Her-sized problems

'We shrink problems to a size we can manage' noted the road trip podcast I was listening to somewhere in the Midwest.  The discussion centered on relationships and how as people we have different sized problems and different capacities to address those problems. 

When the kids were young, running out of grapes at the dinner table brought wailing and tearing clothes, mirroring the mourning rituals I read about in the Old Testament.  As the adult at the table, I remained calm and offered raisins as a substitute.  They were technically grapes, simply distilled to their essence (a quality they'll later pay big money for). You know that story in the Bible where Jesus enters the temple and turns over the table of those selling sacrifices?  That's what happened when I offered raisins: unacceptable and disrespectful; off with my head!  So, having been relationally beheaded I turned to my bride as she found bananas or puffs or some other acceptable offering to the gods of Tantrum.  Big problems for little people. 

Early in my career I'd been working on a project with a very hard deadline.  The final milestone involved printing a lot of materials for the big meeting.  PC Load Letter noted the display on the analog Printasaurus Rex.  Big problem for me.  I called my wife for sympathy and encouragement to restrain from taking a baseball bat to the machine, but I got neither.  She recounted her day at the children's hospital, noting the discussion she had with a ten-year old telling him he'd never ride a bike again because they had to amputate his legs from the lawn mower accident.  Big problem for the child. Big problem for my bride. Now a big problem for me.

So what do I do when my wife comes home in tears after the latest Central Office announcement?  Offer chocolate? Tell her it's not a big deal? Reinforce her perspective on the idiocy of the decision? 

While the podcaster didn't offer suggestions on tear-reducing chocolate, he did note that, in this context, my instinct is to reduce her problem to one that I can handle.  Because she feels more deeply (that is, bigger) than I do, my 'help' can become directive and juvenile, telling her how she should feel or offering my body as a willing sacrifice for her to work out her frustration. On good days, my offering results in an eye roll.  On most days, such emotional adolescence creates resentment. My attempt to preserve my emotional limit and protect myself from becoming overwhelmed, I belittle (literally, 'becoming little') her big emotions in small ways, turning her-sized problems into me-sized solutions.

In me-sized solutions, I feel useful rather than overwhelmed. 

In me-sized solutions, I feel in control. 

In me-sized solutions, I dishonor her-sized feelings. 

In me-sized solutions, she is reduced and unseen.

So she turns to her sisters and girlfriends and fellow teachers whose problem-handling container is more aligned to the size of her feelings.  At least that's what she did the first time. 

Now, we're trying to grow together.  My role as protector and partner is to stand with her in her-sized feelings and if these feelings are bigger than I can handle, the work is on me to learn to handle larger problems rather than diminish hers.  She's helping me 'feel bigger,' growing into an ally rather than an adolescent.  In exchange, I'm helping her calibrate her big feelings into manageable bites.  She reminds me that my role is to partner with her, standing in her muck rather than cleaning it up for her or worse -- telling her how to clean up her own muck.

We've also committed ourselves to scientifically mapping types of chocolate to the emotions wheel.  It's God's work.