Day-to-Day

Soul Food: How to Seek the Sacred in Every Day

“Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet believe.” We shouldn’t be testing God, begging Him to make Himself known to us. We should put our faith in Him no matter what.

Still, faith is fed by seeing—it’s just that it’s rarely in a literal sense. We must learn to see God everywhere, in the everyday world in which we live. The everyday world He made for us.

Exercises for Finding Holiness All Around You

God did make this world for you specifically. Your free will has carried you through the big and little decisions of life, but God knew where you were headed all along, and He crafted your world accordingly—anticipating your needs in each and every moment. Can you recognize His handiwork?

The divine can often be found even in the mundane, and spotting it is a balm to the soul on a weary day.

So next time you’re craving a chance to see God working in your life, give one of these exercises a try.

Record and reflect on three (possibly tiny) gifts for today.

Throughout the day, write down three of the delights you experience while going about your routine—big or small. Capture anything that made you smile: a child’s antics, a promotion, your pet’s warmth, your favorite song coming on the radio, affirmation from someone you love. Anything.

At the end of the day, look at the list. Ask yourself:

  • Why did these things make you happy?
  • What about your personality or history is reflected by them? How are these gifts wrapped up in bigger blessings (e.g., the people in your life or the place you live)?
  • How easily might you have missed these moments if your day went slightly differently, or if you weren’t paying attention?
  • Might any of them have answered some recent prayers, even in a small way?
  • What, if any, major or difficult decisions in your life led to any of these delights?

God made you uniquely you, and then He showered you with these small joys to feed your spirit—ensuring the world came together in such a way that you would feel His love in those moments. Contemplate these experiences deeply until you can see this patchwork of His tenderness for you.

When you can see how He has blessed even the small moments in life, it’s easier to ponder His bigger plans. Are you feeling aligned with God’s hopes for you? If you’re feeling separated, how can you draw nearer to Him based on the strengths and preferences He has woven into you?

Stand outside—no matter the weather.

“Some people, in order to discover God, read books. But there is a great book: the very appearance of created things. Look above you! Look below you! Read it. God, whom you want to discover, never wrote that book with ink. Instead, He set before your eyes the things that He had made. Can you ask for a louder voice than that?” – Saint Augustine

Step out the door and stand in the fresh air. Do not let your mind wander. Instead, spend five or ten full, actual, timed minutes and soak up the scene you are seeing in as much detail as possible. Imagine you’re a painter and will need to recreate the imagery on canvas, from memory. Notice the details:

  • What is the precise color of the sky? Are the clouds foreboding, puffy, wispy—or are there no clouds at all?
  • If it’s precipitating, how does it feel? Is the rain a fine mist, or heavy droplets—as if someone is watering you like a gardener with a hose? Is the snow light and fluffy, or heavy and dense?
  • Do you see signs of life around you? Notice how diverse or distracted any passersby appear to be. Look for birds, rodents, insects—anything moving of its own accord. How many miracles has God breathed life into here?
  • Are there buildings or other manmade structures in sight? How much work and creativity went into designing and erecting them? How much care goes into maintaining them?
  • What is the flora like? Is it looking healthy or withering? How many shades of green or brown can you count?
  • What time of day is it? What’s the season? How is this scene different, in this moment, from any other?

Once you’ve had a chance to soak it in, contemplate the depth of the whole world. How many beautiful, complex things are happening all at once, even when no one is watching? Consider that there are more than 7,000,000,000—seven billion!—other human souls on the earth, and each and every one of them can step outside at this moment, too, and see thousands of things that are unique to each of their experiences. Thousands of unique and beautiful things, times 7 billion perspectives.

God made all of this. He knows all of it, intimately, in every single nanosecond. He is with all of us at once, holding our hands and lighting our paths. Can you feel Him?

Pause to actively admire someone you passively admire.

We all have role models, mentors, friends, and beloved family members. There is someone in your life—perhaps someone you directly know, or perhaps an influencer or even a saint you admire from afar—who you look up to.

God’s greatest masterpiece is reflected in the face of each of His children. The human person is His most beloved creation, and it’s easy to see why if we look on one another with love.

So think of someone who you admire—someone who, in your eyes, embodies God’s love and works hard to live according to His design. Look for Him in that precious soul:

  • How did you come to know this person? In what ways have they spoken to you when you really needed it?
  • What do you know of their history? What adversity have they overcome to become stronger?
  • Why is this person, and the part they play in your life, important? How does God speak to you through this person’s influence?
  • What makes you similar to this person? What makes you different? Do these similarities and differences please you, or do they present opportunities for self-improvement? (Remember: You don’t have to completely mimic this person, because you are uniquely wonderful. Consider what you can learn from them, not how you can become them.)
  • Where can beauty be found in this person—and not just physical beauty, but spiritual? Keep in mind that scars and suffering can be beautiful, too, when they foster growth.
  • What makes this person unique? How did God make them different from anyone else you’ve known?
  • If you were to send this person a gift, what would it be? What would suit them specifically and why? (Then send it, if you can!)

Every single person on this earth has been loved by someone—at a minimum, by God Himself. That means every single person you pass by, or interact with online, or hear about through a friend, or whose name you read in the newspaper—each of them can be the subject of this reflection. And no two reflections will look the same.

Again, multiply that realization times 7,000,000,000. How vast is the creativity and compassion of a God who made each of those people so unique?

But First: Seek the Sacraments

To be clear: The best way to find the sacred is to go to church. Run there—do not walk—as often as you can. Spend as much time as you are able with Jesus in the Lord’s house. We should all strive to be like Padre Pio, who told his brothers: “When you want to find me, come near the Tabernacle.”

Immeasurable peace can be found in the sanctity of the church: in the floral scent of the incense, the soothing rumble of the organ, the beauty and detail of the artwork, the stories told by the icons, the ancient significance of the chants, the wisdom of the pastor, and above all, the nourishment of the Eucharist.

The liturgy is the single most profound setting—the most literal connection to Heaven—that we can immerse ourselves into in this life.

So please, always prioritize the sacraments if you are feeling far from God. He is there, waiting for you.

But when you can’t get to church—when you are limited to wherever you are in this moment—then seek out the sacred in the small. In the simple. In the everyday. You can find Him there, too.

Finding Joy in the Bits and Pieces

I recently took a string of happiness and personality assessments that I found online.

I learned that that I am a contrarian optimist. I like to think of bright futures, and have faith that all will be well. But I also have a tendency toward catastrophic thinking that is … less than sunny.

But the bigger thing I learned is that I feel truly fulfilled and happy with my life, even if the day-to-day feels exhausting and repetitive and a bit limiting. And that contradiction was hard to articulate and understand.

A Little of This and a Little of That

At first, answering all those assessment questions, I felt like I had to call myself out a little bit.

