I try to steer away from clichés in my writing, but as the days of social distancing drag on, an old saying comes to mind: “Familiarity breeds contempt.”
April 24 marks day 42 of social distancing. Six weeks total. Six weeks of being confined to the suburbs of Paducah (save the occasional errand, dog walk or the four-hour trip to move everything out of my dorm). Six weeks of seeing almost no one in person, except for — you guessed it — members of my immediate family.
And, at the risk of bragging, I have a pretty wonderful family. Being the youngest of five kids means that there’s always someone to talk to and someone who’s experienced the same struggles as me (granted, none of my siblings graduated college during a global pandemic, but still…). My parents have always been compassionate, supportive and understanding, even when I was at my worst.
So just to reiterate: I love my family. I’m incredibly grateful that we’re so close-knit, and I know that, unfortunately, not everyone can say that of their biological family. I don’t want to take that closeness for granted or act like my problems are bigger than anyone else’s.
But let me just get one thing off my chest. My family — my large, beautiful, close-knit family — is better at driving me insane than anyone else I know.
I’m pretty sure most of you would say the same. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, your family knows more about you than anyone else. They know every bad haircut you ever had, every Halloween costume, every spectacular triumph or failure you’ve achieved up to this point.
Because you’re that close to them, most societal boundaries and conventions are rendered completely meaningless. You might tiptoe around a boss or professor and stay quiet when they press your buttons, but if a family member does the same thing — especially if it happens more than once — you’re bound to snap sooner or later.
When you’re that close to someone, sometimes you forget that he or she is not a mind reader. Family members know a lot about you, but they still don’t know everything. And what’s more, they don’t remember every little thing you tell or show them. You might’ve told your siblings once or twice that you hate it when they finish your sentences, but they may not remember that fact two or three years later. It’s not because they don’t care about you enough to pay attention; it’s simply because they forgot about that interaction over time. The human memory is finite, and even the most important things can slip through the cracks.
Furthermore, while your family does know you extremely well, their knowledge of you is limited to both the side you show them now and the version of you that they grew up with. This is especially true of your parents. You might’ve called them often during college, gone home for break and even spent a summer or two in their house, but that doesn’t change an essential fact: they didn’t go to college with you. They weren’t there to see every change that took place in you over that four-year span; they only know the things you told them. So the you they see might be essentially, high-school-you-plus-a-few-anecdotes.
For me, college has been the most formative years of my life. I started to find myself during high school, but I still didn’t have a complete grasp on who I was and where I was headed when my time there ended. Now, four years later, I’ve grown not only academically but also emotionally and spiritually. I’m not the same person I was four years ago, and I know my family is aware of that. But that doesn’t mean they know the full extent of that transformation, and neither do I.
No single member of my family knows everything about me. Even I don’t know everything about me. I’m blinded by a mix of bias, pride, self-deprecation, skewed self-image and a plethora of other flaws.
The truth is, there’s only one entity that knows absolutely everything about me: God. God knows me absolutely, and He loves me unconditionally. No one else comes close, not even my family. As much as they know me, and as much as they love me — as much as I love them, which is more than anyone and anything else on earth — they fall short.
When I expect people to both know and love me absolutely, I’m asking something of them that they can’t deliver, no matter how hard they try. If I ask that of them over and over, I’m going to be repeatedly disappointed, and they, in turn, will either feel that they’ve failed me or that I’m demanding too much (which I am).
My name, Jana, means “God is gracious” (which is certainly a unique perspective for a mother to have after she’s just given birth for the fifth time in eight years). As hard as it can be, I’m trying to live up to that name. I need to be gracious and patient with everyone I meet — especially my family, since we’re in closer quarters than ever.
Part of being gracious and patient means talking through problems, instead of brushing them off or sulking about them in private. The more you push misunderstandings aside, the more resentful you become about them over time. So don’t bottle these things up. Talk about them. If a family member does something that bothers you — if they overstep a boundary, if they say something that stings or if they don’t seem to understand that you’re too busy with school to hang out — talk about it. They might not realize how much their actions or words bother you until you bring it up. And since you might be staying with your family for a while, it’s important to address small problems early on, before they develop into bigger conflicts.
Your family isn’t perfect. Spoiler alert: neither are you. But whether your family is small or big, biological or found, close-knit or estranged, social distancing is a unique opportunity for you. If you’re spending this time with your family, think of it as a chance to reconnect, grow closer and let the people you care about see the person you’ve become. And for us seniors, it’s a chance to spend more time with our parents before we leave the nest.
Does my family drive me crazy? Yes.
Would I trade them? Not for anything or anyone.
