Tiny Buddha

Tag: angry

  • Understanding the Cycle of Pain: How to Transmute Anger into Empathy

    Understanding the Cycle of Pain: How to Transmute Anger into Empathy

    “When we get angry, we suffer. If you really understand that, you also will be able to understand that when the other person is angry, it means that she is suffering. When someone insults you or behaves violently towards you, you have to be intelligent enough to see that the person suffers from his own violence and anger. But we tend to forget … When we see that our suffering and anger are no different from their suffering and anger, we will behave more compassionately.” ~Thich Nhat Hanh

    There is so much to be angry about every day because life is unfair.

    My own situation right now is infuriating. I left my job and my home country in large part to return back to the US and help my mom care for my father. During that time, my mother’s frustration with her role as caregiver, along with the emotional stresses and practical limitations it placed on her, often boiled over into rage directed at me. This situation persisted for ten months.

    Immediately after that, she herself became terminally ill, and now my role is caregiver. My whole life plan has had to change as a result, so my hopes of going back to my old life now need to take a backseat to my mother’s illness, which was brought about by her own behavior (smoking). For so many years I had asked her to quit, to which she reacted—you guessed it—angrily.

    When it was clear she wasn’t doing well, I encouraged her to see a doctor. She got angry with me.

    While in the hospital, she was frustrated at being confined to a bed. She took her anger and frustration out on me for that too.

    Now, faced with difficult treatments and limitations on her lifestyle, she lashes out at me every day or two. Me—the only one at home with her, and the only one of her four children who has the will and/or ability to care for her in this way.

    I’m not going to lie—it’s difficult to refrain from reacting in kind, and sometimes I do just that.

    In my cancer caregiver support group, I found this is a common thread—people are angry, and they have difficulty directing and dealing with that anger.

    One woman has a husband whose blasé attitude toward his cancer puts him in a lot of dangerous situations. This completely stresses her out because she is in a constant state of worry about his health and safety. But, rather than expressing these sentiments, she has internalized them, allowing anger to slowly fester.

    It was a significant and therapeutic step for her to actually admit that she was angry. Her way of coping thereafter was to withdraw from her husband in order to preserve her own emotional well-being.

    Another woman was angry because her husband, sick on-and-off with cancer for nearly twenty years, was also depressed through his illness, leaving her as the sole caregiver and breadwinner. Needless to say, her marriage was far from the storybook version she’d originally had in mind. Her way of dealing with her anger was to be productive—to be the best mother and caretaker she could be—and occasionally vent or break down to some trusted friends or our group.

    There is nothing wrong or shameful about either of these two approaches. Both women have shown incredible fortitude in the face of difficult situations. Furthermore, their reactions were certainly much more constructive and peace-promoting than simply popping off and reacting temperamentally.

    However, I have found it helps take me to an even more peaceful state to remind myself of the cycle of pain.

    In this cycle, as succinctly described by Thich Nhat Hanh above, people act out in negative ways (e.g. aggressive, uncaring, etc.) as a result of inner pain. Even if that pain is difficult for us as outsiders to understand, it is there as a matter of fact.

    Though it may help to intellectually understand the specific causes and dynamics of the individual’s pain, in most cases that isn’t possible because you cannot get inside someone else’s head. But we can still accept that the other person is in pain. Once we accept this, we can relate it to our own and therefore feel empathy.

    This is very difficult to do in the moment. What helps me when I feel the flush of temper is to take a deep breath and close my eyes. When I take in that breath, I imagine myself “breathing in” the other person’s pain, which appears to me internally as smoke or pollution.

    I then imagine in my head what they are going through. That is why it helps to understand what the pain is. In my mother’s case, it’s the fear of her disease as well as the discomfort with suddenly having to deal with the restrictions it places on her time and activities.

    I imagine them dealing with that pain, and as the breath comes in I feel a sensation permeate my body. I then let out the breath, which I imagine to be a vapor of peace. I feel lighter and calmer.

    I call this alchemy for the soul—transmuting anger into empathy.

    When I expressed this in the group, I was met with crickets, except for the woman who was angry about her husband’s careless attitude about his condition. She had two comebacks.

    First, she said although that was a “nice” sentiment, she needed to take care of herself at this point and not worry about her husband’s emotions. After all, as the cancer sufferer, he was receiving all kinds of sympathy from every corner. Fair enough.

    Secondly, she said that it takes a lot of energy and effort to “suppress” your feelings when you’re already feeling exhausted from being the caregiver. I understand that too.

    At that point, I dropped the matter, firstly, because I sensed her slight agitation and secondly, because I thought it might strain the dynamics of our safe place if I came across as a preachy teacher in a group of equals.

    What I wanted to say was that this is not about her husband’s feelings. In fact, quite the opposite—doing this would be all about her emotions.

    To hold onto anger and need to direct it somewhere, to me, is draining. I need to carry it around and find where to put it. I need to put effort into not blowing up at someone. To me, this exercise of alchemy for the soul feels like the opposite of “suppression,” whose Latin origin literally means to “press down.”

    When I perform my little alchemy ritual, the feeling is much more of a lightening up or dissolving kind of sensation. Rather than doing someone else a favor, I feel like I am treating myself well, which allows me to treat others well too (and not begrudge them for it!).

    Even when someone else is clearly the “cause” of your anger, it helps to remember that it isn’t really him or her—it’s his or her suffering that is at the root of the hurtful actions. Yes, they are responsible for what they do, but it helps to remember that it’s human to sometimes act out when you’re hurting.

    If you feel that this thinking lets the person off the hook too easily, remember that however hurtful someone’s actions are, no one can “make” you feel a certain way. Ultimately, how you react internally to someone’s actions, what you choose to focus on and how you think about it, is your own responsibility. To blame another person for how you feel is to give him or her power over you.

    To be clear, I’m not making excuses for bad behavior. If someone does something cruel or thoughtless or aggressive to you, it is his or her failing for doing so. But however hurt you may feel in the moment, that person does not have the power to make you carry that hurt with you in the form of anger.

