EMBRACE LIFE TEACHABLE

Teachable moment

How getting rid of my lame excuses was a lesson for everyone. by GLENNON DOYLE MELTON

It’s 8:35 a.m. My girls and I are dashing through the front door of the school as I motion frantically to them and whisper (OK, yell), “Hurry up! The bell’s about to…” RIIIIIIIIING!!! The girls freeze and their eyes widen. My shoulders sag. We’re too late.

We were late to school a lot last year, and every time we ran breathlessly into the attendance office I heard myself making silly excuses to Beth, the long-suffering secretary. Our alarm didn’t go off! There was so much traffic! It was my husband’s fault! The dog…I don’t know—something about the dog!! Breaking the pattern By the spring, my “tardy-lying” had become a habit, and it raised a red flag for me. Lying—even in the form of “harmless” excuses—means we’re ashamed. Shame is different from guilt. Healthy guilt is fair, helpful and empowering. Guilt says, “Shoot, I’m late again. Oh well, mistakes happen. I’ll get up earlier tomorrow.” Shame is more dangerous. It’s dramatic, accusatory and crippling. Guilt says, “I screwed up.” Shame says, “I’m screwed up.”

Nothing ruins the connection between two people faster than shame and lies do. Anyone trying to live a healthy, honest life must avoid shame at any cost. And since I’m trying to live a healthy(ish), honest life, my excuses were keeping me from my goal. So I vowed to make it right.

I want my kids to learn that it’s ant my kids to learn that it’s OK to make mistakes and to know that mistakes can actually be the good stuff: Our imperfections can be a point of connection with all the other imperfect people out there. Freedom comes when we’re brave enough to say, “Actually, I’m not fine—I’m having a hard time with this.” And it’s comforting when we inevitably hear the response,

“Really? Me too!”

My ‘tardy-lying’ had become a habit, and it raised a red flag for me.

The next time we were late, I went to the attendance office and when Beth asked me to fill out my tardy slip with the reason, I told the truth.

Beth looked down at that form, then slowly looked up at me. She smiled a real, warm, big smile and her blue eyes twinkled. She started laughing. Hard. So I did, too. And so did my kids and the other secretary. Then the principal, who’d come out to see what all the laughing was about, started howling.

Left: Glennon with her daughter Amma, 5, at pre-K graduation. Below: The note that cracked everyone up.

We had a delicious, freeing moment together. We’re all imperfect human beings. We make mistakes. Every single one of us. It’s OK to tell the truth about that. It’s OK to forgive ourselves and promise to try again.

Forming lasting bonds When I tell Beth the truth, I’m really saying, “I’m not perfect, but I forgive myself, and I hope you do too.” We no longer just play our secretary/mom roles. We’re friends. She texts me pictures of my kids when they come to the office to request their millionth Band-Aid. She held my hand and talked me through a difficult season in my marriage. I’m so glad she’s one of the first people I get to see every morning. These days she’s actually disappointed when we’re on time. We don’t like to let her down, so we make sure that doesn’t happen too often. ✦

GLENNON DOYLE MELTON is the author of Carry On, Warrior: Thoughts on Life Unarmed, and blogs at Momastery.com