A month or two ago I heard on a podcast I listen to that the wound is also the gift. It’s a phrase that’s stuck with me because it rang true, but I couldn’t quite grapple how. This week provided me clarity on the subject.
I’ve always been a sensitive person but growing up I didn’t know how to handle my emotions. I tried to shut them down or numb out in a variety of ways. Those two strategies run rampant in our society and it’s why we see such high rates of addiction and insensitivity. Emotions can be scary for people, especially when the messages a person receives are, “Don’t be sad, don’t be scared, don’t be angry.”
Speaking from experience, it’s impossible for me not to feel sad, scared, or angry, and trying other means to NOT feel my feelings only harmed me. These days I’m taking a new tactic which is to feel my feelings and use them as information to guide me in my life. But because I’ve been on both sides it means I can use my wound and make it a gift. It means that now I live and breathe empathy. In fact, I taught an empathy workshop at a retreat recently. I never thought I’d be a person who is helping other people process their emotions when I was so unskilled, but now, people regularly call me when they’re upset or scared or sad. My emotional wound turned me into someone with high emotional intelligence, and my gift is now I understand how to set and maintain healthy boundaries so I’m not overwhelmed by emotions anymore. Not always, not in every circumstance.
I know it’s not a wound, or a gift, but I liked this picture. Photo by Lina Trochez on Unsplash
I still try to numb out sometimes, or push my emotions away, but the frequency is less and the duration is shorter. My own experience is helping others. Do I want to be a therapist? Absolutely not because I’m too introverted for that, but I’d love to ghostwrite for therapists. And even without parlaying emotional hygiene into a career, I’m helping myself and my community through modeling and acting as a resource. I’ve come to understand the only way out of anything is through, and that means my feelings too.
My spiritual teacher talks about this as well. He says regarding the innate propensities people have, for instance shyness or cruelty, “You shouldn’t check the flow. You may check the flow to check the flood, but you are to divert that water through different canals. Here also you are to check the flow of your baser propensities and divert it unto that singular propensity, toward the Supreme Self … The mind is moving toward so many unrighteous activities. Withdraw those activities and guide it toward the singular righteous Entity.”
You can’t direct the flow of something if you avoid it altogether. And you might find the things that hurt you become assets later on when helping others. We all have wounds and sometimes those wounds become gifts that foster connection, love, and support. You never know, but it’s an interesting question to ponder.
I dream of a world where we recognize sometimes the things that wounded us also become our greatest gifts. A world where we take what we’ve learned and use it to help others. A world where we come to terms with our past hurts and use them to propel us forward.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
As you know, we’re rounding the bend on 2019. Where did the year go? I know there’s that 10-year challenge floating around social media but I can’t contemplate that we’re about to enter a new decade because I’m pretty sure my mind will explode. No, I’m only thinking about this year and I’ve cried a couple of times this week because 2019 is not at all what I expected; nor did I accomplish what I thought I would.
I remember starting off this year feeling buoyant and enthused as I flew back from LA to the Bay Area, the sun peeking through the clouds. I took it as a good omen, that the universe shared in my optimism. This year I looked forward to financial abundance, to possibly dating again, and also finishing my novel. None of those things happened. Instead this year was like landing in a new city only to be greeted by wildfire smoke – something unanticipated and I didn’t even know I should check for. (That actually happened to me by the way.)
Not quite what I was looking for, but it works! Photo by Steve Halama on Unsplash
This year my accomplishments cannot be enumerated. They are more of the internal variety: setting boundaries with toxic people, demanding what I’m owed, determining what I’m worth, etc. They cannot be shared at a holiday party – except for the fact I started my own business. That I’m telling to everyone who will listen. So yeah. I’m disappointed about this year. I’m literally crying about the gap between my dreams and my reality.
This is the point where I’m probably supposed to talk about how dreams can be deferred, about how things can change on a dime, about how there’s still time as long as I’m alive. All of that is true, and I don’t want to gloss over the grief. There’s nothing to fix here. There’s nothing to change. This year was what it was. I showed up like a champ for the challenges life presented me and that’s also something to celebrate. Was it a good year? No, but it also wasn’t a bad one. It was a year. An exciting, boring, happy, sad, easy, hard, wonderful, terrible year.
