I was raised in a should environment, but along the way I found out the dangers of should thinking.
Growing up, I didn't know how to say what I wanted. Probably because I didn't know what I wanted. What one wanted was not the consideration in our community. The consideration was what other people would see and what they would think. I was taught to do whatever necessary to ensure that other people didn't think poorly of me.
I wish someone had told me that somebody will always think poorly of you.
You could be the nicest, most giving person in the world and there will always be someone out there who's thinking you're a shit of some sort.
It's not a negative thing; it's just reality.
The director of the last Board I served on had it out for me. He had a problem with my penchant for email. He wanted documents hand-delivered to his building.
He was also retired. And I was working. And my participation on the Board was already a huge commitment of time volunteered. And he thought I was bad because I wouldn't make the trip after work to drop off a document I had emailed instead.
It happened every grant-proposal season. Did he think I was great because I wrote the grants? No. He just thought I was difficult because I emailed.
You can't win.
And it's not negative; it's just reality.
Other people view you through their eyes. Meaning, others don't always see you for who or what you are.
Another person can look at you and see someone their mother or sister or ex-girlfriend or the teacher who made their life miserable. You could be pissing someone off for reasons that have nothing to do with you.
But I never knew that. And so I lived the should life.
I should do this; I should do that.
I lived my life for other people. My decisions and choices were based on what other people thought was best or what would keep them happy. Later on, I focused on living a life that basically kept people off my case.
And it didn't matter what I wanted at that point anyway. I was a total stress case. No matter what I did and how far I went to please others, it was never enough.
It's not a negative thing; it's just reality.
When you act for others, you teach them that they can control you. That they have the right to ask for more and expect more and demand more. No matter how much you've already done.
And then I read Dale Carnegie.
At least I think it was Dale Carnegie. I've tried searching for the source of what I'm about to say so many times with no luck. So I just attribute it to Dale Carnegie.
Dale Carnegie - or someone - said to eliminate the word should from my vocabulary.
Think about it. How many times a day do you say or think should?
I could probably answer that question for most of the folks in my life since I hear that word with the volume turned up. There they are, just talking, and when they say the word should I hear it extra loud with a few accompanying bells and whistles.
I should be working. I should be studying. I should have called my mother or sister or neighbor or friend. I should clean the house. I should do (fill in the blank) better. I should exercise.
Think about it.
Have you ever associated should with something positive? No way. When you're little, you learn to associate bad feelings with the word should. No question.
As a kid, you're told what you should have done or not done. It's almost impossible to escape the obvious implication: you're bad. You're a bad child and a bad person.
We learn at a very early age that when we do something we "shouldn't" do, we are naughty. And not the fun kind of extracurricular naughty. When we do not do the things we "should" we're also naughty. We're a bad person. A failure.
Even worse, we learn to use should on other people. The way it was used on us.
"You should take out the garbage." What the person hears is "You should take out the garbage instead of sitting around doing nothing and being the lazy-ass loser I think of you as."
So I eliminated the word should from my life and my life began to change. It wasn't overnight, but it was relatively fast.
I learned to say things like "I will" and "I won't" and "I want" and "I don't want." I learned to say the truth about what I was doing or not doing.
"I will clean the house today."
"I won't be coming to your party."
"I want to have dinner with you tonight."
"I don't want to exercise today."
I learned to focus on what I wanted or needed to do. For me. Not what others wanted for me. Or needed from me.
And life got infinitely better. And my stress decreased in an amount I could never begin to measure.
But there was still a problem: I often felt bad.
I worried that other people would be upset. And mad. And that they would think I was a horrible person.
And so I compensated.
"I won't be coming to your party. But maybe we could have dinner this weekend."
"I don't want to exercise today. But I'll exercise double tomorrow."
I got it wrong.
I learned how to say what I wanted and didn't want, but I still felt I needed to make it up to others. Make up for the fact that I was doing what I wanted. Not what they wanted me to do.
And life was like that for a ridiculously long time.
Ironically, I had learned so much from Dale Carnegie, but I wasn't employing it in the most important ways. At an early age, I had read "How to Stop Worrying and Start Living" because stress was already crippling me. I had also read "How to Win Friends and Influence People" but I had no luck with that. I was still without friends and without influence.
But I desparately needed a way to decrease my stress. I was living a life paralyzed by fear and worry. And Dale Carnegie taught me to ask the most fundamental question:
"What is the worst that can possibly happen?
Dale Carnegie told me to always prepare myself mentally to accept the worst--if necessary.
And it worked. To a point.
I stopped worrying about basic stuff.
"What is the worst that can possibly happen if I'm late? Or if I don't get this done? Or if I make a mistake? Or if I say no?
I learned to accept the worst and, after a while, no longer even really thought about the worst case scenarios. I was calm in traffic and in meetings that ran late.
It was the best thing I ever learned.
But I just didn't really understand the full implications of the concept. I was still scared of what other people thought.
It was like elementary school was following me around.
But what if he says I'm ugly? What if she says I'm stupid? What if nobody likes me or gives me a Valentine?
I was still scared of the imaginary bullies who might articulate - and confirm - all the bad things I already thought - or suspected - about myself.
