“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
It’s a question we’ve almost all been asked, as children, over and over. The “be” in the question always refers to work/career–as if that is the most important part of who we become.
And WHEN are people grown-ups? Is it age 18? (Not.) Is it post-college age? How about right around the midlife crisis time? Nope, I actually would say that midlife crisis (which happens all the time and doesn’t necessarily involve red sports cars) occurs right alongside the realization that you’ve become a “grown-up” and you haven’t actually figured out everything you thought you would and you might have made some decisions that aren’t proving to be as fun or exciting (parenthood? marriage?) as you’d always imagined.
Usually the signposts of adulthood that people mention have something to do with seeming to “have your sh@$%t together.” When I’ve asked around, one friend said she’d thought when she was a grown up her refrigerator would be neatly organized. My mother always said half-jokingly that she’d truly feel grown up when she had matching bedroom furniture (I guess my mother wasn’t grown-up until post-retirement).
However, we can probably all agree that there are some pretty organized folks out there who’ve got very little in the emotional maturity bank.
The fact is, in this time of globalization and individualism, many of us have largely distanced from any religion or culture that provides education for, and rituals to mark, the transition from youth to adulthood. Certain markers are laid out as goals and expectations (varying depending on class/income/education):
But what do you do if you reach some or all of these goals and you still feel like you’re faking it till you make it?
Realize you’re not alone. As Albert Einstein said, “The more I learn, the more I realize how little I know.” Not-knowing is perhaps more of a sign of maturity than knowing (think of the all-knowing teenager). Life is both too complex and too simple to comprehend. The best we can do is continue to let go of thinking we should be able to tie everything up in neat little packages.
Maybe instead of growing up, we should aim for growing wise. We all have wise parts and confused parts–the more grown-wise we are, the more we are able to notice the confused or scared parts. We can let the wise parts lead the confused parts instead of letting the confused parts run the show. The more we listen to the wise parts and let them lead, the more we are able to relax into each moment…to let go of needing to define or compare ourselves. We simply become more comfortable being who we are more and more fully.
Dear Blog Friends,
Recently my site was messed around with by hackers but now it’s fixed. The mess affected the site statistics so any clicks on my site are greatly appreciated right now.
Today is Yom Kippur…the Jewish holiday where we set the intention to make better choices and be more kind in the New Year, and where we ask for forgiveness from those we’ve hurt–even animals and our lovely planet Earth.
We ask to be “inscribed in the book of life” for a sweet, healthy, New Year and I wish the same for all of you.
A new blog post on aging is coming soon!
It’s so hard for us–being animals with overgrown brains. All of the biological systems on which we depend–our bodies–can’t help but respond as animals do. Our bodies are on the look-out to see if we’re safe, if we’re going to get enough of what we need…and we can’t help but subscribe so much significance to our lives. Our lives ARE significant–to us at least–to others who love us–but what do we do when our tribe, our village, our family, our cities don’t meet our needs?
We are animals, longing to be nestled in the dark den. Surrounded by brothers and sisters. Eating and playing. Living and growing. These are the deepest longings of our cells. If, when we’re young, we experience some lack–of safety, of food, of nurturing–we carry that through our lives searching for the pack that will give us what we never got and so desperately needed.
It may be your journey to find healing from the wounds of the family who wasn’t able to give you what they probably never had themselves. But there is a hitch. In my practice–I see people who turn again and again to those wounded families hoping for healing. Hoping for a chance to get the love and acceptance from their mothers and fathers which they didn’t get as children. But most often, unless those family members have also been on a path of growing and healing my clients are disappointed. The mother still doesn’t stand up for her daughter, the father is still critical of his son.
What do you do when you need to heal but your family won’t give you what you need? Won’t apologize? Doesn’t even see your pain? Still believes the judgments you’ve come to internalize?
Here are some steps for moving forward:
1. Turn towards your inner child: For all the cheese of the term–it’s true. The parts of yourself that are longing for healing need attention and if your family can’t or won’t give it to you, you have to give it to yourself. Think of a young child or animal in your life whom you nurture and send that same kind of protection, empathy, and kindness to the young You.
2. Write a letter which you won’t send (unless you want to): Even if your family won’t listen and won’t understand–you need to express your disappointment, anger, righteousness, passion. Center yourself before writing this. Consider burning it ritually and sending the ashes into the ocean or some body of water…
3. Find relationships which support a new kind of family: Find friends, teachers, therapists who nurture, love, and accept you for who you are. Who communicate with you in kindness and authenticity.
4. Challenge yourself (in a kind way) to understand your own family’s wounding: It’s easy to play the internal tape of “If I was only X enough they would have loved me more (or criticized me less or whatever).” No. It’s not you. It was their job to raise you. They were your family. You ended up playing a role in the general dynamic, but it’s a parent (or guardian’s) job to keep their children safe and to nurture them. But they could only give what they had themselves. They could only teach what they understood themselves. It doesn’t make pain or abuse or neglect okay, but it is the truth about why it happens. It can be freeing to see how stuck they are and to see if you can forgive or understand how they came to be who they are.
5. Catch yourself trying to get what you need from them if your Wise Self wants to let that go: The ego part of you (or the inner child) tends to think that their love and approval are necessary. It’s certainly a beautiful thing to get that love and approval, but if it ain’t gonna happen, it’s going to prolong the pain. This often comes in the form of unrealistic expectations for “this get-together to be different” or “this time they’ll listen and respect what I say.” Check yourself for realistic expectations.
6. Allow the feelings of pain and disappointment to be there, and then move forward into your own beautiful life with tenderness–hug the folks who are ready to hug you, and know that you are a whole, lovable person by virtue of being alive.
