i pray for the day
you become a success
Lisa’s mom would often say to her, “I pray for the day you become a success.”
This, of course, was a way of saying that Lisa was not a success. But that she could be. In the future.
Lisa’s mom would alternate this statement with its cousin: “I pray for the day you become somebody.”
This, of course, was a way of saying that Lisa was not somebody.
There was never a qualifier, but Lisa assumed the unspoken word was somebody [important].
Lisa tried a few different retorts. When her mom said, “I pray for the day you become a success,” Lisa asked, “What does that even mean?! What is your definition of success?!” Her mother just stared at her blankly, as if the word success was so self-evident, questioning it only confirmed Lisa’s failure to embody it.
When her mom said, “I pray for the day you become somebody,” Lisa responded (albeit quietly), “But mom -- I am somebody.” She felt lame saying that sentence outloud. It was not convincing.
As Lisa grew older, from her 20s to her 30s to her 40s, her mother never relented on this spoken prayer for her to become someone worthwhile and successful. In fact, the frequency and pitch swelled to a fervor, as apparently, the past was getting larger and the future was getting smaller.
One day while Lisa was in the bathroom getting ready, her mother burst in, forcefully swinging the door open and yelling at her unprompted, “B is for Billionaire! You need to be a B! B! BILLIONAIRE!”
Lisa told me how she had psychically absorbed a lifetime of messaging that was framed as aspirational, about her potential, but was ironically a relentless reminder that she hadn’t lived up to that potential.
Rationally, she knew her mother was projecting her own insecurities, and it had nothing to do with who Lisa was or her worth. The ideals of success and status were based on fantasy and vague, shifting narratives. They were never really defined (except during the billionaire bathroom incident) and thus impossible to achieve. Even though she knew all this, Lisa could still hear the negative mantras deep in her psyche--I pray for the day you become somebody--playing on low, constant repeat.
This is the point at which she came to me. She wanted to address this issue somehow. She had years of therapy under her belt, but the core wound still felt very present, like a trap she could see but couldn’t quite escape. She was ready for a different approach. Did I have any ideas?
You bet I did. To be continued, here.
