(no subject)

I had a conversation with my husband today that has me feeling incredibly depressed. Perhaps it's just a last-straw kind of thing; maybe I was heading for depression anyway.

I like to do good things. That is, I think that it would be good if everyone did things to help everyone else. Most people would say that some of the things that I do or have done have placed a burden on me.

I think that those are the things that make life worth living; those are the things that give my life meaning, that define who I am.

My husband's son suffered kidney damage when he was an infant, and for a while it looked like he might need a donor kidney. About three years ago, Mike was found to be an excellent match. So I started to research living kidney donation. The risks are about equal to the risks of any surgery as far as anesthesia and secondary infection, and the long term risks include a slightly higher chance of increased blood pressure and an increased risk of developing diabetes. Of course, if the donor develops any kind of kidney disease, its much more serious.

The more I read about live kidney donation and the more that I thought about it, the more that it was something that I wanted to do. Mike and I talked about it some this weekend. It went something like --

Mike: "Why would you want to do that?"
Me: "Why would *you* want to do that?"
Mike: "That's different; he's my son."
Me: "I don't see any difference."

So, today, Mike and I were talking. He is staying with Dawn and Jerry. Jerry is a psychologist and Dawn is a nurse. Dawn is very much against my donating a kidney, saying that's it's too much risk for someone that I have no ties to. Mike said, "I told Jerry about how you were raised, and he said that it makes sense."

"Yes? How I was raised? What makes sense?"

"That you were raised in an alcoholic home and so you get a lot of pleasure from pleasing other people."

"Yes," I replied, "that's old stuff -- adult children of alcoholics are people pleasers. I think that most psychologists believe that there is no such thing as altruism; that anyone who does anything for anyone else is only doing it for self-validation or to gain attention."

"Yes," Mike said, "I think that's true."

We were talking in IM, and I sat and looked at his words for a moment. I thought, is that all it is? Is all the goodness in the world just a lot of pathetic self-gratification, feeding off the gratitude of some poor unfortunate who can't help but accept assistance?

Mike said, "I love you."

"Yes," I replied, "I know you do." And then we both said that we had things to do, and said our goodbyes and all.

I do feel like weeping. I feel frustrated and angry and offended. In a way, I don't understand why I feel so hurt -- but then I think, if this is the one person who understands me the best, and he doesn't understand the one thing that makes me the person who I feel I am, then...what? I don't know if it'd be worse if Mike believed that the only reason I do anything for anyone is because it pleases me to please others, or if it were actually the truth.

And now, after writing all of this I have come to a startling conclusion. It really doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter why I do good things. It really doesn't matter why anyone does good things, or rather, if pleasing others is the only way that good things get done, then I'm all for it.

But I don't believe it. I think that there are true altruistic forces that move within us; a kind of grace that lightens our spirits. It is like wonder and love. It is beyond the animal instincts of our biological past. Goodness and kindness and loving others simply because they are human and deserve loving -- I choose to believe in these things.

I'm still a little depressed. Or, perhaps, just saddened. If anything, "the way that I was raised" has left me with a paucity of confidence. I constantly question myself. But at least this time, in my heart, in my spirit, there's an answer.