I could turn down an invitation to a dinner, but then I'd obsess about whether the host would think I was disrespectful or uncaring or just a horrible friend.
But then, I learned the second most important word in my life.
The first most important word was should. I eliminated the word should and my life changed.
The second word - which I only learned more recently - is okay.
And it's not a matter of eliminating the word okay; it's a matter of learning how to use it. And believe it.
My ultimate fear - my whole life - was that somebody would verbalize and confirm all of my negative feelings.
"Well you're just selfish."
"Well you're just thoughtless."
"Well you're just mean."
"Well you're just a lazy, no-good do-nothing."
"Well you're a bad friend, daughter, granddaughter, sister, cousin, niece, coworker, employee and neighbor.
And so, whenever somebody accused me of something I feared or needed to deny, I fought it tooth and nail. I would defend myself arduously. I would explain why I wasn't this or that or whatever they suggested or implied I was.
First I got really good at it.
And then I got tired.
I just got tired of defending myself.
Some of the time I defended myself directly to the accuser. Most of the time I imagined defending myself to some would-be-accuser whose accusations I imagined or fantasized.
And I was tired.
Luckily, sometimes lack of energy is liberating.
The day I learned that was a Saturday. I was working. It was a beautiful, sunny hot day. And I was working. I should have been running.
Oops! Didn't mean "should" in a finger-wagging way. I meant it would have been really nice to be running. But I had consciously chosen to work. For a variety of reasons.
So I'm in the middle of working and I get a call.
"You'll be there, right?"
"No. I can't be there."
"What do you mean you can't be there? So and so will be very upset if you're not there."
"Look, I really just can't be there. I'm working today and I'm tired and I just don't have the energy to be there."
"Well of course you won't be there. All you think about is yourself. You're so selfish."
That's not verbatim, but it's pretty damn close.
Thank God I was tired.
Or thank Jesus. Or Buddha. Or Rama, Krishna, Abraham, Issac, Jacob, Moses, Mary, Spongebob Squarepants or whoever it was that took away my energy.
I said "okay." I just said "okay." And then I said I was hanging up.
And I did.
And I never raised my voice. Or got emotional.
I just decided that day - in my listless state - that I was too tired to stop people from thinking whatever they wanted to think.
Mostly because they think whatever they want to think anyway. Despite your best efforts, intentions and actions.
"Well you're just selfish."
"Okay."
And that day changed my life the rest of the way it needed to be changed.
I had learned how to do what I wanted instead of what I should. I finally learned how to do what I wanted and be okay - literally okay - with whatever others thought of it.
So last night a friend called.
I swore I wouldn't say his OR HER name.
Swore.
She's got a relentless suitor. A real pain-in-the-butt.
The suitor - who we'll just say is a guy - doesn't get any hints. She avoids him, ignores him and rebuffs him. And he hasn't caught on. He imposes himself upon her at parties and other social events since they've got mutual friends. And he keeps calling.
She lamented last night that nothing's working. I tried to hold my tongue since I knew she really hadn't tried everything. I asked whether she had told him directly to stop calling and just stay away.
"But I don't want to be rude."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because I can't be rude."
"Why not?" I asked.
"I don't know."
If you listen to Dr. Laura, which nobody does except me, you learn very quickly that "I don't know" isn't allowed.
And it makes sense. Because underneath all of our insecurity and denial and fear, we all really do know what we say we don't know.
"Why don't you want to be rude? What are you scared of?"
"What if he thinks I'm a bitch?"
And then I explained the concept of okay. And I explained my bitch theory.
Sometimes a girl is a bitch. And that's just the way it is. And sometimes other people need to think a girl's a bitch in order to justify their own positions.
Either way, it doesn't matter. People think what they want to think or need to think. You've got very little control over that. Face your fears, I suggested strongly but hopefully gently.
I take that back. I know I wasn't gentle.
I demanded that my friend just accept the fact that a guy who refuses to get the message and who is now making her uncomfortable might just need to think she's a bitch. And I demanded that she just be okay with it.
So today's probably the day.
Because all evidence suggests that he'll call.
And my friend's under strict instructions to refrain from discussing or negotiating or explaining or apologizing. She's been given permission to be what she believes is rude and to be perceived as her worst fear in the world: a bitch.
But she's not quite there.
She insists on "telling" him - I call it explaining - that "it just won't work."
I told her she's past that. I told her it's time to say "this isn't negotiable."
But she's a nice person. So she's going for that combination of direct but not rude. Oh to be a fly on the wall.
Since my own liberation, I've been whatever people say I am. I've been selfish and lazy and uncaring and insensitive. Maybe I've been a couple of good things too, but, as Carrie Bradshaw noted, we always believe our own bad press.
And I'm okay with all of that.
Because I know in my heart that when Judgment Day arrives, the truth will be known.
Some of the time I was the nicest, most caring, most sensitive person, most industrious person in the world. And sometimes I was just doing what I wanted to do. Or needed to do. Or not doing what I didn't want or need to do.
And that's okay.
Because as Dale Carnegie, God, Jesus, Buddha, Rama, Krishna, Abraham, Issac, Jacob, Moses, Mary, and my personal savior, Spongebob Squarepants, say in their own cryptic ways: