I’ve been thinking a lot about self-compassion lately and have come to the realization that for most of my life, I’ve avoided it. Why? Because in some sort of subconscious way, I was confusing it with self-pity.
Did you hear this growing up...from parents or older family members?
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” Or how about "stop crying/whining and get on with it.”
My parents’ generation, like all generations, went through hard times. The acceptable response handed down to them was to “pull up your bootstraps” and move on. I see this could be a positive statement depending on context, but I think what they may have inherited was a disconnect with self-compassion.
Practicing self-compassion or the expectation of a compassionate response, especially to emotional pain wasn’t well-tolerated when I was growing up. (For the record, I came to understand why and have immense compassion, respect and love for my parents.) “Feeling your feelings”, being gentle with yourself, practicing self-care or self-love were foreign concepts. My understanding of how to deal with emotion, based on what was modeled for me, looked like wrangling and wrestling any undesired feelings to the ground and quickly sweeping them under the rug. This is effective when you want to pretend the bad thing never happened.
When I was a teenager, I longed to eradicate my sloppy emotions altogether. I remember a poem I wrote about wanting to turn to stone, to be a rock – smooth, hard, unflinching and cool – very cool. No matter how hard I tried though, I was soft, pliable and in pieces most of the time. Any traces of self-compassion that surely were my human birthright, turned into sharp pebbles of self-pity. Failed people-pleasing coupled with the shame and confusion around how I was supposed to feel when I was shut down, was akin to walking about with a jagged stone in my shoe. I lived like this for many years, a girl with a big, soft heart and a roaring inner critic, incapable of giving myself what I could so easily give to others. Compassion, forgiveness and love.
Writing this monthly blog on my own recovery experiences; the self-reflection that accompanies it, always leads me back to a place of gratitude. I never thought I would say this but I’m grateful for addiction because it led to my recovery, giving me the opportunity to learn, grow and heal. They say in the rooms of AA, that you can’t unknow what you know. If the seed is planted – “maybe I can’t control drinking alcohol” - it will root and unfurl into all areas of your life, whether you are watering it or not. Occasionally, I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t found recovery. If I didn’t end up succumbing to addiction (or something connected to it), would I have had the same opportunities to heal? Not sure where I’m going with this except to say I wish all humans had the opportunity for this kind of inner reconciliation and transformation. We’re all recovering from something…perhaps being human is one of the things!
I didn’t really know that I didn’t love or respect myself until I was about a year sober. How can we be kind and compassionate to others and have none of that for ourselves? Having lived it and having heard the same from so many women I've been in circle with, I’m convinced that to live fully, we must cradle our own life experiences in the gentlest of hands. Life can be one harrowing moment after another, in widely varying degrees. If we have any control over our circumstances (meaning if we have privilege), we could simply skim the surface of life like a stone skipping over the water. But I’m pretty sure that approach breeds regret. If there’s one emotion I don't want to feel, it's regret.
In the wonderous book “See No Stranger” by Valarie Kaur, she describes the experience of cultivating her Inner Wise Woman. She writes a tender, daily journal. “Wise Woman here, Wise Woman says…”
While she’s connecting to her inner strength and wisdom, she’s holding space for her Inner Critic…practicing self-compassion, because that is what a Wise Woman does. The voice in our head that picks apart everything we do, is surely rooted in a wound that only knows one companion…fear.
Valarie describes the heart as a throne and asks who deserves to sit upon the throne of our hearts? The Wise Woman or the Inner Critic? There is only one answer before the next question appears: how do we keep her there, sitting gracefully and royally on that throne? Especially, when everything falls apart...when fear shows up.
How do we make sure the voice we hear, and the voice we follow is the one that’s invested in our living life no matter what; grounded in all the joys there are, while riding the choppy waves of uncertainty and challenge.
Presence is a powerful place to start. We can’t meet, hold and possibly alchemize something that we don’t even realize is happening.
Years ago, during an especially painful time, I paused a fast and furious journal entry and started to read backwards. As I slowly turned the pages back in time, I was shocked and a little horrified at what I read. I had created a daily practice of cutting criticism and self-loathing. There it was in front of me. In that moment, I knew I had to stop hurting myself. Since then, not hurting myself when I am hurting is rule number one. Some of my clients know it as this: don’t add more shit to the shit pile. That’s exactly what we do when we self-criticize instead of self-soothe.
My journey of self-compassion began right there, in the middle of that hurtful journal.
I started to become present for my feelings (all of them), my mental state, my energy and specifically, what was happening in my body, because the body never lies.
Nowadays, I know my big feelings usually dissipate before I ever have to turn to stone. The work I am doing in recovery and life allows me to hold the weight of my world when I need to. It also allows me to put it down and care for myself which I do often. Sharing circles, by the way, are an empowering place to practice this. There is nothing like setting a boulder down in the middle of a circle and feeling a hundred hands on your aching shoulders and tired heart.
I was called a fool as a young girl because of my sloppy emotions and desire to express them. As I write this, I understand this character also deserves honor in the throne room. My foolish heart holds hope, optimism and dreamy ideals. She wears her heart on the outside of her body and sees beauty and magic everywhere because of it. She is the soft green moss on the rock and the sinking sand underneath it. The Inner Critic, the Wise Woman and yes, the Fool create a whole chorus, wounded, wise and hopeful, the “wished-for song” as the poet, Rumi, so gorgeously describes:
You are song, a wished-for song. Go through the ear to the center, where the sky is, where wind, where silent knowing. Put seeds and cover them. Blades will sprout where you do your work.
If you are struggling with self-compassion, know that you are not alone.
If you are struggling with self-compassion, start with presence. Listen for the song that only you can create and sing to yourself. Let it honor all parts of you. Let the Wise Woman be in her rightful place, softly humming along.
Love,
Payton
P.S. Self-compassion is one of the concepts that we unpack in my upcoming Embodied Book Club, Peace > Perfection, featuring the amazing book by Katherine Morgan Schafler: The Perfectionist's Guide to Losing Control, A Path to Peace and Power. This online book study program includes trauma-informed movement, book study and discussion, inspiration, connection and community. Saturdays Zoom sessions start on September 7th, join us HERE!
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