Broken Places

“In the broken places the light shines through.” - Leonard Cohen

This is a quote that's been on my mind lately ... In the broken places the light shines through. I really like this concept of having to allow yourself to break if you really want to get to the light. I think it speaks of finding hope in darkness, or that there's always light even if you can't see it.

I'm not a stranger to the dark, but still I resist it. I've been wrestling so much with anxiety lately; it's a deep sinking feeling in my stomach, habitual shallow breathing, a desire to escape. It feels like any time that I am not intentionally practicing mindfulness I catch myself racing away from difficult emotions. Then, of course, the more I avoid things the greater the fear and anxiety and dread grows. Avoidance seems to have become a driving factor and it's not a great place to be. My heart knows this would be an easier process if I could accept that this is where I need to be right now, but my head is angry and frustrated that I am not where I would like to be. I am really working on trying to create space to just be however I need to be. So I've been asking myself what it would be like if I could let go of some of the aversion and self-judgement. Can I be with this feeling? What can I learn from it and how can I grow?

I experiment with a lot of different guided meditations and Tara Brach often talks about how we all have strategies of trying to control things and how we often live in a trance or a virtual reality made up of our own self-centred, self-conscious narrative. She talks about a phrase 'real but not true' ... it's a real story in our minds and it feels real in our bodies, so it's real ... but it's not the only way to view reality. The thoughts are happening, the feelings are happening, but it's not the truth of existence. So the invitation is to just notice how it's an idea in our mind and a feeling in our body and to just be present with that and then to bring compassion to that.

"So often we make a commitment to change our ways, but stall in the face of old reflexes as new situations arise. When gripped by fear or anxiety, the reflex is to hold on, speed up, or remove oneself. Yet when we feel the reflex to hold on, that is usually the moment we need to let go. When we feel the urgency to speed up, that is typically the instant we need to slow down. Often when we feel the impulse to flee, it is the opportunity to face ourselves. Taking a deep meditative breath, precisely at this moment, can often break the momentum of anxiety and put our psyche in neutral. From here, we just might be able to step in another direction." - Mark Nepo

When I deepen my attention to where I'm getting stuck I find I seem to be triggered by the experience of feeling more visible in my professional life (perhaps imposter syndrome issues), but at the same time I am seeking to be heard or seen in my private life (this blog, reflections on past traumas).

I think sometimes the normalcy of now can sometimes trigger off a feeling of separateness or a feeling that I can't yet describe. It's not that I don't feel grateful for the life I have or that I'm not connected to those I am close to, but the stark contrast between then and now can sometimes feel difficult to reconcile. It's like there are two tracks playing at once ... In one track I feel so present and alive and lucky; I live a privileged life and it's filled with laughter and hope and messiness and love. The other track is all the stuff I thought I'd left behind; it's kind of like the movie you don't want to watch alone again, but it comes back as nightmares or intrusive thoughts and visual images ... and the storyline you tell yourself is that there aren't many people in your life who could begin to imagine what that was like. It creates that sense of separateness and it's really hard to not buy into that narrative because it's kind of true ... in the sense that it feels true to me. 

So that's what I'm practicing ... It's a work in progress. There have been moments where I really have been able to just sit with those feelings and allow them to be there.  What I notice is that all of my feelings are right under the surface, ready to spill over, ready to just be felt. It starts to feel less reactive (anxious) and more about the core feeling or the underlying issue itself (lived experience of past fear).

What feels right here are the memories. 

It's the feeling I had when my dad towered over me or dragged me across the floor, it's the sudden gap where everything is just dark ... the familiar thick buzzing in my head, the sound of terror before everything goes black. 

It's the feeling of being a little girl in a store room at the stables, playing with the kittens while a fat, repulsive man looms in the doorway preparing to rape you. The smell of hay. It's knowing that no-one outside of that room is going to help. Trapped and nowhere to turn.

It's the feeling of being ambushed. Of being outnumbered, of being held down. The knife. The hands everywhere. The slobbering in my mouth. The taste of beer and blood. The flash of the camera. The laughter. The music. The viciousness. Not being able to breathe. The blackouts; the moments where I don't know what happened to my own body. The flicker in his eyes when he had me in the room alone. The tone in his voice when he told me what he'd done to the girl in my class. The terror. The guilt.

All different moments in time. All in the past.

What also feels right here is the reality. I have already survived this. At times I have thrived. I can tell it again and I can tell it with strength. I don't want to just paint over it again ... I want it to mean something and I want it to be heard. There are things in my present life that are bringing these feelings or memories to surface, but I am safe to feel this. How would it be different if I accepted that this is difficult for valid reasons?

This time will pass no matter how I approach it, so at the very least it would mean that I could get through this particular season with less resistance ... but I may also emerge from this with possibilities that I can't even begin to imagine yet.