#ItHappens

I’m guessing more people than not have seen the State Farm Insurance TV ad where a wife comes downstairs in the middle of the night because she hears her husband talking on the phone. In an accusatory tone, she asks him who he’s talking to and he says, “It's Jake from State Farm”. Unsatisfied and increasingly more riled up, she grabs the phone and asks, “Jake at State Farm at 3am, who is this?!” to which Jake responds in a dry, flat voice, “it’s Jake from State Farm”. Insulted that he would think her so naïve, she shoots back with “what are you wearing, Jake from State Farm?”, while giving her husband the stink eye as if to say caught, red-handed, sucker! Jake responds in the same dry, flat tone as before “uh…khakis”. Disbelieving Jake is who he says he is, but too far down the rabbit hole to see that she’s making up the wrong story, she persists and says to her husband, “she sounds hideous” and the husband says, “well, she’s a guy so…” The ad, of course, is meant to showcase State Farm’s round the clock accessibility and five star customer service. Today, I walked by another State Farm ad (this one affixed to a grocery cart) displaying an agent’s headshot captioned with “When ‘That will never happen to me’ happens”. Again, highlighting State Farm’s understanding that all of us think ourselves invisible to the kinds of mistakes requiring insurance – whether careless blunders or the most catastrophic of circumstances. And, furthermore, conveying the message that when mistakes happen, we all need help to right whatever the wrong.

As a therapist, clients often talk to me about their mistakes – perceived or real – and the guilt or shame that comes along with disappointing themselves and/or others. Though it’s far from the first time I’ve felt the burden of those blues in my own life, yesterday I had a run-in with self-imposed stupidity that is particularly fresh and, perhaps, the reason I’m feeling such resonance with State Farm’s ad campaign. Here’s what happened:I had just finished moving out of my residence in Cincinnati and was heading south to make my official move to Kentucky – a move I have long and eagerly anticipated. My car was fully loaded with miscellaneous items the movers didn’t take and I was delighting in how smooth the day had gone up to that point and how happy I felt to be beginning my next adventure as a new wife and step-mom. It all felt so exciting and I, especially, felt proud of myself for coordinating the logistics of the move, packing everything carefully, if not meticulously, staying organized, and meeting the move day deadline without too much stress because I had prepared so well for the big event. So, there I was, cruising down the highway with music and ease. I arrived in the late afternoon and began unloading my car. I’m not sure what made me think of it, but about halfway through the unloading process, I realized I didn’t have my computer. I searched for it knowing I wasn’t going to find it because almost as soon as I figured out I didn’t have it, I remembered that I’d placed it on top of my car while placing a few heavier, bigger items in the backseat. At the time, I thought I would remember to get the computer off the top of the car before I backed out of the driveway. Suffice to say, I did not remember to do that. You can guess the next part of the story; unbeknownst to me, the computer fell off the top of my car.So, what did I do? I beat myself up with unkind words about being stupid, careless, hurried (because I was so excited), and a prize idiot. Shame. I felt my eyes well up with tears over how irresponsible I’d been and how sad I was to think that I’d lost all of the work I’d saved over the last decade. Never mind that I was just starting to talk about getting a new computer because mine was old, slow, and malfunctioning from time to time. Never mind that I’m not a terribly tech savvy person and use the computer for the most minimal of functions so, relatively speaking, didn’t have much saved on it. Never mind rational thinking and definitely never mind the fact that this was probably the best thing to happen in terms of forcing my hand to update my technology and make my life more compatible with the modern world. I felt awful. But, I realized later, I only felt awful because the whole calamity happened on terms other than my own. I wanted to be in control of when, where, and how I laid my computer to rest.Wanting control - sound familiar?One of my therapy mentors, Pia Mellody, defines self-esteem as “the ability to hold ourselves in positive, warm regard despite our imperfections”. Translated to practical application, this means that whenever we do or say something that causes ourselves (or others) to feel unwanted vulnerability we need to be able to say “I matter and I’m worth it even when I…” This is what it means to give ourselves grace. I think, for all of us, the biggest mistake we make is not the mistake itself, but what we do to ourselves in the aftermath. We can repair, fix, learn, and heal from mistakes caused by our own (and others’) actions, but self-respect can’t be pieced back together by purchasing a new computer, for example. We have to be able to build ourselves up even when the temptation and momentum of the moment is to tear ourselves down. While I was stuck in my own dark cloud of self-deprecation, others in my circle reminded me that “this was not the end of the world”, “computers are replaceable”, “breathe”, and “we have all done that with some electronic at some point”. How nice it was to hear the simplest and most empathic of things when I was entangled in an unnecessary tailspin of my own doing.30 minutes after I’d fallen prey to my own shame attack, I got word that my computer had been found on the side of the road! It was scratched up and the screen was cracked, but the hard drive was probably intact and I would be able to retrieve whatever I’d saved. All that worry…all that mud in my own face…for what?I’m in Kentucky with my new family, beginning my new life, and computers are replaceable. Good first lesson to start the next chapter! I hope you’ll apply it to your own life, too.