It was late August of 1984, just a couple of months before my 44th birthday. I had finally thrown in the towel after an abortive four-month attempt to reconcile with my former partner. The partner with whom I had struggled so endlessly and so profoundly over the preceding seven and a half years. (See Other Peoples’ Views for more about this challenging, incredibly fraught relationship.) I was utterly exhausted emotionally. Ojai was in the midst of an extreme heat wave with over a week of well above 100-degree days. And, I was moving into an incredible, utterly wonderful rental house that was to be just for me.
Instead, I’d drive to the beach in Santa Barbara. After hours of walking at the tide line I’d be irresistibly drawn to the new doorstep of my once again ex-partner. I felt quite crazed by my own behavior. I was so relieved to have finally extricated myself from what had truly been an emotionally abusive relationship. Yet, I couldn’t stay away long enough to roost in my new life. For days I alternately camped out on the floor of my new Ojai house or the floor in her new Santa Barbara house. Either way, I spent my days in Santa Barbara not in Ojai. Nothing got done in my new house.
Even as I did this strange dance every day, it felt like a pretty nutty thing to be doing to myself. But, there was no help for it-–I couldn’t cajole myself into any different "more healthy" behavior. I think it went on for about 10 days. Then the impossible heat wave broke and so did my paralysis. I began staying in Ojai. And, baby step by baby step, I began to claim the extraordinary space that Spirit had brought to me.
As I cleaned, moved furniture and unpacked boxes I’d feel devastated and be weeping. As I kept finding ways that my things fit magically into the spaces available, I’d get so excited I’d do little dances of joy. The new house wrapped me in its comforting arms, welcomed me to the unfolding of my new life. I felt such excitement, such a billowing up of promise, of the freedom, once again in my life, to be all of myself uncontained. At the same time I ached with such enormous grief for the hope that I was giving up. The hope that I could somehow find a way to be all of me with this person that I was leaving. I mourned profoundly what felt to be-–at long last--the severing of the complicated, enmeshed and damaging ties between me and my newly-ex-partner.
It was all so confusing.
I knew that it was the best thing I’d been able to do in many years, this leaving, this separating out from the deadly symbiosis. I felt brave and strong and courageous. I felt enormously proud of myself, deeply grateful to Spirit and the Grandmothers for their help in this process of releasing myself. I felt equally grateful to them for their help in bringing me the gift of this marvelous living space. At the very same time I felt lost, abandoned, bereft. Rudderless, adrift, hopeless. Drowning, suffocating in grief.
It went on like this for several months, feeling the incredible joy and the devastating grief totally braided together, sometimes alternating and sometimes even simultaneously. Sometimes it felt like I was going crazy in the middle of it. Other times, I understood deeply that I was getting sane!
Gradually, as I rode with whatever feelings came up, I found that I was spending more and more of my time in the joyful spaces. The sieges of intense grief came less and less often. These sieges lasted less and less long each time they came. The times of being with the joy and celebration came more and more often. These times gradually lasted longer and longer. All the while, the grief when it hit continued to be as "take your breath away" fresh as it was at first. It took the passage of much time for that intensity to become perceptibly dulled,
We all learn so little about the complex emotional whirl of beginnings and endings, endings and beginnings. So little about the inevitable "both and" of excitement and grief. So little about the grief that flows so fully even when the ending is one we’ve chosen, one that we feel and know to be absolutely right for us. So little about the way that the beginnings that we embrace joyfully are simultaneously and inevitably the endings of what had been before. Endings that quite often engender some amount of sadness or even some feelings of loss.
We (and others around us) can come to think we’re crazy when, in the midst of celebrating some wonderful newness, we fall into what feels like an inexplicably "blue" space. "Why are you feeling unhappy, this is such a wonderful new beginning?!" we, or others, ask ourselves. And, "Why are you acting so mope-y, I thought you’d be so thrilled to be done with that situation, that relationship, that challenge?!"
The voices of both our own inner critics and those of other people’s undermining commentaries often pressure us to close ourselves off from the complex mix of feelings that can attend joyful beginnings. We learn to cut off from and squelch and see as unreasonable the natural, absolutely normal flow of grief over the endings that are always implicit in beginnings. As we can begin to relax our censorship, as we can give ourselves permission to allow the grief to flow, we can open ourselves more fully for the blossoming of the joy.
