Dadisms...

Dadism:  Tell me the facts.

My dad was a really good listener.  I have to admit it's not a trait you'd immediately think of when considering my dad's personality, but it was true.  Dad genuinely listened when I talked with him, which lots of people don't do.  They're busy looking over your shoulder or making something to eat or fidgeting with their clothes or trying to figure out when it'll be their turn to talk or swatting little kids away.  I'm guilty of doing all of those things too but my Dad wasn't.

Anyway, as many of you know, I'm a worrier.  It's just the way I was made and while I try very hard to  focus on all of the positives in life, sometimes my mind wanders and I worry a bit too much.  I really can't watch shows like "Intervention" or "Addiction" or surf places like WebMD for too long lest my head and heart start to go into overdrive about all of the horrible things that could happen to my babies or the people I love.

Sometimes my worrying is focused inward like when I thought I had lung cancer.  Turns out the sharp pain I was experiencing in my chest was from a boogie board fall during our honeymoon in Hawaii.  (Yes, please feel free to laugh.  And yes, I went to have it checked out.)  Or the time I was scared I might have AIDS (those public service announcements worked on me!).  And some of you may remember the long months I was convinced I had Multiple Sclerosis.  Turns out it was just a case of anxiety.  Whaddya know?  ;)

I've gotten much better about not taking little symptoms and blowing them up into WebMD-worthy problems and, in large part, it was from talking with my dad.  When I'd get spun up over some ailment he would always ask me, "Beth... what are the facts??  Tell me the facts.  Do you really think MS symptoms change daily?  Does that sound logical to you?  With all of my health problems, do you think I'd ever make up new ones?  No.  No, I wouldn't.  Normal people don't do that.  Stop it."  We'd have this conversation every single day until I felt better.  Seriously.  Every day.  He'd call me up around 10:00am from work and say, "Alright, tell me about your symptoms."  It's funny now thinking about it and believe me, he and I shared tons of laughs about it after each "episode of worry" had passed.  "Remember when you had Black Lung, Beth?  That was a good one." and he'd tease me and we'd laugh.

I know it may seem silly and trivial but it wasn't.  To feel like someone really cares about your worries and anxieties and doesn't brush you off... it's hard to explain how reassuring those talks were.  And now, when I can feel myself starting to overly worry about the boys or myself or anyone I love, I try very hard to stop and ask myself, "What are the facts, Beth?  Does it seem likely that all the boys now have meningitis or are you just getting spun up over a simple fever?"

It's not the same though.  He did it a whole lot better.