The dirty work of personal growth
Not a pretty picture. A bedroom prepped for A/C installation.Thanks for reading GROWTH: Make it Personal! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
Decades ago, we built an addition on our first home, a three-bedroom, one-bath Dutch colonial. Our only child, Matthew, was four, and before we had a second child, I wanted a second bathroom.
Early in the construction process, my husband Michael, an architect, called from his office one morning before I’d left for work. In those pre-cell phone days, there was essentially no way to reach a contractor once they were on the job, and Michael wanted me to clarify that the crew understood where a basement window was to be installed.
I cringed. Not only did my people-pleasing make it hard to be anything other than my “that looks great!” self, but I hated talking to workmen. I didn’t understand the nitty-gritty mechanics of the project. I didn’t speak construction-ese.
But I felt I had no choice. It was my house, too, my desire for a second bathroom, my paycheck helping to fund the project.
With a deep breath, I stepped out the back door.
“Good morning,” I chirped to the two workmen. “My husband just called—he wants to make sure you center the window on the wall.”
I don't recall their reply, but I remember their dismissive tones and looks of annoyance. They were going to do what they were going to do. No 30-something female—homeowner or not—was going to give them instructions. I felt my big girl panties sprout pink ruffles before slipping to my ankles.
When I got to work and called Michael, I felt even more childish. I made some excuse about doing my best. (Which wasn’t, in fact, a lie.)
At that point in our eight-year marriage, we had never discussed how hard it was for me to speak up. I didn’t fully understand and had never disclosed my fear of conflict or my compulsion to please others.
Michael didn’t make a big deal out of it, and as I recall (he doesn’t recall), the window wasn’t where he wanted it, but it was close enough.
For years, I wished I could have a do-over. I like to think that if I were half the assertive woman I am now, I’d know exactly what to say.
I’d look the workmen in the eye and speak firmly, saying…
I’d stand tall, shoulders back, and..
Confidently, I would say…
I don’t know what I would say! Right now, in real time, it’s interesting how much I struggle to think of the best way to respond. Should I be polite but firm? Loud and angry? Sarcastic?
Maybe I’d smile, look the men intently in the eyes, and say, “Since I live here, let me suggest we review my request.”
Even now, I wonder, would I have the self-assuredness to say this without quaking so much that I keel over?
Has my personal growth been enough?I got my answer last week.
We live in a different house now—a 1910 brick four-square. Like most old homes, it doesn't have air-conditioning, and between warmer summers and our older bodies, we decided to bite the expensive A/C installation bullet.
The three men on the work crew were all polite to me. But their testosterone buzzed through the house, and their gruff voices, sometimes loud and angry, bounced off the walls. As an introvert, it jangled my nerves. I hate having people invade my personal space. I mostly stayed in the dining room—the only room not under construction.
At one point, I overheard Michael having a conversation with one of the workers. They were cutting holes for the vents in the stairwell ceiling, 14 feet above the landing.
”When you’re done up there,” Michael said, “can you dust off the ceiling fan blades?”
“You’re kidding, right?” the guy asked.
Michael stood his ground. “No, I’m not.”
There was some joking, and the fan ultimately got dusted.
The whole time, I was projecting my insecurities and fear of conflict onto Michael. Are they going to be pissed that he's asking him to do more work? Will they think he's unmanly because he cares about dust? Will they laugh at him behind his back?
Michael came back to the dining room and asked if I had heard his conversation. With a knowing smile, he said, “You never could have done that, right?”
I shook my head vehemently, eyes wide in mock terror.
In sharing my fears, I found support.As a result of my releasing my book, Michael now understands the depth and difficulty of my people-pleasing. Because I let him (and the world!) in on my secret, he (and others) can be supportive, both when I regress and when I grow.
Amidst the upheaval of a home construction project, I learned again that there are limits to my self-assuredness. I have more work to do. Perfection is not my goal. Progress is.
Personal growth is not all or none, black and white, or strictly linear. It’s never a perfect process. We learn, we falter, we succeed, only to repeat the steps as we slowly inch forward.
If growth could be achieved with the snap of a finger, what wisdom would be lost?
As novelist Ursula K Le Guin wrote:
“It is good to have an end to journey toward, but it is the journey that matters, in the end.”
This beautiful and mesmerizing video captures it powerfully.
Thank you for bearing witness to my falling and rising.
Karen
How would you describe your personal growth journey? How many steps forward and how many backward before you feel you’ve made progress?
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In my writing life…I'm still lying flat on my back icing my lumbar spine for a good portion of most days. My sciatic pain has been physically excruciating and emotionally demoralizing. How I rue the day I moved those garden pavers!
I can’t sit or stand for long, and find it difficult to write from a fully reclined position. This newsletter is all the writing I could accomplish this month.
I did, however, pitch a dream magazine to write an article about my hopeful cure. Hint: If they accept it, I believe it will make a “big splash.” ;)
Book newsI am so grateful for every reader who takes the time to post a review. If you’ve done that, a sincere thank you. If you haven’t yet, would you take a few minutes to add your thoughts? Reviews beget more readers in the Amazon algorithm universe.
Don’t know how to do an Amazon review? No problem, I gotcha! See my simple directions here.
Growth: A Mother, Her Son, and the Brain Tumor They Survived.Medical gaslighting and a mother’s people-pleasing converge, shattering her expectations of motherhood and threatening the survival of her young son.
Click here for purchase linksKaren is a happily married, slightly frazzled working mother of two when her eight-year-old son, Matthew, develops a strange eye-rolling tic. Gradually, her high-energy kid becomes clumsy and lethargic, her “Little Einstein” a gifted program dropout. Karen knows something is wrong. But she can't get anyone to listen and lacks the backbone to crack the resistance. After three exhausting, desperate years, finally, an MRI reveals the truth: a brain tumor, squishing Matthew's brain into a sliver against his skull. Following a delicate surgery, doctors predict a complete recovery. But the damage from the delayed diagnosis prolongs Matthew's recovery, challenging Karen to grow in ways she never imagined.
A fast-paced page-turner told with candor, insight, and wit, Growth takes you on a rollercoaster of painful truths and hard-won transformations.
Available where books are sold, or see purchase links here.
Where to listen to GROWTH on audiobook:More retailers will soon offer my book, so if your favorite listening site isn't included, check back in next month's newsletter.