I’m not ending every day jumping for joy. In fact, I find myself counting down to the kids’ bedtime many evenings and resisting the sleep that will usher in the chaotic start of another day. The thought of planning endless meals and doing an eternity of laundry is usually so exhausting that, well, I often just don’t do those things.

So why did I sincerely want to answer every question about my happiness at the top of the scale? Might I have been lying—trying to adhere to romanticized images of family life?

After some self-examination, I didn’t feel I was lying at all.

I am tired. I cry sometimes. I have chronically low energy inputs and chronically high energy outputs. I rarely have time in my day to do something simply for fun, just for me or for my marriage or in my friendships. Every day, I do much the same thing—and have very little flexibility in what needs to be done.

But I am also happy. A sleepy, sometimes reluctant, confused, and frustrated kind of happy—but happy nonetheless. And deeply so.

It’s hard to wrap my head around that. And it’s even harder to explain to others.

For example, when I have a bad day and just feel weepy or worn out, my husband often rushes to help. “What can I do?” he asks. And I’ll ask for some things, but then I’m still tired, and I think he wonders if I’m just unhappy. But that’s not it at all. I’m just worn out, or having a bad day.

It’s difficult to articulate how I am existentially happy but also temporally exhausted. But it’s true. It’s deeply true.

Less Hustle, More Humble

We like to think about happiness being a choice. And indeed, we choose joy to a great extent, as Saint Gianna Molla once said: “The secret of happiness is to live moment by moment and to thank God for all that He, in His goodness, sends to us day after day.”

But joy is not simply the absence of suffering. Happiness is not simply the opposite of sorrow.

Take these bits of wisdom from Fulton Sheen:

“Joy is the happiness of love—love aware of its own inner happiness. Pleasure comes from without, and joy comes from within, and it is, therefore, within reach of everyone in the world.”

“Pleasure is quick and violent, like a flash of lightning. Joy is steady and abiding, like a fixed star.”

We can own our sense of joy, but we do so primarily by letting go of our need for it. Because joy comes from love, and love can only be real when it is selfless—when we let go of our self-interest and invest ourselves, instead, in the wellbeing of another person, in loving the Lord.

This concept is in stark contrast to the often hedonistic world we live in today. “Do what makes you happy” is a common mantra, and we are often encouraged to prioritize our desires above all else in an effort to “achieve” happiness. YOLO, right?

I have often, in moments of restlessness or boredom or overwhelm, felt like I needed to pick up some valuable hobby or skill to make myself happier—or maybe just to buy something or go somewhere to find a little joy in my day. Surely a creative outlet would make me feel more energized? Or a side hustle would bring me more reward and validation in my talents? Or a trip somewhere sunny will leave me feeling rested and blissful?

So sometimes I try it. And lo: It’s never quite clicked. I didn’t have the energy to consistently put into a creative outlet, or a side hustle, or an academic pursuit. Or I bought the thing or went somewhere—and came back, settled in, and promptly felt exactly as exhausted as before. That’s not a great realization.

But I’ve learned that, even though this season of life—the one where I have small children and grown-up responsibilities and a full-time job and the urgent need to consistently take care of myself, too, in ways that don’t drain me even further—is busy and hectic and exhausting and emotionally draining, I am still a fundamentally happy person.

I’m happy with the family I’ve built with my husband. I’m happy with my relationships and my circumstances. I’m happy to be a working mom with a support system to help make that sustainable.

Little moments of pleasure help bring light to dark days, of course. And new things or hobbies or adventures can offer that. But I’ve had to learn to stop looking at those things as sources of happiness. I must instead understand that real, actual joy is a subtle and existential thing—something that comes more mysteriously and more fundamentally from within me, something that no fleeting fun can replicate.

Joy is Embracing the Freedom Born of Obedience

We are all called to follow the will of God for our lives. That doesn’t mean He makes every decision for us; we have free will. But staying on a holy path, to the best of our abilities, teaches us that temporary, situational happiness is much less important than sustained fulfillment in life—even (an especially) when reaching that fulfillment is extraordinarily hard in the moment. And we ultimately become better, more joyful people for that.

We can choose our attitudes and our behaviors. But we can’t choose every challenge we will face in life (or, often, its perfect resolution). Not every moment can be saturated in happiness, no matter how much we will it to be.

What we can do, in moments of pain, is close our eyes, breathe deep, and center our hearts on the energy that powers us: the knowledge that God loves us more profoundly than we’ll ever know, and that this moment in time—although it may feel truly massive for us—is no obstacle to eternity. We can find solace by resting, for even a moment, in that genuine and salvific love, and try our best to return that love.

The rest will follow, good or bad, and we will survive—eternally—if we do our part in loving God and others first.

So find joy in the little moments. Find it when you set aside yourself and get lost in a charitable endeavor or a gift for someone close to you. Find it in a cool breeze on a hot day, or a warm fire on a cold night. Find it in random acts of kindness and, above all, in God’s presence in the sacraments.

But in the bigger picture, know that you will find joy by seeking to understand God’s path for your life—and following it, even when it’s hard.

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” – Matthew 22:36-40

Jesus did not give us his greatest commandment to impose more rules upon us. He wanted to ensure we take good care of our communities and honor his example, yes. But he was also giving us a great gift: the real key to happiness.

“If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in His love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full. This is my commandment: that you love one another as I have loved you.” –John 15:10-12

“Love the Sinner, Hate the Sin” and Other Spiritual Clichés

As the saying goes (get it?), every cliché became clichéd for a reason.

We use them to teach, communicate at work, share in solidarity, reference favorite movies. It’s a perfectly fine way to contribute to a conversation in many settings.

The risk, though, is treating clichés as if they have finality. Clichés can help us connect with others or articulate a relatable thought, but they should never be a conclusion—because the only thing a cliché proves is its own popularity. That isn’t the kind of evidence you need in a debate.

When it comes to faith and morality, clichéd thinking is an especially important fallacy to avoid. Discussions on these topics may be heated. Sometimes, a person will want to engage on them because they are in crisis. The issues on the table are critical, and they are complicated. A proper conversation should involve a lot of thought and evidence. But too often, the same oft-cited clichés are treated as if they can stand in as a final word.

They can’t. Clichés may not be untrue, but they aren’t the whole truth, and when you’re talking about something as nuanced as faith or policy, that’s an important distinction.

“Love the Sinner, Hate the Sin”

We hear this so much in today’s world. And it’s an important reminder to check our biases and offer forgiveness. None of us can judge the state of another’s soul. None of us can see the interior of another’s heart. It is essential that we know our place in this way.

