I used to love Chutes and Ladders. There was nothing better than seeing my sister or my mom or dad get all the way up towards the top of the board and then hit the block for the big slide and end all the way back near the bottom.
Of course, I similarly loved the moment when I hit a spot with the large ladder and scooted easily all the way to the top of the board. That big ladder was so much faster and easier than climbing each spot row-by-row all the way up.
SCOOT FORWARD TO 2022:
Ask anyone who has gone through a traumatic experience, and they will be able to understand the Chutes and Ladders dilemma. They were meandering along, moving forward, scooting one spot at a time when all of a sudden, they hit the slide spot. Depending on the situation, they either found themselves back a row (just a short distance) OR perhaps they found themselves at the start all over again.
There is nothing so devastating in life to have to find yourself at the start all over again, whether it is financially, emotionally, physically, mentally, or any other -lly. It is one of the most discouraging moments to have to redefine yourself, to have to put pennies together to keep going, to learn how to do something all over again, to move forward as a Ms. instead of a Mrs., or to learn something difficult about others/life/God.
Even more frustrating and discouraging is the climb, struggle, and gasping effort to work back up the spots, spot by spot, row by row ------only to find a small slide and go backwards again.
For me, in the past 15 years, I have had to learn boundaries (I was going to say re-learn but perhaps never knew them before), had to redefine myself, had to learn to say no, had to learn to take care of myself in equal proportions to taking care of others, and so much more.
Every time I would think I was getting the hang of things, a situation in life would occur or a message from a person from my past would arrive, and I suddenly felt all my progress slip out from under my feet.
My determination to believe in myself suddenly turned to doubt. My promise to take care of myself became the realization that I had to care for someone else. My vow never to let that person’s words get to me was broken in seconds as the tears rolled down my cheeks. The no stayed on my tongue while I reluctantly agreed.
Sound familiar?
For a Type A perfectionist, these slips, these slides into former bad habits made me berate myself for once again doing what I said I wouldn’t do. My thoughts varied from “You will never learn” or “So much for progress,” and I wondered whether it wouldn’t always be the same. Or perhaps, whether I wouldn't always be the same.
I finally learned a truth that is not as easily visible in life as it might be on the Chutes and Ladders game board.
Two steps forward, one step back is still progress.
Five steps forward, three steps backward is STILL progress.
Six steps forward, five steps backward is EVEN MORE progress.
The reality is I will never be perfect.
The reality is that I will always take care of others and will also feel hurt when that certain person communicates.
The reality is that my boundaries may never be bulletproof (and for that, I am sort of glad).
The reality is that I will continue to say yes . . .
But the reality is also that . . .
For every time I take care of others, I also try to keep in mind now to take care of me.
For every hurtful communication, I also have lots of positive communications with others and there are fewer tears and the hurt lasts a shorter period of time.
For every hurtful boundary crossing, at least it is more of a struggle to cross that boundary.
For every yes, I say no more often.
I may not be climbing 5 rows at once, but I am slowly moving forward.
Two steps forward with one small step back is still better than where I was yesterday.
And every once in a while, like this morning, when I said no, it seemed a HUGE accomplishment. It was a solid no. It was a quickly-replied no.
I could suddenly look back and see where I started and where I am now. I could see how far I’ve come, and I celebrated this morning. I celebrated the work, the steadiness of the climb, and the struggle and success of each small step forward.
