MomfulnessTM
by Denise Roy
The stories we tell ourselves
OK, I admit it. I am a pro at working myself up into a tizzy about things that may or may not ever happen. What I have discovered, however, is that real life is usually kinder and less traumatic than the stories we tell ourselves about it.
Recently our oven stopped working. No lights or power came on when we pushed the buttons. I asked my husband Paul to go outside and check the fuse box, which he did. He returned, reporting that all was fine, and that the problem appeared to be that our old oven had finally kicked the bucket. We carefully measured the oven’s dimensions and drove to the local appliance store to select a new one. After some price haggling, we bought a shiny new oven and brought it home. The appliance store arranged for a service technician to come the next day to install it.
When the nice man arrived, we showed him into the kitchen. He partially pulled out our old oven, looked at the opening, measured it, looked at the box that held our new oven, frowned, and then said, “This new oven isn’t going to fit.” After I groaned and moaned a bit, he asked, “What was wrong with the old one?” I told him that there was no power going into it, and he asked if I had checked the fuse box. I told him that my husband had. He said, “Do you mind if I double-check?”
Sure enough, he flipped the power switch and voilà! the lights on our old oven lit up. I looked angrily at Paul – the oven wasn’t the only thing getting hot. He shrugged his shoulders. “Oops. I guess I didn’t actually flip the switch. It looked like it was still in the ‘On’ position.”
The service tech left us with our old working oven, and said that we would need to return the new oven to the store. The next day, Paul put the new oven in our minivan and handed me the receipt so that I could go return it. I looked on the back of the receipt, and it stated, “Return Policy: We will accept returns within 10 days for store credit.”
I didn’t want store credit. I wanted them to refund the full amount charged on my credit card. “Don’t worry,” Paul said. “They probably will.” I was not convinced. As I drove to the store, I began to imagine the scene.
“I bought this oven, but it didn’t fit; could you please refund my credit card?” I would ask.
“Sorry, we only give store credit,” the clerk would answer. My hands began to shake on the steering wheel.
“I don’t want another oven. Please return my money.”
“Sorry, we can’t,” the young man would say.
“I demand to see the manager!” I’d shout.
As I came to a red light, I realized that I was getting completely worked up over something that hadn’t even happened. Denise, calm down. It’s possible that none of this will take place, I said out loud. Whoa, my adrenaline is really going! Breathe in, calm my body. I felt better for about a minute and a half. I even managed a smile.
But before I knew it, my imagination was off and running again, and I was right back in the scene, braced for a fight. Another red light, and I caught myself, took a few breaths, and laughed. Then my wild mind started all over again.
Finally, I arrived at the store, walked inside, and went up to the counter. “Hello,” I said to the clerk, my voice shaking. I looked him right in the eye, to let him know I was serious.
“I bought this oven, but it’s the wrong size, and I don’t need another one because our old one got fixed. Can I get a refund on my credit card?”
I was breathing hard. I was ready to demand to see the manager. I was prepared to holler if need be. I was within my rights. I would tell them how I wouldn’t do business there anymore, and tell all my friends not to, and…
“Sure,” the young man said to me with a smile. “If you give me your credit card, I’ll issue you that refund.”
* * *
Our old oven is still working, and my overactive imagination is as well. But I’m learning to catch myself playing these mind games. I see how I generate much of my own suffering through the stories I tell myself. As I breathe, smile, and pull the threads on my tightly spun stories, I learn – little by little – to relax into real life.
 Denise Roy, LMFT, M.Div., is an author, a licensed marriage and family therapist, a popular speaker, and a mother of five. Her books and audiotapes include Momfulness: Mothering with Mindfulness, Compassion, and Grace (Jossey-Bass 2007), My Monastery Is a Minivan (Loyola Press 2001) and Meditations for Mothers (Random House Audiobook 2007). Her essays have also been included in these books: Your Children Will Raise You; I Like Being a Mom; The Miracle of Sons; Spiritual Surrender; and Humor for a Mom's Heart. Denise and her husband live in the San Francisco Bay area. They have three grown sons, an 11-year-old daughter, and an 18-year-old foster daughter from Iran. For more information, please contact her at denise@deniseroy.com and visit her Web site at www.DeniseRoy.com.
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