Finding Perspective Through Third Person

Sometimes, when things feel a bit… overwhelming, I find myself talking about myself in the third person. Not out loud, mind you – Jerry would think I’d finally lost it completely! But inside my head, I'll say something like, "Agnes is feeling quite anxious about this," or "Agnes needs to take a deep breath." It sounds peculiar, I know, but it’s been surprisingly helpful over the years.

It began, honestly, rather accidentally. Years ago, when our youngest, Marcus, was facing a particularly difficult challenge with his scholarship application – so much pressure on him, and worry for us, too - I noticed myself retreating into my thoughts as he worked late into the night. I wasn’t giving advice; that's never done any good. Instead, I kept thinking, “Marcus is doing his best. Marcus will figure it out.” It felt… distant, somehow. Not dismissive of his worry, but more like a quiet reassurance to *him*, through myself. And in that moment, the weight on my own shoulders lifted just a little bit.

It’s about creating space, I think. A small distance between yourself and whatever it is that's troubling you. You know how sometimes when you're looking directly at something difficult – say, a tangle of yarn you need to unravel - it seems insurmountable? But if you step back a few paces, squint your eyes slightly… suddenly, you can see the pattern more clearly. You might even spot where to begin pulling.

The volunteer work I started at the Fulton Street pantry has proven beneficial in this regard as well. Seeing others facing challenges far greater than any I've ever known puts my own worries into perspective. But when those worries inevitably surface – that little flicker of doubt about whether I’m doing enough, or if I’ll be able to keep up with the schedule – that inner voice saying "Agnes is making a difference," has a remarkable calming effect.

Jerry sometimes teases me about it. He says I've always been one to overthink things, and this is just another manifestation of that tendency. But he also admits – after a bit of prodding, of course - that it seems to work for me. He’s right, I suppose. I’ve always been given to analysis. Thirty-eight years of marriage provides ample opportunity for observing one's own habits!

I remember driving to Brooklyn, wanting so desperately to be helpful to Marcus and his family. It felt like an enormous undertaking, a responsibility that threatened to swallow me whole. Instead of simply feeling overwhelmed, I found myself thinking, "Agnes is going to help in whatever way she can.” That small shift in perspective made the journey feel less daunting and more purposeful.

It’s not about denying your feelings; goodness no. Sadness and worry are as much a part of life as joy and laughter. It's about acknowledging them, observing them from a slightly different angle. And that distance...it gives you the perspective needed to act with kindness towards yourself, even when things feel difficult.

It’s a simple thing, really. A little trick I picked up along the way. And like so many of life's small blessings, it wasn’t something I sought out; it simply presented itself when I was most in need of it. And now, as I sit here with my morning coffee, thinking about these things, I realize that "Agnes is doing just fine.”