What comes to mind right now is a concept underpinning my last couple of posts: surrender. My spiritual teacher says suppose Cosmic Consciousness wants you to become even greater than what you are praying to become. What if Cosmic Consciousness finds greater potential in you than you’re aware of? The best thing to do is surrender completely, to be a conduit instead.
This year has felt like that to me – and also that I’m getting polished. All the things I learned this year, all the things I endured, have been necessary to create an even better version of me. I would have been content with not learning hard lessons, with not undergoing hardship, but then I wouldn’t be where I am now – able to protect myself, to take care of myself, and not let anyone thwart me, including me. So maybe I’ve accomplished what I wanted this year after all.
I dream of a world where we mine for gold in the darkness of our lives. A world where we recognize a year can be both good and bad, even if didn’t go according to plan. A world where we let go of internal “shoulds” and instead embrace what’s here, recognizing maybe we accomplished more than we thought at first glance.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I’m sick right now and didn’t feel well enough to write a new post or record any audio. The post that came to mind to recycle is from my birthday nearly six years ago. Enjoy! And just in case it wasn’t clear, I’m grateful for you. <3
Today is my 29th birthday, that is, if you’re reading this on December 1st. It’s been a less than stellar day because I had to work from 8:30 to 4:30, I’m still experiencing pain from the car accident, and I’m not having a big party. Suffice to say, today has not turned out the way I expected. The challenge for me is to find the good in what is.
I think we all have expectations of certain days — birthdays, holidays, graduation, first dates, etc. — and when those expectations aren’t met we’re left feeling disappointed. I know I am. However, even though today hasn’t gone the way I’d hoped and I’m not feeling the buzz I normally do on my birthday, there’s been a lot of good about today too. I’ve received numerous telephone calls, text messages, and facebook posts from friends near and far wishing me well. My mom is at this moment making me a delicious dinner. There’s a lot of love for me in this world and today is the day I get to bask in it.
It’s my birthday! Here are some pretty cupcakes.
What’s awesome is I spoke to a friend on the phone and I mentioned that if I was in Chicago like I normally am at this time of year to cover a conference, I’d still be celebrating my birthday with family because my sister lives there. Hearing myself say that I was taken aback because I’m so lucky, I’m so loved, I have a lot of community all over the world, which is amazing.
I’m telling you all this not to brag, but because I’m sincerely grateful. Sometimes gratitude becomes dry as I reel off all the things I’m grateful for like heat and food and a roof over my head because I list those things every day. If something occurs every day it becomes mundane, ordinary, common — at least it does for me. So when something doesn’t go the way I expect, it’s even more important for me to find the good about what is. What’s good about the here and now? What’s true? When I do that I can genuinely pull the feeling of gratitude into my heart because I am grateful for my friends and family, I am grateful so many people are wishing me happy birthday, and I am grateful I chose to come into this world on this day. Thank you for being with me on my journey.
I dream of a world where even in sucky situations we can find something good about what is. A world where we all feel genuinely grateful for something. A world where we not only accept what is, but we find something positive about it.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
A close friend of mine used an analogy the other day that’s stuck with me. She said her higher power has closed a door in her life and hasn’t opened another one yet. So for now she’s stuck in the hallway, waiting for another door to open. Yesssssss. That’s so my life right now. I’m in limbo, in the hallway, waiting for something new, for a door to open, but it hasn’t yet and it’s uncomfortable.
I hate this phase. I think most people do. And at the same time I recognize this is a part of life — it’s filled with speed and then pause. Even when breathing we inhale, pause slightly, and then exhale with another slight pause. When we walk, we put one foot on the ground or we can’t move forward. The left foot makes the next step only if the right foot prepares by being placed on the ground.
I live here now. Metaphorically speaking. Photo by Runnyrem on Unsplash.