Remember that beginnings are also times of endings, that beginnings are times for both celebration and grieving-–consider giving yourself permission to feel all of the seemingly contradictory feelings!
P.S. So many of your delicious e-mails send appreciations for the affirmation, support and nourishment you receive from the site. When I answer them, I don’t always remember to let you know that having your own deck of the Rememberings and Celebrations cards is a way to bring this same loving voice into your everyday world, to have it at hand as you need to remind yourself of the "real" truth moment to moment in the crazimakingness of the so-called real world!
© For the Little Ones Inside - All Rights Reserved
The card on this page is part of a set of 64 handcolored bookmark-size cards called the Rememberings and Celebrations deck. They can be used as an oracle, a meditation focus or a "book-in-pieces" to kindle and grow a compassionate, gentle, unconditionally loving, fiercely protective inner-Mother to help you carve safe healing space for your emerging self and for the wounded little ones inside.
If you'd like a deck of your very own to support you in your journey, click here to download Order Form.
Please feel free to e-mail me at rposin@hotmail.com. to share your reflections and responses to any or all of what you find here . I'd really like to hear what touches and nourishes you!
Click here for More Like This Or, explore the Monthly Musing Archives
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*Walking in the middle of a line of hikers on a very narrow trail and coming suddenly to one of these "edge" places was an enormous challenge. There I’d be, surprised by this scary passage in front of me, feeling terrified. Feeling, as well, acutely aware of the people behind me. No space either to let them pass by me or for me to turn around, pass them and go back.
Of course, the pressure to keep moving ahead felt tremendous. So did the anxious paralysis in my body. That no one else seemed the least bit affected by this edge that so frightened me left me feeling isolated and as if I was "over-reacting." So used to seeing myself as a courageous and fearless warrior-woman–at least on emotional and intellectual terrain–I felt inadequate, a "sissy," embarrassed by my intense trepidation.
And, even more, I felt terrified that I was terrified. This the legacy of endless childhood experiences of having no one there for me in my frightened, scared, terrified or anxious times. If I ran to my mother needing support and comfort in the midst of my fear or terror I’d inevitably be met with only her angry impatience and ridiculing dismissiveness. I’d learned early and quickly that I had only the limited resources of my terrified little self to help me cope with my terrors.
Yet, the newly kindled unconditionally loving Good-Mommy-inside-me was by this time somewhat in place as my protector. At each such edgy physical place, she would immediately begin to speak to me and to advocate for me. She would tell me it was okay to be scared, that I wasn’t being a sissy, that I wasn’t over-reacting, that I wasn’t being overly dramatic. She would tell me it was really that I was just feeling what was so for me in this moment. She would tell me that it was really okay for me to feel scared, terrified, anxious. That she was here with me. That I wasn’t now and would never again be alone with my fear. That for now and ever more she would be loving and helping me in these scary times.
It was all spoken in an instant inside of me. Her presence gave me the voice, permission and courage to just matter-of-factly tell the hikers behind me that this was being a very scaring crossing for me. That I was sorry to hold them up but I needed to go very, very slowly in order to get across it. People were so startlingly solicitous and patient it brought me to tears. Hikers ahead of me, hearing this would often turn around and extend both encouragement and even a hand to reach for me.
I would breathe very slowly and deeply to calm and center myself. Then I’d lean into the side of the mountain, hold onto rocks or chaparral, take tiny baby steps and gradually make my way across the scary interval. Sometimes the hikers I was with would cheer me at the end of a crossing. I felt so seen, so truly heard and supported. I felt enormously brave and very much acknowledged for my bravery.
At earlier times in my unfolding, I would have been both frightened by and embarrassed about revealing my fearfulness. Certain that I would be ridiculed, scoffed at or, at best, mercilessly teased for being "such a girl-girl." In the face of such trepidation about revealing my trepidation, I would always force myself into doing whatever it might be and acting as if I weren’t frightened or anxious. I would move as quickly as I could, hurrying to get through whatever it might be that was scaring me so badly. I never saw any alternative way to approach these awful moments.
