It's your fault
How prevention has become an idol
First, an update.
I just got back from the Catholic Writers’ Guild Live Conference, and it was a blast. Anyone who’s new here post-conference, welcome! Connecting with real people about their real-life circumstances is always so refreshing and lovely. I had the privilege of praying with several people about difficult life circumstances, and something I noticed was how often people blamed themselves for circumstances that were so clearly out of their control.
Here’s what I’m not saying.
I’m not implying you shouldn’t take totally reasonable and practical preventative measures in your day-to-day life. Lock your front door at night. Take your kids to their check-ups. Get an oil change. Those are all good things to do.
What I want to address is what I see as a growing belief that every bad thing can be prevented, and that if something bad happens, it’s your fault.
The rubber hit the road
“I’m having an allergic reaction.”
“What do you mean?” My husband shook his head slowly, keeping his eyes on the road. “You’ve barely eaten, and none of it could have nuts in it.”
He was right. We’d gotten up at 4 am so he could drive me to my first marathon. I’d eaten a banana in the car, wanting to keep my gait light. During the drive, I reminded myself that I’d spent 6 months preparing for this day. Never mind that violent thunderstorms had raged all night, knocking out power lines and leaving behind 88% humidity.
At check-in, the volunteer let us know that the event coordinators were not responsible for any injuries sustained from running in a heat advisory. I’d trained through all weather conditions for today. Maybe not a heat advisory, but no matter. I was prepared. My husband watched me lace up, concerned. He’d never tell me to quit. He knew me too well. Six months of 4 am runs, physical therapy to prevent injury, and our whole schedule revolving around my training. I was not quitting. I had prepared.
By the end of mile 1, I was gasping for air. By mile 4, I’d resigned myself to walking. Mile 7 brought the golf carts, volunteers picking up runners who needed rescue from the heat. My knee was starting to throb. I’d done all the right stretches and strengthening moves to prevent this injury from coming back, but here it was on race day. As I approached mile 13— halfway— I cursed everything that had gone wrong. I’d done nothing for 6 months but prepare. I’d read and researched everything that could go wrong, and planned accordingly. I’d done everything right, and yet I limped into the halfway tent and told the volunteers I had to quit the race. I was driven to the finish line, where my husband helped me limp to the car.
He held up a stick of beef jerky. “Found this in your mom’s pantry earlier. Shower or food first?”
“Shower.”
I was angry, embarrassed, and upset. I washed the failure off and then climbed into the car, picking up the beef jerky I’d left on the passenger seat. All I’d had was a banana at 4 am, and it was early afternoon. I nibbled on it while my husband backed out of my mom’s driveway and pointed us at a restaurant.
We hadn’t even left the neighborhood when, in complete disbelief, I put my hand on his arm. “I’m having an allergic reaction.”
I’d only had a banana and some beef jerky. This was impossible.
“What do you mean? You’ve barely eaten, and none of it could have nuts in it!”
“Well, my throat is swelling up, and I can feel hives in my mouth,” I replied, trying to remember when I’d had secret banananut bread or pecan pie.
He pulled over and took the beef jerky wrapper out of my hands. Why would I read the label on beef jerky? It’s just meat.
“Walnut flour? Who puts walnuts in beef jerky?” He put the car back into drive and rushed us to the ER.
They checked me in quickly, gave me the right shots, and monitored me for 4 hours. We explained that I’d walked 13 miles that morning and was running on negative calories. The nurses tried, but Jell-O and saltines can only do so much. By the time we made it back to my mom’s house, it was dinnertime. I sat on the couch, in my nest of blankets with ice on my injured knee, and tried to figure it out.
I’d prepared!
I’d prepared for bad weather. I’d trained my injury to keep it from coming back. I was careful about food labels and allergens when there was a potential for nuts.
None of it had made a difference. I’d still had the single most catastrophic day possible.
A truly modern sentiment
I can’t find the article anymore, but I recall seeing it floating around on Facebook in 2020. It was about how shutdowns disproportionately affected moms. Moms had two choices during lockdown:
The stress and loneliness of being housebound with small children who aren’t allowed outside or around peers
Being berated by everyone for putting their children in danger for so much as playing outside or going to a grocery store.
The article presented the prevailing perspective throughout history that when children got sick or died, the community understood that it was something that just happens sometimes. However, in our modern world, where we believe everything is preventable, we often need to blame something or someone—usually, the mother.
Of course, childhood mortality has gone down, and that’s a good thing, but it doesn’t mean that when a child does die despite modern medicine and safety, it’s someone’s fault.
But it’s in every part of society now
From influencers to pop psychologists, everyone is promising the same thing: If you do this, then nothing bad can happen to you. We’re sold this belief that we can be proactive, educated, and efficient enough to prevent suffering and decay.
We’re also being sold the inverse message: when something bad happens, it’s because you failed to take a certain preventative measure.
There’s even a Don’t Die movement of people who believe that with enough medical surveillance and technology, we can make suffering and death optional.
But this is not what Jesus tells us
Jesus never promised us control. Here’s what he promised:
“I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth, you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world."
Jn 16:33
He said to be at peace, to take heart. He promised we would have trials and sorrows. And as for death, Jesus gave us the blueprint. He prayed that the cup of suffering would pass him by, and when it didn’t, He faced death with mercy and a reliance on His father’s strength.
That’s the solution.
We cannot “by worrying add a single hour to [our lives]” (Lk 12:25). But we can prepare for a good death.
The traditional definition of a good death is “dying in friendship with God.” Friendship is not forged in a moment. It’s the long, side-by-side journey of two who are seeking the same end.
What end ought you seek alongside God? Sanctification and mercy. All you have to do is cooperate. And when hardship comes (and it will come), it’s when sanctification happens most thoroughly.
Memento mori,
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The Lord will fight for you. You need only be still. Ex. 14:14
Okay, I want to read it even more then, because yes, I send my kids outside all the time, and we started a weekly forest school where they are encouraged to go off in the woods together. But when nobody else in the neighborhood is sending their kids outside, we are unable to fix that other half of the battle. My youngest is almost five years behind the next youngest, and so it's harder for her when no other kids are outside. The forest school helps, but it's still adult-instituted, which is not quite the same.
Needed this story today. Thank you!