    Once again, this has nothing to do with you being a saint and deigning to give that person compassion or forgiveness; it’s about you taking care of yourself by stopping the angry chain reaction that can lead to all kinds of hurt and unfortunate behaviors.

    Why not just allow yourself to just be angry and make up a sad story about what was done to you in which you are cast as the victim? In a sense, you’re totally justified in doing so, but where does that lead? How does that help you? The truth is, you very well might have been a victim of someone’s aggression in that moment, but only you can make yourself remain a victim by carrying around the negativity.

    When you help yourself by letting go of your anger, you help everyone else around you too.

    This is a practice that has very much helped me, but it’s not the only way to deal with anger. I’m always in search of new strategies myself, so please feel free to tell me what’s helped you cope.

  • It’s Okay to Be Angry

    It’s Okay to Be Angry

  • It’s Okay to Be Angry

    It’s Okay to Be Angry

  • Why Anger Isn’t “Bad” and How I Learned to Hear Its Hidden Message

    Why Anger Isn’t “Bad” and How I Learned to Hear Its Hidden Message

    “Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.” ~Maya Angelou

    I’ve always had a complex relationship with anger.

    When I was young, I used to think I was somehow above anger. I would brag to people that I never got mad. Sure, I’d admit, I hated some people, but at least I wasn’t angry.

    When I began therapy in my mid-twenties to deal with persistent depression and panic attacks, I started to see the feebleness of that particular story. I did get angry, it turned out, quite frequently, and I found that things went much better when I allowed myself to feel it.

    I began to learn that my anger often contained useful information about me and what I wanted.

    It alerted me to the fact that one of my boundaries had been crossed, or that there was something I wanted to speak up about. It let me know when I felt hurt. I saw how my closest relationships could allow for anger without falling apart, and I began to accept it as a normal part of the human condition, perhaps even a helpful one.

    Still, as I perused self-help books and blogs and learned from spiritual teachers, I read about the dangers of anger over and over again.

    It’s the enemy of nonviolence, Gandhi said. The Dalai Lama once asserted that it’s the main destroyer of a peaceful mind. Even the Buddha is quoted as saying that holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.

    So I asked myself: Was it better to try to quell anger or embrace it?

    A Life-Changing Distinction

    I muddled through as best I could, hedging my bets and working to accept anger without amplifying its flames, until I began going to a local meditation class where the emphasis was on moving energy.

    The meditation is based on a blend of Buddhist and Taoist practices. In addition to developing mindfulness, we’re encouraged to notice the energy within us—whether emotional or spiritual—and let it move through us. We do this by noticing the physical sensations of the energy and then following their lead, either by making noise, moving our bodies, or simply observing with nonjudgmental awareness and presence.

    One day a fellow participant asked the teacher how to handle the large amount of angry energy she was feeling.

    “Move the energy of the anger,” my teacher said. “It’s not good or bad; it’s just what wants to happen. When you make space for the energy and allow it to move through you, it transforms you. Just don’t get caught up in its story.”

    I’d never heard anybody separate the story of anger from its energy before, but the distinction helped me a lot.

    I realized that when I feel the first flush of anger, I often come up with a story: Things shouldn’t be this way. He shouldn’t have done that. It’s her fault I’m feeling bad.

    Stories are about assigning blame, making people right or wrong, and moving into better than/worse than. They’re not so helpful. I realized that it’s anger’s story, not its energy, that “burns” us.

    Anger’s energy is neutral. It doesn’t seek to blame or make anybody right or wrong. When I feel anger in my body, I feel a burning sensation, a warmth, and a flow of intense energy. That’s it. It actually reconnects me to the strength in my core and reminds me that I’m powerful, capable, and alive.

    Hearing a Hidden Message

    It was while moving the energy of anger that I first heard its hidden message.

    Someone—a Very Important Person in my life—accused me of treating him poorly and having less-than-stellar intentions. I don’t remember his exact words, but I do recall that they implied I had been deliberately inconsiderate, selfish, and hurtful.

    I was outraged and began to tell a story. Why couldn’t he see my good intentions? It wasn’t fair; I was doing my best. He was being unreasonable, hurtful, and cruel.

    Fortunately, I knew enough to leave the conversation as soon as I realized I was triggered and go somewhere where I could move the energy. As I was feeling the burning heat of the anger, I realized that I was making the same movement over and over with my arms; pushing them out and away from my chest, I looked like I was trying to shove something away from myself.

    Suddenly it occurred to me: What I was trying to push away were the judgments, accusations, and negative opinions of my Very Important Person. It was almost like I was trying to set a physical boundary so that they wouldn’t penetrate my own being or take root in how I viewed myself.

    That’s when I realized that the energy of anger was trying to prevent me from internalizing my loved one’s criticism.

    An Inexhaustible Well of Strength

    As I kept pushing the negative opinions away from myself mentally and physically, I began to feel a sense of strength. I realized that I had a choice: I don’t have to take on anybody else’s judgments. I can choose to hold my own truth, one that sees the goodness in myself and everyone else, and I can act based on what feels right to me.

    Along with the sense of strength came a sense of immensity. It was like all the criticism and accusations had felt so huge and crushing just moments earlier because I had forgotten how big I was. Once I stood up to my full height, they seemed more like mosquitoes biting at my ankles.

    Feeling my own power and size again, I realized that I was free to say what I needed to say, no matter how difficult, without fear of how he responded. His thoughts and feelings couldn’t hurt me, after all. For someone like me with codependent tendencies who often cares too much about the opinions and expectations of others, this was pretty revolutionary.

    And then the most amazing thing happened. The anger burned itself right out.

    I believe this is because when I’m connected with my own power, I can advocate for and take care of myself. When I see clearly who I really am, nothing can threaten my sense of myself as a good person. Others have no real power over me.

    As a result, there’s no need for the anger, no need to either defend or attack, and no need to make my loved one wrong. After all, he’s really only trying to take care of himself in the best way he knows how, and no matter what he does, I have options in terms of how I choose to respond.

    All of this allowed me to go back to my Very Important Person, apologize for where I had been unskillful, express compassion for his suffering without taking responsibility for it, and let him know how the way he had communicated affected me. I was able to make a request about how he communicates with me when he’s upset.