My son has a book about a tractor named Otis. Otis saves a calf who’s fallen into a mud pit. The calf is struggling to get out and the more he struggles, the deeper he gets sucked into the thick, sticky mud. It all ends well for the calf and Otis, but what about the rest of us who’re stuck in the mud with no friendly tractor to pull us out?
Because we’re all stuck in some mud. It’s the nature of being human.
Buddha spoke of it when he said that life is suffering. Maybe you’re sick, maybe you’re lonely, maybe you have a hangnail. Maybe your marriage is falling apart, maybe your children are driving you crazy. Maybe you’re lazy or broke or 4 pants sizes bigger than you want to be.
This is what it means to be human—to be imperfect in our own uniquely beautifully messed up ways.
So many people spend so much time and energy worrying that they are too __(fill in the blank)__. That if people only knew how _(fill in the blank)____ they were the shit would hit the fan. What would happen?
Would everyone really turn their backs and walk away? Would stones be thrown at your head? Would you be exposed as a breathing, sweating man or woman with bruises and bumps?
As somehow more truly broken or icky than everybody else?
We are ALL warty. Whatever you are worried about—that you are too _(fill in the blank)___—there is likely some truth to it…
…AND it is NOT the WHOLE TRUTH.
I am impatient. I can’t remember anything about history or dates. I get lost in the plots of complex movies and need someone to explain it to me. I snap at my kids. I don’t like the burn of an intense workout. ALL true. But I’m also loving, and funny and smart in all kinds of other ways. And so are you.
Sometimes I work with clients who fear that, on some deep-down buried level they are evil. And even that is partly true. We are all microcosms of the universe and bad/evil is part of that universe so it is part of us. It’s the yin and yang. It’s the whole gorgeous blob of sweet aliveness. But it’s an evolving universe, and unless you have a serious head injury or cognitive disorder, you’re evolving too. The definition of evolving is to develop towards more a mature, advanced, complex form. And when we use the brilliant consciousness we’ve been graced with as human beings, we can shine the light of mindfulness and compassion on even the dingy, stingy bits of our beings.
When we can stop writhing in the mud, we can quiet down. We see our muddy legs, the brown splotches of mud on our elbows. We see all our loved ones in the mud with us—and they’re splotchy too. They have mud mushed on their cheeks and in their hair. But we don’t hate them for it. We love them in spite of that wet, soggy dirt.
Maybe when you allow yourself to look clearly at yourself you find things you don’t like. That happens. But when we are seeing clearly, there isn’t a charge. It isn’t the end of the world; it’s just a little mud. So maybe we wash some of it off. We try to change what we can. But it’s not an emergency. It’s just growing into the next moment we’ve been gifted.
Some people struggle with phobias, some people with loss. Some folks have confusion about their career, some with their sexuality. But, as a therapist, the most common issue I see people wrestling with is self-criticism and lack of self-worth. The most important part of my role is holding the knowledge of my clients’ value and goodness. So it begs the question: How do I KNOW my clients are valuable and good? And what does that even mean?
The Buddhists have a term: basic goodness. Basic goodness rests on the fact that, at their core, all beings want to be happy and peaceful. Often, people think they’re the one exception in regard to basic goodness. However, it’s not the adult client I see in my office, but their scared inner child, who wants to have a conversation about why basic goodness doesn’t apply to them. This may be because of scary feelings they have, or poor choices they’ve made, but most often it’s because some relationships or experiences during their childhood sent them the message that they were unacceptable in some way. A message that was internalized and generalized.
Life runs from aggression and is soothed by love. Life wants to persist. When people’s behaviors don’t follow these rules, it’s not because they’re bad. In those cases there’s pain or fear blocking someone’s true nature of basic goodness. It’s not their fault—it’s their work. It’s not something to eradicate—it’s something to breathe into with gentleness.
Recognizing our own basic goodness is important to every one of us. Many of us live our lives running after or running away from relationships, intimacy, and opportunities to “prove ourselves worthy” out of fear of our being somehow defective.
With our human minds, we often can find ourselves caught in trying to figure out if we’re worth the love, self-acceptance, and gentleness for which we long. When we react to and obsess about the internalized voice that says “Something is wrong with me” we end up struggling to maintain it (out of familiarity) or disprove it as a subplot to our life.
And though it’s a subplot so many share, it’s one of which people are ashamed. And so we go around smiling, functioning, showing our most confident sides—masking the core doubt and pain—hoping to someday figure out how to feel or be lovable and worthy.
The thing is: There is nothing to figure out.
The internal voice which has all kinds of proof—for and against why we are or aren’t pieces of shit—is actually a freaked out kid who needs our love, attention, and acceptance. We wouldn’t push away a scared, confused child saying “What’s wrong with you? Stop all your scared/sad bullshit and get over yourself!” but we say something like that to ourselves all the time.
However cheesy the term “Inner Child” is, it’s a true and powerful concept.
The rules with which we’ve been parenting that child don’t work: logic, force, demands.
Your scared inner child doesn’t have the resources to comfort himself. She’s not going to be able to decide you’re ok. Drop the rules. Drop the logic. When the methods you’ve been using to feel better don’t work, you have to stop struggling to make them work. You have to return to love.
It doesn’t make sense to reason a scared child out of his or her fears:
“Monsters don’t exist because I say so.” OR
“It’s silly to be afraid to go down the slide.”
However much we know that the child’s fears are not based on truth, debating the issue is beside the point and generally unhelpful.
Maybe we talk about what it feels like to be afraid. Maybe we explore what could be stressing the kid out. Maybe we offer to lie together in the dark until the child feels safe. Maybe we remind the child we believe in her and we’ll keep her safe.
That empathy and comfort is what we need to offer ourselves.
We need to do that for ourselves. Our wish to be loved is the only proof we need that we are lovable.