So often when we are struggling with something in our life, our focus turns to, "Why me?", "Why this?". I've noticed this question creeping in quite a lot lately as the facts paint a picture of my daughter's healing, that just seems to get darker by the moment. My daughter seems incapable of thinking past today, and beyond whatever she can conjure to fill the void. Recently, I had a nightmare of being trapped and unable to move. A day later I saw a sculpture at an exhibit in my small Mexican town that so perfectly captured this sensation of helplessness that I caught my breath. I was recently reminded of the futility of the word "why" and how it drains our energy and puts our focus in the past. As I find myself engulfed in heaviness and numbness, I turn to the question of, "What is the learning for me here?" And I focus on the "how" of moving things forward. Maybe it seems like I'm trying desperately to find meaning, to bypass reality, of my role in my daughter's problems, what I should do to try and "save" her, and the gravity of the situation.
Yet I know with the knowingness that is beyond words, that our struggles are somehow here to help us evolve into a version of ourselves, more aligned with the universe's higher wisdom. Here are some guideposts that are marking my way forward.
I feel my emotions, but I am not them.
Before my child's spiraling would bring on a surge of adrenalin and my body would go into fight mode, using every ounce of strength and resourcefulness I had to find the key to unlock the door to my daughter's struggles. I now know better. I've released misguided efforts to drag my daughter through any doors at all. So when things get dark, like they did this morning, I allow the sadness and the anger, cry and break pens. I accept the misery of the moment and feel it deep in my bones. Then I turn to the realization that these emotions are not me. I am experiencing them, but they do not define me. This realization helps me to breathe and grounds me.
"Strong back, Soft front"
When I don't know where to turn, what comes to mind often is the Buddhist teacher Roshi Joan Halifax's writing on "Strong back, Soft front" and her emphasis on choosing love over fear.
All too often our so–called strength comes from fear, not love; instead of having a strong back, many of us have a defended front shielding a weak spine. In other words, we walk around brittle and defensive, trying to conceal our lack of confidence. If we strengthen our backs, metaphorically speaking, and develop a spine that’s flexible but sturdy, then we can risk having a front that’s soft and open, representing choiceless compassion. The place in your body where these two meet — strong back and soft front — is the brave, tender ground in which to root our caring deeply.....
How can we give and accept care with strong-back, soft front compassion, moving past fear into a place of genuine tenderness? I believe it comes about when we can be truly transparent, seeing the world clearly — and letting the world see into us.
Now, the strong back has less to do with conventional limits and boundaries, although there is some of that, and more to do with maintaining my sovereignty. It takes strength and commitment to bring awareness to the anxious thoughts, and stories I tell myself, about the past and the future. This wisdom I seek is so allusive. It takes strength to feel the constriction and question fear-driven beliefs and connect to a deeper more expansive knowing, paving the way for the tenderness and compassion of "Strong back, soft front"
How do you accept the unacceptable?
I've written about this before and I know the way forward requires not resignation, which is a loss of hope, but non-resistance, detachment. And yet how do you let go of your child? How do you stop suffering, and wishing for anything but that which is unfolding in front of you? I know that pain comes from our resistance to an order and a logic to life that we can't know, and may never understand. We are so conditioned to use our minds and our resources to reach a certain outcome, and if it doesn't come easily we grapple with what's unfolding and grasp for anything that might help us resist the current. So much of what we do each day comes from our belief that we can control the future, through force if necessary. But what would happen if we let go?
Part of the 64th verse from Tao Te Ching says:
Rushing into action you fail,
Trying to grasp things, you lose them.
Forcing a project to completion,
you ruin what was almost ripe.
Therefore the Master takes action
by letting things take their course.
This 2,500 year old wisdom is an invitation to release ourselves into the river, trusting that when we stop frantically paddling, we will more easily navigate the white water to a calmer stretch.
Maybe erasing completely the desire for things to be different is a lot to ask. But there are times when I can see the gifts of this struggle, and how it has transformed me and my child, into versions of ourselves that may serve a higher purpose.
Real self-love = Radical forgiveness
When I can feel tightness in my chest, it signals to me that I am believing that I haven't done enough, that I don't have enough, that I'm simply, "not enough". Such an easy trap to fall into when the evidence for a woman's success is largely correlated with that of her child. And by society's metrics, I have failed miserably. I had this reinforced recently, by my daughter's aunt, who took it upon herself to let me know that the "wrong" way I had chosen to live my life, and how I had "given up" on my own daughter, were reprehensible. Her words stung, but they aren't nearly as damaging as my own judgemental thoughts that creep in when my guard is down. So I put my hand over my constricted heart, and ask for the blessing of radical forgiveness. Radical forgiveness takes traditional forgiveness and then goes one step further, recognizing that everything that happens to us, to our kids, to our families, actually happens for us. So I let go of the "shoulds" and the "what ifs" and try to see myself through the lens of compassion. I do enough, I am enough. I have a noble heart.