The Styrofoam Plate

I told someone “No” last week.  And it was hard.  I felt so guilty that I’m still thinking about it now.

This wasn’t a “No” that I told my kids.  No more candy.  No more TV.  No, you have to take a shower…tonight.  Those ones are easy for me.

This was a “No” to an adult.  An adult I like.  An adult who was asking for help – more specifically, asking me to help at my child’s school.

Then, later that week, I told a potential client “No” to taking on their work.  Work that I could have done well.  Work that someone would have paid me for.

I told them both “No”.  And it was hard.

In general, I like to say “Yes”.  Actually, I love to say “Yes”.  I love to feel like I can do it all and make everyone happy.

People pleaser, reporting for duty!

It’s easy to say “no” to people you don’t like.  But what about the ones you do like?  Especially if it involves work that would be fulfilling? 

It’s hard to have boundaries.

Now yes, I could make time for one more volunteer role, one more client, or one more anything in my life.  But something else would falter.  The obvious result would be that I’d have less time for other clients or organizations.

But, in reality, what suffers are the “invisible” demands my time caters to that no one will notice but me.  The things that occupy my mind, but I can’t put my finger on and will never appear on my never-ending to-do list.

I’m talking about dinner at the table with the whole family, quality time in the evening with my husband, or time for myself to read or be alone.  Not to mention the mental capacity and sanity to be calm and patient throughout my day.

These are the invisible demands, and priorities, that no one outside of my little family would see.

And it’s not just physically putting dinner on the table.  It’s the forethought of meal planning so that we’re not eating dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets for the 3rd time this week.  And the margin in our day for me to encourage (read: not impatiently yell at) our 8-year-old to set the table so she can feel like she contributed to the dinner.

Making the hard choice and saying “No” to just this one thing is upholding the boundaries I’ve set up for myself to have a sane life.

As I’m been pining over this in my head, I couldn’t help but think of those rectangular Styrofoam plates with the 5 sections for food.

Yep! That’s the one!

I used to LOVE these plates when I was a kid.  I loved that everything had a place on my plate.  And, in retrospect, it probably was foreshadowing how much I’d love order and structure in my adult life.

I had an aunt who would always have these plates at her kids’ birthday parties.  I loved getting in the food line at the party and putting food in all the little sections.  If you grew up in Chicagoland (yes, that’s a real word people use in Chicago) in the 80s or 90s, your plate would look like this:  Italian beef sandwich in the biggest section, mostaccioli pasta in the next biggest section, potato salad in the top left, pasta salad in the top middle, and Jell-O in the top right.

Everything had its happy little place.

The catch was – don’t overfill your plate.  If you’ve ever experienced one of these plates, you know that, while they’re very organized, they’re not the strongest.  If you overfill it with too much Italian beef or potato salad, the thing will crack in the middle and your lunch will be on the floor.

Super embarrassing for a 10-year-old…or 35-year-old.

How similar is this to all the obligations we pile onto our lives?

If I can imagine that same Styrofoam plate holding my life obligations, it would look like this: family needs (quality together time, meal planning, date night with the hubs) in the biggest section, my own sanity (alone time, prayer time, reading a book, taking a walk) in the next biggest section, work in the top left, church obligations (Sunday service, volunteering, weekly Bible study) in the top middle, and kids activity involvement (homework help, driving to/from activities, volunteering at school) in the top right.

Your plate likely would look different – as it should.  But what’s important is that you intentionally choose what goes on your plate and what you leave your biggest sections for.  Do you really want your biggest section for Jell-O?

But again…here’s the catch.

If you put too much on your Styrofoam plate, it’s going to crack in the middle.  And it’s going to be a mess.

Only this time, it won’t be your lunch on the floor, it will be your sanity.  For me, that looks like missing deadlines for work, impatient reactions with my kids, missing my weekly ladies’ group at church, and limited quality time with the hubs.

So, while it’s hard to say “No”…really hard…it’s something I’m learning.

Hold the Jell-O, I’ve got plenty on my plate already.