From Point A to Point B

 

Growing up in a military family taught me to be goal-oriented and confident. Learning where to draw the line was something I had to teach myself.

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From Point A to Point B

Everyone in my life feels like they have me figured out. The Christy they see is an obsessive compulsive, rule-abiding, highly stressed individual. It’s true, I am easily angered by any deviation from the rules. Do not pass in the right lane, do not cut in line, do not create fake Chicago parking passes in Photoshop. I’ve always thought everyone was wrong, that there was something deeper going on than a broken record in my head playing, “follow the rules, follow the rules, follow the rules…”. However, after years of hearing people tell me who I was, I had to stop and think,  “Are they right?”  My perception of the world just didn’t seem to align with the world’s perception of me.

It was a conversation with my mother that finally helped me to see the light. I confided in her my annoyance with people constantly labeling me as a rule-following goody-goody. I admitted that maybe it was because I was the oldest of 5 kids, or perhaps that I was a control freak. Either way, there had to be a deep, underlying reason for the way that I felt.  All she did was laugh. It wasn’t about the rules, she told me. It was about the goal.

“You aren’t a rule follower, Christy. You’re mission-oriented.”

I immediately knew she was right. I wasn’t ever trying to follow the “rules.” I was trying to create a plan that would take me to a goal. My anger didn’t stem from the fact that someone had exercised their own free will, but from the fact that they had stalled us all on the path I had so thoughtfully planned out.

I grew up in the United States Marine Corps. I was born and bred on their bases. I watched my father follow their rules, and ascend to the top ranks for doing so.  The military instilled in me a simple theory: You are at Point A. Follow the rules to get to Point B. Whatever my goal, or Point B, ended up becoming, there was always a logical way to get there.

After I was born my Mom, Dad and I lived outside of Camp Lejeune in Jacksonville, North Carolina. My Dad would often be deployed for months at a time, sending us postcards and letters and calling when he could. Even at a young age I understood that Dad was gone for a while, but would be back in 8 months. It was my job to wait. Each time my Dad left, I was told exactly when he would return. This created a constant need for me to know the bottom line, the Point B, in a situation. Once I knew the goal I needed to reach, I could quickly create a mental path to take me there.

As we moved from North Carolina to Florida to Maryland, the military community was always there, making it easy to adjust. I excelled in school. By envisioning A’s I received them each semester. I was able to influence people easily and found I had an uncanny knack for getting what I wanted. My goal-seeking habits were further encouraged as I saw my father promoted to Major and later accepted into the astronaut training program at NASA. He was achieving his dreams and I was mimicking his actions in order to achieve mine.

The last time I talked to my Dad, he promised he would see me the next day. I went to bed planning the next afternoon and envisioning seeing him at the base hanger. When the V-22 my father was co-piloting caught fire and lost an engine, the Marines came to explain that my Dad was not coming home this time.

My entire world disintegrated in front of me. The TV flashed the word “Missing” across the screen under my Dad’s picture each day, and I locked myself in my room praying for him to be found alive. I told myself that if I prayed hard enough and did everything I was told, my Dad would come home. At his funeral I was frozen with shock. In a moment that was supposed to provide closure, I felt that a door had been opened into a world I knew nothing about. No matter what I did or how hard I tried, I was not able to bring my father home. I was terrified.

In the months that followed, my habit for planning turned into an obsession. The death of my father had caused an unhealthy desire for control in my life.  My mother was not always around and  I was often left to care for my four younger siblings. The responsibilities of babysitting further encouraged my obsessive habits. Any deviation from plans would send me into uncontrollable anxiety.

As more time passed,  I began to see how my controlling behaviors were damaging my life and my relationships. I realized that life couldn’t be controlled, no matter how badly I wanted it to be. I began to slowly transform an obsession fueled habit back into a healthy mission-oriented attitude.

I’m still a long way from being able to completely let go in certain situations, but I’m progressing each day. While little things such as cutting in line or driving on the shoulder still bother me, I’m learning when to open my mouth and when to let it go. The conversation with my mother opened my eyes to why I approach certain situations the way I do and helped me to  better understand the way others perceive me. I’ve had to learn that my path may not always be the best, and that by breaking some of my rules I can find new paths to happiness.

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Key words:

USMC, military families, childhood, obsession

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