However, this concept of Christian compassion isn’t an open door to relativism. We can never damn another person, or purport to know how God sees them (except to rest assured that they, as are we all, His beloved children). But this doesn’t mean we must support everything they do or say when we believe those words or actions to be wrong. It’s okay to call out wrongdoing. In fact, it is imperative. And to be shut down with this cliché in response is not to be beaten.

Remember, though, that we are not here to change hearts. Only God can do that. We can (and must) share truth, and live a good example that shows kindness, meekness, and penance—but that’s all we can do.

“Let Go and Let God” (Or Its Cousins, “God Will Never Give You More Than You Can Handle” and “Everything Happens for a Reason”)

And on speaking of what we cannot do—there’s quite a lot of it. Of course there is. Of course we can’t change the world all on our own, or single-handedly save our country, or even, frankly, guide the precise path of our own lives.

In this way, it’s important to give over our worries and anxieties to God and trust in His care for us. He is our Father, and He will carry us through it all—either on this earth or to salvation—if we let Him.

But we can control our own behavior. We are entirely responsible for the way we live our lives, even if we can’t foresee all of the outcomes of our behavior. So yes, we should be letting God “take control of our lives.” But no, this is not a reason to set aside hard work, or attempt to convince ourselves that deeply important issues are not worth examining and stressing over.

Sometimes we need that stress to remind ourselves of our roles and how we can better help our neighbors, as well as ourselves. And sometimes, if someone is suffering, we need to acknowledge their pain instead of brushing it off as something God will remove from them if only they believe hard enough.

Pain can be cleansing. So can hard work.

“Actions Speak Louder Than Words” and “You Can’t Have it Both Ways”

This is one you might hear often in partisan debates: “If you say you believe in x, you’ve sure failed to show it with real action!” That impulsive response to a difficult statement, or one that appears contradictory, is understandable. It’s so hard to wrap our minds around some of the issues we face in public policy today, and how all of those issues intersect and interact (spoiler alert: neither major American party gets everything right).

But Catholicism is a “both/and” faith. So much of what we believe might appear confusing, but nuances often reveal that there is no contradiction when two things—like rejecting abortion and rejecting birth control—appear to be discordant.

The proper thing to do isn’t to accuse someone of failing to act on their beliefs. Instead, ask how they have, or how you might go about doing the same. Better yet, ask why and how they believe those two things at once.

What to Say Instead

People don’t come away from difficult conversations feeling like they’ve learned something if they’ve heard too many platitudes.

That said, we’re not all incredible orators. It’s hard to come up with the right answer to a tough question when put on the spot.

I don’t know about you, but I find myself falling back to clichés when I’m just not sure how to articulate more detail. I grasp for something relatable and recognizable, and want to offer that to “prove my point” by way of helping someone understand where my head is at. But that’s not the way to teach someone something. And it can be a dangerous cop-out—because, if I feel like I’ve expressed myself in an “easy” way and the other person “just doesn’t get it,” neither of us is challenged to dig deeper and discover something important.

So, if you want to say something but aren’t quite sure how to say it well—don’t take the easy way out. Instead, be honest: “You know, I’m not precisely sure how to give you the best answer for that right now. Let me look into it a little bit more and get back to you with better insights.” Then, actually do that research and follow up as promised.

That is a difficult thing to do, especially if the conversation is heated or it feels like something huge is at stake. But you know what? That’s humility. Humility is objectively good. It’s also so impactful, because it shows people that you are aware of your own limitations and respectful of their time and attention. It also means you can extend the conversation and treat the subject with the care it deserves—and, if necessary, take a pause so everyone can catch their breath and return to the discussion with more information.

Whether you’re talking politics, faith, or ethics (or all three), remember that you are not responsible for having an astute, complete answer to every question. No one should expect that of you—and neither should you expect it of yourself. Check your pride. Be a good listener and a steady speaker. Above all, be open to learning. That’s how we grow.

Challenge is good. Tough conversations can be stressful, but they can also be incredibly productive—not just in influencing others, but in growing our own intellect. Give them the time and attentiveness they deserve instead of bandaging incomplete thoughts with relatable but empty banalities. St. John Chrysostom, patron of orators, pray for us.

Family and Self in a Work-from-Home World

As someone who has been working from home full time for several years, the current conversation around remote work in the time of COVID-19 has fascinated me.

Now, as the pandemic stretches out and companies continue to keep their offices closed, conversations are turning to whether the work-from-home shift is a permanent change.

I’m all for it. And there’s plenty of evidence to suggest productivity is just as good—if not better—for employees who work at home, so the hard business data seems to support it also.

But there is a cost. Even if they’re more productive, not everyone is happier at home.

Lowly Workers

There is an immense amount of strain on people in the working world right now. Between adjusting to a new office environment, managing the stress of an uncertain economy, feeling fearful for personal and public health, and under pressure to keep productivity high in order to protect their job security and tackle pandemic projects they never anticipated—it’s a lot. For all of us.

We are all in the unfortunate position of redefining work-life balance—and fighting for what matters most when we’re expected to give a lot more than we have in our mental and emotional reserves.

Some companies are taking this burden on their people seriously and trying to minimize their contribution to it by being transparent with and supportive of their workforce.

Unfortunately, not all companies are providing the same support. I know people who’ve heard little to nothing from their leaders about what the months—even weeks—ahead will look like in terms of working locations, travel policies, job security, and company health.

There is also an unsettling trend of increased surveillance on workers who are logging on at home—a belittling overreach, and a downright unethical privacy violation to boot.

Whether it’s mistrust, mistreatment, or maladjustment, a lot of working adults are just feeling less human when it comes to their careers lately. It’s hard to feel like a unique person of worth when your stability—economic and emotional—depends on some numbers on a spreadsheet.

Now, add in an overdose of collapsing self-worth. Between the unrelenting demands placed on us in a consumerist society, and the increased tendency of people—especially young people—to hinge their self-image on their work, so many of our neighbors are feeling their emotional foundations collapse.

This tendency is known as “workism,” and it’s a plague all its own. COVID-19 has merely brought its effects to the forefront. Why do so many of us place all our self-worth on our careers?

There is an abundance of scientific evidence that the human mind is predisposed to religiosity. (Of course, to people of faith, this makes sense: we were created with an inherent love for and desire to seek out our Creator.) Psychologists, neuroscientists, sociologists, and more see a common desire to belong, understand our place in the universe, and work toward a greater good.

Absent an upbringing or personal perspective steeped in faith, many of us find this sense of meaning elsewhere. Sometimes it’s in our relationships. Very often, it’s in our work. “What you do is who you are” becomes a natural assumption when no one teaches you that “You are who you were created to be, regardless of what you do.”

In times of plenty, the former definition of self is a valuable one. We feel productive and effective, confident and admirable. But in times of want, if your identify is dependent on your output, it’s hard to see your worth when you’re not even “doing enough” to get by.

