#15: The empowerment of not taking yourself too seriously.

Sue Deagle, Despot (part 1).

When you think of a powerful person, what comes to mind? I’d hazard a guess that “widow” is not top of the list. And yet, I feel incredibly powerful on a daily basis.

How the heck did this happen??

“Powerful”, according to Dictionary.com, “suggests capability of exerting great force or overcoming strong resistance: a powerful machine like a bulldozer.” Generally I cede to the wisdom of Dictionary.com… But not today! Because we’re talking about humans, not bulldozers.

In my experience, to overcome strong resistance I actually had to stop exerting great force. I found my power only when I released, released, released…

Goodbye squeegee, hello independence.

Being a modern couple of hard-charging business people, Mike and I decided early on that all decisions — for the relationship, the household, the kids — would be made by consensus. 

Though my mode has always been “good enough is good enough,” Mike was more… particular. As I related in a prior post, Mike was the kind of dad who grilled the pediatrician with 17,000 questions. He was also persnickety about keeping the house in tip-top shape. The kids’ friends would comment, “your house looks like a Pottery Barn catalog” (back when those things existed).

(Courtesy Pottery Barn.)

As part of Mike’s tidiness regimen, he was deeply committed to concluding every shower by squeegeeing the glass, wiping away the “messy” dried water droplets and streaks. I was resoundingly anti-squeegee (as were, unsurprisingly, our 10 and 12 year-old kids). But we were also resoundingly pro-Mike. So in the spirit of consensus and as an act of love, I agreed to the squeegee regime, the kids complied, and we all tediously squeegeed away after every shower.

But then, like one hand clapping, consensus evaporated into thin air the moment Mike died. 

At the end of that apocalyptic first day, the three of us were sitting shell-shocked on the couch… Breaking the otherworldly silence that often fills the troughs between waves of grief, Connor mindlessly remarked, “You know, I didn’t squeegee my shower today.” Kendall and I swiveled our heads in unison to look at him.

“Me, neither!” Kendall piled on conspiratorially.

Their young, bright eyes, still puffy from crying, turned on me. 

A slow, small smile spread across my face. “Me, neither.” 

That was our first post-Mike giggle. Followed soon after by my first post-Mike decision: squeegees in the trash.

Personal rebrand, barely-holding-it-together style.

So I began my new life as a solo decision-maker. Which was paralyzing at first… but had some notable upsides. I did not have to confer with anyone. I might solicit advice, data points, past experience, opinions. But I made all the choices myself. The buck stopped here.

Harry Truman, the originator of the phrase (courtesy Getty Images).

I was the decider. Me, myself, and I. And since “decider” sounded boring, I decided to spice it up. 

“I am the Despot of Deagleland!” I declared to any friend close enough to laugh at my gallows humor. It was a joke, but like all good jokes, contained a kernel or two of truth… while also attempting to make that truth more palatable. And in my case, less horrifying.

Because though I could now make decisions at the speed of light, I would have given anything to have the old way back. I would squeegee my shower every day for the rest of my life!! No dice. So rather than focusing on the missing co-pilot in the household democracy we used to run, I tongue-in-cheek reveled in my ascension to unquestioned head banana.

Helpfully, this dark joke also made space for the fact that while I was totally in charge… I probably shouldn’t be. 

My mind was a shadow of the problem-solving powerhouse it had been moments before the ER doc told me they could not restart Mike’s heart. I was doing my best to hold it together for the kids, but let me tell you, the cracks were showing. So I folded them into the despot narrative.

I laughed until I cried about how I was a dictator on the edge of insanity, one battle away from burning down the city she had promised to liberate. 

Too soon? (Courtesy Game of Thrones.)

Shifting expectations & releasing perfection.

It was twisted for sure, a little problematic, and probably set off alarm bells in my friends’ heads. But, looking back, I realize that this joke saved me.

Under its guise, there was space for the contradicting, hellish facts of the situation: 

1. I was a mess. 

2. Everything was a mess. 

3. Someone had to clean up the mess.

4. For my kids, I wanted to be the lighthouse in the middle of the mess.

Old Sue would have compartmentalized fact 1 to handle facts 2-4. Unfortunately, there was no compartment in the known universe — and surely not in my own head —  burly enough to hold my hurricane of mess. So I made it part of the narrative. It wasn’t me. It was the Despot of Deagleland! What else could we expect from that crazy lady?

For the first time in my life, I didn’t even pretend to handle things well. I didn’t take myself seriously. I didn’t expect myself to “rise to the challenge.” 

(Courtesy Star Wars.)

I asked the bare minimum of myself, and was gentle with myself when I couldn’t even deliver that. 

I admitted mistakes easily and forgave myself immediately after that. 

I discovered the soothing side effects of humility and vulnerability — not previously valued by Sue the Hard Charger.

I learned to ask for help without feeling bad at all. And also how to tell people to politely f*** off because I did not have the time, strength, nor concern for anyone’s drama but my own.

Finally, I allowed myself the release of laughter when I was all out of tears. The kind of laughter that leaves your face and sides sore, that makes you beg for it to stop. Laughter that is only possible when you fully let go of control (or stop pretending you have any).

There were only two things in the world that mattered to me, and my ego was not one of them.

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Hold on… is this the right way?

There’s more to this story. But before I continue, I want this part to sink in. Because I was blown away as I excavated this section of the post from the blank page in which it was trapped.

“The idea is there locked inside. All you have to do is remove the excess stone.” ~ Michelangelo, sculptor of the famous David.

Yes, that was a Michelangelo reference. Am I comparing myself to him and his work? No. I have zero desire to live up to the bar that that immortal artist set. I just like his analogy.

Which is funnily enough the point. The ease, the effortlessness, the freedom that is right on the other side of taking ourselves so seriously. When we stop either expecting perfection from ourselves or punishing ourselves when we don’t achieve it. Over and over again, in a million ways, all day long.

When we just let ourselves be…

(Courtesy I Love Lucy.)

And when we make space for the things that really matter, beyond the concerns of our inner critic… Which we will explore next week.

This is the midway point on our journey to power. It might feel like we’re moving backwards but I swear it’s a shortcut! It’s the point when we realize that we don’t have to hold on so tight. That we don’t have to drive ourselves with both carrots and whips, constantly switching them out when the creature of our body becomes too accustomed to one and it loses all effectiveness.

That when we stop forcing ourselves to care about everything that doesn’t matter, we’re far more powerful in the ways that do matter.

That we can actually trust ourselves. (Crazy-lady idea alert!)

And then next week we can compare notes and see if you caught a glimpse of your power and potency and focus and purpose just like I eventually did…

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I could go on. But today, I don’t really want to.

I want to put down all the expectations I’ve been carrying — my own, my family’s, my work’s — and surprise my daughter with a trip to her favorite restaurant. For absolutely no reason. Just because that’s what the creature of my body wants to do.

And I think it’s on to something…

In imperfection,

Sue

P.S. Part 2 is up!

Read “A new definition of power — rooted in humor and humanity” now.

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#14: Things will be great again.

#3: What are we actually afraid of?

#11: Restoring the magic of time.