    Afterward, we both understood each other better, and though it didn’t resolve the issue then and there, it did lay a foundation for finding resolution in the future.

    The Great Gift of Anger

    Anger is a perfect example of something that’s both/and, not either/or. It can be incredibly destructive if we pay too much attention to its story, and it’s also a healing and transformative force.

    It arises from a misunderstanding—that what I want and need is at the mercy of others—and it also contains within it the key to breaking free from that misconception.

    Anger arises when I forget that I already have everything I need within me (and by now I’m aware enough to recognize that this happens on a daily basis). I now see it as a fiercely loving force. It wants me to reconnect to my strength and size. It wants me to transform. It wants me to take back the power that is mine to treat myself with love and respect.

    It does its job by persisting until I am reminded of who I really am. I do mine by letting go of my small story long enough to hear its higher message.

  • 40 Ways to Create Peace of Mind

    40 Ways to Create Peace of Mind

    “Set peace of mind as your highest goal, and organize your life around it.” ~Brian Tracy

    There was a time when I thought peace was a destination, in much the same way I imagined I’d eventually arrive at happiness or success.

    It seemed like something I needed to chase or find—definitely not something I could experience without dramatically changing my life.

    I needed to work less, relax more, and generally revamp my circumstances and relationships in order to be a peaceful person.

    Despite seeing peace as an endpoint, I also saw it as something passive; after all, that’s why I was so stressed: I had so much to do.

    I’ve since realized that peace is always available, and like any desirable state of mind, it requires effort, even if that effort entails consciously choosing to be still.

    Sure, our circumstances affect our mental state, but they don’t have to control them, not if we make tiny choices for our well-being.

    Admittedly, it’s not easy to choose peace when we’re going through tough times. I still go through periods when I get caught up in worries and stresses, and it can feel like that’s the only available response to things that have happened.

    But it’s not. There are countless things we can do to create peace of mind, both in response to events in our lives, and proactively, everyday.

    If you’d also like to develop a greater sense of peace, you may find these suggestions helpful: (more…)

  • Why I Believe That Feeling Offended Is a Choice

    Why I Believe That Feeling Offended Is a Choice

    “The feeling of being ‘offended’ is a warning indicator that is showing you where to look within yourself for unresolved issues.” ~Bryant McGill

    As I ponder back over my forty-odd years on this planet, I can’t really remember going lengths of time without feeling offended. By someone’s words, or actions. It was simply my default reaction.

    Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t enjoy it. Feeling offended never feels good. Ever. There’s always a sting. Which is probably why the (many) “feeling offended” memories are so prominent. And clear.

    Some of them were simple and relatively unimportant.

    Like the time I was sharing some important insight with my (then) partner. I was mid-sentence and fully engaged emotionally only to be cut short as he decided to take an incoming call from his ex-wife. And promptly left the room.

    Yup, I took offense.

    Or what about the time, more recently, when I discovered I’d been “unfriended” by one of my oldest friends on Facebook? No explanation offered. Just gone.

    Yup, I took (major) offense to that too.

    As I reach further into my treasure chest of memories, there are also those bigger “feeling-offended” moments. Those that had a more reaching impact on me. That made me question myself. My values. My self-worth.

    My daughter’s dad left the country when she was three. My relationship with him was difficult, so I’ll admit I was relieved. It did mean, however, that I was to be a single parent in every sense of the word.

    And I took that role seriously. I was young and naïve, but I did my best with what I knew and felt proud of each parenting milestone.

    Her dad, on the other hand, showed up annually for a week or two, created a bit of emotional upheaval, and then left. Again. His input (emotionally and financially) was limited.

    I was left to make all the decisions—important or not—and I liked that. It felt free. Independent.

    When my daughter was about ten, I decided to move her into a different schooling system, one that I felt she would thrive in. Her dad caught wind of this and decided he had the right to interfere. And he did.

    What followed was an unforgettable telephonic conversation, wherein I was lambasted for my somewhat shortsightedness in her educational needs, as well as in my general parenting too!

    I. WAS. OFFENDED.

    Who wouldn’t be! Right?

    And boy, did I wallow in that pit of self-indignant injustice! For weeks!

    Just who did he think he was! Seriously??

    And it felt uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. I vacillated between anger, hurt, and indignation. I replayed the event over and over and over. It consumed my thoughts. Totally.

    Over time, the thoughts faded and life moved on. Yet if I engaged that memory, all the feelings flooded back, just as powerfully.

    The hurt.

    The sense of injustice.

    The feelings of worthlessness.

    In a way, I felt powerless to it.

    Feeling offended was a reaction. How could it ever be a choice?

    In recent years, I’ve come to understand more about how we interact with our thinking. That our thoughts are separate from us. And that engaging with them can be a choice we make. Consciously.

    With this in mind, let’s look at what really happens in the process of us feeling offended.

    1. We attach our sense of value to a certain aspect of our outer persona (what we present to the world, aka our ego).

    If you value yourself as a kind person, it’s not surprising that you would feel offended if someone said you were unkind. Being kind is how you present yourself to the world. It forms part of how you validate your worthiness.

    Conversely, if someone told you that you suck at being an astronaut, would you care? Probably not in the slightest.

    Because there’s no attachment to that as part of your identity.

    Simple, right?

    In the example above, being a “good mom” was part of my identity. It gave me a sense of validation. Having my parenting questioned left me doubting my sense of worthiness.

    But the truth is, we’re not our persona. Our worthiness is not attached to our ego.

    Feeling worthy is not something we find outside of ourselves. It’s inside us. Always has been. We simply need to reconnect with it.

    2. We attach value to other people’s opinions.

    Imagine that you’re innocently walking down the street, minding your own business and feeling content. A big burly chap accidentally bumps into you, and as you turn to look at him he screams at you. Expletives flow out of his mouth about how clumsy you are. How you should watch where you’re going.

    Yet it was his fault!

    How do you feel? Probably pretty offended. And angry. Insulted even. How dare he!

    But here’s the thing: His reaction had absolutely nothing to do with you. At all.

