It’s all in the question
This is from the time of December 2019
I’ve always loved time to be reflective and have spent much of my life reflecting. For about twenty years, I kept a journal about all my thoughts and opinions. At some point though, I stopped writing. I felt like I was so “in my head” that I was forgetting to live the present moment. I’d feel so detached from it, thinking about what I thought about everything. For another ten years, I lived without keeping a journal and in all honesty, I was hesitant to start it up again when starting my masters. Recently, I’ve realized though, that the problem before wasn’t that I was getting “too reflective to be present.” The problem was that I was on a reflection loop. My old loop went like this:
- What happened?
- Why/How did it happen?
- What is my opinion of what happened?
- How do I feel about it all
This loop is great for getting started with journalling, or developing an internal voice. This loop is NOT great at “getting to the bottom of things” , building awareness, and letting those thoughts be released.
When I re-read my last entry, where I got to the bottom of “Why I liked my husband’s illness,” (you can read it here) I realized how critical it was that I had asked different questions that time around. Exposure to the content in our readings for this program, specifically, reading about attachment theory and “inner work” by Avraham Cohen, has helped me understand that feelings aren’t based on my calculated opinion of the event at hand. My feelings come from my attachment style which is mostly-rooted in pre-verbal experiences. Dialoguing without judgement, helps me uncover the next steps I need to take toward healing. Contemplative practice, makes a space for this dialogue to happen.
“Why do I feel this way?” and, “What does it look like when I feel this way?” have been instrumental to personal change.
Last week, my husband and I got in a big argument (I don’t even know what it was about) but it concluded with the most magnificent dialogue.
Him: I feel like I can’t talk to you!
Me: I feel like I can’t talk to YOU because you’re too emotional!
Him: I’m emotional because I feel like I’m talking to a wall!
Me: I’m a wall, because you’re emotional!
On one side, I felt thrilled that I was just given such an illuminating piece of dialogue to work with (I could tell, even then, that I’d stumbled on “treasure”), on the other hand, I was hurt and “in the moment” of being in a hurtful argument. After I was able to calm down, loose parts from the past two years started coming together.
Instead of my usual loop, I asked myself the new questions, “What am I feeling?” (Panic.) What does it look like when I feel this way? (An emotional wall goes up. I get stone-like. I am ready for anything horrible.) Why am I feeling this way? (I’m shutting down because I don’t feel safe. I guess, when triggered, I withdraw.) Why do I withdraw?
Aha! For a week or two prior, every time I had been engaging in meditation an image of me, as a 3 month old baby kept popping up: crying and hungry, but all my parents do is put a soother in my mouth and lovingly shush me. I cry harder, spit the soother out, and am desperate to eat, but they keep putting the soother in. They think I’m tired. Finally, completely let down by my parents, I give up. “They don’t understand me.” My heart breaks. I shut down and withdraw. I’m all alone. In complete defeat, I start to fall asleep and feel my parents’ satisfaction.
During meditation, I acknowledged that this image kept popping up but wasn’t able to figure out Why or What to do with it. Suddenly, “Why I withdraw” made sense. This goes way back. Way, way, way back. As soon as I linked that image of me as a baby to why I withdraw, an even earlier memory came to me. My parents have always said that I was “the best baby” because I started sleeping through the night at 3 weeks old. For the first time, I felt “my perspective” on that fact. I have a dark, fuzzy memory of feeling completely alone. No one is there for me. I’m left to comfort myself in the dark. I’m grateful for these memories and the contemplative practice that created space for these images to surface. I understand, “Why I withdraw.” It’s a behaviour pattern based on my attachment-style, that’s now 40yrs old.
Next question: Why is my attachment-style being triggered? In retrospect of the last 20 years, I don’t normally feel like I need to withdraw. I have decades of memories of acting out of a secure attachment style. It’s only been since my husband got sick (2years ago) that we started getting into arguments and that the arguments have been increasing in frequency and intensity. They’re always the same though: I feel threatened by how emotional he is. I assume he’s emotional because he’s been dealing with a serious illness. I shut-down and try and “bear it all” wishing and hoping for the day that he gets better and all of this ends.
By asking the new questions again, I start to get closer to healing. Why am I feeling the need to shut-down and withdraw? I went back to reading about attachment theory. “Fear of abandonment” triggers insecure attachment-styles. Why am I feeling “fear of abandonment?” My husband isn’t going to divorce me! Oh! WAIT! DUH! He’s been getting grand-mal seizures every five weeks, for the last two years. This means, every five weeks, I watch him and wonder if he’s going to die. Every five weeks, I face widowhood and raising two children on my own. I discover that I am afraid, actually terrified. I’m terrified that my husband is going to die. I’m so terrified, I want to detach now. I want to pull-in so that it won’t hurt so much if he does die. I want to make sure I’m “not affected” so I can be strong for my children if this happens. What does the strong woman do in this scenario?
Suddenly I became aware of the complexity of the situation. It IS complex. How can I chose to continue to love someone and build on that love when they might die? I’ll be a wreck. If I’m a wreck, how will I support my children? What if my husband doesn’t die though? If he lives and I stay like a wall, I’ll miss out on a lifetime of love, intimacy, and companionship. That would be worse.
In the end, I learned so much by changing the questions that I ask myself. By asking more “Why’s” I’ve become aware that I withdraw when overwhelmed and that my husband’s illness, while triggering me to withdraw, has provided an incredible gift of magnifying our relationship dynamics so that we can heal unhealthy patterns. By engaging in daily meditation, I’ve become aware of how complex this situation is. It’s not a sign of weakness.
The strong woman is aware when help is needed.
The strong woman engages.
