Instructions to Mariners

I was drowning in deep waters, waiting to be rescued. Or rather, I was waiting for someone to come and rescue me. Someone to see me sinking in the dark sea of despair, formed by my own tears and to offer me a helping hand. Nothing was breaking the endless line of my horizon, though.

A few years before reaching 50, I felt that the moment I had been waiting for, one of relief and well-being, the time when I would eventually find myself again, after years of caring for my husband, my family, my friends and colleagues, and I would do what I really wanted… well, that moment wasn’t about to come. Instead, I realized that whatever I had been doing up to then was totally wrong. I had been providing my full support to a husband who worked long hours or was sad when he didn’t have a job. To my three children, who were now young adults, followed their own paths and seemed indifferent to me and my constant efforts. To my friends who had their own problems. To my work, finally, which never became a career as I always prioritized my family, and which had increased in contrast to my dwindling physical strength.

On all fronts, I was losing the battle I was fighting every day. Whatever I had chosen to serve seemed more futile than ever. My days ended with this bitter feeling. Once again, nothing good or exciting had happened to me. The recognition I was subconsciously seeking came from nowhere. It seemed so unfair. If only someone would come to save me. To pull me out of the everyday misery, to remind me of what it was that once made me happy, or even better, if he remembered it on my behalf and took me there, bought me a ticket for a concert or for a trip, picked out a nice piece of clothing in the right size. Whatever. The person I was seeking was not necessarily my husband, or a potential lover; it was a friend, a colleague, or my mother. I needed a human being who “ought” to remember me. At the very least, life ought to remember me; that’s how I felt.

Come to think of it, I didn’t wait for that lifeline only then. I had been waiting for somebody to throw it to me for all my life. On and off, of course. Once, my husband had a car accident. When, thankfully, he recovered from it, I thought that our daily life is a real blessing, that I shouldn’t complain again, since we were all healthy and didn’t need any doctors or hospitals. Another time, all three of my children happened to remember my birthday and gave me a small gift. Various ups and downs were shaking the line of my pessimism. Very quickly, however, the enlightenment I was experiencing faded, and everything in my head was put back in its original place. The idea that I was a person with no importance to others easily dominated my mind and perception of life, over and over again.

Ah, youth, where are you, that showed me I would become someone else? This phrase of the Greek poet Kostas Varnalis kept echoing in my mind. By that time, I had come to sadly understand that no rescue boats were in sight on the horizon. I desperately needed the Instructions to Mariners. So, I hesitantly started attending a self-awareness group. “Why did you come to this group?” the coordinators asked me. “To stop hurting”, I instantly replied with no second thoughts. I began to process the part of despair immediately, because I wanted to get rid of it so badly. My inner resistance was high too: From our earliest meetings, I could declare with certitude to the group that I was “right” in almost every aspect of the problems I was facing.

Indeed, whenever I was drowning in people’s injustice and indifference, two things tended to happen to me: First, the ground was slipping under my feet, when before that, I had felt that “I was right”. I was right to demand that my children not stay up late or eat properly. I was right to expect my husband to take part in raising them. I was right to want to use public transport, to be a conscientious employee, and so many more.

Having principles or bearing an opinion is good; that’s what I always thought. It clearly demonstrates that you are a responsible and thoughtful person. However, by being “right”, I had put myself opposite, or rather against everyone else, plus I had ready explanations and clear arguments for everything that was at stake between us. After all, my life plan was many years old, almost 50, and until then, I had predicted everything that would prove me wrong. But “justice is very hard”, as Maro Douka, a Greek writer, says in the title of her book. And this was an observation that put me in several thoughts as it was the first time I associated my pain with the indifference or rejection I received from others, as well as the injustice. Still, it was difficult for me to understand how to untie my knots.

