While out having a beer with a friend earlier this week I was venting about my work and how tiring it can be. I explained how it feels like my clients hand me a plate of shit each week and my job is to take that shit and rearrange it, dress it up, make it look pretty and hand it back to them as a delicacy to appreciate instead of one they abhor.
I know I’m doing my job well when I serve them a slice and it hits a chord of truth. “Fuck You, Lynn” are my very favorite words. Words of recognition they are on the path to healing. Words that confirm the resistance is ready to be seen. And once seen, we have the opportunity to move through it to return to a state of flow.
I feel fortunate to have the skills to be able to sift through the shit and find beauty. It seems to be one I was born with, but one that also requires maintenance, practice, and continuing education. To see serendipity, one must be open to flow. Let go of the grip of control and trust in the process of life.
On my best days, I feel like a goddess. My vision is so clear and so full of beauty I could soar across the world sprinkling hope bombs with the power of my faith. On the tough days, I roll through my own pile of shit seeing nothing but shit and despising my chosen path.
This past week I rolled through the shit. One unexpected and highly uncomfortable event after another fell into my lap forcing me to pause and look at my reactions. I watched myself lose my ability to think clearly. I watched my fear swing into full gear and go into a protective mode that appears to be that of an 11 year old girl who lost faith in anyone’s ability to take care of her. I watched myself harden and crawl into myself so no one could get to me.
I stopped meditating. I stopped journaling. I stopped sleeping. I started blaming. I started shaming. I did all the things I’ve done for years when I stop trusting. I attempt to take back control when I feel out of control. Survival mode at its best.
My tactics feel almost automatic. I don’t feel like I have control over them. This is when people say “I lost my mind.” “I’ve gone crazy.” “I don’t know who I am.” The voice of disconnection from oneself is well known.
It is the voice of the protective ego who swoops in under the guise as safety patrol. It promises to keep us safe while simultaneously fighting off the potential of trust by taking over and trying to do it all alone.
I hear it loud and clear.
“I don’t trust anyone.” “Fuck all of this.” “I hate my life.” “Stay away from me.” “I am not safe.”
Ahhh yes. I know these voices well. And please get out of my way so I can navigate all of this with every fear I’ve ever known leading the way. It has notoriously worked exceptionally well. (insert sarcasm font)
The difference for me this go around is that I have been slowing down to watch my emotional reactions for many months now. Listening to the voices and narratives in my head and observing them before reacting to them. Sometimes. Other times I react and then go back and clean up the debris and shrapnel I’ve left in my path.
It makes me feel volatile and unpredictable but I know this is the process to change. The process to real trust. Because trust, is a practice. Even for those of us who teach it.
One thing I know for sure, when we are ready for growth, we are given many opportunities to elevate and move in a direction that is better than our current vision can see. Which means, our plate of shit can get an extra serving we weren’t quite expecting. Then we have a choice. Are you going to throw the shit against the wall and curse at it or are you going to look at the opportunity in front of you and be open to allowing the gift to reveal itself while not knowing what it is.
I personally do both.
I start by throwing the shit (aka feeling my feelings). Sometimes that looks like floods of tears. Sometimes its seething anger. Sometimes its recoiling from life. And sometimes that’s all in one hour. I grip for control. Its what I was trained to do.
I give my fear a voice.
And then I pause. I listen. I go for a walk. I vent to a friend. I write down my fears and then write down the truth. I look at my history and see how all the things I told myself would never get better, did. Always. In some way.
I open myself back up to faith. But not without having a temper tantrum first.
That is my current process. I hope at some point it will change. I’d like for it to move more smoothly and with less upheaval, but I won’t know that until it happens.
The process of trust means allowing myself to feel. To surrender to myself. To experience all the yuck to let it move through me. To lean in to the resistance of feeling out of control. And once I do this, I begin to slooowly relax my grip. I begin to hear my intuitive voice remind me I am safe. I begin to feel the calm that comes after the storm.
And then I begin my practices again. I step outside of myself and see my experience from a higher perspective. I look in from the outside and ask what is really going on. I see how once again, I am being asked to practice what I’ve been taught to strengthen my own muscle of trust and understanding so I can pass on to others.
First take care of me, so I can support you.
Well played Life, well played. Fuck You…and Thank You.
As with all uncomfortable events, we are given small tastes of joy to make sure we see we are seen and supported. The universe slips in love notes so we know we are not alone.
This morning mine came in the form of my daughter playing the son Walking on Sunshine saying we needed this, which lead to a spontaneous dance party in our living room with the three of us. It was the lightest I have felt all week.
Followed by my son expressing how he loves to watch me sit on the couch and write because he can feel it is when I am the most happy. “Expressing your feelings in a way that works for you, but translates to rest of the world. Can you believe we were on food stamps five and a half years ago, Mom? I’m so proud of you. You are are my role model in life on how to take risks to follow your heart.”
With every dark day there is a beam of light somewhere shining through. And I will never stop being grateful for mine.
What is your process to practice trust?