Acting as if I weren’t anxious–when actually I was filled with anxiety–always gave me a terrible stomachache and filled me with nausea. When, at last I would be on the far side of the experience, away from other people, I would feel collapsed and exhausted. Holding myself together when I truly felt like falling apart was always extraordinarily taxing to every part of my being.
As I started the work of kindling the ferociously protective, unconditionally loving "mommy-inside" (see The Little Ones Story and Coming Home for the short and long versions of this process) I began to be with my fears and anxieties in totally new ways. For the first time in my life, there was a truly connected, loving, caring mommy voice within me. I could hear this tender, protective and care-filled voice all the time. And, I could hear the voice of the frightened little selves in me as separate from the grown-up me and separate from this loving mommy voice. I could separate all of these from the "nasty, critical, belittling" voice of my internalized "mean mommy." And, I was coming to understand that whatever the "mean mommy" voice was saying to me was never the truth!
All these years and all this hiking later, those edgy places and the patches of slippery shale still scare me a lot. I still go very, very slowly across them. And, I’ve learned to carry and use a lightweight bamboo walking stick. The stick gives me a whole lot more confidence and support in the scary places.
And, all these almost 20 years later, I’ve become incredibly open about and respectful of my fears and anxieties–whether they’re about things physical or emotional or interpersonal. Whenever and wherever they’re stirred, I advocate for myself. Always this advocacy involves carving the space–no matter what the circumstances or what anyone else had to say about it– to go very slowly and care-fully. I have my own permission to take as many breaks as I need to calm and re-center myself as I go forward. And, sometimes, I even give my self permission to completely opt out of doing whatever it might be that’s so scary/anxiety-provoking at that moment.
We live in a culture that’s filled with messages that make it unacceptable to honor our fearfulness or to respond with gentle kindness to our scared selves. Certainly we’ve all heard the endless variations: "we have nothing to fear but fear itself," "bite-the-bullet," "feel-the-fear-and-do-it-anyway." And "be man/woman enough to just do it."
It takes courage and fierceness and lots and lots of practice to give ourselves permission to feel what we feel when we’re feeling scared or anxious. To name what we’re feeling out loud, as if it truly is acceptable and respectable to feel sacred or anxious. To feel it’s perfectly acceptable and honorable to go more slowly and carefully as we are tenderly protecting our frightened selves. To not allow anyone (including the self in us that may be afraid of being openly afraid) to shame us or push us or ridicule us as we take such very good care of ourselves.
There’s so much "rhetoric" that threatens us about the danger of "giving in to our fears." Namely, that we’ll just get more and more fearful and paralyzed. As is so very often the case, the culturally propagated message is a complete reversal of the being-level truth. If we are gentle and encouraging and protective of our fearful selves, they gradually feel safe enough to trust us and to experiment with venturing beyond where they had had to stop before.
Consider tenderly allowing yourself to go more slowly in any circumstances in which you feel scared or anxious,
P.S. So many of your delicious e-mails send appreciations for the affirmation, support and nourishment you receive from the site. When I answer them, I don’t always remember to let you know that having your own deck of the Rememberings and Celebrations cards is a way to bring this same loving voice into your everyday world, to have it at hand as you need to remind yourself of the "real" truth moment to moment in the crazimakingness of the so-called real world!
© For the Little Ones Inside - All Rights Reserved
The card on this page is part of a set of 64 handcolored bookmark-size cards called the Rememberings and Celebrations deck. They can be used as an oracle, a meditation focus or a "book-in-pieces" to kindle and grow a compassionate, gentle, unconditionally loving, fiercely protective inner-Mother to help you carve safe healing space for your emerging self and for the wounded little ones inside.
If you'd like a deck of your very own to support you in your journey, click here to download Order Form.
Please feel free to e-mail me at rposin@hotmail.com. to share your reflections and responses to any or all of what you find here . I'd really like to hear what touches and nourishes you!
Click here for More Like This Or, explore the Monthly Musing Archives
Site Directory (for non-frames viewing)
*