    He may have just been fired. Or had a fight with his mate. You were simply the excuse he found to vent his anger.

    So, in taking offense, aren’t you wasting your good mood? Will it help matters if you shout back? Will he ever apologize? Doubtful… You’ll just feel bad.

    We never, ever, know what others are thinking. Or feeling. We’ll never see life through their eyes. Which means our perspectives will always be different.

    So how can we ever see someone else’s opinion about us as our truth? It’s their truth. Only theirs.

    My daughter’s dad had no idea what I did as a parent on a day-to-day basis. How could he?

    Also, his idea of parenting varied hugely from mine. We had vastly different perspectives. In his world, his was right, and ditto, me in mine.

    So how could I place any validity or truth to his criticism of my parenting?

    How could I truly feel offended? His outburst was never about me. It was simply his opinion. That’s all.

    Choosing not to feel offended comes from a place of strength. It’s an empowered perspective. A choice. But it doesn’t mean that we’re condoning the offender’s behavior. No, not at all. Quite the opposite applies.

    Spiteful or derogatory comments grounded in phobias, like racism or homosexuality, are mostly fear-based. And they’re usually founded in ignorance.

    By choosing not to feel offended, we’re taking the high road. A higher perspective. One that feels good.

    We’re only ever responsible for our role in this interaction.

    Honestly? It’s not always easy. Especially when it’s close to home. Involving someone we love.

    Sometimes feeling offended is simply part of the human experience. And that’s okay.

    From an empowered place we can move past it. Let it go. And lean toward our innate sense of well-being.

    Feeling worthy feels confident. Content. Relaxed. Safe.

    It’s knowing that we’re enough. Total unconditional acceptance. Just as we are. No judgment.

    As we extend that to others, we become immune to their behavior. And opinions. There’s just unconditional acceptance.

    And that’s when you truly feel empowered. When you can really accept your role in taking offense.

    And simply choose not to.

    It’s that simple.

  • Sometimes I’m Not Angry, I’m Hurt

    Sometimes I’m Not Angry, I’m Hurt

  • It’s Okay to Be Angry

    It’s Okay to Be Angry

  • It’s Okay to Be Angry

    It’s Okay to Be Angry

  • Your Anger is a Guide: Embrace It and Set Yourself Free

    Your Anger is a Guide: Embrace It and Set Yourself Free

    “Where there is anger there is always pain underneath.” ~Eckhart Tolle

    In the sixth year of marriage, my husband shocked me by telling me that he had decided on an open marriage. This would give him permission to do what he was already doing, having an affair.

    In one of my rare times of anger I argued and struggled with him. I can still see myself hitting him in the chest as he tried to put his arms around me to reassure me of his love.

    As he defended his position, he reminded me that I wasn’t being rational. I stopped protesting because that charge impacted me immediately. Logic and rationality were my guides.

    This surge of anger was new in my life. I had learned to bury my feelings, especially anger, growing up in my Japanese-American family where we hid most emotions.

    Adding to pushing down my feelings, I relied on intellect, my head, and dismissed my heart.

    When he attacked a vulnerable spot—to be rational—I became silent. It was the first of three betrayals I lived quietly through over the years.

    I swallowed two other screams of “No!” when, over the years, I learned about two other women, who intruded not only into my life, but also into my home.

    Why would any woman stand for this?

    Besides suppressing my emotions, I also learned from a young age to make the needs of the group, the others, more important than my own.

    Throughout my life, I let other people’s needs define my life.

    I disregarded my anger and I disregarded my needs.

    Why Burying Anger is a Recipe for Unhappiness

    When you bury anger, more than your anger is involved—you dampen all emotions, including joy.

    In my case, I was the model of a well-adjusted successful professional and, after I divorced my husband, a single mom.

    Inside a deep discontent lived undetected in my heart. It wasn’t until I slowed down in early retirement that I became aware of it.

    When you don’t have anger, you may think that there’s nothing wrong with your life.

    Why We Often Choose to Bury Our Anger

    You learn in childhood that adults don’t like you being angry. When you throw a temper tantrum, large or small, you get punished for it.

    This teaches you that being angry is bad and you should keep it to yourself.

    As an adult, when anger gets the best of you and you show it, people around you don’t respond well to it either.

    Some get frightened by anger. Others get defensive or angry in return. Exchanges full of anger often lead to regret and shame. They can even end a close friendship–a price you don’t want to pay.

    Embracing Your Anger Does Not Mean Throwing Tantrums

    When you express your anger, you think that you’re right and that the other person or situation needs to change. Or you say regretful, stupid things fueled by anger.

    In any case, you believe that someone or something outside you is the cause of your anger. This stance makes it easy to miss the early signal to go inside and investigate. 

    Embracing anger is turning inward to know your heart. It means spending time with your anger to learn what is under it—what’s really going on.

    Treat Every Inner Disturbance as a Clue

    Nothing changed in my life until I started to pay attention to all disturbances in peace I experienced, the little irritations, annoyances that were signs of anger. I began to appreciate whatever anger bubbled up because I saw it as a guide.

    Here’s an instance of a little annoyance I would have disregarded earlier in my life. I was talking with my partner on a walk through downtown about some insights I had about an important relationship. He interrupted me to point out how a new hotel construction was being completed, with details that could be barely seen at night.

    I felt disturbed, but instead of just burying that feeling like I normally would, I asked myself why I felt that way. I realized the annoyance pointed to anger about attention taken away from me. Needing attention from people who matter is a need I have. If I don’t get the attention, I feel like I don’t matter.

    I also recognized that my typical strategy would be to remain silent and let my partner go on. But instead of being silent, I stepped out of the pattern to speak up and stand with a new belief that I am important and deserving of attention.

    In this instance, once noticing the disturbance and realizing what it meant, I said, “What I’m saying is more important to me than what you’re pointing out that I can see another time.”

    My message was accepted with a small apology.

    Attuned to the energy of anger, I found it hidden in jealousy, envy, blame, frustration, disappointment, regret, withdrawal, stubbornness, and shame.

    I even found it in my lack of kindness in talking to my partner, my banging cupboard doors, my prolonged silence, and my criticism and judgment of others.