Lonely Homes

Worse than fiscal fears, and just as devastating as crumbling self-worth, is the pervasive sense of loneliness reported by many work-from-home professionals in the COVID-19 economy.

Just as so many of us have our identities tied up in our work, we have our social support systems there, too. When you hold yourself to high standards of “hustle,” an increasing majority of your time is spent at work. Ultimately, the people you speak to and connect with most are at the office.

Today’s young adults are getting married at later ages. They’re starting families later, too. And, around the world, more and more people are living alone.

So where else are we finding community, if not at work? And even if your network of friends extends beyond the office, it’s not exactly easy to hang out while social distancing effects remain in place all around us.

Of course this is a recipe for loneliness. Who wouldn’t be lonely if they suddenly found themselves alone, 24 hours a day, without the freedom or safety required to connect with anyone outside their household?

Again, intensive economic demand and unaccommodating workplaces make it increasingly difficult to pursue family life for many young adults in the 21st century. It’s a benefit to your employer if you stake your identity and your community within their four walls, isn’t it? Then you never want to leave.

But a move away from family values has also contributed to this shift:

Whatever the reason (and, to be clear, there certainly are plenty of legitimate reasons to delay marriage or having children—I’m not suggesting everyone get married at 18 and start having babies immediately), having a family later in life can mean years of living literally or figuratively alone. And while independence is a good thing, isolation is not.

Balance: The Ultimate Question

At any stage in life, there’s the struggle to find balance—between work and school, school and socialization, work and family, family and self. How you find it and what that balance ultimately looks requires deeply personal reflection and adjustment, which no one else can dictate for you.

But all of us deserve the freedom to find it. Our rights are to life, liberty, and property—and the pursuit of happiness.

This is a defining moment for the next several decades when it comes to our political, social, and economic culture. I hope it swings more toward the human side of the spectrum than the commercial.

Saint Joseph the Worker, pray for us.

It’s Okay to Be Wrong

Have you ever had a real doozy of a day and just collapsed onto the couch to treat yourself to a few minutes of laziness? You open Instagram on your phone, wanting to scroll through bright colors and the happy faces of friends and family.

But soon, all those snapshots of happy faces, perfect ponytails, handmade masterpieces, and messages about working hard and “soaking up every minute” make you feel like an abject failure.

We know that social media plants seeds of damaging perfectionism in our hearts. It is a blessing to connect with others from afar, to be sure. It is a joy to see their joys. But sometimes, when we only see everyone’s most polished moments, it’s easy to feel like every scene of our lives should be tailored toward impressing others. It’s an impossible standard.

Trying to meet that standard crushes self-esteem, triggers anxiety, and even influences suicidal ideation. It makes us feel like we aren’t enough unless we constantly exceed all expectations.

Thankfully, in my circles, friends and family often share the less-than-ideal memories they make each day, not just the perfect ones. We commiserate and laugh at ourselves daily. And I hope this is the case for you, too, so we can embrace social media for its supportiveness instead of defining ourselves by its embellishments.

But another type of perfectionism has sunk its teeth into the social media age. And it is just as damaging.

Social Sanctimony and Cancel Culture

I don’t follow the news closely. This isn’t to say I’m ignorant to the goings-on of the world around me; it’s just that I’m not cut out to be a news junkie.

I dislike the 24-hour, for-profit news cycle. From my viewpoint, it has encouraged journalistic integrity to step aside so that bias (specifically on political subjects) and view-earning drama can step in. I can’t completely trust any single source of news, so I have to peruse many to get the big picture on a story—and even then, I must accept that my perspective is limited.

This is true of mainstream media outlets, many of which have presented consistent partisan leanings in one direction or another. And I can’t even express how damaging it is from downright fake news outlets.

In the same way the idyllic images on social media make us feel pressure to always “live beautifully,” the slanted language of the nonstop news we are served makes us feel obligated to believe a certain way, or form a specific opinion, or hold up one version of the truth without examining every side.

Then there are social pressures like “cancel culture” and imposed relativism, which suggest a need to protect ourselves from perceptions of bias that could hurt us—at least when it comes to biases that go against the mainstream.

So we speak loudly on issues we haven’t fully explored, or jump on board with shaming others for saying something counter-cultural or making a bad joke or being ignorant—while neglecting to seek important context and first-hand perspectives. Then we decline to engage with those who disagree because they are simply wrong, as far as we know. Which is, in today’s narrative, about the worst thing you can be.

To be clear, on some issues, what’s socially acceptable really is the right answer. It’s never okay to be racist, or to kill, or to bully (to use a few examples that should be painfully obvious).

But many other issues—economic policy, education reform, gender roles, social support systems—deserve healthy and respectful debate. Their positive evolution is, in fact, driven by that debate. Too often, though, popular culture labels one or another position as “unacceptable.” And then cancel culture kicks in, or at least debasing comments that all too often attack the individual instead of the issue.

It is a vicious cycle. The inherent bias we ingest from the news and day-to-day conversations gives us a sense of being unwaveringly right in our understanding. Next, social pressure pushes us to demonstrate to other people that we’re right (lest we be ostracized for being wrong, or for being too quiet). This leads us to share the biased content as if it is unbiased proof, which presents it to someone else—and the spin continues ad nauseum.

It’s Okay to Be Wrong (As Long As You Want to Learn How to Be Right)

What we’ve forgotten is that it is downright impossible to be correct in all things, at all times. Just like it’s impossible to be Instagram-ready in all things, at all times.

It is tempting to see history as a line on an upward slant: a neat chart that shows us starting at zero and growing to perfection. We want to see human progress as black and white, beginning with the dark ages and ending with paradise.

But this simply isn’t reality. History, though positive growth is certainly clear, is also a squiggly line of peaks, valleys, progress, regress, goodness, and badness.

We may have markedly reduced poverty worldwide, but we’ve also notably increased the wealth gap in the last century. We may have 216 million fewer hungry people than we did 30 years ago, but obesity is contributing to the premature deaths of 4.7 million people every year. Global violence by genocide has declined over human history, but infant mortality for black babies remains 2.5 times higher than white babies in the US.

Human history is a relentless game of good versus evil, and we cannot expect to achieve perfection.

Now, I know it may not sound like it, but I am an optimistic person. We should always be striving to make the world a better place for our neighbors and children. I will always try to influence positive change, especially in regards to respect for human life. So I don’t point out these gaps in human progress to make you sad.

Rather, I outline them as a reminder of humility.

People are inherently good.

People are also inherently flawed.

There is no perfection in this life—not until we are saved from the shackles of death. Can we do better for ourselves and each other? Absolutely. But we can’t do it alone, and we certainly can’t do it by diminishing one another in the process.

So if you’re called out on social media for sharing a misleading article, or misrepresenting a counterpoint, or failing to see another perspective on an issue—I hope you’ll listen.

