Ah, the Christmas season. The time of year we gather together the people we love most dearly for a mutual display of dysfunction.
I got a note from a friend this week that reminded me, I'm most critical of the people closest to me. She wasn't trying to be mean, just offhandedly mentioning a conversation from years ago. It was a timely reminder.
There is something about family that makes us revert to old patterns and behaviors. For some reason we can ascend to attain the emotional maturity of a venerable saint, only to become a petulant toddler in the presence of a parent.
Why is it, when my boys return home, I treat them like boys instead of the men they have become? They are men who are bright and capable, able to make decisions I may or may not agree with, but decisions which are theirs and they can fully own.
I think the problem is muscle memory.
An athlete will repeat the same motion over and over so repetitively you don't need to think about it anymore. It just happens. It's buried so deeply in the brain it's instinctive.
It's a great asset for an athlete striving for consistency. It's a sucky way to engage in dynamic relationships.
We aren't static beings. We change. So it's no longer appropriate to talk to my boys like they're 10, even if it feels like it was just yesterday.
And I should also realize, when I'm tweaked by my elders, they have their own "muscle memory." It's behavior that's been brought on by years of experiences, sometimes pretty painful ones, which have worn deep grooves in their brains.
It doesn't excuse the behavior, or mean we shouldn't address it at some point. I'm just saying Christmas day might not be the best time.
As quarterbacks rework their throwing motion and golfers rework their swing, this Christmas, I need to rework my relational muscle memory.
I got a note from a friend this week that reminded me, I'm most critical of the people closest to me. She wasn't trying to be mean, just offhandedly mentioning a conversation from years ago. It was a timely reminder.
There is something about family that makes us revert to old patterns and behaviors. For some reason we can ascend to attain the emotional maturity of a venerable saint, only to become a petulant toddler in the presence of a parent.
Why is it, when my boys return home, I treat them like boys instead of the men they have become? They are men who are bright and capable, able to make decisions I may or may not agree with, but decisions which are theirs and they can fully own.
I think the problem is muscle memory.
An athlete will repeat the same motion over and over so repetitively you don't need to think about it anymore. It just happens. It's buried so deeply in the brain it's instinctive.
It's a great asset for an athlete striving for consistency. It's a sucky way to engage in dynamic relationships.
We aren't static beings. We change. So it's no longer appropriate to talk to my boys like they're 10, even if it feels like it was just yesterday.
And I should also realize, when I'm tweaked by my elders, they have their own "muscle memory." It's behavior that's been brought on by years of experiences, sometimes pretty painful ones, which have worn deep grooves in their brains.
It doesn't excuse the behavior, or mean we shouldn't address it at some point. I'm just saying Christmas day might not be the best time.
As quarterbacks rework their throwing motion and golfers rework their swing, this Christmas, I need to rework my relational muscle memory.
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