    When you follow each sign of anger you will find what is buried in your heart. You will discover what you need to resolve lifelong patterns that limited your growth.

    Through Your Anger You Discover Your Needs, Beliefs, and Strategies

    I began to know and honor the needs underlying my anger, such as my needs for acknowledgement and attention as I describe above.

    I also realized I had many limiting beliefs that stemmed back to my childhood, when my needs weren’t met. This is where my feeling of not mattering came from, but now I could recognize it and deal with it.

    Related to these beliefs I also saw the variety of limiting strategies I adopted trying to get these needs met. Some of these were being an over-achiever, a perfectionist, and overly self-reliant.

    To illustrate, I recently felt angry when I didn’t make the cut in auditioning for a voice ensemble. When I stayed with my anger, I found the pain of a wounded young-child who believed she wasn’t worthy, and saw clearly her strategies of people-pleasing and over-achieving that failed to get her what she wanted.

    Not only does your anger guide you to your needs but it helps you recognize the limiting beliefs and strategies that run your life. These were created and adopted early in childhood by a very young child and their limitations deserve examination.

    Deeply Exploring Your Anger Involves a Commitment

    Taking full advantage of honoring your anger involves taking the time to begin a process of discovery.

    This means remembering to remain the adult compassionate witness to what is there, and not identifying with or be taken over by the anger, and finally remaining with the anger long enough until you drop into what is beneath it.

    You may discover child-like vulnerability, fears, helplessness, and pain.

    When you integrate with lost parts of you, you deconstruct the patterns that run your life and free your original innocent heart to shine through.

    You are Richly Rewarded for Embracing Anger

    When you are one with your heart, you know not only your needs for safety, love, and community but your deep longings for meaning and purpose.

    You consciously make choices true to your heart.

    Then your heart opens—to love more and deeply; to reveal its wisdom; to see the world as an innocent child; to be present and accepting for all that shows up; and much more.

    Embracing anger may be counter-intuitive, but in doing so you become aware of old, unconscious reactive patterns. In becoming aware of these patterns you free yourself to choose from a place of power.

    Fully in your power you allow yourself to be fully present to experience life from the only moment you ever have—this present moment.

  • How to Forgive When You Don’t Think You Can

    How to Forgive When You Don’t Think You Can

    Angry Couple

    “The truth is, unless you let go, unless you forgive yourself, unless you forgive the situation, unless you realize that the situation is over, you cannot move forward.” ~Steve Maraboli

    Have you ever had a relationship, friendship, or marriage that ended so badly it took years, a decade, or even longer to heal? Have you ever wished you could forgive someone but just didn’t think it was possible?

    Fifteen years ago I was twenty-six and in a relationship with a man that was destructive. After an intense romance in his home country, I made the poor decision that he should come to live with me in San Francisco—a decision that, in hindsight, was immature.

    Three months and one visa sponsorship later, we were living together and immediately fell into the challenges of modern day multicultural relationships.

    Aside from the fact that my boyfriend was jealous, obsessive, and immature—a trait I hadn’t seen clearly in the beginning—he couldn’t work legally, we didn’t have a common fluent language between us, and he was far away from his family for the first time in his life.

    The worst and most difficult part, however, were our cultural differences. My boyfriend was jealous, obsessive, and controlling, whereas I was a young, driven, independent woman.

    He would become despondent, accusatory, suspicious, and sometimes even fly into a jealous rage whenever I left the house.

    Our relationship became emotionally abusive, yet I was scared to leave. He was financially dependent on me, he couldn’t work and didn’t have anywhere else to go, and he didn’t have any family in the United States.

    I was riddled with guilt and felt horrible, because I had brought him to the US and felt responsible for him.

    After a year of struggle, he moved out and I settled into numbness, not wanting to begin to unearth the emotions that needed to be processed in order to recover. I was emotionally scarred and suffered years of nightmares.

    Time passed and I pushed the hatred in my heart deeply out of awareness. We never spoke, until a few years ago.

    I had just been through a traumatic family experience, and had begun a Metta, or loving-kindness, practice as a means of understanding the circumstances taking place in my life. Surprisingly, the practice enabled me to find forgiveness in my heart for my ex-boyfriend.

    Metta is a traditional Buddhist tool for cultivating loving-kindness. In the practice, we sit as if in meditation and let the energy of love into our hearts.

    We repeat a mantra in which we hold in mind a life without danger, with mental and physical happiness and ease of well-being.

    We start by imagining happiness and compassion for ourselves, and then, progressively, we extend love out into the world, to a benefactor, a friend, a neutral person, a difficult person, groups of people, and finally to all beings.

    I sat in the Metta practice for ten minutes daily, and I picked my ex-boyfriend as my “difficult person.”

    At first I had difficulty when I held him in mind and wished him a life of happiness and well-being, as I didn’t really feel he deserved that. However, over time it became easier and my resistance subsided.

    One day, after about a month of the practice, I was sitting at my computer and on a whim decided to look him up on Facebook. I looked at some pictures of him rock climbing, and a smile came to my lips.

    I saw some images he had posted, of cliffs, mountains, and people bouldering, and by and by I came across a girl, a baby a few months old, words of congratulations, a graduation, and more congratulations.

    Lots of memories came flooding back, and this time I didn’t block them out. I remembered our tears, his pain at losing me, the very different places we had been at in our lives during the time we were together, how naive and young we both had been.

    I came to the realization that I had as much to forgive myself for during that time as I did him. The tears brought about relief and then happiness, as I found myself truly happy for all of the good things that had come to him after we parted, evidenced by what I saw on Facebook.

    Then some good memories came to me; I had blocked them out over years of resentment and the inability to see anything good in him.

    I remembered what he had given me, how he had opened my eyes to a new culture, helped me explore a new country, revived my love of the outdoors, and supported me during my foibles with Spanish.

    An image flashed through my mind of a day we finished a pitch on a long climb in Yosemite, and I remembered that day with true and genuine fondness.

    This experience moved me and was the final step in my full healing from the wounds of many years before.

    Letting go of my negativity and resentment toward him brought about a lightness. He no longer appears in my dreams; I am able to look at everything that happened as a learning experience.

