Cursed Tongue: “Don’t worry about me. Worry about world hunger.”

Posted by CursedTongue on February 9, 2006

I come from a long line of so-called martyred women. Women who, God love them, don’t want to bother any one. Women who think they have nothing to complain about because there is always someone worse off than they are. Women who make Mother Teresa look like a slacker.

These women never want anything for their birthdays but a happy family. It was this kind of selflessness that left Dad at a loss for what to get Mom on gift-giving occasions. Because of her refusal to give Dad any hints, at one point Mom had enough lingerie to outfit half of the call girls in Bangkok.

For those of you, myself included, who have trouble with the concept of selflessness, it’s that whole, “I wept because I had no shoes; and then I met a man who had no feet,” thing. Speaking of feet, shoes and selflessness Jonathan Swift said, “The stoical scheme of supplying our wants by lopping off our desires, is like cutting off our feet when we want shoes.”

I’ve struggled to be content with what I have. After the pattern of our Calvinist forbearers I have tried lopping off my desires, and found it difficult. Why can’t I just pick salad from the menu? Why can’t I look at a woman similar to myself, who’s prettier, smarter, and wittier and not feel that burning covetous twinge of jealousy that makes me wish all of her hair would fall out? Why am I always thinking about what I can’t do for myself instead of what I can do for others?

Selflessness is an art among women in my family that somehow skipped me. Yet another thing I must learn to be content with, I suppose.

Recently, I called one of the selfless women in my life. We’ll disguise her with the name of the patron saint of female martyrs, Joan of Arc. Joan had been admitted overnight into the hospital. She asked why I had called. I said, “We were worried about you. You’re in the hospital,” thinking maybe she’s so sick that she forgot.

She replied, “Don’t worry about me. Worry about world hunger. I’m fine.” Reading that line back, it sounds funny and insincere. Rest assured, Joan was as earnest as a Packers fan in a cheese hat. As if I was supposed to fix world hunger before inquiring after her health.

Joan doesn’t want me to worry about her, (she is out of the hospital, thankfully,) but the familiar litany of “I’m fine,” only heightens my concern. After years of hearing those words from female members of my family, some of whom were definitely not fine, those words compress my heart to the size of a peanut and drop the temperature of my extremities from winter-in-Chicago to Arctic-blast. Those wearisome and inscrutable words, it could be anything from a hangnail to Bacterial meningitis.

It is the “Girl who refused to cry wolf” Syndrome. A disease that chews up sweet, kind souls, sucks out their marrow and spits them out. It presses their bitter and hardened husks onto the underside of the table in the greasy spoon diner that is life. Okay, so I made that up. But my point is, by being so adamant that we not worry about them, these women, make us worry all the more.

The book of “All I Need to Know I Learned on an Airplane” states that should the oxygen masks drop from the overhead compartment, you must secure your own mask before helping others. There is something to be said for taking care of yourself before worrying about world hunger. How can we continue to take advantage of the generosity of such compassionate women, if they give too much?

- Sarah Letnes

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