Discovering Wisdom in a Pot of Bones
One day, a young man I know told me he’d been born into the wrong family. I knew exactly what he meant, because so was I. My parents saw me as worthless, someone who couldn’t handle things, who wouldn’t amount to anything. Not having their love, nurturing, and guidance, I didn’t develop self-confidence or a sense of worth. I longed for attention and, perhaps unsurprisingly, I fell under the spell of a secretive and controlling man.
Something No One Else Had Looked For
I thought he saw something in me that no one else did, but what he actually saw was something no one else had looked for: my vulnerability. When he asked me to marry him, my stomach clenched and I saw a vivid image of myself lying in a coffin. I knew I should tell him no, but my mother’s refrain—”You’re not someone who can be choosy”—echoed in my ears. I agreed to marry him and move to Japan because I felt I had no other options.
In Japan, a chance encounter got me a job at Mattel Toys Southeast Asia, where I discovered I had talents. As I became more successful, my self-confidence started to grow and my marriage started to unravel.
Babes in the Woods
Five years later, we moved back to America, technically international travelers but actually babes in the woods who’d come home just in time to face a recession. My two-year-old, who’d been born in Japan, clung to me as she struggled to adjust to her disrupted world. My little one, a newborn, woke me every two hours, like clockwork. My husband, supposedly looking for a job that would support us, cancelled job interviews and disappeared for hours, refusing to tell me where he’d been.
There would come a time when I’d leave him and have a successful career and happy second marriage, but that time was still in the future. Now, worried about money, sleep deprived, with a babe at my breast, a toddler on my knee, and an erratic husband out and about in parts unknown, I was physically and emotionally drained. I felt trapped, with no hope for a better life.
Then one day the phone rang. It was my grandmother Minnie, calling to say she was coming for a visit the next day! Somehow, she knew I needed her. Just knowing she was on her way made me feel stronger.
Though Grandma Minnie was in her eighties and losing her eyesight, she helped magically with the children, brought much-needed routine to the household, and took over the cooking so I could catch some naps. And how she cooked for us! Cooked and cooked and cooked, even stocking the freezer with meals for us to have after she left.
Boiling the Bones!
She’d always cooked with gas, and my electric stove was new to her. Because her vision was too weak for her to see the little icons on the knobs, she’d learn from experience how to use this newfangled appliance.
That experience came from a potful of bones. After simmering them for hours to make broth for a soup, she turned off the burner and joined me in the living room. A little while later, we heard burbling noises coming from the kitchen. The bones were boiling! Instead of turning the burner off, she’d turned it to medium.
Well, who hasn’t done that?
She went to turn them off again and, again, they were soon bubbling away at a full boil. Laughing at herself, she went back to the kitchen to turn them off. This time, she turned them to high. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Every time those bones boiled, we laughed our heads off. When our laughter started to fade, one of us would shout, “Boiling the Bones!” and we’d start laughing again.
The Children Sensed It
In retrospect, I wonder whether she really did all those boilings by accident. The more I laughed, the calmer I felt—and the children sensed it. My little one slept peacefully in my arms for longer stretches than usual. My two-year-old slid off my lap and contentedly played by herself with a toy. The three of us were more relaxed than we’d been in months.
That was decades ago, but even today, when things get rough, I think (and sometimes even shout out loud), “Boiling the bones!” It always lightens me up. Though some might see this as a perfect example of laughter being the best medicine, I think it’s so much more than that.
The Good News
Growing up without a loving and supportive family can leave us feeling insecure and inadequate, but these feelings don’t have to last a lifetime. We all have within us the ability to overcome our past and build a fulfilling future. This innate resilience needs to be actively nurtured, however, and the good news is that if our parents don’t nurture it from the beginning, others can help us find and grow our resilience, even years later.
I was lucky. I had Grandma Minnie. She recognized from my earliest childhood that my homelife wasn’t nurturant and stepped in to fill the void whenever she could. Later, others to do the same.
When we lack supportive people like Minnie in our lives, there are ways we can find them. I know this is true. I’ve done it.
Once our resilience starts growing, our self-confidence grows too. Little by little, we become our best selves. People who show up for us, who support us even when we don’t realize we need it, who help us overcome hurdles we can’t clear on our own—having people like these in our life is truly the “Best Medicine.”
