"I could never do that"

"I could never do that!" It's a sentence that I've been told so many times over the last few years, and I have rarely, if ever, believed the person telling it to me. When Philip and I switched to a plant-based diet, I started hearing this A LOT. It always kind of surprised me to hear it a) because I wasn't asking them to try it or even suggesting that they should and b) because it seemed to imply that it had been an easier transition for me than it would be for them. It was absolutely not an easy transition for me. I remember sitting on the kitchen floor and sobbing one night about a week or 2 after making the choice, actually. I started having allergic-like reactions to nearly every fruit and vegetable I ate for a while, and I spent hours upon hours researching and modifying and having the occasional freak-out over how different and complicated it seemed to me. I loved meat, LOVED sausage, but I chose to change. It was incredibly difficult for me though, and I have often wondered what people have in mind when they say "I could never do that!" Do they really believe that they COULD not? Do they really think so little of themselves? Or is that just some weirdly placating way of saying "I would never want/choose to do that."?

I've seen a similar reaction to our becoming full-time homeschoolers. I keep being told things like "I could never do that." Whereas before that sentence was usually followed by "I like meat too much" or "I like cheese too much," now the following statement is usually something like "I'm not patient enough." Again, I'm left confused wondering if anything I said could have been taken as an implication that I think their lives should mimic my own, and again I'm left wondering if these people really think I have reached some pinnacle of patience. I haven't.  I don't even eat lunch most days with my children because I have already reached the end of my rope with them and need a break by then. It is not uncommon for me to realize that I need to ask their forgiveness for being too snippy or harsh with them either, and lunchtime is not the only time in the day when I intentionally separate myself from my kids because I need the break.  In fact, most homeschoolers that I have met would readily admit to at least some portion of the day being a mandated time that the kids GO AWAY from their parents and do something on their own.

I've realized today that this "I could never..." sentiment rather mirrors what I hear my kids try to tell me all the time. "I can't." I don't accept this from my kids. I may agree with them that they cannot in that moment accomplish with perfection what they would like to accomplish or have been asked to do. However, I quickly follow up with reminders of other things that they couldn't do perfectly the first time they tried, and we end up talking about how learning and growth really happens...by trying...again and again...by trying our best and failing and then getting right back at it and trying our best again...over and over again sometimes. Charlotte Mason, a British educator at the end of the 19th century, gave her students a motto. "I am, I can, I ought, I will." I am a child of God. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. I ought to do my duty. I will choose to do what's right. This motto is written at the top of our school whiteboard right now because my girls need the reminder...especially when they think they could never do something.

Interestingly, today I was reminded of one of my own childhood "I could never" statements. I'm not sure if I ever said it out loud, but I regularly thought "I could never draw like that" or "I could never draw like her." I remember thinking this as a 4 or 5 year old even. Throughout my life, I rarely attempted to draw because I knew that I could not succeed, and every time I saw someone else's impressive drawing, I believed more and more that this was a skill that was beyond me. I eventually believed that pretty much any visual artistic endeavor was beyond me. Today, I fought back. I changed my mindset

Today, I decided that my early attempts may not be everything I want them to be, but I can improve at this skill. Not only can I improve but if I am going to continue encouraging my children to grow and to learn, then I need to be attempting the same myself. It doesn't matter if I start at the same level as the person next to me or not. I can grow and develop. Today, I drew. I allowed myself to start small, but I did not allow myself to choose the simplest thing that I could see to draw.  I chose to draw the first thing because it looked interesting to me, but it also seemed like I could succeed at drawing it simply. I was far less certain about the outcome of the next thing I chose to draw, but I decided to try, to risk failure, and to accept whatever level was my current best without obsessing over every flaw. Here are my drawings and pictures of their models:

I realized several things upon finishing. 1) There were, of course, many flaws. 2) My second drawing was already better than my first. 3) If I had seen my second drawing before I had started, I would have thought "I could never do that."

In the course of typing out this blog post, I have discovered even more. My self-defeating, self-fulfilling belief that I could not draw was born out of comparison. I compared my perception of my own skills to my perception of other people's skills. I've seen this begin to paralyze my girls before too. If they focus on the accomplishments of those around them or on a standard of perfection, they can become convinced that they are incapable of what I've asked them to do. When I can remind them that everyone has different skill levels and gifts and that they only have to do their own best work, they can always do better than they thought they could.

I refuse to give grades. I have eliminated competition from our lesson times. How many children believe they can't do math because they don't do their sums as quickly as their peers? How many children give up even attempting to learn spelling because they believe themselves to be "bad spellers" in comparison to the "good spellers"? How many children carry attitudes like this into their adulthood?

Perhaps, the "I could never..." statements I have heard so often in the past also stem from self-defeating comparison. I don't want to allow myself to be paralyzed by self-defeating comparison anymore. I don't have to accomplish everything, but if I WANT or NEED to do something, I shouldn't allow myself to be intimidated out of even trying. If I want to be more fit, I can't be intimidated by comparison to a fitness model. If I want to learn more Spanish, I can't allow myself to give up because I'm not multilingual already like so many others are. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. This doesn't mean that I can become super-woman and literally do all things during my lifetime, but for every task that I need to do, He gives me the means to accomplish it. For every task that He asks me to do, He gives me the ability and resources out of His own strength and riches.

I want to model learning and growth for my children, and to do that, I have to set aside my own fears. I have to face my own places of immaturity. I have to embrace humility. I have to confront lies that try to sink roots into my soul. I hope the next time I begin to think "I could never..." that I stop myself and evaluate the thought in the light of truth rather than in the shadow of comparison. I am God's workmanship, valued and treasured by Him. I am more than a conqueror in Him. Nothing can separate me from His love. His grace is sufficient for me. There's no place for paralyzing fears, lies, and comparisons. Instead, I choose to enjoy growing and maturing into the woman He created me to be.