I hope the person who’s offering criticism is doing so thoughtfully, without vitriol. I hope your response is respectful, too.

I hope you don’t feel ashamed for being mistaken. I hope you aren’t scared of hard conversations or challenging research. I hope you know when to turn away from a discussion that isn’t productive without dehumanizing the person on the other end.

I hope the same for me, too. For all of us, growth takes grace.

Most of all, I hope you don’t let the despair of this world drag you down into the pit. I hope, instead, you can look up and marvel at all that is beautiful about this life—and know that you are not alone, and you’re not perfect, and no one should expect you to be either of those things.

You can always join hands with your neighbor, learn something new, and gain a better understanding of the many perspectives. You can minimize the alienation of “us” versus “them,” and unite as people who want to live in a freer, fuller world.

Even if nobody changes their mind.

This isn’t perfection. But it is progress.

Moms Can’t Do It All (But We Can Do An Awful Lot)

It’s widely known that moms tend to carry the bulk of the mental load for their families. Finding a division of labor that works in your marriage is critical to a happy home. If both spouses are good to each other, that division ends up about even—but that doesn’t mean every day or every category is equal.

In my home, I keep track of appointments, monitoring calendars, managing childcare, meal planning, keeping household essentials in stock, watching our future to-do lists—balancing a lot of short-term and long-term needs to keep the family functioning smoothly.

As a result, my mind is usually turning gears on five or six different machines at once in addition to managing my own needs.

It’s a lot. It’s definitely part of what makes motherhood so exhausting. Moms are practical, emotional, social, intellectual, and spiritual. We are phenomenal multitaskers—it’s one of our many superpowers. But it ain’t easy.

Don’t Even Try Doing It All

Much of the advice I see about multitasking is deeply unhelpful: “Don’t do it so much.”

I can’t not do it. If I don’t do it, too many of the balls I’m juggling will hit the floor. Picking up the pieces will be roughly one zillion times more stressful than managing them preventatively, so it’s the latter I’ll continue to do. But how?

How do you watchfully keep so many balls in the air without losing sight of the bigger picture?

Partly, it’s about balance. But it’s also about accepting reality.

Let’s face it: We cannot do everything at all times. No one should hold us to that impossible expectation—including, and most importantly, ourselves. But that doesn’t mean we need to somehow just stop managing the many components of family life.

That’s where the balance comes in.

Some Tasks Pair Well. Others Don’t.

Occasionally, my husband and I enjoy a DIY wine and cheese night. After the kids go to bed, we open a bottle of wine and arrange neatly sliced cheeses alongside salami and crackers on a plate. It’s a fun way to be fancy without leaving home.

Now, I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to pairing. But because I love wine and cheese as much as I do—both individually and together—it doesn’t really matter. I just enjoy the eating and the sipping and the bonding with my husband.

Multitasking is nothing like that. It’s not especially fun, and the tasks involved aren’t nearly as delightful as a creamy Havarti or a dry cabernet. It needs to be managed deliberately to be a bearable exercise.

To that end, here are some of my rules for more tolerable multitasking.

1. Combine a little bit from every category as often as you can.

If I’m trying to focus my brainpower on five things at once, they have to be broad so I don’t get too overwhelmed by a single role.

Example 1: I can run a load of laundry (housework) while I respond to emails (professional), with my favorite music playing in the background (self-care) and a few short breaks to check dinner in the Crock-Pot (housework) and go remind my kids they should be napping instead of jumping around their room like monkeys (momming).

This is a typical afternoon for me and isn’t particularly overwhelming. But what if all five of those things fell into the same role responsibilities?

Example 2: I can run a cycle of laundry (housework) while I get dinner prepped and into the oven (housework), cleaning the kitchen (housework) as I go. Meanwhile I’m packing my daughter’s lunch for tomorrow (momming) and folding the laundry from the previous load (housework).

If I have an open afternoon when I’m finished with work, the kids are actually napping, I’m feeling energetic, and my mind is clear, that’s a manageable list. But how often does all that happen at the same time? Almost never. So if I’m trying to do all the housework at once, I’m constantly distracted by deadlines I didn’t get to that day (professional); the kids making far too much noise instead of sleeping like they’re supposed to (momming); and the fact that I haven’t had more than 30 minutes to myself in three days (self-care).

Now, instead of feeling like I’m accomplishing a checklist of diverse tasks, I put all this work into one category just to watch it multiply (that next load of laundry won’t fold itself, and the dishes are piling up)—ignoring all the others even as they nag at me from every angle.

I need to focus on each role responsibility in bite-sized chunks. That way, I feel relatively on top of it all and can compartmentalize everything that needs to be done into separate, manageable spaces of time.

2. Accept that not every pony is going to be in the ring for every show.

Now, combining categories doesn’t mean that every responsibility gets my attention at all times. That’s just not possible. During business hours, for example, my brainpower needs to focus on work—and the other stuff needs to sit, undone, until I can get to it. When my kids are sick, momming must be my priority. Most of the time, I need to let a few things slide to make sure more immediate needs are met.

Combining categories does mean, however, that things come up about equal on a typical day. Maybe none of them is done perfectly or completely, but none of them is neglected, either. So when I have a day or time block that requires my full attention on one category, it’s less painful to stay focused and temporarily set aside the rest.

This helps immensely with a couple of common plagues: mommy guilt, prioritizing time for myself, keeping the house reasonably tidy so that I can hustle-clean if unexpected company comes over, and so forth.

3. Keep an eye out for looming existential catastrophes and stop them before they stop you.

When someone is literally juggling, if she’s highly experienced and relaxed, a ball or two may fall to the floor without disrupting her flow. But if she’s new or nervous, seeing a ball fall may throw off her game—and all the other balls might come tumbling down after it. Even if she’s exceptionally centered, she’ll probably need help to put a dropped ball back into the rotation.

In terms of multitasking, few of us can stay completely level-headed when we fail to manage something important. We are naturally and emotionally invested in each of the burdens we bear. So our knee-jerk reaction will be to overcorrect, which means the other things get much less attention—which means the whole routine may collapse. It’s a domino effect. If we let it get out of hand and simply watch this collapse happen around us, we tend to question whether we’re capable of fulfilling our roles and our families’ needs.

Step one in preventing such a crisis is staying humble. We need to expect that things will fall out of place here and there—sometimes due to our own fault, sometimes due to circumstances outside our control. We need to lean on God and constantly remind ourselves that we are loved regardless of our faults, we can always improve with His help, and we are not in this alone.

The next step is self-awareness. It is so important to be honest with yourself and your support system about what you’re managing well, and what may be starting to slip. A frequent examination of conscience (and Confession!) can be helpful in many ways here: you’ll monitor which areas could use some extra attention and take good care of your soul.

