Expectations

A few weeks ago my sisters, my grandma, Eric and I were sitting around my parent's kitchen table  when the subject of personality types came up.  My sister Eden has always thought of herself as a type A "mini Hans."  Hans, my dad, is a type A++: decisive, organized, efficient, likes control.  Eden thought that's how she is too, but everyone disagreed.  Eden is super silly, easygoing and laid back. However, she likes to be on top of her work, she likes her life organized and tidy, so she assumed, if not an A++, she was at least an A.  The rest of the table said nope. B. (Well not me, I still think she's an A.  Maybe an AB.)  Eden, clearly shell shocked, was left to ponder this revelation, while everyone else at the table moved on to the REAL TYPE A, ME.  Words like "stressed out" and "controlling" were tossed about, and, feeling a little uneasy, I demanded we find a real definition to see what exactly constitutes a type A.

Type A -- a personality type characterized by ambition, high energy, and competitiveness, and thought to be susceptible to stress and heart disease.

Cool.  Thanks.

Type B -- a personality type characterized as easygoing and thought to have low susceptibility to stress.

I found myself getting defensive. Like, I don't get stressed out!  I'm not competitive! I'm just the firstborn!  I have an example to set! (really your siblings are adults now, you can give it up Erin) I'm not even very ambitious, look at me!  I'm a hot mess!   And then I looked at me and realized I had given birth 4 weeks ago, I was desperately working to fit into my pre pregnancy pants, and I was holding my baby while clearing dishes from the table.  But I'm not competitive, and I definitely don't let little things like those crumbs on the floor stress me out. Nah!  Me? Never!  I don't sweat the small stuff! And this conversation? No of course it's not stressing me out!

My name is Erin, and I'm a type A.
Hi Erin.

Derby party -- my horse came in third! I won $5! See I'm not competitive.

Everyone else at the table started to analyze themselves, describing themselves with some qualities from A, more from B. Cool as a cucumber, they were; nothing could phase them, those non-plussed type B's.

Sitting there, fidgety and uptight, I started to kind of feel bad about the way I am.  I don't want to be stressed out all the time!  I don't want my girls to grow up with a mama that can't relax!  Heart disease?  See I need to get back to working out! I don't want to be a type A anymore, I think I'll trade in for a B.  Cool?  You cool with that God? Yes I know I always want A's but this time I'll take the B.  (smh. such a type A.)

So clearly I'm a type A with a flair for the dramatic.

I understand that I'm not always stressed out, that I'm not usually competitive (except with myself), that my energy is not always high...and the flip side, my husband Eric is not always easy going and sometimes, though rarely, when his grill is not exactly the right temperature, he gets a little stressed out.   Sometimes I think these labels --  type A, firstborn, introvert, etc -- can be dangerous.  Inhibiting.  They give us permission to dismiss unique pieces of ourselves and others because that's just the way she is.




This has made me think: how do I see the people around me?  Am I really seeing them, or am I falling back on my understanding of who I think they are, or worse yet, who I expect them to be?  I have been pondering this a lot lately, now that I have a two and a half year old who is blossoming into her own little person.  It's been very tempting, it is very tempting, to see her as I want to see her. I want her to be a good listener, to be polite, to look people in the eye, to please just GO TO SLEEP.  And 90% of the time, she is a good listener, she is polite, she is an exemplary kid.  So I have come to expect that's the way she is, a sweet little girl who is pretty much perfect.

And then.  And then sometimes she flexes her newfound independence, because that's how kids grow.  Except, it catches me off guard, because I am expecting the sweet Grace to whom I am accustomed, the one who I want to show up.  And usually, because I forget to see past myself and my own version of reality, we have a battle of wills as Grace asserts herself as she is right now, and I dance in circles trying to adjust my vision of the Grace I expect versus the one who actually showed up.  I always think to myself, be consistent, take a deep breath and just be consistent in your praise and reprimanding. It's hard, not only because I hate reprimanding, but also because sometimes I feel like I'm parenting 8 children at the same time.  I know under that layer of defiance is the sweet girl, just waiting in the wings.  I know if I'm patient enough, I can coax her out without issuing a time out or another stupid lecture about listening. Yet, at the same time, I know she will sniff out any weaknesses and inconsistencies in my approach and walk all over me the next time, and then this whole drama will have been in vain.

Or, I think about when Eric comes home from work and I expect he'll be thrilled to entertain Grace and hold Elle so I can just have a minute, and usually he is.  99% of the time he absolutely is.  But sometimes he comes home defeated by the gargantuan task of being self-employed, or disappointed by the way something turned out, because, you know, life... and he walks upstairs to change without taking Grace with him, or comes in like a human tornado leaving shrapnel everywhere as I'm trying to prepare dinner, and I get bitter because I am expecting gregarious Eric, the one who wraps me up in a big hug and takes a giggling Grace upstairs. Ugh I hate that bitterness.  I hate it, and I feel awful that my expectations cloud up the lens of reality and affect the way I see people.  My people.  The people who really need me to see them as they are.




I don't think it's just me, I don't think it's my type A-ness desire for control that I can pin this on.  I think maybe this expectations of others thing is why so many marriages fail, why so many relationships in general fail.  I've been on both sides of it, as a friend who was a disappointment to someone I love because her vision of me was not realistic of who I actually am, and I've had expectations of people, of relationships, that have left me hanging...and I have to ask myself if I was realistic, or just incredibly self-serving when things didn't work out the way I wanted. I often try to remember, the best way to get what you want is to adjust your expectations.  I think about the time Eric and I went to one of his former colleague's wedding and I was jazzed because I thought it was going to be sort of fancy because they're lawyers! I walked into the Star Wars themed reception to servers passing trays of milk, while midway through dinner a couple arrived in flannel shirts and overalls because they had to finish milking their cows, and I very quickly adjusted my fancy pants expectations and rolled with it because fun!  Weddings are fun, cow poop on the dance floor and all!




Unfortunately I'm not yet smart enough, or maybe it's mature enough, to swiftly adjust expectations that are so emotionally based. I just wish, in this day of devices, 3D printers and science that someone could invent a pause button, so when things don't go as I expect I could press pause and examine the situation from the outside...is it me? How do I reorient my expectations to make this go smoothly for the people I love? How can I get out of my own way here? Maybe writing about it will make me more aware, and reading this from time to time will help me remember.  Maybe if Eric reads this he'll remember that I'm trying, or at least that I want to try harder, and he'll be enlightened enough to see the bigger picture and remind me.  It's funny because even as I sit here typing this, I'm already expecting things from myself; how much I can get done before Grace and Elle wake up from their naps?  I got about 15 minutes -- dishwasher then laundry?  Counters then floors? 15 pushups followed by 50 crunches then the dishes?  Then, as I typed that last sentence I hear the pitter patter of little footsteps above me, and I realize it's probably going to be snuggles on the couch with a glass of lemonade.

Well little Miss Type A, good thing you're not in charge, after all.