I am the world’s biggest complainer.
Just kidding.
Sort of.
Ok, not really.
Well, maybe… but at least I am not in denial.
Actually, I willingly admit to my fault and actively work to eliminate complaints from my conversations. But, it hasn’t always been this way. I’ve been a complainer since I was a teenager, but interestingly, I didn’t realize the extent of my bad habit until I became a parent.
How many times have you done this: You and the rest of your clan gear up for a weekend getaway to the beach? Overall, the trip is pretty darn pleasant, minus a few hiccups. However, when you get back and a pal asks how things went, you automatically tell the tales of the crying kids, the flat tire, the toys washed away in the surf, Tommy’s scraped knee, and the stray dog that urinated on your towels.
It’s an easy trap to fall into, especially if you are conversing with another parent. After all, fellow moms and dad can often relate to the chaos, calamities and general strife that come with traveling with children. Plus, for whatever reason, it seems to be easier to regurgitate the horror stories, rather than the quieter moments, because they yield more opportunities to add theatrical flourishes and dramatic storytelling techniques.
But what about those quieter moments?
Why are we, as parents, so reluctant to share the details of the sunset stroll in the sand with a too fast-growing daughter? Or the Frisbee throwing contest with a limber son? Or the off-key family sing-a-long in the car with the windows rolled down?
Does harping on the bad times really bring us as much satisfaction as we’d hoped for? I finally realized that it did the opposite for me. Continually verbalizing the bad parts of my day seemed to make the drama last longer. I used to think that complaining or “venting,” as some parents like to refer to it, was a healthy way to commiserate with other moms who were also crawling through the trenches of parenthood. After all, it’s never a good idea to let things fester inside bubbling and churning until you can’t take it anymore and you blow up like Mount Vesuvius, right?
Not really.
In the last few years, I’ve come to realize that complaining offers very little satisfaction. Life is short and constantly focusing on the bad parts is a fruitless venture. Sure, bad, annoying and unfair things are going to happen to you from time to time without your permission, and for some, those bad times will last longer than you’d want. However, feeling sorry for yourself, as you dig out from the bottom of the heap piled high with other people’s needs and wants, only perpetuates the perceived indignities that come with being a parent.
I can’t choose how life unfolds, but I can control how I react to the disappointments, trials and tribulations I’m dealt with. I don’t want my life to be one big vent. What’s more, I refuse to reinforce to my daughter that motherhood is a sucky job made up of a bunch of frustrations lined up like railcars.
Rather, I want her to see motherhood as a blessing. Sure, parenthood is hard and often unrewarding, but nothing in life is perfect.
Have I quit complaining cold turkey? Obviously not. However, I am now very mindful of what I say to others, especially when my daughter is present. I make a conscious effort to focus on the positive rather than harp on the negative because I know… perception is reality.