I Do Hard Things
A month ago, my dad asked me for a favor. He asked if I could be a backup “actress” for his team’s medical simulation. I said sure, no problem, and went along with my life. We both work at the same children’s hospital, and I’m an adult, so I figured I would just be a stand-in, to have a human body present. Totally do-able.
Well, two weeks ago, he called me up and told me I was going to be needed after all, and gave me the rundown of what I would be doing. Which was A LOT more than I had planned. So here’s the scenario.
I was supposed to be a mom of a baby and I am supposed to have “overdosed” and am found unconscious in a car. I am to be completely limp, let them pull me out of said car, and let them “administer” Narcan. When they say “Narcan” I am to count to ten and then start flailing my arms and legs and pretend to vomit.
I don’t know about you, but this sounds way more involved than being a “stand-in”.
Side note: I do not do vomit. I don’t think about it, hear about it, look at it, nothing. The idea makes me queasy. So “pretending to vomit” was probably the least appealing thing I could possibly imagine. I did not know how “realistic” that part was supposed to be, but the thought made my stomach turn (ha ha how appropriate).
Also, I was requested to wear ratty clothing and have mascara dripping down my face and look just downright awful. BY MY FATHER. So, the man who raised me in a Christian home, who always insisted that overdressing is better than being under-dressed, who has passed his “neat freak” qualities to me, who knows full well that I was in the MARCHING BAND, is now asking if I have ratty, torn, or stained clothing.
No, Dad. The answer is NO.
I was not raised to keep clothing that was stained, or torn, and if it was, it was designated as “painting clothes”. I wear cardigans and flats. I drive an SUV, shop at Marshall’s and dress like a teacher (nun if you ask my husband, but I digress). I am the definition of “sensible”. Needless to say, I was not prepared, and less than thrilled that I had agreed to this.
But I had agreed to it, and I am not a quitter, so I handled it in the best way I knew how. I panicked about it all week. The day came, I wore my painting hoodie (with exactly 3 small white paint spots on it). I showed up with no makeup (because what looks worse than that?) and was told I needed to go smear mascara under my eyes ( LOVELY) and that I shouldn’t wear my glasses because they weren’t “the look” (SORRY I NEED TO SEE, DAD). Was I being mature about this? No. But here we are.
We headed out to the car and I was doing my best to not be a pouty preteen girl about it. I got in the car, and waited. And waited for what seemed like forever. I was nervous, I was tired, it wasn’t even 7 AM yet and I hadn’t finished my coffee. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew I had 3 things to do.
Slump over and be completely limp until
They say “Administering Narcan”. At which point I
Count to 10 and then flail my arms and legs and pretend to vomit.
These are not “hard” things. I just had never done them before. Granted, I had made retching noises before (and my husband made me practice because he’s a weirdo and wanted me to be convincing). But nothing about it was truly complicated.
So, I did it. The first round, I was super nervous, but I did the three things and it was fine. The second time I knew what was coming so I kicked and flailed a little more, and you know what? It was kind of a blast. The last two rounds were a lot of fun. There are not many opportunities as an adult where it is completely acceptable to kick and flail and potentially hit another person, so I ran with it. And I actually did a pretty okay job. I was proud of myself for doing something different to help out another team, even if I had no idea what I was doing and was completely out of my comfort zone.
Later on that day, I was telling a coworker about my morning doing the SIM, and she was like “You did that? I don’t think I could ever do something like that.” And it kind of threw me. Which one of those 3 things was she incapable of doing? She is a nurse, educated and experienced, of course she would be capable of doing 3 simple tasks.
And then it hit me. She would be uncomfortable with the idea, the discomfort would turn to fear and the fear would prevent her from doing it. And I get the discomfort, I really do. Clearly, I was also uncomfortable with the idea. But I wasn’t afraid of it.
Why wasn’t I afraid? Because I’ve done harder things before. I’ve done things that are SO much harder than laying limp and making retching noises and flailing my arms. It all comes down to the following statement.
I do hard things.
For as long as I can remember, I have done hard things just to be able to say that I did it. Let’s be clear, I do not walk around telling other people that I do hard things. I do it so that I can tell MYSELF that I can do hard things.
For example, I was afraid of leaving my home and going to flight attendant training for 6 weeks. But I knew that I had already completed 8 weeks of Chinese immersion school, WHICH IS WAY HARDER. It’s probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Eight weeks of no English, 1 chapter/40 Chinese characters a day, 5 chapters a week, and a 5 minute presentation on architecture to finish strong. I knew that flight attendant training would be fine, because I had already done something much more grueling.
I don’t know when I started this, but I kind of use it as a motto now. I Do Hard Things. It’s a reminder to always go the extra mile, to push harder than I thought possible, and to achieve more than I thought I could.
Let’s be honest, I wouldn’t feel the sense of accomplishment if it was easy. If it was something I totally knew I could do, I wouldn’t be proud of myself for doing it. So I almost always choose the hard thing.
I wanted to be healthier, so I did Whole30, and I didn’t cheat. I did that, and it was hard.
I wanted to lose weight for my wedding, so I joined Beachbody and started the longest, hardest program they had. My friend (and coach) told me “You know that’s the hardest one, right? You could start with something easier to help you get used to it.” And I knew that, but I wanted the challenge. I wanted to accomplish something hard. Something worth working toward. And my husband and I both completed the program and had amazing results. We were both so glad that we completed the challenge.
It’s one thing to say “This is hard”. It’s another thing to say “I can’t do it”.
Life events are not the only hard things we face. Forgiveness is hard. Love is hard. Marriage is hard. Finding a career you love is hard. Showing grace is hard. Being kind is hard.
We can do hard things.
Is it crazy? Probably.
But, I would rather be crazy than be afraid.
I would rather be crazy than believe I can’t do something.
I would rather be crazy than let life walk all over me while I break down because “I just can’t handle it.”
Life is hard. It doesn’t have to be crippling.
Life is hard. Do it anyway.
“I can do all things through Him who gives me strength.”
Philippians 4:13