Unrealized Expectations

I was thinking today about expectations, how what we might expect because of something we've conjured up in our own mind becomes something totally different in reality.  I've recently come to some personal insight about me, my mom, and my own expectations.  Like the vision I had of my mom coming to stay with me.  I'd work all day, come home and then we'd take a long walk around the block each evening before dinner.  Yeah, that didn't happen. And I often wondered why?   I attempted it once the first week she was here.  But she never wanted to go again.  Did I do something or say something, or could she sense some expectation I had?  

And a moment of clarity happened as I was reading a story during my lunch hour today.  It's about a woman who grew up without a dad, with an alcoholic mom who emotionally and physically abused her.  When the physical abuse was obvious, the cops were called in and she went to live with her aunt and uncle.  They didn't have children of their own, and told her over and over again that she had to follow the rules or she couldn't stay with them.  They were always concerned about how things looked from the outside, rather than how things actually were.  In her adult life, this woman had children and was so busy enforcing rules that she wasn't enjoying life with her husband or her daughters.  But there's a parallel there with my mom that I can sense. 

I know mom was raised by a strict stepmom, and there were rules and chores and very little mothering.  My mom was the same way about appearances, how things looked to the outside world.  Her yard was always meticulous; she had a gardener once a week, but still she went out and raked up every leaf that had fallen each day.  Yes. Every day she raked leaves.  Her home was the same way, always dusted, vacuumed, cleaned up.  Not just the neat and tidy, it was immaculately clean.  Heaven help us if company was coming over --- the entire house was cleaned all over again!  That was my upbringing.  And yet, I didn't ascribe to her way of thinking that things had to "look good" for friends and neighbors.  I always lived by the credo that my house is clean enough to be healthy and messy enough to be happy.  

So back to having mom live with me.  My own expectations built up scenarios that we would be like friends and do things.  But the reality is that neither of us was willing to be like the other.  We tolerated things well enough.  And we could watch shows and chit chat.  But we didn't like the same TV either.  Nor were we on the same kind of schedule.  It's kind of a funny thought that after living with her for the first 18 years of my life, then being away, I didn't realize that living together again would be entirely different.  Mostly because I changed.  She hasn't changed much at all.  Her new house is immaculate.  She is outside every day making her yard meticulous, pulling one weed at a time.  She's 84, so it isn't going to change.   I just have made my peace with it.

Don't let your expectations build up into something that isn't realistic.  Be willing to compromise, but always be yourself.