Expectations are the devil

"Sometimes we create our own heartbreaks through expectation."

"People are not here to meet your expectations."

"Sometimes we expect more from others because we would be willing to do that much for them."

"The key to happiness is letting each situation be what it is instead of what you think it should be."

"Expecting is my favorite crime, and disappointment is always my punishment."

"The key to happiness is lower expectations."

I could go on and on with expectation quotes. In fact, I love quotes of all kinds. I have collected volumes of them on my Pinterest boards.  Sadly, I have all of these reminders about the dangers of expectations, yet I'm still their vulnerable prey.

Expectations -- my own and other peoples' -- have caused me much grief during this parent drama I'm experiencing right now.

I discussed expectations at length in "Anger has its place."  The expectations (i.e., hopes, dreams, desires, etc.) my sister, my dad and I have had during this time, and even my mother (freedom), have wreaked emotional havoc on our lives. What we want for my mom and dad, and what my dad wants for my mother are simply expectations of the way we think things should be.

Unfortunately, as previously discussed and discovered, life simply doesn't work that way. Instead, it's all about dealing with life on life's terms. As it should be.

But those aren't the kinds of expectations giving me trouble these days. Another kind of nastiness exists. I'll call them "behavioral expectations."  In my head, they look like this:

"I should be able to be with Mom all day, AND be patient with her at all times, AND keep my house clean AND pay and file my bills AND plan meals and cook for my family and my dad AND look after my dad AND feed my animals on time every day AND do and be all the things my husband wants from me,  AND give each of my furry babies adequate attention AND shop for groceries AND go to all of Jordie's baseball games AND bake for Jordie every weekend AND make up my bed every day AND exercise at least five times a week AND eat healthy AND work."  (I must say that, usually, Voice 3 is at fault here. I hate her. She is such an ass.)

AND AND AND AND.

My expectations for myself aren't my only enemy. Voice 4, the voice you don't get to meet but might get a glimpse of occasionally, whips up on my poor brain with all kinds of snideness toward others because they aren't meeting her expectations. Voice 3 may be an ass, but Voice 4 is nothing more than an angry petulant, sometimes conniving, brat.  I won't tell you what she says. It's simply not fit for print.

Last, the expectations others seem to have for me cause me to have convulsive fits on the floor sometimes -- like maybe last night. And what's worse is that other peoples' expectations bring out Voice 4 in me. In turn, when she comes out to play, Voice 3 turns around and hammers me with guilt. Hate her!

Yesterday, I spent all morning with my mom, "training" the new caregiver for Tuesday mornings so that I can have them off. Because Mom believed the new caregiver to be of the devil, I spent the morning smoothing things over and creating an atmosphere in which the caregiver was no longer an evil entity.

I made a brief exit shortly after the physical therapist left (who, by the way, was awesome, yet who also instilled new hopes in me -- hopes that could easily be dashed). I left for three hours. During that time, I went to the bank, paid bills, worked on our finances, paid attention to my animals, and, yes, I fell asleep on the couch. I don't sleep much at night.

When I returned to Mom's room, I learned she had woken up (because Dad had left, as well, while she slept). She woke up with no one there and was seated in her chair at the nurse's station so they could keep an eye on her. She was blazing hot! My dad had to bear the brunt of  this insanity because he returned before I did. Now, when my mom is mad and upset, she's not in her right mind. She's fearful we've left her. She believes everyone is bad and evil. She thinks violent thoughts and expresses them readily. It's as if all those crime and police drama shows she's ever watched have come to life.

On top of all that, some sweet friends of my parents came to visit right about that time. Bless their hearts.

And then I showed up. She hated me, too, at that time.

Through a series of calming exercises I have learned to help her come back down, she returned to her sweet, calm self.

But anger sky-rocketed me to the moon last night when I discovered how upset my dad was that no one had been there when my mom woke up. (i.e., his expectations.)

Voice 3 kicked in and said, "You should have been there. It's your responsibility."

Number 3 set #4 on a rampage. The spoiled brat responded in kind with all sorts of expletives and angry words toward family members. Poor Kim ... she was on the other end of the phone.

It took time to let #4 vent to Dorsey before #1 (my voice of reason) could peek out enough to say, "CHILL! Light your candles, turn down the lights, get in the steaming hot bathtub, and pray and meditate awhile."

So, I did.

Voice 1 came to my rescue so that I (commonly referred to as #2) could come back down to earth and regain my Zen.

As I said, expectations are the devil.