The treasure you seek…

The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek. ~ Joseph Campbell

And how often have I kept myself from what I really want by believing in my fear more than my love of what was held in that cave?

I wonder if this rose thinks about that – if maybe it shouldn’t bloom any bigger because, you know, that leaf is right there… and you wouldn’t want to disturb the leaf, or hurt it’s feelings now, would you?

Really. We do that. Silly as it seems, we do.

So. Look around. See if those obstacles in your way are real, or if, perhaps, they are as thin and insubstantial as what is holding that rose back.

There is room for you, and for all you love.

Honest. Promise. There is.

Fear, fuel and other f words…

Fear is excitement without breath.

~ Robert Heller ~

I’ve been wondering for a while now – what if a lot of what I label as fear is actually excitement? Excitement with an edge, maybe, but excitement, nonetheless. And if the “fear” is actually excitement, couldn’t it be used as fuel to propel me forward?

That thought has been floating around my noggin for an embarrassingly long time, actually. I’ve been playing with it, and doing what I ask my clients to do. Getting curious, just observing, letting it hang out with me and watching where it goes.

It went to Google, finally, typed in “fear and excitement quote” (I know, you picture me pulling these quotes out of thin air or leather bound books. Sometimes I do, and sometimes Google does it for me), and up popped just the answer I was looking for.

It’s true, isn’t it? When we are afraid, we tend to hold our breath. And when we hold our breath, energy gets stuck and whatever emotion we are feeling isn’t really going anywhere, is it? Or at least that’s how it feels. When I operate from fear, time slows down to a point where molasses would seem to pour at warp speed. And when I move from excitement? Things happen so quickly that I am hoping there’s a brake pedal somewhere, just in case. Minutes expand into hours, days open up into weeks and it is all ridiculously fun, no matter how difficult the actual task might be.

So that’s the other “f word”. Fun. Not, perhaps, what you were expecting.

I’ve been having fun playing with fear, watching it swirl around me, trying to upset my stomach and scrunch up my brow. Just like fishing – I let it take the line, and then I reel it back in, with breath and attention and a whole lot of compassion. And when I add all that? Things get exciting. They move forward at incredible speed, doors fly open, and I just watch, in complete awe, taking it all in.

I suspect I’ll be having fun with fear for quite some time – want to join me? Just notice when you tighten up, when you resist what is. Take a deep breath or two (or thirty), move your body and see if you can find a thread of what might be excitement. Go to that edge. Stay there. See what happens… let me know!

 

Fear, revisited… Or, that’s okay…

 

I wrote this summer about fear, and truth be told, I’ve been living in the midst of it ever since.  In fact, a quick search for “fear” on my site brings up a good dozen or more posts in the last six months.  I am beginning to think that it’s here to stay.

And that’s okay.

I was talking to my best friend in Chicago yesterday, filling her in on all the ways my life is moving forward at a breathtaking rate, and she told me that I was amazing.  I breezed right by that (old habits die hard) and then stopped and circled back, asking her why she said those particular words.  Thank God for old, dear friends.  She laughed that laugh that I love, and thought for a minute before responding, “Well, you are fearless…”.  This from the woman who literally walked me through the days of unearthing the violence in my early days, the taking off of my mask, the days of hiding under the covers and crying river upon river.  Who saw me, more than once, literally paralyzed.

And then it was my turn to laugh.

Because here’s the thing.  I am scared (expletive deleted here).  Beyond words scared.  All the time.

And that’s okay, too.

 

I’ve come to see something really clearly.  Fear, being scared, anxiety – all of that and more – are just ways that our inner lizards, our primal selves, try to keep us safe.  This mighty yet small inner voice is the one that has descended from generations of those who survived a lot – the ones who were nervous, who watched around them constantly, who were ON ALERT!!!, in a very big way.  Tara Brach tells a wonderful story about this – the bottom line is that our prehistoric ancestors who hung out on a rock, hands in mudra and meditating didn’t make it.  They got eaten.  And so we have carried all that fear forward.  So to speak.

 

Here’s the metaphor for the day.  I watched a candle burn for a while yesterday, focusing on the light.  And I blew it out quickly, releasing a rather surprising amount of smoke.  As the smoke rose, I blew into it, and it disappeared.  And reappeared.  I blew it away, and once more, it returned.  It came and it went. Just like fear.

 

As best I can tell,  the only way out of fear is through it, over and over.  Identifying the fear, questioning it – is it fear of failure or fear of moving forward is a favorite -, allowing it to move away.  And not being so surprised when it returns.  Over and over again.

And that’s okay.  It is.

It’s Tuesday, and I am joining Heather and a great group of writers in Just Write.  Take a look!

 

 

Melting down fear…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest.

~ Pema Chodron ~

 

I’m not sure what is happening to me.  I’ve been here before, I’m certain, although it’s as if I have complete and total amnesia.  Not a clue as to where I am.  No road map, no instruction booklet, no signs along the way.