    The Metta practice served as a tool for me to discover the compassion in my heart, for him but mostly for myself, enabling the pain to surface, be processed, and dissolve.

    How can we use the healing power of loving-kindness in our daily lives? Especially when we don’t feel ready to forgive, when the effects of abuse go too deep, or when we simply don’t feel the other person deserves to be forgiven?

    Like the Metta Practice, there are tools we can use to overcome our own blocks to forgiveness, even when our minds and hearts aren’t ready.

    Here are some tips to remember:

    We are the primary beneficiaries of the practice.

    Despite the fact that during the Metta practice we focus on others, we are always the primary beneficiaries of our efforts.

    We can forgive someone and it doesn’t require getting in touch with that person or making them aware of what we are doing in any way. Just as when we hold hatred in our hearts we are the ones who suffer from it, when we find love in our hearts we benefit.

    It is best to start by cultivating love and compassion for someone we already love.

    Often the easiest place to start is not with ourselves but with someone for whom we already feel great love—a child, a dear friend, someone we admire or who has helped us in our lives.

    Even if we never extend our practice beyond this point, we already reap the rewards of the process itself. We are the ones who feel the great energy in the heart when we focus on our true desire for another to be happy and free from physical and mental pain.

    We must forgive ourselves for not being willing to forgive.

    Some human experiences are simply so destructive, some abuse so acute that we may not have the energy to process it. In this case, we can still benefit from forgiving ourselves for whatever negativity we hold toward ourselves for not being able to forgive or fully let go of the pain of our experience.

    Choosing to keep debilitating resentment and pain out of our awareness so that we can function in the world can also be a positive choice, if we stop feeling guilty about it.

    We can always choose to go at our own pace.

    We are always in charge of our own pace of change. We might not feel like forgiving now, and this doesn’t mean that we can’t choose it in the future. In the same vein, we can let go of our fear of forgiving by remembering we can always go back and harbor some resentment if we want to.

    We do not deserve to suffer.

    One of the illusions that we must let go of is that if we stop suffering, our aggressor will somehow benefit or be better off for it. This couldn’t be further from the truth. We hurt ourselves, when we deserve our own compassion. Even when a person doesn’t deserve to be forgiven, we certainly do not deserve to continue to suffer emotionally over them.

    Before beginning a forgiveness practice, we can ask ourselves, “What do I have to gain from this?” and “How is holding this resentment harming or benefitting me?”

    There is always love and openness to be gained from forgiving, from processing our pain and grief, but when and how much we do is always of our own choosing.

    In choosing to forgive we choose ourselves and take back our power. It doesn’t mean that we need to befriend our difficult person or that we should begin spending time again with someone who has deeply harmed us in the past.

    In the case of my ex-boyfriend, we did not end up becoming friends again. However, I did end up sending him a Facebook message in which I shared that I had been engaged in a loving-kindness practice and that despite all our troubles, I had forgiven him and truly hoped he was happy.

    Almost immediately, there was a response. He was indeed a new father, living in his home country with his wife. He had forgiven me long ago, he said, and he had always felt grateful to me, for bringing him to the United States.

    After we parted, he went on to achieve some of his life’s dreams; he had climbed El Capitan, he had gotten his master’s degree, found a good job, and eventually moved back to Colombia with his wife to have a family.

    He was happy to know that I, too, was happy and successful in life, he’d always known and hoped that I would be. And truly I am.

  • You Have the Right to Feel Safe in Your Relationships (Even with Your Family)

    You Have the Right to Feel Safe in Your Relationships (Even with Your Family)

    Hugging

    “Anger is a signal, and one worth listening to[…]  It exists for a reason and always deserves our respect and attention.”  ~Harriet G. Lerner, The Dance of Anger

    My journey to authentic safety began, at long last, with my discovery of my own anger.

    Anger is my least favorite emotion. I don’t even particularly like its cousins—annoyance, irritation, frustration.

    The moment that cemented my profound dislike occurred when I was a teenager.

    I had tucked myself away in a corner of the house—in the dark den where my family kept the computer. (Just a word processor—this was in the dark ages before the internet.)

    I was doing homework, I think, and an extended family member who was staying with us—someone I had always trusted and looked up to—burst into the room to confront me about something. (I don’t recall what it was, but I doubt it was particularly bad. I was a straight-A student, a people-pleasing, we-must-ALL-play-strictly-by-the-rules kind of child and teen.)

    I don’t remember what I said or did; I think I felt distracted. In any case, I somehow neglected to give my family member what he wanted and he grabbed the printed pages I’d set next to the computer.

    They were the pages of an important piece of writing I’d recently handed in at school; they’d been returned with a good grade, and, to my pleased delight, some specific words of praise scrawled in my teacher’s handwriting.

    My family member grabbed the pages and tore them to express his impotent frustration at not getting the response he’d wanted from me. I so clearly remember the distorted, crazed look of pure rage on his face.

    I remember thinking something like,

    That’s really not okay. Those pages, with those handwritten words, can’t be replaced. You are out of control. YOU are acting like a tantruming, irrational, destructive child.

    Looking at this from an outsider’s perspective, I realize this would probably not strike most people as a bad outburst. It’s pretty mild.

    But to put it in context: On the one hand, my parents were pretty nurturing, and angry outbursts were rare. There was some dysfunction, but enough stability and normalcy that I had a strong inner sense of what things should look like between people.

    At the same time, there was a lot of mental illness in my immediate and extended family—a lot of weird, distorted thought and behavior, a lot of unpredictability. Part of why I was such a rule-follower, or, rule-worshipper, even, was that it made life feel safe. Contained.

    I just hated anything that felt out-of-control.

    I yearned for things to feel normal, reasonable, safe. My trusted family member’s irrational rage struck me as emotionally chaotic; the kind of extremely disorderly thing I despised.

    I remember moving into a very distant place inside myself, and vowing something along the lines of:

    I don’t ever want to behave like that. Ever. I will never be like that.

    Many, many years later, as a long-married adult, I experienced a dramatic counterpoint to that.