My spiritual teacher says, “This is crucial for successful movement. Thus if we wish to say something about speed, or the characteristics of movement, we will have to acknowledge the necessity of the state of pause otherwise it will not be possible to move into the next stage. … This speed and pause will continue. Pause means gathering momentum for speed in the subsequent phase. If one closely watches the effect of speed on a particular community or the entire humanity, one sees that generally people eulogize the period of speed. However, we cannot afford to ignore the state of pause, because by judging what the previous state of pause was like, we can discern the speed of the next phase.”
A couple of things jump out at me from that quote. First of all, the pause is temporary. It feels like I’m going to be stuck in this hallway forever but I won’t be. Worse comes to worst I’ll get a job at an ice cream parlor or a grocery store or something. Things will change, they absolutely will, even if a part of me doesn’t believe that. I’m reminded just because I may not believe something doesn’t make it any less true. For instance, some people still believe the Earth is flat, but regardless, the Earth is round.
The other point that jumps out at me from the quote is the last bit, about how the state of pause can help discern the speed of the next phase. What I’m taking that to mean is my life is going to go off like a rocket. All of this momentum, this angst, is going to catapult me into the next phase and my life will move at warp speed. I cannot express how much I’m looking forward to it. And at the same time, I’m recognizing the necessity for this state of pause, this place where I’m spinning my wheels, revving my engine, and getting ready to zoom ahead. Pretty soon a door will open and I’m going to bolt through it. But for now I’m here, in the hallway.
I dream of a world where we recognize the importance of limbo periods. A world where we understand in order to move ahead we also have to pause, to gather momentum. A world where we recognize even when it seems like we’re standing still it’s all in service of what’s next.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I’ve woken up most mornings this week with swollen eyelids. On Friday I received two job rejections. My unemployment money runs out in a couple of months. I mention all this to set the scene — I’m not feeling all that peaceful, and in fact “anxious” is a better description. Maybe even a little panicked. How is this all going to work out?
When I called a friend and gave him the lowdown, he told me a story about a spiritual master who got caught in a rope while pulling water up from a well. The master stayed stuck for hours until a disciple came by and freed him. The disciple said, “You seemed so relaxed. Were you in pain?” The master replied, “I was in pain, it hurt a lot, but I also felt at peace.”
This picture will make more sense once you keep reading. Photo by Providence Doucet on Unsplash
I spent 20 minutes googling that story and can’t find it so my telling of it is not very adept. What stuck with me though is the moral of the story: that I can still feel at peace in the pain and in the struggle. What does that even mean? I’m not sure but I think it comes down to acceptance, which leads me to a quote I found while searching for the rope story.
Sufi teacher Hazrat Inayat Khan said, “Tagore says: ‘When the string of the violin was being tuned it felt the pain of being stretched, but once it was tuned then it knew why it was stretched.’ So it is with the human soul. While the soul goes through pain, torture, and trouble it thinks it would have been much better if it had gone through life without it. But once it reaches the culmination of it, then, when it looks back, it begins to realize why all this was meant: it was only meant to tune the soul to a certain pitch.”
Before I interviewed for the jobs that ultimately rejected me, I felt peace because I said to myself, “If I’m not employed yet it’s because I’m not meant to be. There’s more learning or healing or something I need to go through that wouldn’t be possible with a job.” When I say that even now I feel better. I don’t know why I’m struggling so much right now. I don’t know why things aren’t looking the way I want them to, but what I do know is one day I’ll look back and understand everything. I’ll see how my soul was being tuned to a certain pitch, but in the meantime, I’m still being stretched.
I dream of a world where we understand even pain has a purpose. A world where we sit with our pain, finding peace where we can. A world where we recognize when we’re going through hardship it may be because our soul is tuning to a certain pitch.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
This post is from June 2010 but it’s still relevant for me.