I am alone, and yet, I somehow know that I’m in good company.  And while there is certainly fear of the unfamiliar, there is peace here, too.  I may be out of the nest, yes, but the view is not so bad.

 

Things have changed.  I’m breaking rules and letting people down left and right.  Me, the one you could always rely on to put others first.  To be clear, I’m not breaking the law or the commandments.  As long as George Clooney stays single, of course.

And I’m much more concerned with my own thoughts than what others think right now.  I can’t tell you what a 180 that is.  I’d be happy to give up a lot to just paint and write all day.  Once upon a time, that would have scared me to death.  And the socially acceptable conversations – the cocktail party chatting I am (was?) so good at?  I’ve changed my tune.  I want the depth that I find in conversations with fellow coaches, with clients, with those friends who will let me plumb the depths of their hearts.  And who will bravely dive into the depths of mine.

I want truth.  I want courage.  I want bared souls and open hearts.   Not much, just that.  And only that.

And that wanting is somehow remaking me.  I live with fear now, all the time.  Maybe I always have.  Now I greet it, pretty much 24/7, with open arms.  I stretch my body and welcome its stories – the tales it has held for nearly a half century.  I’m clearing it all out, taking a look, sorting what stays and what goes. I’m continually surprised, after years of doing my “work”, at how much is still there.

It’s astounding, what lies within us.  And how many of those stories have cemented beliefs into my core.  Beliefs that came from others, that have nothing to do with me.  So much that I was scared of, for so long.

So I’m changing my ways.  I’m letting fear stick around, saying hello to all the dark places for one last time, letting the frozen spots begin to melt.  And here’s the thing.  Once it’s all freed up, it loses a lot of the power it had.

In giving up perfectionism – a process that’s been going on for a few years now, and has been a long and winding journey – I seem to have let the very ground beneath my feet crumble.

In choosing to do less – a way to slow it all down so that I can hear my self clearly – I seem to have landed in a canyon where no sound can reach my ears.

In deciding to open up my mind – in essence, widening the view from my inner lens – I seem to have ended up nearly blinding myself… whether that’s from light or dark, I don’t know yet.

 

It’s not easy and it’s not so hard. There’s a lot I don’t know yet.   A lot to discover.  Slowly, steadily, it’s all coming out.  I’m exhausted.  And content.  And so curious.

I don’t know if these words will make sense to you – welcome to the way I live now.  I’ll leave you with a story that Pema Chodron tells.  One that I understand, these days. Maybe it will make sense to you, too.

 

“Once there was a young warrior. Her teacher told her that she had to do battle with fear. She didn’t want to do that. It seemed too aggressive; it was scary; it seemed unfriendly. But the teacher said she had to do it and gave her the instructions for the battle. The day arrived. The student warrior stood on one side, and fear stood on the other. The warrior was feeling very small, and fear was looking big and wrathful. They both had their weapons. The young warrior roused herself and went toward fear, prostrated three times, and asked, “May I have permission to go into battle with you?” Fear said, “Thank you for showing me so much respect that you ask permission.” Then the young warrior said, “How can I defeat you?” Fear replied, “My weapons are that I talk fast, and I get very close to your face. Then you get completely unnerved, and you do whatever I say. If you don’t do what I tell you, I have no power. You can listen to me, and you can have respect for me. You can even be convinced by me. But if you don’t do what I say, I have no power.” In that way, the student warrior learned how to defeat fear. ”

It’s still Tuesday – barely.  Still, it’s Tuesday, so I am joining with Heather and a group of amazingly honest and brave writers in JustWrite.  I hope you’ll click over and check it out.

 

 

Courage, fear, and what’s more important…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.

~ Ambrose Redmoon ~

What it really is…

The enemy is fear. We think it is hate; but it is fear.

~ Gandhi ~

this is why…

The best way to make children good is to make them happy.

~ Oscar Wilde ~

 

I’ve thought about writing about this before, but each time, I convinced myself that the subject is too messy for this place, that it might offend, that you might think less of me – and I’ve backed off, more than once. So I’ll warn you  that today’s topic is not an easy one, and you can stop reading here, if you’d like.

Too curious to stop? Or brave enough to keep reading? Ok. It’s up to you.

The subject for this week’s #spiritchat was mothering, which is not always an easy one for me. Even at fifty, my first association with that word is my own mother and our relationship – on hold for over a dozen years now – was never something I was able to discuss easily. But that group is a very safe one for me, and so I carefully waded into it. I was able to be honest and not sugarcoat my answers in regards to my memories of being mothered without being too graphic, and that felt really good. And my responses cleared the way for others to be open, too. A little while in, a thread of conversation started about grandmothers – a topic I had more positive things to contribute towards – yay! Until.