The final step is to ask for help. Ask for it early—before things start to crumble—so you can articulate your needs, minimize the burden on others (you shouldn’t feel guilty about this anyway, but don’t we all hate sharing our crosses?), and not have to set down other important priorities to put out fires. Even a little bit of help (from your spouse, or your neighbor, or your older kids) can make a huge difference in getting back on track before things go off the rails.

How do you manage your multitasking? Visit my Facebook page to share your tips and tricks with other busy moms!

Do Not Be Discouraged: Domesticity and Virtue

Note: This article was originally written for and published by Chaste Love. It was an honor to be invited to write for such a wonderful resource, and I’m very happy to share my article again here. 

Growing up, I always felt called to marriage as my vocation in life. I believed that God had a romantic path in mind for me: true love, a happy home, a wholesome family. I never really considered religious life. I just never felt drawn to it.

That is, not until I experienced just how hard family life can be.

Cloistered religious life, specifically, never seemed attractive to me until the noisy, hectic unpredictability of raising toddlers took over my daily experience.

I think we sometimes fail to see the beauty in other vocations until we deeply know the difficulties of our own. But while I may, here and there, yearn for the solitude and quiet devotion of a religious sister, I know in my heart that God made me to be a wife and mother.

Still, the struggles of this life have surprised me. I didn’t realize motherhood could be so lonely. And I failed to anticipate how the devil might trick me into thinking all my domestic labors are empty, circuitous, and invisible to the rest of the world.

Labor of Love

I can’t tell you how deeply I feel like my days are filled with little more than cleaning up messes and watching them be made again.

The work of raising a family is full of monotony and seemingly petty demands. Though the blisses of your wedding day and your children’s first smiles or laughs are enough to make these labors worthwhile, the responsibility of it all remains a heavy burden to bear. It’s difficult not to feel completely spent by the end of every day.

Then, when you’re feeling exhausted and frustrated, it’s so easy to let your spiritual growth fall to the wayside. Tapped out of energy and patience, the silence that fills your home after the kids are finally asleep seems like an invitation to nothing but your own bed. And attending Mass? It’s more about wrangling the children than it is about encountering the Divine.

Before you know it, weeks go by before you realize you can’t remember the last time you uttered a sincere prayer. And suddenly the guilt of neglecting your Father is added to the guilt you feel over your impatience with your children, the tasks you’ve left undone, and the mistakes you’ve made along the way.

Your Work is a Prayer

Know this: These negative thoughts are how Satan exploits your vulnerabilities. The real truth is simple: If you’re living according to God’s law and raising your children to love Him, your every effort is a prayer.

Our world is a busy and self-interested one, and it’s easy to feel like your contributions are miniscule and obsolete compared to the goings-on of the culture around you. But God sees your labors and He loves you for them. He sees your contributions to His kingdom—and there is no greater work than that.

So long as you’re living as His daughter or son, doing your best to fulfill His will and glorify His love with devotion to your family, your life is a prayer and He knows the needs and good intentions of your heart.

But don’t take my word for it. The Church and the saints have much to say on this subject.

Find Assurance in the Faith

In fact, Church history is chock-full of praise for the family. As the domestic church, the family is the most foundational microcosm of what the Church herself should be: a community of devoted brothers and sisters who put one another’s needs before their own, and place God’s will at the center of their life together.

Pope John Paul II, who had many wonderful things to say about the beautiful work of building a family, expressed this so well:

Catholic parents must learn to form their family as a “domestic church,” a church in the home as it were, where God is honored, His law is respected, prayer is a normal event, virtue is transmitted by word and example, and everyone shares the hopes, the problems, and sufferings of everyone else. All this is not to advocate a return to some outdated style of living: It is to return to the roots of human development and human happiness!

There are also plenty of examples in the catechism—a comprehensive catalog of the central beliefs of our faith.

Christ chose to be born and grow up in the bosom of the holy family of Joseph and Mary. The Church is nothing other than “the family of God.” From the beginning, the core of the Church was often constituted by those who had become believers “together with all [their] household” (cf. Acts 18:8) (CCC, 1655).

The home is the first school of Christian life and “a school for human enrichment.” Here one learns endurance and the joy of work, fraternal love, generous—even repeated—forgiveness, and above all divine worship in prayer and the offering of one’s life (CCC, 1657).

The family is the original cell of social life. It is the natural society in which husband and wife are called to give themselves in love and in the gift of life. Authority, stability, and a life of relationships within the family constitute the foundations for freedom, security, and fraternity within society. The family is the community in which, from childhood, one can learn moral values, begin to honor God, and make good use of freedom. Family life is an initiation into life in society (CCC, 2207).

As for the difficulties of this life? As we Catholics know better than most, suffering can be sanctifying—especially when it is endured for the sake of others. I can’t think of a better way to validate the sacrifices we make for our spouses and our children in this life.

So, rather than descend into complaint or self-pity over these struggles, we can endure them with patience and selflessness and thus transform them into a very special kind of prayer. Lifting up our pain—physical and emotional, petty or profound—to God is a boon to our growth as well as the growth of our families.

What’s more, bearing our trials with humility breeds the kind of virtue this world so desperately needs. “Do everything without grumbling or questioning,” Saint Paul says in his letter to the Philippians, “that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you shine like lights in the world” (Philippians 2: 14-15).

Finally, in our efforts to see the holiness and virtue-building goodness of this repetitious and often frustrating domestic life, we can pull inspiration from the saints. Their insight on the love of God and the righteousness of submitting to our families’ needs is enough to motivate all of us to greater selflessness:

Know that even when you are in the kitchen, our Lord moves amidst the pots and pans. – St. Teresa of Avila

I know now that true charity consists in bearing all our neighbors’ defects—not being surprised at their weakness, but edified at their smallest virtues. – St. Therese of Lisieux

They who, by a generous effort, make up their minds to obey, acquire great merit; for obedience by its sacrifices resembles martyrdom. – St. Ignatius of Loyola

The Worth of the Working Mom

The internet is a place for learning and community. It’s a place I’ve appreciated very much as a mother—especially as an introvert—and it’s full of resources I’m glad my kids can access as they grow up.

But it is also a place for jerks.

For example, there’s been a huge debate among Catholics on Twitter this month about the morality of mothers working outside the home. It began with an interview in which a Catholic man made some very sexist comments and radical claims about the Church’s teachings on working moms.

Why this is even a debate is beyond me. We have saints who were working mothers (looking at you, Saint Gianna!); we have popes who’ve praised mothers for their efforts within and outside of the home; and most clearly of all, we have no doctrine stating that mothers must stay home to fulfill their duties toward their children. (On these points, much has been written. Instead of trying to duplicate them, I’ll point you to an excellent read here.)

