I learned that what I called “helping others” was always about me — about no one’s choices but my own. My comfort level, my pride in thinking I know what’s right for other people, or even for myself. I wanted to play God, not just out of love but to avoid sitting with the discomfort of watching other people suffer for their bad choices, and I did it under the guise of helpfulness and competence. All of my “help” had never made a positive difference. What’s worse, it probably hindered. Ouch.
It was a bitter, humbling, penitential pill, but I’d sure earned it.
For the most part, these days, I work hard at using my supreme gift of free will to allow others their dignity. I think I finally understand that it’s never loving to undermine this gift, no matter how big or small the situation, no matter how noble the intention. It’s not easy, especially when it seems to be abused and to make their life worse; but, after all, the fall started with one bad choice chosen freely, and the salvation of the world began with a free-willed yes. So I know it must be a big deal.
My name is Elizabeth, and I’m a recovering control freak.
Elizabeth Dyeis a wife, home-schooling mother, daughter, sister and aunt who resides in the Deep South. In a former life she worked in NCAA drug compliance, pharmaceutical compliance, and case management.