Until someone said something about grandmothers being willing to “swot behinds” when needed. These chats move at a fairly quick pace, and I had to slow down and make a decision about whether or not to address that one. Before I could make up my mind, another reader raised a red flag, and I was able to just retweet her words. And later, the original contributor made a clarifying statement, and we moved on to discuss ways we can mother ourselves and assist others in their mothering endeavors. I thought I had forgotten all about the behind swotting thing.

In meditation this morning, I was very aware that my body was really tensed up – a pattern that I know, one that begins with the backs of my legs and goes up to my lumbar area. It’s a pattern that affects the way I walk, sit, stand and move. It’s a pattern that traps nerves and creates a lot of pain. It’s a pattern that holds fear tightly inside me and doesn’t want to let it go. Ever. As you frequent fliers may remember, I have been working on letting go – of this pattern, of fear, of the pain – for a very long time. And today, I realized in a full fledged, crystal clear, why-didn’t-I-think-of-that-before way, exactly where that pattern came from. I know now. And for some reason, I feel really compelled to let you know, too.

When I was little and until I was bigger than you would think likely, I was beaten. My parents, the two people I had to depend on for everything, were ill equipped for life – to say nothing of life with few resources, a ton of unresolved pain of their own, and more children than they could handle. They could not or would not find a way to love themselves, and as their first child, I was the recipient of their own self loathing every day of my childhood. That kind of self directed hatred turns easily into anger, and their anger would build into rage, which anything could set off. It was like a drought dried forest, just waiting for a spark. A tiny lie, a small act of defiance (believe me, there were no big ones) or having the audacity to cry over a disappointment could all bring on the paddle, or the spatula, or a belt. Worse, though, was the waiting. “Wait til your father gets home” was no idle threat at our house. And sometimes the wait would involve more than 24 hours – that was the worst.

My little body would tighten up and make itself as small as possible, whether the public humiliation took place there and then or was scheduled for later in the day. We had hermit crabs for pets and I mimicked them, withdrawing every bit of me into some sort of protective shell. Sometimes I would hide in a corner of the closet, or under my bed, in an attempt to find a safe space to be alone. I would barely breathe. No wonder I had bronchitis and pneumonia so often – it’s hard for your lungs to do their work when you are paralyzed with fear. In the end, the anticipation and the accompanying psychological teasing was the worst part. Don’t get me wrong – I was scrawny and lacking padding, so I often saw stars from the physical pain. I would clench my jaw, so as not to utter a sound. The rule was you couldn’t cry, but that was harder to control, and often extended the punishment. And afterwards, amongst the mental and emotional confusion in my head and heart, I would talk to God and try to sort out just what it was I could do to be better. To be a good girl. To work even harder to get it right. The natural responses – anger of my own, outrage, hurting out loud – were not options, so all I could do was try to keep it from happening again.

I never did get it right. And I am still working hard to make everyone happy, to be a good person, to do it all so well that I will never be hit again. Yes. I realized this morning, at the ripe old age of fifty and being of relatively sound mind, there is some part of me that still holds fear. Fear of being punished physically, for sure, but also a fear of being sent back to the place of being loathed, of not being loved, of never being able to be good enough. My mind has understood for quite a while, but my body had not let go.

That’s a lot to hold onto for all these years. And it feels good to admit it, to let people see that the long term effects of a short term “solution” can be crippling. Physically, emotionally, mentally crippling.

And now? We’ll see. What will it be like to acknowledge that old fear and let it go? How will it change my day to day life? I can already feel myself reorganizing and I’m sure this will free up a lot. I’m both exhausted and exhilerated, and very hopeful. Just as importantly, though, how would it change the lives of everyone who carries a similar load? I wasn’t the only one to be beaten in my house, in my town, in my country. How would it change the world, if all those people knew that they are safe, that they are good, that they were just the recipient of someone else’s pain?

I am really grateful for that comment on the chat yesterday. To be clear, this is not the first time that I’ve dealt with the abuse – this kind and others – which was so much a part of my formative years. It’s taken well over a decade of therapy and therapies, of time spent crying and writing, of loving myself enough to do this work and of learning how to love in general. It’s taken more than a village of chosen family, friends and professionals working with me, alternating between pushing me and encouraging rest. But this gives me hope that I can put a lot of it behind me now, in a new way. It’s not just about clearing your mind, this healing thing. It’s about listening to your body and releasing whatever no longer serves you, so that you can serve the world.

So. Would that swot on the behind or a quick wallop with your hand every now and then have the same effect on your child or grandchild? I don’t know. I can’t answer that. And clearly, love can heal a lot, if that’s already happened. There is no shame in having done things when you didn’t know better. I am hoping that now you do, and that perhaps, in sharing my story, I will help a few children live their lives without shouldering this kind of burden.

I only know that I carried this pattern, this fear, this holding on and holding back, for far too long. And now? Now I can let go.

Today is Tuesday, which means that Heather and a growing group of us are all participating in “Just Write”.
If you are inclined, please click here for links to all the posts written today, or to join us!