Crisis Mode

I've become aware of my own well-practiced method for formulating a crisis from a given scenario.

It goes like this: Observe something happening which was not what I'd envisioned (endless material here). Obsess over why it has happened, what should have happened, and what I should have done to prevent it. Analyze feelings about this and all the possible outcomes. Share my doubts and fears broadly, and allow my inner disquiet to feed off of the reaction of my empathetic friends. Make a decision about what to do, and then doubt it. Resist any decisive action, because nothing is as it "should be." If a quiet resolution presents itself, feel sheepish about reporting back to everyone that it was nothing really, inwardly wonder why I always find something to be overwrought over, and wonder what other people must think of me. When another opportunity to obsess presents itself, repeat the cycle. As painful and counterproductive as crisis mode is, it must be doing something for me, because I keep finding myself there.

This came to my attention through a recent (real) problem we faced.

This Monday, my son was accidentally left behind in his PreK classroom while his class headed to lunch: he was in time-out for throwing a toy, and in the commotion, they didn't notice. He was thankfully, not upset, and was retrieved a few minutes later, but Bill and I were alarmed, and so was the principal. Bill and I talked and prayed together about what we should do. We decided together that we were pleased with his overall school experience, that he was happy and we felt that pulling him out would not be productive. We met with the principal, and she swiftly arranged for him to be moved to a different class the next day. He entered his new class without skipping a beat, and seemed at ease. The softer approach of the new teacher seemed a better fit for all of us. This was by far the simplest problem resolution I'd experienced. Unfortunately, my crisis enhancing abilities had kicked in, and it didn't unfold as simply as it could have.
To backtrack, when I heard about what happened, I panicked about my decision to put him in Prek at all, and wondered what damage I'd done, and how much better things could have been for him at home or in a different school. I wanted to immediately jerk him out. I wanted to talk to everyone I could about how I was feeling, and ask what they thought I should do. Bill, perceiving this, asked that I not broadly share yet and complicate matters for me, and fortunately I listened. After Bill and I had made the decision with the principal, rather than letting her handle it, I showed up at the school, trying to talk to the teachers and figure out how we could ease his transition, since I was so worried about it. The principal had not had time to talk with them. I talked to the new teacher before she knew, and sent his current teachers into an emotional reaction about losing Ben and how they'd miss him and how sad they were that they'd lost our confidence. Then I began doubting whether Bill and I have made the right decision in moving him at all. His two teachers and I were all in tears, and in front of his class during nap time. I was in control mode: doing everything I could to settle my inner turmoil and creating more in the process. When I shared my doubts about our decision with Bill, he held fast that this was the step that we were taking, and that I needed to reign in my emotions, and come to terms with it. That this was not a crisis. It was a situation we had firmly and properly addressed and it was going to be fine. "Could it possibly be that blissfully simple?" I wondered.
I took my doubts and fears to God, finally. A friend from church called and asked how I was, as I'd missed Bible study. I gave her the cliff-notes of the situation, and she prayed for me and shared something she'd written about the battle with her own "What If.." thinking and how God had brought her reassurance. It ministered to me. When I led Benjamin to his new class the next morning, he joined right in and ended up having a great day. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Here are the lessons I've been given from this scenario.
1. Christ offers me His peace, but it's my responsibility to not LET my heart be troubled. I have some choice in the matter. I can identify and reject toxic thinking.
2. Let other people do their jobs, while I do mine.
3. When I am emotionally raw, select carefully how broadly I share: it can add to my own disquiet, rehearsing the scenario again and again.
4. Trust my husband's view point and welcome the stability he offers.
5. Don't look so much for a way OUT of problems (or feel fully responsible for having one in the first place). Seek God for a way THROUGH the problem.
6. My children are not made of glass and I need not continually panic that life and its challenges will shatter them.
7. There are things which I do that perpetrate me being in crisis mode, that I don't want to do any longer.