everything happens for a reason

In high school, my best friend inscribed the message “Everything happens for a reason” on a mirror shaped like an hourglass. It hung on my bedroom wall, suspended by a ribbon, and over time, it has become a lasting symbol and reminder in my life. It’s strange how, amidst losing various possessions, this particular mirror has remained within my family.

The reason I find myself contemplating it now is due to a recent epiphany that fostered a profound connection. Presently, I’m a relatively new mom, thrust into motherhood unexpectedly, akin to being hit by a ton of bricks – a rather amusing analogy, but it accurately captures the abruptness of the emotional journey I embarked on.

As I attempt to articulate my thoughts, I am drawn back to this mirror, which encapsulates a fundamental lesson I’ve learned: that everything does, indeed, happen for a reason. The phrase may seem like a worn-out cliché, often used in attempts to console others. Yet, the genuine essence of the message often gets lost due to the manner in which it’s delivered.

I struggle to recall the specific circumstances that prompted my friend, Jen, to whimsically use lipstick to hastily scribble those three words. I can vividly picture myself lying on my four-poster bed, likely in the midst of tears or melodramatic whining about some issue, probably related to matters of the heart. Meanwhile, Jen, with lipstick in one hand and the other on her hip, would assertively inform me that I was being overly dramatic and that everything would eventually fall into place. Her bluntness, wrapped around a warm and sizable heart, was one of the things I cherished most about her. We had been friends since childhood – someone I could always confide in.

The phrase found its way onto the mirror over something trivial, which, at the time, felt like the end of the world. However, it has persisted as a reminder ever since. Through the years, I’ve weathered numerous challenges – friends facing overdoses, DUIs, experiences of assault, car accidents, an abortion, my father falling ill – just to name a few. Miraculously, this message reached me, whether captured in a photo by my brother during a visit home or hanging on the wall in my sister’s new apartment across the country. The mirror has consistently found itself in the possession of someone who needed its message, albeit initially seen as a joke, its significance has evolved.

Transitioning to the present, I’ve embarked on a healing journey where, through considerable effort, I am gaining an understanding of triggers and how they are formed. I postulate that the initial four years of a child’s life are pivotal. During this period, they evolve from being akin to potatoes to fully-formed human beings, inundated with an overwhelming amount of information that necessitates making sense of it all. Adults possess a Reticular Activating System (RAZ) in their brains that filters this onslaught, as the sheer volume of stimuli in a day can be staggering. This may explain why conventional wisdom suggests that children can’t remember much before the age of five, except for significant events like the birth of a sibling or the death of a grandparent. I believe, however, that they retain memories of crucial aspects such as how they were spoken to, how adults responded to challenging situations, and how they observed adults calming themselves down. The RAZ, in essence, constructs an initial draft of a filtering system. It discards the specifics of why the body should react in a certain way, retaining only the response.

Neil DeGrasse Tyson once likened every child’s interaction to an experiment. By preventing them from exploring and learning through experience, we hinder their understanding of how things work. Tyson illustrated this with an example involving a glass mug on a table, advocating for allowing a child to pull it and potentially break it as a means of learning. This aligns with my core parenting belief – the importance of allowing kids to engage in risky activities cautiously. Such experiences enable them to comprehend their bodies, what feels right, and foster a sense of self-awareness. I refrain from dictating the ‘right’ way to do things, opting instead to observe and learn from my child.

Ironically, a quote from a scrum master course during a period when I contemplated becoming a project manager for a tech company resonates with me in this context. It asserts that the most exciting innovations will not arise solely from entrepreneurs and innovators who envision the world as it should be, but rather from those who see it as it is and as it will be.

I confess that I never truly aspired to be a project manager. My genuine desire was to be respected, and a high-paying, remote IT job seemed like evidence that could prove my intelligence and worth to those around me. This quote lingers in my memory because it now aligns with my belief regarding children – that imposing a ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ way of doing things stifles their creativity. Instead, we should seize the opportunity to understand what captures their attention, what stands out to them, and what we might be missing due to our preconceived notions or narrow focus.

This realization connects seamlessly with the concept of mindfulness – the ability to see the world for what it truly is. For the longest time, I dismissed the belief in the universe and the idea that everything happens for a reason as foolish and reserved for ‘hippies.’ However, my evolving understanding underscores the interconnectedness of everything to nature. Every creation, in some form, manipulates nature. Considering the vastness of the universe in the grand scheme of things prompts the realization that our worries and embarrassments are inconsequential. The universe doesn’t conspire against us, and our perceived blunders are likely of little consequence to others. We are all absorbed in our individual realities, shaped by our experiences and assumptions.

Similarly, our bodies respond based on past experiences. A transformative exercise I’ve adopted involves pausing when I sense agitation or heightened emotions. Amidst a conversation shifting from normal to agitated or feeling my chest swell with air in preparation to argue a point, I halt and inquire about the change in the situation. It never occurred to me before, but there’s a reason behind our physical responses – our bodies react to protect us. Identifying that reason provides the ability to restore equilibrium. Our physical responses, rooted in evolutionary necessity, were originally geared toward immediate action, crucial for survival. However, we now apply these same responses to mental engagements where they are often unnecessary. No one genuinely desires conflict or anger; these emotional states are often coping mechanisms, shielding our true feelings.

Consider viewing anger as a mask for deeper emotions, a shield that conceals vulnerability. The intensity of your emotional response correlates with the depth of your care. Imagine someone on the street insulting you – you likely wouldn’t dwell on it because, frankly, who cares? However, if the slight comes from a close friend, partner, or child, it stings, leading to a defensive reaction. Mastery lies in halting, understanding the reason for the physical response, acknowledging it, and realizing its unnecessary nature. This approach not only unveils past traumas but also empowers the ability to choose a different response.

Thus, the profound message resurfaces: EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON.