When the Need to Fix Everything Falls Away
Cuando la necesidad de arreglarlo todo se desvanece
A student shares the experience of caring for an elderly father after a serious fall, and how letting go of the compulsion to control the situation has opened unexpected moments of love and authenticity.
When the Need to Fix Everything Falls Away
A student shares the experience of caring for an elderly father after a serious fall, and how letting go of the compulsion to control the situation has opened unexpected moments of love and authenticity.
I wanted to share something because it related to what was just being discussed. I'm going through a real-life example of this at the moment with my dad. He had a bad fall a few weeks ago, broke his leg quite badly, and he's 81. He's gone from being completely independent to needing round-the-clock care.
I noticed I was going into solution mode: what's next, what's next, what's next. There was genuine stuff to do, because the hospital made mistakes and the care home made mistakes. But there was also this feeling of, "I'm not in charge of his destiny."
That was actually quite a relief. Someone once used the expression "you're not doing the heavy lifting," and I liked that. The heavy lifting is not up to me. Yes, there are little practical details I can help with, but ultimately none of it is in my control.
I also think prayer is really powerful in terms of asking for guidance from beyond my personal mind.
The pull to fix and the pull to surrender
I've felt under a lot of pressure to get things resolved, to help. And I've also noticed a trigger: when my dad's not okay or angry, something in me feels unsafe, even though he's a frail old man now. I've had to ask myself whether part of this is actually me trying to placate him so that I feel safer.
So it's been a real back and forth between feeling on edge, needing to fix everything, racing to find a solution each time something goes wrong, and recognizing that there is a powerful force in charge of this whole story.
That recognition has actually brought a big sense of depth and richness to the experience. There have been some really beautiful moments. He's said deeper things than I've ever heard him say.
Something else was said earlier about not knowing what the answer should be, and it reminded me that sometimes when we hit our breaking point, maybe that was meant to happen because it was needed to take someone deeper. Trying to make everything okay all the time potentially takes that away from someone. The idea that pain is bad is itself a story. Maybe there are lessons happening that we don't understand, but that have to happen for that person's journey. So I'm seeing the gifts of it as well, in terms of how profound it can be.
That's quite a journey. You said there were some beautiful moments. Do you recognize what happens, whether anything shifts in those moments?
It's interesting you say that, because there was a moment when I was really direct with him. He said, "I'm worried about you and all of this that you're taking on." And I said, rather than worry about me, help me by letting other people help you, because he's quite stubborn about letting people in. It was probably out of character for me to be that direct. And he just told me how much he loved me, which he's never really done before.
I suppose the situation has just broken a pattern of behavior we were in. It became more authentic, more real about what we were each feeling.
What difficulty can open
That's the beauty of this stage of life. A father in his eighties, the last years. It starts to bring things up for him, and for both of you. The necessary shift.
It moves you into a sense of what's really important, what's valuable, and away from the habits of thought. That's where love is. That's where beauty is.
When you say something like "it was meant to be" or "maybe there's some meaning in it," that language is an interpretation laid over what happens. But what does happen is that difficulty often shifts us. Sometimes it doesn't. For some people, especially if there's stubbornness, it takes longer. But there's always something that eventually breaks through the stubbornness.
What I'm hearing in your sharing is a kind of opening of love from you to your father. I don't mean to put words to your experience, but that's what I was feeling.
Yes, I think there's a breaking of a certain reserve. Especially in English culture, you don't really express your feelings, and particularly his generation. You do things for each other instead. There's a sense that we're there for each other, even if it hasn't been said before.
There's also a beauty in being able to communicate that in words, to be expressive.
And I think it's just easier when I'm not in that cycle of needing to fix everything. When I can just sit with him, watch television, be in the moment, and not try to change his mood or manage anything.
That's beautiful. I'm happy for that. The silver lining.
Yeah. Thanks.
Thank you for sharing.