The Crises of Others

I have been stable this Fall. There are no major crises in my life. I don’t have trials I am trying to manage. I don’t have emotional things that I am trying to sort through. This should mean that my life is peaceful and calm. But I keep being thrown into turmoil by the crises of others.

There is a level of detachment when the crisis does not truly belong to me. I can sympathize when Kiki has a stressed meltdown over school and homework. I certainly feel sad that she is struggling. I may even wrack my brains trying to find ways to help, but the crisis is not really mine. I am not swamped by it the way that she is. I can walk away and still have the rest of the day be good.

Sometimes it is tempting to do just that, to walk away from the drama. A crisis is exhausting. But I don’t walk away because I love the people involved. So I sit next to Gleek and help her work through her feelings of guilt so that she can apologize and make amends to someone she has wronged. I listen when Link tries to articulate that he feels angry all the time and doesn’t know why. I drop what I’m doing and drive over to the school to bring a child emergency pants. I spend time talking with teachers to clarify communication. I weep with a friend who mourns. I brainstorm with a friend who is problem solving. I do all these things because I love the people, because I am glad to help. I am glad that I can be available.

And I do make a difference. I can tell that I am soothing the crisis, that I am helping to calm the storm or at least to sail safely through it. I am tired and wrung out when the crisis abates. It is a happy tired, because I have done a good work. The hard part is that crises have been hitting hard and fast of late. I often don’t have recovery time in between. Most of the crises are child-sized and manageable, but even small waves can make me tired if I am chest deep in them. And so sometimes I am tempted to step out of the water, away from all the crisis.

And then I discover that someone I know and love has just been smacked with a rogue wave of crisis. It is one of those extra large waves that spring up out of nowhere, threatening to swamp everything. It makes me think of this photo taken by Jean Guichard.

I see the wave, the crisis, and it is not mine. It would be so easy for me to turn and walk away so that it does not touch my life. It would also be easy for me to dive in to the middle and be swept up into the crashing chaos. Instead I have to find some middle ground. A place where I can stand and help without being drown.

The challenge with kid-size crises is to remember that what feels small to me is huge to them. I have to be patient and stable so that they can grow and learn. I have to remember that I may see a small-survivable wave, but the child feels like the man in the picture. It feels like they are doomed and there is no escape. The man in the photograph was not washed away by the wave. Both he and the lighthouse were still there when the wave was gone. They were wet, but still standing.

Similarly, I need to remember that I will not always be yanked about by the crises of others. Several kids are going through a rough time right now, but the waves will pass. We will have calm sailing again.