O is for Open, Opportunity, the Out Breath and ...

“Oh, sh*t.”

I’m terrified.

Sure, there’s plenty going on in the world that could make me feel this way, but my reaction bubbled up when I heard that some of my husband’s work (and income) may be going away.

Instantly, I felt an old fear erupt in my body. A primal, gut-wrenching, white knuckle fear. We’ve all got them. Actually, we probably have many. But for me, this fear comes from a belief- a misunderstanding or misinterpretation of the truth- that has become a story I’ve told myself for years. The fear is that if I don’t have enough money, not only will my own safety be in jeopardy, but I won’t be able to feed, clothe, or worse, keep my children alive.

No time to reason with this guy because he’s a powerful bugger. The ground instantly drops out from underneath and I feel like my stomach has literally been scooped out. Shaken to my core, I crumble up into a ball, overtaken by these feelings.

I’ve experienced this before. The first time was after we lost our daughter, Hope. My thinking (back then) was that her death was my fault. But if I ride the feeling back even further in time, I see images of a woman (me), wearing torn and tattered clothing, trying to keep my children alive by giving them the last morsel of bread. Is it possible this is a memory that has been carried from generation to generation on the cellular level? I know it sounds far-fetched, but the intensity of my reaction is profound and the vision is as real as my current memories.

No time to deal with this, so I push it aside to focus on life, avoiding and suppressing the weight of what I’m feeling. Then one night I wake to everything crashing down around me like a big wave enveloping my whole essence. And I weep. And weep. And weep.

I begin beating myself up. You see, in my story, the choice I made to stay home with our boys instead of returning to work is the source of all our financial issues. Believe me, I’ve spent a lot of time exploring this choice, listing the many ways it has benefited not just me, but our boys. (Especially because becoming a Mom has always been my heart’s desire.) But somehow I always return to this belief- veiled in fear- a vicious cycle I’ve spent years trying to break.

In the depth of my feelings, an ugly voice appears. If you remember the movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang it’s the voice of the Child Catcher. It sends shivers down my spine.

“You selfish, selfish girl! SELFISH, SELFISH, SELFISH.”  He goes on, berating me, “How dare you believe that you, YOU?!, are worthy of having what you want! How dare you?? You selfish, selfish girl. If you had returned to work, you’d never be in this situation. And now you and your children’s safety is at risk. This is all on you, you selfish girl.”

He scares me, he’s so mean. I weep some more.

This voice isn’t unfamiliar. Although his form and tone may change, he’s been around for as long as I can remember. Sometimes he disguises himself as someone with a softer voice, pretending to be caring and concerned. Other times he takes the form of insecurity or intellectual superiority, with an unmistakeable power to make me question my self-honoring choices. But no matter what he looks or sounds like, I can recognize him because he is always judgy, mean and scary.

The Child Catcher continues his rant, offering ways to solve the problem. He reminds me of how I’ve responded when I’ve felt this way in the past, making decisions from a place of panic, worry, and fear. I’ll do anything to appease the voice. He pushes for quick decisions. He wants me to make the same choices. “You selfish girl, you want your children safe, don’t you?”

Hearing the choices he has suggested,  I immediately feel my body tightening and contracting. It feels horrible. It’s wrong.

Ahhh- that’s a clue! Thank you, body.

In the past, there were many times when I was faced with a decision and my body would respond by tightening and contracting. I remember when I was living in New York and I took a job as a corporate travel agent because Dad thought I needed something stable. Ugh- that feeling! Even as I recall this, I feel my gut turn and sense myself shrinking and becoming smaller. This job was not right for me. Not at all. (Me? In a corporate setting, having to wear corporate clothing?! Nu-uh.) But I didn’t understand the message of my body and instead listened to Dad.  (It all turned out ok- I got fired from the job and continued waiting tables as I tried my hand at being a Broadway actress.)

But now I’m older. And one of the benefits of aging is the wisdom I’ve gained in listening to my body’s clues. Tightening and contracting = not what I want.

So how can I move through this fear and untangle the misunderstandings and misinterpretations? How can I respond differently than I have in the past?

First, I stop myself.

“QUIET! I see you, fear. I see what you’re doing here.”

Deep breaths in. And big breaths out. Oh, the out breath, how I love you. It seems unfair that you are sometimes an after thought- breathing IN and (as almost an aside) breathing out. But I’ve come to appreciate the out breath as a way of really grounding myself. A good, solid out breath can be so soothing and calming.

And in the calm, a much nicer voice appears, quieting the mean voice. She’s nurturing and loving and kind. She encourages me to honor the wisdom of my body and my heart. To trust. To lean into my faith. She reminds me that perhaps there are things at play  that I have no knowledge about. Perhaps this is happening exactly as it’s meant to, not only for me to fulfill my spiritual curriculum, but also for those around me.

Soon, I begin to see an opportunity, a lesson dealing with self-worth. The calm voice wants me to embrace the idea that worth isn’t tied to money (or career, my weight, or having to BE or Do something). She reminds me that our worth is inherent in our existence. I take this in. Deep breath in, full breath out. Ahhhhhh, the tightening begins to loosen. My weeping begins to slow. Merely considering this idea feels so much better in my body.

As I allow this to anchor inside of myself, another thought moves through me: Choosing my own path is NOT a selfish thing. In fact, it’s the opposite. As I honor my heart’s choices, I’m also allowing others to take responsibility and ownership of their experience.

Considering this allows me to loosen the grip of fear around the thought that I’m responsible for keeping my boys alive- and the belief that somehow, if I made money, I could make that possible. I embrace the idea of giving them the dignity of their own experience and acknowledge that I can’t pretend to know what my boys' curriculum looks like. (Heck, I’m having a hard enough time trying to figure out my own spiritual curriculum!) So, I can love on them, nurture them, and do my very best to protect and care for them, but ultimately, their experience is their own. The gentle voice nudges me to say it out loud, “I am not responsible for anyone else’s experience except my own.”

Then I gently thank the Child Catcher for his good intentions, but let him know that he is misguided and I no longer need him. I cringe waiting for a mean response... but there's nothing. Whew! I imagine him dissolving into the nothingness from whence he came. And I picture the space that he filled now radiating with sparkling white light.

Now, believe me, staying in this space isn’t easy, as evidenced by the fact that I’ve been grappling with it for so many years. Depending on the day (hour or moment) I vacillate between which voice to listen to. I mean, for all I know, listening to the kind voice is just a way of rationalizing my choices- avoiding doing things that I don’t want to do. And that fear, he is stealthy and can easily send me back into the old patterns of worry and over-responsibility, especially during the transition I’m currently moving through of letting go of my boys. I see how it has the potential to be a feeding ground for the fear.

But this is where faith and trust come in. When I lean into them, I just feel better. And I’d much rather go through life feeling expansive, open and free than contracting tight and small, you know?

So the letter O is for staying Open to wisdom, looking for the Opportunities to learn and using the Out breath.

We’re all just works in progress, doing the best we can. So, at least for this moment, I’m trusting in the messages of my body.

Because the truth is, right now, in this very moment, my boys and I are safe. We are all worthy of our heart's desires. And our only job, really, is to find our way back to love.

In loving,

Sarah