That has nothing to do with me
Get in loser, we're accepting what we cannot change.
Before we begin: My first piece for Vox is live! It’s all about the transformative power of journaling — something we know and love here! (You can read it here if you’re not a member.)
Earlier this week, I received a hate email from a digital stranger. I’ll spare you most of the details, but I will share that they told me to go f*ck myself more than once. (Don’t threaten me with a good time.)
While it never feels good to receive online hate like this (and if you exist as a woman online long enough, you certainly will), I noted how it felt for me this time: like not much at all. I knew that this person was suffering, and that their message had little to do with me and everything to do with their self-image and whatever they were currently going through.
“That has nothing to do with me,” I thought.
I didn’t internalize it. I didn’t call them out on social media. I didn’t read it over and over until it was permanently burned into my brain, destined to haunt me late at night for a lifetime. I certainly didn’t reply.
I read it once, felt some empathy for this person, and moved on with my day.
The serenity prayer
I’ve been attending weekly Alanon meetings for seven months now. If you’re not familiar, the official definition of Alanon is “a mutual support program for people whose lives have been affected by someone else’s drinking.” It’s for family members and loved ones of alcoholics, and it shares an adapted 12-step program from Alcoholics Anonymous.
But, if you ask me, Alanon is a place you go to learn to let go of the false belief that you are in control.
Many people are familiar with the Serenity Prayer: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
The serenity to accept the things I cannot change.
The truly wise know that they cannot change a single thing other than their own thoughts and actions. In the context of Alanon, we all seek to learn that we cannot change the behavior of the alcoholic in our lives, and work instead to change our own behavior that is causing us even more suffering. It really hurts to watch someone you love make harmful choices, sometimes over many decades. But the sooner you realize that their choices are their own, and yours belong to you, the sooner you can be free.
In my weekly, in-person Alanon meeting, we usually listen to a prompt, then go around the room and share stories of our feelings and experiences. This is my favorite part of Alanon. I don’t have a sponsor, I’m not yet working the steps, and I’m still figuring out how to make “God” more palatable to me — but the vulnerable storytelling among a group of supportive people who truly get it keeps me coming back.
From listening to them, and sharing some of myself, I’ve become much more aware of my own control issues. My longtime role as a mediator in my family. How I try to fix other people’s problems, rather than just listen to them. My own, unearned holier-than-thou attitude.
People must be given the space to live autonomously, make their own mistakes, bear the consequences, and decide where to go from there (or to stay in place). I have that same right. I cannot make choices for the people I love. But I can focus on making choices that are right for me.
Lately, when I am listening to someone telling me their problems, and I feel myself getting upset and immediately pivoting to problem-solving and advice-giving (that usually wasn’t asked for), I do my very best to take a deep breath and come back to this simple truth:
“That has nothing to do with me. May I accept what I cannot change.”
Let them
Sometime last year, I heard the phrase “Let them” for the first time. I don’t remember the context, just that those two words have been hitchhiking along my brain ever since.
“Oh my god, yes! Let them!!!” my two brain cells exclaimed as they started two-stepping.
Some of you have heard of Mel Robbins’ new book, The Let Them Theory. I haven’t read it, but I have listened to her talk about it on the We Can Do Hard Things podcast.
Robbins’ philosophy is simple. Someone being rude and impatient in line at the grocery store? Let them. Someone wants to break up with you? Let them. Someone is handling a situation in a way that’s driving you crazy? Let them. LET THEM!
It’s not about giving power to others, but taking your own power back. They can do whatever they want. You’re going to pause, connect with yourself, then do the only thing you really can: make the best choice for you.
We can’t control other people! Why do we keep trying to?! LET THEM!
Today, people are going to do things you will not like. They’ll send you a passive-aggressive email, try to put you on their rushed agenda, try to pass the blame for something they should take accountability for. Someone you love might make the same harmful choices they have been for years, or do the opposite of what their doctor said, or spend the day drinking.
A powerful message I needed to hear.