A first moment of peace came after a simple fight with my eldest son, that’s exactly when I “saw” the connection and accepted it. My eldest son was always the one who could hurt me the most. In other words, he is the one from whom I expected the most. A young man with sensitivity and a brilliant mind, whom I wished would use his gifts in the best possible way — and in a way I would approve of, of course! So, at that time, I was counting within myself the days I was feeling “well”. I now remember that I had been at 19 days since I started the challenge. I was grateful for the work I was doing with myself. At the moment of our inevitable fight, I heard my inner voice asking the boy: “Brat, you’re ruining my streak of so many days that I’m fine. Why are you doing this to me?”. Instantly, I heard another voice replying: “How is that possible, you put your child in this position of a bad person! You are the one who allows this fight to make you feel bad.”

At that moment exactly, I clearly saw the connection; I saw the knot. I felt like I was swallowing a cane that forced me to feel upright and not to bend, not to cry, not to collapse. To be a responsible and rock-solid mother, a pillar of support. And while we were fighting, I felt in control of myself and the situation. I was calm and I smiled. Everything was O-K! Thank God, we were only quarreling… Peace at last! Of course, my son did not understand the change in me, at that point at least. Youth is so bold and beautiful after all, but soon after that, everything was as sweet as honey again.

Accepting this connection of mine, the one of rejection with self-pity, shook me really hard because I began to observe it repeatedly on many occasions. Self-observation replaced self-pity and became my new routine. I admitted to myself that one of my deepest fears with self-awareness groups and work was that the price I would have to pay to get rid of pain would be to lose my ability for smart and critical thinking, and of course, to be right! Therefore, I was excited with self-observation. I was thrilled, because my mind was now busy again, with a new, healthier and broader perspective.

Once this happened, the experienced coordinators of the group helped me go one step further. To connect this pattern with my beliefs and to realize my goal in my life. We all form our beliefs in the first years of our lives, and they tend to stay with us to this day. They change a little, but the way we handle them can change everything. So, I went back to my childhood memories and realized how important it was for me to be respected and not to be mocked or degraded. I worked with my anger towards my parents, and I tried to understand their own inadequacies in their own space and time. And maybe I forgave them, especially my mother, who was seeking recognition, the way I do.

I understood how my own struggle for recognition was what drove me to overexertion and ultimately to exhaustion. How differently I really advise new mothers now. Now that I know that it’s okay even if you don’t run your kids to the park every day to play with friends while you’re exhausted after working all day. That you don’t have to pay for music lessons from the age of three for their brain to develop properly. Once again, I feel I’m right.

While working through my past, I noticed many small, wonderful changes happening that led me to challenge my own beliefs. There are maybe two I can capture in words. The first one involved my memories, which, quite surprisingly, began to change. My ability to recall happier moments of my childhood was increased. I found out that I wasn’t really ignored all the time, as I thought I was.

At the same time, I realized that many of the things I had been doing for so many years, though exhausting, were things I genuinely wanted to do; they were things I truly enjoyed. I still loved cooking and feeding others. That was how I could express my love to them; that was how they could receive it without feeling burdened. I enjoyed cutting hair. I relished reading fairy tales before bedtime, finding and making gifts for my loved ones. I still want to organize theatrical outings and outings with friends, or with my husband.

The journey of self-knowledge and self-salvation probably never ends. The approach my coordinators were trained in suggests that life requires constant observation and practice in revealing the goal behind every transaction and conflict of ours. Adlerians! They are good! So here I am, three years after 50. Well, I’m still trying to be irreplaceable. But I feel more confident now to catch up earlier with this feeling of futility that overwhelms me when I realize that I am not. I’m less interested in legitimacy, and I make conscious efforts not to advise people when they don’t ask for it, not to have the last word in conversations, or to have the best recipe for a healthy sugar-free jam.

I am still trying to remember what I enjoyed when I was young, but I now understand that no one will come to rescue me from my ignorance or my inertia. The sea is for me to swim; the horizon, for savoring the beauty of colorful sunrises and sunsets only.