm and said, “Mom, can you just CARE LESS for a while?” Wow. That stung. I stopped walking. Noticing I was no longer behind him, he spun around and came back to me. “I just mean, it’s hot. And there’s a lot going on. And I know I need to eat and drink. And I will.” He reached out for the Gatorade, leaving the sandwich in my hand, and walked away.

Part of me wanted to throw the sandwich at the back of his head. Part of me wanted to cry. Part of me wanted to pack up our truck and head to a cool, air-conditioned hotel and leave his butt at the rodeo grounds. And part of me wanted to chase after him and say, “but if I don’t continue to offer and something happens to you, it’s my fault.” Ug, the guilt.

But I did none of that. I found my husband, some shade, and we drank some water. And watched. And waited. And you know what? He was FINE. He drank, he ate and he performed well.

Is this story relatable to any of you? For your kids? Your spouse? Your colleagues? Your patients? Are you carrying more of the worry than they are carrying? Are you trying to convince them of the next best plan or holding all of the weight of their decisions?

Friends, take Jack’s advice. “Care less” might feel cold or detached – but it might also feel like a relief. What if instead of carrying and holding all of the weight and responsibility, we allowed others to carry it for themselves?

• What if we allowed our kids to fail? To be confused? To figure it out on their own?
• What if we allowed our patients to flounder and didn’t provide all of the answers? To tell them that they could make decisions and then NOT feel responsible if it’s the “wrong” decision?
• What if we did less mental work for the people we care for?
• What if we did less emotional carrying and allowed others to hold the space?

 

Does it sting for you as it did for me? Are you left holding the sandwich? Just sit. Watch. Wait. See if the kid or adult or patient you’re thinking of actually rises up because you get out of their way. It’s possible, and we’ll never know unless we allow it to happen.

With compassion my friends,

 

Dr. Amy