Future tripping: obsessing and worrying about the future. Playing the “what if” game. You would think this is my favorite game given how frequently I play it. I construct an entire sequence of events before they even occur. I’ve been doing that this week because I’m planning a 200-person retreat taking place at the end of this month. I’m thinking about, “Who will be the lunch in charge? Who will take care of the kids? What happens if so and so turns up? What happens if so and so doesn’t turn up?” There are sooo many things I’m contemplating and so many outcomes it’s making my head spin.
I also think about how futile the whole thing is. Months ago my friend L’s sister was in town and they invited me to go out to dinner with them. Because of the timing and the location of the restaurant it didn’t make sense for me to go home first. So I started planning and planning and planning. Ruminating on where I would go after work. What I would do with myself. If I would try to read a book or whether I would practice qigong. If I would wander around Chinatown. Where would I meditate. What would happen if I meditated at a temple and then walked around afterward. So many things! So many possibilities! And you know what happened? The night we planned to go out to eat L’s sister got sick and they canceled. They canceled! I spent all that time thinking about what I would do and then none of it took place! All of my worrying was completely fruitless.
I’d much rather go on this sort of trip. Photo by Mantas Hesthaven on Unsplash
It was a nice reminder for me to live in the moment and stay present. It was a nice reminder I’d rather deal with things as they come instead of counting my chickens before they hatch. Because the truth of the matter is I have no idea what’s up ahead. I have no idea what tomorrow brings or even what the next 10 minutes brings. And since I’ve redefined my concept of a higher power, I know that no matter what’s ahead it’s for my good. So why worry? Why plan my whole life in advance?
Some things, like this retreat, require planning. Otherwise we might be sitting around twiddling our thumbs, but honestly, I don’t have to plan everything. I don’t have to think about, “Well what if this happens? Or that happens?” If it happens it does and I’ll deal with it then. Be prepared, yes, but not obsessive. I think that’s the difference.
In the case of going out to dinner with L and her sister, bring a book but also see how I feel at the time. Prepare but allow for all possibilities. I want to allow myself to still deal with situations as they come up and not hold onto what I think will happen like a dog chewing a bone. There’s no need to constantly replay situations in my head like a CD stuck on repeat.
I dream of a world where we allow ourselves to stay present. A world where we take things as they come one day at a time. A world where we release our fear of the future and instead live in the moment. A world where we know what’s ahead is for our own self-realization and growth and so we sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
One of the things I’m grappling with right now, as per usual, is acceptance. It’s easier for me to zoom ahead to the near-distant future when things are different. When I have a job again, when my body feels better. It’s much harder me to stay in the moment and accept my current reality. The present moment sucks sometimes. Who wants to accept something crappy? I sure don’t. However, I’m reminded, as I often am, of a passage from the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous on this topic:
“Acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing, or situation — some fact of my life — unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing, or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment. Nothing, absolutely nothing, happens in God’s world by mistake.”
Sometimes I believe that passage and sometimes I don’t. In a conversation with a friend she said sometimes she thinks life is drunk because things don’t make sense or they’re wacky. I agree. Life is weird. I’m not sure in this moment about the “no mistakes” thing. However, what I know to be true, is as much as I want things to change, they won’t unless I start where I am. For years I wanted to touch my toes, but I couldn’t. Every day I stretched my hamstrings a little farther, a little farther, and now I can touch my toes. But I had to accept my limitations in the moment of how far I could reach.
What if we accepting everything like a guest? Photo by Henry & Co. on Unsplash
There’s something interesting for me in holding the paradox of where I am and where I want to be. Of accepting that I don’t like where I am and making an effort to be somewhere else. How do you hold those two places?
I looked up the definition of “accept” and one definition is “to receive.” I’m resonating with that word right now because a dear friend said to me the other day that I’m meeting myself. When I accept myself or my life circumstances, I’m receiving them, I’m meeting them, I’m greeting them. They become like a friend coming in out of a storm that I’m welcoming inside. There is no judgment, no sense of good or bad. Instead, there is neutrality and that’s exactly what I’m striving for right now. To let myself be what I am — no more and no less.
