My heart is tender and raw right now.After a situation yesterday in which, through the perspective of my personal lens, a loved one was misunderstood, left out, unseen, unvalued, rejected, and treated unfairly, I found myself being washed over with waves of emotion.
It seems much easier to go through these things myself than it is to watch a loved one on this journey. I find it particularly challenging to know how to best support, as I navigate my own feelings of anger, confusion, frustration, fear, and rejection.
I notice that the sense of rejection really is quite a lot to bear. It feels like a burning sensation in my body and I can feel my prefrontal cortex shutting down and my back-lower brain areas engaging in more primitive tactics to manage the situation.
This part of the brain does not help create measured and thoughtful responses.
It is reactive and spontaneous and a line of defense as well as a source of offensive weaponry to try to change the situation.
I desperately want the situation to be different.
It is heartbreaking to watch. I literally feel my heart aching and then I feel waves of anger that make me want to make others see what I see and change their minds and act differently.
There is a place for advocacy and diplomacy.
The initial reactivity that I feel is, I have learned, not the place to try to figure out how to advocate and negotiate because that part of my brain cannot do such tasks.
So, I am working with my nervous system. Taking deep breaths. Allowing myself to feel the sensations that are arising as sensations. Working with opposites of sensations.
Deep in the night, I awake and see that I am rehearsing the scene from yesterday. My heart breaks again and again as I rehearse it over and over and over.
I notice my mind trying to solve the “problem”, having simulated conversations, creating us/them distinctions, wanting to remove my loved one from the situation and the hardship, working, working, working to try to bring some sort of relief and resolution.
As I rehearse the scene and get even more involved in the simulation, I notice my body tensing up, my jaw clenching, my heart racing. It all feels quite unbearable.
I get up to use the restroom.
On the way back to bed, I am in the middle of rehearsing the scene again and I feel the following:
“It’s not happening right now.”
As I said, I feel the message as much as I hear it and notice it as concept.
“It’s not happening right now.”
What is happening right now?
I feel my body supported by the floor beneath my feet.
I feel the breath filling my lungs.
I feel the buzz of life purring away deep within.
I feel my heart beating.
What is happening right now?
What am I feeling right now?
I continue to rotate awareness through the body and notice that what I “anticipated” being in the body is actually not in the body right now.
I feel warmth and gladness and an ease of being.
I feel happiness and joy.
As I lay down, my mind pops in: “But you shouldn’t be feeling good right now! Your loved one is hurting.”
Another part of me answers:
“Are they? They’re actually asleep.
How do I know that they are even thinking about this scene and situation in the same way I am?
How do I know that they are feeling what I feel about the situation?
What am I afraid of if I just let go of trying to control the situation and trust that I have what it takes to be with life as it is, as I am?
And that my loved one also has what it takes to be with life as it is, as they are?
And that I have what it takes to be with my loved one?”
Can I let it go? Do I need to continue to rehearse this scene?
I mean, I can.
But do I even need to? Do I want to?
Can I let go of trying to control this situation and also stay deeply connected to the moment, neither pushing emotions away nor rehearsing a scene that isn’t happening right now?
What am I looking for?
The answer is immediate:
Peace. Resolution. Satisfaction.
I am looking for peace.
A sense of okayness.
For me.
And for them.
I want them to feel accepted, seen, heard, valued, understood, connected, part of the group, vibrant, and capable.
I find myself back in rehearsal mode and then simulating ways that I can try to set things right and then imagining how that probably won’t work and then imagining how my loved one’s life will unravel and so on.
It feels quite dramatic when I write these internal processes out, but I know that I am not alone. These are fairly universal human reactions to life.
I also can hear my teachers prompting me, as if they are speaking as me, to me:
Let go of the story.
Let go of the rehearsal. Let go of the way I think the story needs to unfold in order for me to feel okay, at ease, satisfied, peaceful.
Now, what do I notice?
Right now. In this moment.
I am at ease.
Yes, there are some sensations of sadness. I can be present with sadness.
Yes, there are feelings and sensations associated with rejection and loss. I can be present with the parts that are feeling rejected and lost.
Yes, there are feelings associated with anger and frustration. I can be present with the parts that are feeling angry and frustrated.
But what I am noticing as I am becoming more and more present with my body in this moment — not the simulated moment — is that I am at ease, at peace.
I really do have the right response to every situation.
My loved one has the right response to every situation.
Life is only unbearable when we demand it change.
We can be with this situation in a wise and dignified and whole way.
And our ability to be with this life situation has nothing to do with what is actually happening or what we would like to happen.
We can be with life.
We can continue to move forward with kindness and grace for ourselves and others.
We can move forward with wisdom and truth, trusting our voice and using it to advocate for what we want and need.
We can set boundaries and hold them fast, knowing we are safe and secure with ourselves.
We can honor every feeling that we have, we can work with thoughts and beliefs, we can watch the rise and fall of sensations.
We can meet this situation with grace, love, and truth.
We cannot control this situation.
We cannot control how others respond.
But we can use this situation to become even more deeply human and of loving service to ourselves and this world.
We can wake up a little bit more.
It’s a lot to ask of my loved one.
But I can be present with them.
I can be present with my self.
I am loving, welcoming presence. My heart is tender and raw. And I am present to it.
Loving it.
Welcoming it.
Life is not easy sometimes.
But it is still life.
And I am trusting myself more and more as I engage with life as it is, as I am.
Before I come to a conclusion, and after writing these words, I feel the need to share something from Seth Godin, to read it again, to hear it again, to receive it again:
“Trust is not self-confidence. Trust is a commitment to the practice, a decision to lead and make change happen, regardless of the bumps in the road, because you know that engaging in the practice is better than hiding from it. There are people and organizations in our lives that we trust. How did that happen? We develop trust over time. Our interactions lead to expectations, and those expectations, repeated and supported, turn into trust. These organizations and people earn trust by coming through in the difficult moments. They’re not perfect; in fact, the way they deal with imperfection is precisely why we trust them. We can do the same thing to (and with) ourselves. As we engage in the practice, we begin to trust the practice. Not that it will produce the desired outcome each time, but simply that it’s our best available option. Trust earns you patience, because once you trust yourself, you can stick with a practice that most people can’t handle. And the practice is available to all of us.” (The Practice, pp.36,7)
Peace