The Church and Job Discernment

Many of those outside the Church see Catholicism as a laundry list of rules dictating believers’ daily lives. And while it’s true that we hold ourselves to unpopular and often difficult moral choices, a lesser-known truth of the Catholic Church is that she leaves plenty of details up to the discernment of her members.

Such details aren’t inherently rooted in morality or theology. Rather, they’re rooted in how we—as unique children of God, made with specific talents and living in certain circumstances—practice our vocations and navigate the world.

For example, it is up to us to discern how many children to have and when (so long as our marriages remain open to life); whether purchasing a new vehicle is a good idea (so long as we’re not using it as a status symbol); which books to read (so long as we’re not succumbing to immoral or evil thoughts and behavior as a result of their influence); and so on.

Among these topics of discernment is the question of whether, where, and how spouses should work outside the home to support their families. Among the arrangements they may reasonably discern are:

  • Only Dad should work and Mom should be a full-time, stay-at-home-parent (so long as he’s able to provide for his family’s financial needs, his work is moral, he remains involved with his children and devoted to his wife in ways that suit his talents and meet their needs, and Mom can provide sufficient childcare).
  • Only Mom should work and Dad should be a full-time, stay-at-home parent (so long as she’s able to provide for her family’s financial needs, her work is moral, she remains involved with her children and devoted to her husband in ways that suit her talents and meet their needs, and Dad can provide sufficient childcare).
  • Dad and Mom should both work full-time outside the home (so long as they’re able to provide for their family’s financial needs, remain involved with their children and one another in ways that suit their talents and meet their needs, access good childcare, and maintain a healthy home).
  • Dad and Mom should both work, in some unique blend of full-time, part-time, outside, and at-home employment (you get the idea).

Today’s socioeconomic world is complicated. Frankly, it’s a difficult time for families to choose—or even have the option of—living on a single income. Some of us are well equipped for tight budgets and managing debt. Others thrive on stability and have costly priorities, such as sending children to Catholic schools. Neither of these “types” of families is wrong, and parents can fall into either of these categories without either failing to provide for their children or living in gluttony.

Is your family cared for virtuously, well-loved, and supported both physically and emotionally? If so, you’re doing a bang-up job—whether those 40 hours are spent in your house or out of it.

Thoughts for Dads

To any dads reading this, I’m sorry that you are so left out of this conversation. It may be true that mothers tend to be nurturers and have historically taken on the majority of childcare responsibilities. It may be true that your specific talents are best applied to the workforce. And it may be true that your career fulfills you as well as sustains your family.

But it’s also true that you are a parent as much as your wife is. Your contribution to the family isn’t—and shouldn’t be—simply financial. It isn’t simply biological, either. Your ability to spend quality time with your family and help raise your children well is immensely valuable and your effort in doing so is deeply appreciated. You are your babies’ hero.

If you’re following this debate and wondering whether the criticism and insults thrown at working mothers (“How could you spend such little time with your own flesh and blood?”) apply to you, too, the answer is simple: these insults apply to no hard-working, loving parent. Whether you support your family within or outside of your home, so long as they are your first priority and they know how fundamentally you love them, you are doing it right.

Thoughts for Moms

As women, we are fed so many lies by mainstream culture: that our bodies can’t be managed as designed, that we aren’t good enough, that our needs must come last. The lies we hear about our place in the workforce are exceptionally harsh, because they come from every direction.

We are told that our contributions are insufficient if we aren’t working outside the home: that our children will never see what an enlightened woman should be, that we’re sapping resources, that we’re taking advantage of our husbands’ hard work, that we’re lazy.

We are told that our contributions are insufficient if we are working outside the home: that our children will never see us, that we’re abandoning them to irresponsible and unloving caretakers, that we’re leaving our homes in filth, that we’re belittling our husbands’ masculinity, that we’re selfish.

Both “sides” of this debate can lob hateful bombs at the other. As with so many social disputes, the extreme minorities tend to be the loudest. And their aggression hurts everyone in between.

Those of us who are in between simply respect others’ choices and efforts for their families. We tend to be quiet because we’re working really hard and, not having participated in many of these unkind conversations, we don’t always know that our neighbors need our affirmation.

So I think that’s step one toward a better world for all of us: this silent but loving majority should get loud. Pat your sister on the back for staying home full-time and not losing her mind. Pat your cousin on the back for working elsewhere full-time and not losing her mind. Let the parents you admire know that they’re doing a fine job, no matter what their daily routines look like.

Work to Live

Friends, “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s; and to God the things that are God’s.” For parents, work is simply the means to the most important end: a healthy, thriving family and home life that nurtures its souls into sainthood. Don’t take your work—or the lack of it, if you’re a stay-at-home parent—too seriously, don’t put it first, and don’t let it torture you.

Don’t let other people torture you about it, either. You are doing good work for your family, and that is what matters. Use those labors to bring more fruit home to them, and don’t worry about the rest.

What I Learned When I (Sorta) Stopped Complaining

I gave up complaining for Lent this year, and it was not without some reluctance.

This idea was on my heart for weeks before I formally declared my intention to follow it. I hesitated.

“God, isn’t there anything else I can do to better appreciate You during this season?”

After a lot of prayer and reflection I got a resounding “Nope,” and that was that.

Why did I hesitate? Not because it was going to be a hard habit to break. Not because I enjoyed being a brat. Not even because I was afraid to let God down.

Honestly, I knew I inevitably would let Him down. We all do—and not just during Lent. But by His great love, He forgives us every time.

No; I was afraid because I struggle with trust. I had a creeping feeling that shutting the door to complaint would invite God to challenge me in all sorts of ways. I knew the experience would test me—after all, Christ himself was tempted by actual Satan in the desert for 40 days. If that huge test could be fruitful for him, how could it not be for me?

After all, it’s pretty safe to say I need more practice at virtue and faith than he ever did.

Turned out that creeping fear was correct. During Lent, I faced challenges in almost every area: my home life, my motherhood, my job, my physical health, and my self-esteem. My patience (of which I  have precious little, I admit) was tried again and again.

And, again and again, I let the exasperated sigh slip past my lips and the nasty spiral of self-pity swirl about my mind (even if, to my credit, I didn’t voice it nearly as often as before). I tried to catch myself whenever this happened and replace my complaints with prayers.

It was a frustrating cycle, but it was incredibly eye-opening. I learned to better differentiate negative things and negative thinking. I learned that one doesn’t necessitate the other.

Negative things happen outside of my control. They can be trying, exhausting, or unfair—but they are outside of me.

Negative thinking, on the other hand, is completely within my control. It poisons my mood and my perceptions in ways that are more trying and exhausting than the external event ever was. Worse, its tight grip is difficult to loosen if I let it get away from me.