I can apply that mentality to circumstances as well. Do I like them? No. Can I receive them? Yes. To take the guest analogy further, guests are not residents — eventually they leave. Some guests stay longer than others, sure, but no one sticks around forever. And in the interim, what sort of host am I? I’d like to be the gracious and hospitable kind.
I dream of a world where we all practice acceptance. A world where we receive with hospitality all the “guests” that cross our threshold whether we invited them or not because sometimes we’re stuck with one another. A world where we realize nothing changes until we accept it first.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Life and death have been on my mind lately because two people in my community have died in the past three weeks. I notice in myself and others a tendency to ward off death as much as possible. We do what we can to prolong life because we fear death. Not only death in the physical realm, but in other arenas as well. We stay in dysfunctional relationships, jobs we hate, cities we loathe. We avoid going to therapy or addressing our addictions. We do all this because endings are scary, even if we know they’re warranted.
Right now I’m reading Clarissa Pinkola Estés’ Women Who Run With the Wolves. In it she addresses the wild woman archetype and tells stories to illustrate certain concepts. One of the more famous ones is the ugly duckling tale. The story that speaks to me the most right now is that of the Skeleton Woman. Click the link for an animated version of the story, but the abbreviated version is a fisherman hooks a skeleton woman and not realizing she is caught on his line, tries to run from her. He bumps along the land with the woman on his tail and dives into his hovel thinking he’s safe. Alas, it is not so. She is inside his home, limbs akimbo. In the candlelight he takes pity on her, untangling her from his line, righting her limbs. Then he falls asleep and a tear leaks from the corner of his eye, which the Skeleton Woman drinks up thirstily. While he’s still sleeping, she pulls out his heart, holds it in her hand and flesh is drummed back onto her bones. She becomes a human again. She returns his heart and then falls asleep next to him, and “that is how they awakened, wrapped one around the other, tangled from their night, in another way now, a good and lasting way.”
Whenever we catch something new, the Skeleton Woman is on the end of the hook. Photo by Lim changwon on Unsplash
Estés asserts for any relationship to survive and thrive, people must reckon with Lady Death, which is what the Skeleton Woman represents. They must welcome her into their home, tend to her, make peace with her in order to breathe life into something new. I think the principle applies not only to relationships, but all things. We must make peace with the fact a beginning will have an ending, followed by another beginning. I constantly forget that. When I experience an ending, some part of me still tries to hold on, as I wrote about last week.
On Saturday, I witnessed first-hand new life springing from death. I attended a grief ritual where I cried with others as they held me and I held them. I cried for someone I barely knew and I cried for things I couldn’t articulate. I bonded with people I only know in passing and felt a new closeness to them. All around me I observed a deepening of love for each other. A group of people that otherwise likely wouldn’t have met. I viewed new life springing from tragedy. Do I wish we’d met in another context? Absolutely. And at the same time, death helped create something new. The more I give into and accept the life/death/life cycle, the more serene I feel. The less scared I am of the future and what could happen because I understand death will always bring something new.
I dream of a world where we embrace the life/death/life cycle. A world where we no longer fear death as something permanent and final, but instead see it as the precursor to something new. A world where we mourn, we grieve, and we accept we’ll always have to confront death in some form or fashion. But it doesn’t have to be as scary as we are led to believe.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
On Tuesday, I found out someone in one of my circles committed suicide. I didn’t know him well; we had a total of three interactions, but his death shocked me and shook me. All week I found myself crying for someone I barely knew. Hurting because people I am closer to are hurting. It pains me to see others in pain.
All week I’ve battled with myself because my tears don’t make much logical sense. Shawn and I talked about books. We didn’t swap secrets and peer into each other’s souls. How can I feel so sad about this death? In part it’s because I lost a community member, but also it’s because I’m empathic, sensitive, bighearted.
