This is the second installment of ESEReport.com’s Second Chances blog series.

***

 My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. ~ 2 Corinthians 12:9

***

It was the summer of 1976, my last season playing on the East Hills Little League baseball fields. Those were the days when team names were those of sponsors that paid for uniforms. Instead of displaying Giants, Athletics, or Mets logos, our uniforms showcased Mervyn’s Department Store, Fontanetti’s Sporting Goods, Anello Trucking, and other local businesses and organizations. I played for the East Valley Lions Club, the major division “Red” team. We wore red caps with white “EH” ironed onto the front. 

The major division diamond was on the campus of August Boeger Middle school on the east side. The field was a miniature version of professional stadiums with a large backstop, pitcher’s mound, grass and dirt infield, press box with PA system, electronic scoreboard, and home run fence. It was like playing in the big leagues. Kids playing in the younger farm and minor divisions couldn’t wait to play on that prestigious field. 

I had a great season in 1976. I was named co-captain of the East Valley Lions and selected to be on the All-Star team. Coach called on me to be the starting pitcher for the league championship game against Anello Trucking, the “Blue” team. It was a warm June evening and the old wooden bleachers were filled with cheering family and friends. Dad sat at his regular spot at the top of the stands calling pitches from his perch. Mom sat faithfully by his side.

I don’t remember anything about the game. Not one pitch. Not one play. Not one at bat. I do vividly remember what happened after the last out that sealed our victory. Coach ran onto the field toward the pitcher’s mound and lifted me into the air with a big bear hug. My teammates were excitedly jumping up and down around us. 

I instinctively looked toward the top of the bleachers behind the dugout. Dad was standing and looking back at me with a smile of pure pride and joy. Mom had her usual expression of modest delight regardless of the game’s outcome. Dad’s smile was out of this world. He was a charismatic man. His outward display of confidence and his infectious grin could fill up any space he was in. 

Dad also had a menacing scowl when he was unhappy or disappointed. His furrowed brow, pursed lips, and nod of disapproval was like kryptonite to me. It sapped energy from my being. Dad had a hard life. His father died when he was just a boy. His bitter mother raised six kids in a wooden shanty with a dirt floor. He experienced the horrors of WWII as a teenage sailor in the U.S. Navy. He saw the world in stark practical terms. Success requires doing things “right.”

Mom was an only child raised by her single mother and grandmother in a small, but loving home. Despite living in relative poverty, her upbringing relied on faith and hope for a better tomorrow. She was yang to Dad’s yin. She always found good in everything. If something unfortunate happened, well . . . that was just God’s will.

Those deeply held views that my parents had about themselves, others, and the world are what psychologist Aaron T. Beck referred to as “core beliefs” in his groundbreaking development of cognitive therapy. Core beliefs are basic lifelong “truths” that a person develops about himself or herself, people, and the world. They usually develop from childhood or through traumatic life experiences. 

In other words, our understanding of how the world is supposed to work comes from hearing and watching what our parents and other influential people (i.e. older siblings, friends, teachers, coaches, bosses) around us say and do. Positive core beliefs can lead to a happy, productive, and balanced life. Anxiety and depression caused by negative core beliefs can lead to a downcast, deprived, and disorderly existence. 

My parents sought to create an environment for their children to thrive as adults. Dad’s core belief that the world is a harsh place that can be conquered by adhering to his formula for success made it plain that no matter how hard we worked, we could always do better. Mom’s core belief that all is well that ends well with God’s grace inspired a sense of confidence that we would thrive with the gifts provided by God. 

Together they instilled into their kids the combination of having to constantly do better and believing they have the talents to succeed at anything they try. This seemed like Mom and Dad had the ideal formula for developing strong, confident, and productive members of society. On the surface, it appears as though they accomplished their mission. But it came at a heavy emotional and mental cost to me. 

I can’t speak for my siblings, but the drumbeat of “you can do better” and “mijo you’re the best” set the expectation bar so high for me that it was unreachable. In my mind, no matter what I did in life, it would never be enough. That led to an almost insatiable drive to succeed. I would do anything to exceed my parents’ hopes and dreams for me, whatever those may have been. 

It’s no surprise that I grew up to be a pleaser. Psychologists refer to extreme cases of this condition as Sociotropy or Dependent Personality Disorder. People with pleaser tendencies put too much emphasis on social acceptance. Their behavior is a way to boost self-esteem and avoid the perception of failure. Ultimately, those who suffer from the need to be accepted and validated live with the sense of never being or doing enough to meet their own unrealistic standards based on untrue core beliefs.

This can be damaging to mental and emotional health. Although I’ve never been diagnosed with Sociotropy or Dependent Personality Disorder, my thirst for acceptance and approval has caused me much pain and suffering. Over time, I transferred the desire to please my parents to wanting  validation from Sandra, our daughters, extended family, the community I served in public office, and professional colleagues. That’s why I might have almost worked myself to death.

The self-imposed core belief that I’ll never be enough has haunted me throughout my life. I’m not suggesting that Mom and Dad are guilty of setting off a domino effect of generational trauma. They were loving parents who did an amazing job setting their children up for a successful and happy life. The core beliefs my parents passed on to me have led to, by most accounts, a pretty good life for their youngest son, with the glaring exception of feeling inadequate. 

When I was in my Little League coach’s arms on the mound at the East Hills League field in 1976, little did I know that the seemingly insignificant act of glancing toward the bleachers and wondering whether my pitching performance was good enough to earn an “atta boy” from Dad would follow me for decades. Yet here I am trying to learn how to make sense of it all 48 years later.

That’s where faith, hope, and love come in. St. Paul wrote that God tells us, “my grace is sufficient for you.” As I navigate ever further into understanding faith and making mindfulness practice a priority, what really matters is slowly becoming more clear. On the surface of my psyche, I know that what I’ve done with my life so far is sufficient. However, I’ll most likely spend the rest of my life challenging my core belief that I need to do more and be more.

As Mom used to say, un día a la vez – one day at a time.