    I was in my own home, and thinking about someone I love very much and how they had recently been betrayed in a way that was cruel, unjust, and profoundly devastating.

    Thinking about the person who had done the betraying, I imagined picking up a heavy piece of furniture in the room (far too heavy for me to lift, in actuality), and throwing it at the wall.

    The image startled me and I paused. And then I realized:  “Oh. I’m angry. I’m feeling anger. This is what that feels like.”

    I now realize it was dangerous for me to distance myself so deeply from my own anger. Not because I’ve ever been likely to act out mindlessly on that repressed anger, but because I had placed myself out of hearing range of the vitally important information that anger holds for all of us.  

    I couldn’t hear myself scream.

    In The Dance of Anger, Harriet G. Lerner writes, “Our anger may be a message that we are being hurt, that our rights are being violated… or simply that something is not right.”

    Letting the signals of anger go unperceived is potentially quite risky; those messages may turn out to be important.

    It’s also risky to ignore things like: a feeling of discomfort, because something about a situation feels weird or “off,” a feeling of jitteriness. A feeling of I’d rather not be here.

    All of these sensations are ones that we’re often discouraged from acting on, but perhaps most especially, with our families. With families, distancing ourselves from our bodies and the unpleasant feelings and signals they may hold for us, is so common that it’s a joke.

    “Oh, the holidays are coming up? Time to get plastered!”

    The lesson our society seems to be teaching here is: it’s best just to ignore how you actually feel.

    Of course, our interpersonal lives are filled with friction; it’s impossible to feel totally at ease with everyone, all the time. It can be noble and constructive to avoid fights, to let little things go.

    But sometimes, kindly acting on the information that anger has given us is the most important, most constructive thing one can do.

    Friendships and family relationships require care and attention to be healthy. Acknowledging where we feel uncomfortable or angry or hurt, and taking gentle action as early and often as we reasonably can, is a way of honouring and protecting a vitally important connection. So that it doesn’t degrade; so that discord and distrust can be repaired; so that both people in a relationship feel safe and can grow, together.

    Ignoring things and hoping they’ll magically get better, well, it turns out, that doesn’t work so well.

    Anger deferred too long means that something (or someone) is getting extinguished. In the short term, it’s the person ignoring their own inner signals who is silenced. But that can only be endured so long.

    Ignored anger goes underground, but it doesn’t go away. Eventually a person’s boundaries must be protected. After enough pressure builds up, anger erupts, and, too often, breaks trust and destroys friendships.

    With families, even more is on the line. We are influenced and affected by family members in ways that are well below our conscious awareness. And there is an active risk of harm to that most vulnerable and emotionally vital part of you—that “inner child” deep within.

    I can speak from personal experience about something that all too many of us have had to go through.

    When healthier members of a family grow—go into therapy, learn to recognize inappropriate or dysfunctional (even abusive) patterns and behaviors—they naturally want to help bring those insights back into their family systems. To initiate healthier patterns, for everyone.

    Attempting that can bring about a negative outcome that is simply blindsidingly bad. (It’s hard to anticipate because most relationships don’t operate like family relationships.)

    That blindsidingly bad outcome is: that our family system will not only refuse to change along with us, but our family members will deny that there are any problems at all.

    Or, they will tell us both that we are wrong about there being a problem, and, that we are the problem.

    Which is crazy-making and awful.

    In families, there can be tremendous pressure to let our unallowable anger go unaddressed, to deny our own reality until we extinguish us—our truths, our rights, our authentic selves.

    That’s a tragic, awful, unjust outcome. That doesn’t have to happen; instead, find someone—or better, many someones—whom you trust, who believe you, and figure things out in a safe, secure, reliable space.

    We are far more whole and wiser,* when we listen to the truths that our bodies, minds, and hearts are desperately trying to communicate to us. This is far from a simple process; listening to our feelings does not mean (as I believed for a long time) melding with the strongest feeling, identifying with it, acting without reflection on whatever the feeling wanted me to do.

    Figuring out how to listen well to feelings, how to respond to them from a place of separate-but-compassionate insight, what to do with the awareness and energy they offer—this is a long-term process.

    Finding a way to stay safe within a family system, on top of all of that—well, to my mind, there is no absolute right course of action for this.

    Having the courage and insight to change, and the further courage to protect our evolving well-being inside our families, it can be so complicated, so challenging, (so grueling!) to navigate all of that.

    Self-protection might involve avoiding the family (or certain members) while you take time to figure things out; making gentle requests for a family member to do things a little differently; asking one or more members to go to meditation or therapy with you; it might mean a short, long, or forever period of limited or no contact. It might mean a whole host of other things, entirely.

    In other words, it can take a whole lot of exploring and planning with people you trust, who stand outside the family, who have expert knowledge and are absolutely committed to your well-being, to find the path that is right for you, that makes your inner self safe and secure. 

    It took years for me to understand that when I said “no” to owning and knowing my own anger, I was leaving an extremely wise, and powerfully protective piece of myself behind.

    Anger can feel combustible; but it’s also energetic and fierce. It can lend us its strength and bravery and confidence.

    Of course, everything that bothers or angers us does not, by itself, constitute a reason to take immediate or drastic action. A world of hair-trigger tantrummers would be a nightmarish one.

    But if we are made to feel violated or uncomfortable, invaded in a way that feels “not right” in certain intimate relationships, especially relationships within our family of origin, there is no higher or more urgent calling than to heed and protect that inner child.*

    You have the right to protect your heart. The little one within needs you. S/he doesn’t need you to commit arson or murder; s/he might even be safest if you lay low for awhile; but no external accusation against you has any merit whatsoever, if you are taking good care of him or her.

    It is not mean, it is not rude, it is not selfish, it is not disloyal, it does not make you a bad daughter/son, brother/sister, family member/friend, to protect that inner child.

    Protecting our hearts doesn’t make us “bad” people; vigilantly and nonviolently protecting our hearts is exactly what makes it possible for us to be good, kind, generous human beings.

    I still crave approval, like the kid and teen I once was. I still want people to think I’m a “good” person (daughter/ niece/ friend). I still hate to let people down.

