She's the Emotional Janitor.

She was her family's emotional janitor.  From the birth of her first child, it had been natural to give freely and entirely of herself for her loves.  For the three years prior to that first baby's entrance into the world, she had honed her wife-ing skills.  Tailoring her schedule and energy to her husband's needs and wants.  His job took precedence of course.  He dictated how church attendance and activity went, because he was more experienced and he knew best.  Not verbalized as such, but just understood as the arrangement.  She was so grateful and happy to be living her actual lifetime fairy tale that she forced all this into the "Happily Ever After."  She felt loved, wanted, and had a purpose in being a wife.  At that beginning stage, she was still developing herself through her education and learning more about religion.  At this stage, she wasn't aware of the manipulation or the deficits in spite of the good intentions of everyone involved.

Baby after baby had come.  All her energy to nourishing, bathing, changing, finding sleep patterns, reading, playing, teaching, driving, crafting, and in the cracks of all this...maintaining a relationship with her husband.  She knew how important this was, so as she scheduled her children's days, she made time for dates and connection.  Something always had to give.  She was always so tired and so stretched.  She read books on child-rearing, asked friends their advice, and sought wisdom from her husband, who had been the oldest in his family.  She, had no siblings, had no examples, had no template.  "I don't remember," her husband would tell her.  Often he would mention his "perfect" parents and his idyllic upbringing, setting a bar that was obviously way to high for her inexperienced self.  Yet, he couldn't or wouldn't share any details that helped her in her day to day struggle.

The snuggles and hugs of those tiny babes were reward enough.  Healthy and strong; smart and gregarious; in love with their mother and caregiver.  This created joy in her, feelings so connected, so strong that it created the meaning of love for her.  Meaning not found in her youth.  She settled willingly into this place, this role.  But those babies grew.  The natural way of things, was for them to challenge and bump the edges of her involvement in their lives.   In order for them to fly, she must allow them to leave her comfortable wingspan.  Because her identity was so wrapped up in their care...she was so very bad at letting them fly.  It would be deemed, "controlling," but what she and they didn't understand was how intertwined her identity was in caring for them.  She had evolved into a person who didn't know how to be...herself.  

"I'm just a box on your schedule!" he'd say.  "All you ever talk about is the kids," and, "I want to be romantic and spontaneous!"   "Spontaneous is when someone vomits," she'd reply.  Yet, she made lots of adjustments to please him.  What she wanted or needed wasn't even near the bottom of her list. She had lost the ability to identify what she needed.  She convinced herself that she just wasn't as important as the other people in her life.  When she did carve out time for him...there was more criticism.  He just loved her so, so much he explained, and he wanted to spend so much more time with her, alone. "Why is this so rushed?  Why even bother if you are so tired?"  They'd talk late at night, where she'd attempt to express how she felt.  "THIS is the way it IS."  He'd explain, "my family didn't talk about feelings!"  She began to despair.  Really?  This was IT.  As good as it was gonna get; and she wasn't even 40 years old.

In her core she didn't believe that. Her inner self knew that striving, learning and reaching had gotten her from that step-above-white-trash childhood of hers to her present and apparently perfect but the-most-it-was-ever-gonna-be family situation.  So honoring this belief in herself ushered in the years of "I can find the way to fix this."  So try after try was made.  It was her problem to fix.  She WAS the problem.

Even later, after burning out on all the fix it attempts.  She had this realization.  She was the willing receiver of all her loved one's negative feelings.  She had no one to blame but herself.  It had started way back as a newlywed, with attempts to keep her husband happy and satisfied.  Then onto motherhood, where she had  decided a quiet sleeping baby meant a happy baby.  She had been living her entire life with the mistaken impression that she was responsible for the feelings of her husband and her children.  

And THAT is how she found herself the emotional janitor of her family.  Now the janitor is a key player, one of the most honorable if not the most glamorous of jobs.  The janitor stays in the background, blends so to speak.  But he (or she) can keep the hidden mechanics of the business or school running.  But, he (or she) always appears when there is a mess to clean up!  From time to time there is an assembly or big event that all enjoy....and yet the janitor is the final one to leave the building that night.  Once in a blue moon, there will be a special recognition for this hard worker...but event then it's almost an afterthought...to be "nice" to the often overlooked.

She identified with the janitor.  In the mornings she prepared and provided, she loved and she supported.  She wasn't always sunshine about it...she had her negative and controlling behaviors to be sure.  But her husband and all the chicks would leave for the day, and give their best time and attention to wherever they went.  When they returned, tired, hungry and emotionally spent...she bore the brunt of the "messes" that were the leftovers.  It didn't matter that she gave them HER best everyday.  Her husband would accuse her of "looking for reasons to be angry at night."  Her kids would bristle at her questions and scheduled screen free time.  

Even later, as her adult children revealed serious health issues; her dumpster ability to accept "what was left" became more obvious.  Illnesses in her children caused them lack of energy for normal function...and she would work behind the scenes to even keep some family members alive.  Almost heroic leaps over the tall buildings so they could simply accomplish their goals.  If enough energy could be summoned by her ill family members...then the energy and upbeat emotions were shared with visitors or on excursions away from her or away from home.  

She longed for her husband to run to her with his accomplishments.  But she got, "You don't understand how it is at work."  She longed for her kids to share their triumphs, but they had been conditioned to "please" her with performance and that always didn't invite the pure joy of personal accomplishment or even simple fun.  She realized, too late it seemed......she had made mistakes and several of them.  So with her heart shaped trash bag and far reaching broom, she cleaned and collected the left over and unidentified feelings that she could - having faith that one day she'd figure out the secret to real and meaningful connection with those she loved.