Growing up with a mom that was an accountant in the military came with a level of responsibility most people don’t really understand. Sure, it was strict. Everyone expects that. What they don’t understand is how those impossibly high standards translated into the way I talked to myself for many years. It started early with my grades. I specifically remember hearing her say things like, “Bs or better or it’s your butt.” She used this phrase from the time I was too short to ride a roller coaster and still long after I was 2 inches taller. When I towered over her, I had some doubts about her ability to spank me. I still made sure to get the grades to ensure I never had to find out if she would try.  

This form of rigor was a type of life math at my house. Every decision added up and, I believed, it would ultimately determine every outcome in my life. Hard work would make me safe. I took this responsibility so seriously at a young age. In the 3rd grade when I moved to a new school in the middle of the year and the teacher gave me Fs instead of incomplete grades, I came home crying. “I can’t go to college any more,” I explained as I cried so hard I choked a little sitting on the tall barstool at the kitchen bar that divided the kitchen and living room. 

I’ll never forget the look of confusion, then anger, that washed over my grandmother’s face. The next day, she took me to school. If you thought my military accountant mom was serious about accountability, try the immigrant single mother that raised her. But she wasn’t taking me as a punishment. She was on her way to hold someone else accountable - the teacher who gave me those grades in the first place. 

As we approached the door to the classroom situated inside a white trailer just steps from the school door, my grandmother pointed to a chair and told me to sit. When the door closed behind her, first I heard the calm hum of voices. Then, I distinctly heard my grandmother’s voice get loud. I can’t tell you everything she said next. Swearing that much offends some people and the disappointment in her voice is impossible to communicate in italics. Here’s what I will say: she taught me a lot about standing up for the people you love that day.  

For most of my life, I’ve continued to hold myself accountable to an ever-growing list of impossible standards. I told myself I was honoring those tough women and the sacrifices they made for me by pushing myself. I told myself that somehow I was earning security on this unpredictable planet. But working that hard and holding that kind of pressure over my head didn’t make me more confident things would be ok. It made me a pessimist. Some part of me always thought I was one trap door, one decision, away from losing it all. So I worked harder. 

Then, seven years ago, my business coach and friend Diamond asked me a question I’ll never forget: what will ever be enough? At the time, she was asking in reference to money, but today I see the question more broadly. What is enough effort? What is enough success? What is enough? That day began a hard process of outgrowing this belief I had to earn the next accomplishment by doing the next thing. It started small with journaling instead of doing the next task. I stopped trying to move up based on what everyone else was doing and asked what the hell up meant to me. If you told me this journey would take me into a van where I’d travel the country for three years, I’d probably laugh as hard as I do when I tell that story about my grandma. 

But I don’t think you need to move into a van to figure this one out. I think we all have to stop working so hard to be responsible to the impossible standards the world gives us and focus on becoming more response able in our own world. I didn’t realize that was the change I was making these last 7 years until I read a book called Fire In The Soul by Joan Borsyenko. It’s about spiritual optimism and changing your understanding of why bad things happen. 

Whether you call it resilience, a bounce back factor, or something else - for me, it’s the idea that no matter what happens, I can take the next step knowing I will be ok. I trust that I will be able to find a response that’s loving and kind to any situation - even if that loving kindness is just a gift I give to myself. With this skill, I feel less of a need to act with urgency or panic when I don’t know the next steps. I know life is precarious and delicate. If I hold myself responsible for every why and impossible standard, I’m only setting up for another bad day even though the world is pretty beautiful after all.

If you love this post, I think you’d love my first book. It’s called This Was All An Accident. It’s 50+ letters I wrote while traveling the country in my van about life lessons and the beautiful parts of humanity. You can buy a copy here.