Last week, my daughter Sophia woke up in the morning not feeling well. We sort of evaluated the options and used the “Do I have what it takes to______?” question to move from one morning task to the other.Do I have what it takes to get out of bed?
Yes.
Do I have what it takes to walk to the table and eat breakfast?
Yes.
And so on.
This allowed us to get to the big question “Do I have what it takes to go to school? Do I feel well enough to go to school?” without deciding Yes/No too early in the process.
On that particular morning, Sophia answered “Yes” all the way to school, even if she wasn’t 100%.
After school, I received a phone call from her and it was obvious that she was in a bit of distress. She was not feeling well and was supposed to report to volleyball practice right away.
I was not particularly compassionate or empathetic toward her because I wanted her to push through and go to practice.
Missing practice as an athlete was a huge “Never!” for me when I was in school and I was unwittingly projecting my storyline onto her.
So, I pushed her to give it a try, letting her know she could phone it in and I would come get her, if needed. Emphasis on the “if needed”.
I finished the phone call, “Do you feel like you have what it takes to show up to practice and participate?”
Her answer was, “Yes. I do. I gotta go.”
She was pretty distressed, way more than she normally would be under the circumstances, and, in hindsight, I’m fairly certain that she was pushing hard because she sensed I would be displeased if she didn’t.
As the end of her practice time neared, I went to her school to pick her up and stepped into the gym.
Rather than practicing, I saw her sitting on the bleachers, watching.
My blood pressure shot up, I got tense, and I got really uncomfortable.
I noticed a whole dialogue going on in my thinking mind:
“Why isn’t she out there? How long has she been sitting and watching? How could anyone watch their teammates working and just sit on the sidelines. Her teammates need her. She is going to look like a quitter to the coaches. She is missing out on her opportunity to show that she is tough and resilient. She is developing bad habits that will follow her all of her life. I can’t stand watching them play without her. Now they’re doing end-of-practice drills. I should just go out there and do push-ups with them to show them that she cares. I can’t stand this whole scene. Ughhhhhh…..Argghhhhhh….”
And so on.
Oh. My. It’s so humbling to see these thoughts in words.
It truly was quite a scene happening in my interior. And, it was pretty obvious to Sophia that I wasn’t happy.
I was very curt with her.
“Why aren’t you out there? How long have you just been sitting here? They’re getting ready to end practice. Why don’t you at least go to the huddle?”
Both my nonverbals and verbals were judgmental, harsh, and wrapped up in my own stuff.
As practice ended, we walked out to the car in silence. She rushed ahead of me and got in first.
When I got in, she said, “Dad, are you mad at me?”
I said, “Well, I’m not happy with you. Why didn’t you push through? Why didn’t you call me earlier?”
She said, “Dad, I thought you would be so happy with me. I pushed through to the very end. I had just sat down by the time you came. I’m feeling so horrible, Dad. I did what you asked of me. I listened to my body and I stopped when it felt like too much.”
Silence.
I was swimming in emotions.
Once we arrived at the house, I told her that I would keep being hard on her because I want her to succeed. And, I told her that I also want her to push back when she needs, as she was doing.
It felt like a bit of a compromise and we walked into the house together with no real hard feelings.
The next morning, however, after taking her to school (she again did not feel all that well), I came back to the house to prepare for teaching my classes and a wave of emotions came over me.
I don’t even know what sparked it, but all of a sudden I could see Sophia sitting there in the gym, alone on the bleachers, and her dad coming in and getting caught up in his old stories and systems that prized pushing through at all costs, ignoring pain, doing everything he could to keep others from going away, performing that he might stand out, always putting others interests ahead of his own, and never, ever giving up or resting because there is always more to be done.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought of how proud she thought I would be of her for honoring her body and listening to her body and responding to life instead of reacting.
And I just left her alone. Alone with my disapproval.
A wave of shame and guilt pummeled me and I found myself struggling to find air.
These are old stories for me and old ways of doing things.
A decade ago, I would have gotten caught in a shame cycle and made things worse and worse.
But that is not who I am anymore.
Feeling the shame and guilt, I decided to give those feelings my loving attention and my loving presence, the very things I now wished I would have given to that girl sitting alone on the bleachers.
Not try to force them away. Not demand that I feel different.
Just be with them.
So, I extended my compassion and empathy to a part of me that is still a 12 year old boy trying to find approval, fighting to know his place in the world, struggling to listen to his heart.
And then I decided to engage in a powerful practice that has been so helpful for me in my journey. It’s a simple “Day’s Review” meditation from Integrative Restoration (iRest®) that I normally use it at the end of the day, but I realized that the time was perfect to engage in it.
This is how it goes. Please feel welcome to join with me in the meditation as you read and/or listen:
——
“Take a few moments and welcome the environment and sounds around you, the touch of air on your skin, the sensations where your body touches the surface that’s supporting it.
Now, search out moments from your day that feel unfinished.=
Then, imagine redoing each of these unfinished moments. Imagine the ways you would have liked the situations to have unfolded, what you would have liked to have said or done, and what the others involved would then have said or done.
Like watching a movie, replay scenes over and over again until you feel a sense of ‘Ah, that feels perfect. That’s the way I would like to have lived that moment.’
Then — not just in your mind’s imagination, but with your entire body, heart, and mind, feel the completion of each event as if it had truly happened that way.
Replay each scene again in this new way, feeling that this is the way you lived these moments.
As you replay each scene, take time to weave your inner resource, your refuge, your safe place and secure haven, into what you’re experiencing.
Take time to nourish feelings of love, gratitude, peace, and joy into your entire body.
Then, carry the sense of completion and the feelings of gratitude, love, joy, and well-being with you.” (iRest®, The iRest Program for Healing PTSD, p. 195)
——
I emerged from this meditation with a sense of compassion, understanding, empathy, wisdom, and the next steps I needed to take.
Those next steps included communicating with Sophia and I found myself typing the following words in an email to her:
“If I could turn back the clock of time to the moment I stepped into the gym and saw you sitting on the bleachers, here is what I would do:
I would smile at you.
And then I would walk over to you, climb up the bleachers, and sit next to you.
If you wanted, I’d put my arm around you.
And I would communicate in as many ways possible how much I love you and am pleased with you.
I would trust that you listened to your body and knew when it was time to stop.
I’d watch the rest of practice with you.
And you would have no doubt that I love you no matter what.That’s what I would do.
I love you.”
I pressed “Send” and then went about my day with the realization that I am growing, that I don’t have to be an involuntary subject to the patterns of my past, and that I have the resources I need to live the life that my heart is calling me to live.
I felt loved and loving.
Later in the day, I asked Sophia if she had gotten my email. She told me she hadn’t seen it and asked if I would just read it to her. So, I did, sensing that this would be some big, emotional moment where she would get all the feels and that we both might even tear up.
But, she just smiled, hugged me, and said, “I know, Dad. I know. I love you, too. Can I have a donut?”
Peace