Awful things happen. They just do. Something I’ve discovered about myself recently is a deep-seated, unhelpful myth of control that ultimately makes me weak in the face of adversity. I stubbornly want to believe that I can foresee and control the things that happen in my life; I want to believe that, despite all indications to the contrary, I can keep my life under control by some impossible exertion of will.

As a result, I have a hard time facing trial without really just diving deep into that trial. I hold onto my faith at my core, but my perspective narrows into despair. I struggle to see the good on the horizon—to see the good that’s right beside me even during such trials.

Complaining is voicing that despair. It’s an attempt to offload some of that despair onto whomever might be near enough to take it from me, in the hopes it will ease the pain.

But it never does. Despair doesn’t divide; it multiplies. Sharing it with someone else doesn’t make my struggle any smaller—it just makes our mutual struggle even bigger.

When it comes to day-to-day habits, it’s hard to be less productive—and less Christian—than that, right?

So 40 days without complaining (let’s be honest: with minimal or at least more mindful complaining) taught me that giving in to my own despair is hurtful not just to me, but to those around me.

That being said, negative events still suck. And sometimes we need help to get through them.

I struggled, early on, to understand how I was supposed to ask for help if I wasn’t allowed to complain. That sounds ridiculous now.

Now I see that there’s a glaring difference between complaining and seeking support. One is selfish; the other is an important way to participate in community and humanity, especially in the context of our own families.

God Himself said: “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him” (Genesis 2:18). Even when things were perfect in Eden, we were not meant to live this life on our own.

Now, long after the Fall, how much more must we need the companionship and support of our neighbors, friends, and family?

So I’ve learned to ask for help, honestly and lovingly, instead of complaining about my circumstances and hoping someone overhears and steps in to lend a hand.

And I’ve learned that that’s how things improve—that’s how I feel better on a tough day. Not by venting my frustrations or offloading my despair, but by approaching people I love with an honest expression of my struggles and asking for a shoulder to lean on. They always provide it. And I always feel lighter when I stand upright again.

Have you tried to set aside negative thinking and complain less? Find me on on Facebook and tell me how it’s going. I’d love to hear about your experience!

How to Stop Complaining and Start Being More Honest

I was accused of being a complainer as a teenager. To be fair, I think many teenagers are—but I heard it often enough to become self-conscious about it.

As an adult, I figured I was better. But then I started paying more attention.

Every “ugh” muttered under my breath, each text of anger or anguish sent to my husband during a hectic spell at work, and all the “vents” shared with my mommy friends on tough days with the kids—they added up.

I don’t think of myself as someone with entitlement issues or a pessimistic attitude or a lazy disposition. But that’s the person I sound like when much of my self-expression comes out as a complaint.

So, for Lent this year, I promised God and myself that I’d give up complaining. Here are the tricks I picked up to help me catch myself before I complained—and turn those thoughts into something productive instead.

#1: Just breathe for goodness’ sake.

I forget to do this in difficult moments. I rush from one thought to another without pausing in between, jumping to conclusions and recalling missed expectations and wishing for different outcomes. It’s not helpful and it’s a ticket straight to Self-Pity City.

So, when I can feel my thoughts start to spiral, I try to pause for a second and focus on breathing instead. It’s impossible to empty my mind completely (at least for me), but it can help to pace my breathing and give my higher intellectual functioning a break. Then, I can make a conscious decision on how to step forward—so it’s easier to move in a positive direction.

#2: Before you voice your thoughts, bleach them of entitlement.

I realized during this exercise that so many of my complaints come from a place of entitlement:

  • “Why won’t these kids sleep when they’re supposed to? I need a break!”
  • “I can’t believe this appointment is running so late—I don’t have time for this.”
  • “Couldn’t he/she have just done that one thing right? It shouldn’t be on me to fix it.”

Sound familiar? I have never sensed this about myself so acutely before, but it’s huge. Huge. And I hate hearing it come out of my mouth.

So, when I’m frustrated over a situation that isn’t going the way I’d like, I’ve learned to examine the source of that frustration. Is it because I feel I deserve something better? Or maybe an unspoken expectation I had for someone else was not met?

Too bad, bub. If I want to feel any better or improve the odds at a better outcome next time, I need to get rid of that sense of entitlement and make an effort instead of demanding more effort from others. (Especially from toddlers.)

#3: Request help instead of demanding it (and that goes for passive aggressive demands, especially).

Speaking of demanding, I also learned that I used complaining as a crutch. Although negative feelings are natural and allowed, I saw that I would give voice to them—subconsciously—in such a way that some small, ugly part of me thought might procure sympathy and, thereby, help.

This is passive aggression at its finest. I’m not here for it anymore. It’s petty and it’s icky.

Instead, if I find myself in a difficult position and I need help to get out of it, I ask for it. So this:

“This day has been an absolute nightmare. Everything went wrong and all of my energy is gone. I need to go cry with a glass of wine for a while.”

Turns into this:

“I’m having a tough day and have a lot going on. Could you take this task for me so I can recharge a little before I need to get started on the next thing?”

Who knew I could sound so human when I feel like a complete zombie?

#4: Make it a habit to be positive first.

The best offense is a good defense. I try to block complaints completely by making a habit of thinking positively and praying without ceasing during times of trial.

Frustrating encounter with a stranger? As soon as things get tense, I utter a quick prayer for them (even something as simple as “God, send Your love” helps). Who knows what they’re going through?

Endless tantrum from the toddler? When I feel my temper coming up short, I ask Mary to remind me of her shining example. She’s a tough act to follow, but God’s grace can help me close a tiny bit of the gap.

Car trouble in the middle of a busy day? I thank God for getting me where I am safely, and ask for a little help taking the next step to hold onto that safety.

It doesn’t always work, but I’m learning to make this kind of positive, prayerful conversation my first reaction to stress (instead of the typical anxiety/disappointment/fury).

#5: Don’t complain about your complaining.

This one seems obvious, but it isn’t. Scrupulosity is real, and it can destroy your confidence while subverting the love of God. It’s easy to get sucked into feelings of hopelessness and inadequacy when you’re failing at trying to improve yourself.

The thing to remember? You’re not failing. You’re actively walking on a path of progress. Even if you stumble, you’re still moving forward.

Unfortunately, it’s very easy to complain about ourselves. Interiorly, there is no one to defend us from our own attacks—making self-criticism a resistance-free outlet for negative emotions. Expressed aloud, self-deprecation can be funny and others may miss what we’re inflicting on ourselves.

I learned that, when I stopped giving myself permission to complain about my own shortcomings in this oh-so-easy way, I started complaining about things outside of me much less. I changed the shade of my mind to something more pleasant and forgiving, and that was easier than expected to share with others, too.

Think this is something you’d like to try? Hit me up on Facebook for questions, prayer requests, or support. I’m here for you, friend!