A heart so big it lights up the sky. Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash
Growing up, I heard over and over again that I’m too sensitive, that I’m too emotional. I heard it so much I internalized it and now when I have big feelings, I judge myself for them. I want my emotions to match up to logic but oftentimes they do not. I realize sensitivity is a gift, but I still resist my feelings. I still want them to make sense, but they don’t. My therapist and other people tell me over and over again, “Just feel them. You don’t have to understand them. Just feel them.” Easier said than done. Easier said than done when feeling them means crying on the floor of my bedroom typing on my computer. Easier said than done when feeling them means sitting with the things I’m scared of instead of trying to talk myself out of feeling afraid.
When it comes down to it, I harbor a sense of shame about my sensitivity. I think there’s something wrong with me that I feel so much, so deeply. That I “should” be able to toughen up, to grow a thicker skin, to somehow become a different person. Friends, I have tried! With much earnestness I’ve tried, and yet here we are. There are certain things about us that are immutable and I’m understanding my big heart is one of them. I’m doing a lot of work on self-soothing and becoming my own emotional rock, but that doesn’t mean my feelings evaporate. All I’m left with is the choice to accept this is me, which is something I think Shawn would approve of.
Again, I didn’t know him well, but I’m reading memories and tributes to Shawn all over facebook and one of the things people write over and over again is how seen they felt by him. How loved. How accepted. In his death, maybe that’s something I can give to myself. I think he’d want that.
I dream of a world where we love and accept all parts of ourselves. A world where we feel our feelings even when they don’t seem to make sense. A world where we understand sometimes our feelings won’t match up with our brains. A world where we realize sensitivity is a gift and that it’s OK to be bighearted.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I think it’s pretty clear I want to be famous. Not “get my picture taken while eating a hamburger in a car” famous, but “win awards and have people share my content” famous. I know fame doesn’t make anyone happy, I know the goal of my life is not fame, I know aiming for fame goes against all of my spiritual beliefs, and yet it’s still here.
I’ve wrestled with this aspect of myself for decades trying to reason with it, spin it, battle it, push it away. But it’s still here. On Wednesday, I listened to a radio show loosely about surrender and I burst into tears because I finally accepted this part of me. To surrender means to stop fighting and I stopped fighting this aspect of myself. I also started journaling about it, asking why I care so much.
This picture is perfect. Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash.
I seek fame because I want to prove myself, I want to showcase my “enough-ness.” I spoke with a friend about this and he suggested I make a list of all the ways I’ll finally be enough. I’ll be enough when _____. I made my list: “I’ll be enough when I’m a bestselling author. I’ll be enough when I go on Oprah. I’ll be enough when a celebrity retweets me.” I kept going until I reached the point when I wrote, “I’ll be enough when I feel worthy.”
As if to hammer the point home, I listened to another radio show by Nancy Levin, who used to be the events coordinator at Hay House before she transitioned into writing and coaching. To paraphrase, she said nothing on the outside will make you feel worthy if you don’t feel worthy on the inside. I know this. In fact, I’ve written this. But when I look back at my post on self-worth from nearly nine years, I hear a lot of judgment. A lot of dismissing. I didn’t honor my desire then or now.
When I look at the basic philosophy of my spiritual tradition, I have more perspective. The philosophy states we take everything and channel it toward the divine. It sounds like a lovely sentiment, but what does that actually mean? I’m not sure I know, but what I’m starting to understand is I can’t run from anything, including my desire for fame. I can’t escape anything. Maybe to use everything as a vehicle toward my unification with a power greater than myself means first that I have to accept what is here in a loving, compassionate way.
This blogpost deals with my desire for fame, but the concept is applicable to anything. It could be the part of ourselves that’s scared of others, or is greedy, or ashamed, or whatever. We can’t pretend that side doesn’t exist as much as we’d like that to be the case. We have to work with what’s here in order to have any power over it. I’ve likely used this quote before, but Carl Jung said, “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you’ll call it fate.” I’d rather be an active participant in my fate and the only way to do that it seems is to stop running from the things I don’t like.
I dream of a world where we accept all parts of ourselves with compassion. A world where we realize just because we don’t like something doesn’t mean it goes away. A world where we embrace our inherent tendencies and still work to transform them into something else. A world where we channelize them toward something greater than ourselves.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.