    But that sort of concern doesn’t matter in the least when it comes to my inner child. For her sake, it is irrelevant whether anyone else likes me or my choices, my words, my behavior, my values.

    Ultimately, all that matters is that I protect her. Because her safety is what makes all the rest possible—my sanity, my well-being, my commitment to my values.

    I can offer the world my best when I am whole; when I feel safe in the ways that matter to my inner, sensitive, wisely aware child. She may not have the cognitive tools to make sense of what’s going on; she needs my help, to understand and to take right action. But she has a deep, instinctual knowledge of what is and isn’t safe for me/ us.

    My highest, most sacred duty is to protect my vulnerable inner self; if my inner child is crying for my attention, that is a more urgent concern than anything else. Caring for her doesn’t make me rude or selfish or disloyal or bad; it makes me a kind, whole, responsible adult.

    I value kindness above almost anything else; in my most drastically self-protective actions, I have tried to speak carefully, act gently. But I am ruthlessly committed to my well-being, because without it, I’m worse than “mean” or any other name you might call me—I’m nothing. I’m a powerless, silenced sufferer.

    My goodness is a fount that flows from my refusal to allow my inner child to be invaded or abused.

    My intact wellness—protected by heeding my inner signals and guarding my boundaries—is the source of my integrity and insight and strength.

    If something feels not okay, you and I have the right to disengage, to step out and walk away. At. Any. Point. Without permission or explanation. Even, and especially, within your family.

    In fact, the title of this post could have been:

    You Have the Absolute Right to Take the Nonviolent Actions Necessary For You to Feel SAFE, at All Times, Especially with Your Family

    Family patterns change slowly. All too often, violence, abuse, and other unhealthy patterns are passed along for generation after generation. We can interrupt this cycle by taking ruthlessly kind and compassionately wise care of ourselves.

    Let us make our world one that is safe for children, one inner child at a time.

    —

    Footnotes:

    *I’m NOT an expert on this, but it’s my understanding that sometimes, in threatening, abusive situations, dissociating from the reality of what we’re feeling is actually a really effective coping strategy. Coping with and coming back from dissociation is, unfortunately, outside the humble scope of this article; but I hope it’s obvious that I symbolically lend my love and support to anyone on that journey.

    **I’m sensitive to the fact that responsible adults should actively nurture and protect their own actual child/ren first and foremost (and their inner child second). It seems a tricky thing to balance, and I hope that those seeking a resolution to this question will look, broadly and openheartedly, to the spirit and heart of what I have written here. Also, it is my hope, for all of us who parent or teach or mentor children, that we have been given or found the chance to do vital self-parenting work, first.  

    Finally: a few minor details included in this piece have been altered to protect the innocent.

  • How We Avoid Our Feelings and How Embracing Them Sets Us Free

    How We Avoid Our Feelings and How Embracing Them Sets Us Free

    Eyes

    “We numb our minds and heart so one need not be broken and the other need not be bothered.” ~Peggy Haymes

    Feelings are important, no doubt about it. They communicate all sorts of information to us. I don’t know about you, but I’ve preferred to ignore some of that information. Raise your hand if you would much rather feel the good feelings and just jump right over the not so good ones.

    Okay, so it’s unanimous. We all prefer the good, happy feelings. I expect we are all experts at finding ways to avoid the uncomfortable ones. But maybe we can share some avoidance techniques and try something new.

    I like to eat. Food has been synonymous with love in my world. It comforts… until it doesn’t, right? Alcohol? Well, thank heaven I was spared addiction, because, but for the grace of God, there go I.

    Running and exercise were at least a healthier alternative to dealing with my feelings, and I did feel a little better about myself, so that was justifiable, I’m sure. Oh, and let’s not forget a good movie, or even a bad one is a great distractor. Binge watching is even better.

    So, let’s add to the list. What do you do to avoid those uncomfortable feelings? Just take a minute to think about it. What are your avoidance techniques? Okay, time is up.

    Do you shop for stuff you do not need?

    Are you constantly on the go?

    Do you peruse social media incessantly, call or text anyone available?

    Do you eat, drink, and be merry?

    Spend more time with Match.com than you do with yourself?

    Do you clean your house, obsessively making sure everything is in its place?

    Lose yourself in a book?

    Surround yourself with so much chaos that you can hardly hear yourself think?

    Or maybe you avoid certain places or people or being alone.

    Do you work long hours?

    Get a front row seat into the life of someone that appears messier than you?

    The list could go on and on. So, pick your favorites and have at it.

    But before you do, I have to tell you that, in hindsight, I was one of the lucky ones.

    I was lucky because I could not keep avoiding those uncomfortable feelings, no matter how hard I tried or what avoidance technique I used. They were like a bad penny that kept showing up.

    If you want to know how that made me lucky, read on. If you prefer to just add some avoidance techniques to what you are already doing, then you can stop reading now.

    So, why was I lucky?

    Because, you see, my feelings ended up being my North Star to the life I wanted.

    First, some education: Feelings, and the emotions that go with them, like absolutely everything else in life, are energy. Energy, by its very nature, has to keep moving. Unfortunately, too many of us learned, at a rather young age, to stuff feelings down deep. Until expressed, those feelings still live on in our bodies.

    We often stuff them so deeply that we don’t necessarily know they exist, unless we are paying attention. Whether you recognize it or not, I assure you those feelings are still having a profound impact on your life. They follow you around in your relationships and in your interactions with yourself and others.

    Your feelings don’t keep you from being all that you can be. They don’t keep you from getting what you want. Your avoidance of them does.

    They show up in the tweak you feel inside when someone says something you don’t like. Or when the voice in your head is saying something different from what is actually coming out of your mouth.

    Maybe they make themselves known when you are driving in traffic or when your child is not obedient.

    How about when your spouse doesn’t help around the house the way you want or when your friends let you down?

    Maybe it shows up in the jealousy or envy you feel for others.

    And let’s not forget the way we tolerate inappropriate behaviors from others.

    The invitation can be subtle. Listen for it. Watch for it. It is always beckoning.

    Feelings left unresolved in our bodies result in dis-ease—mental, physical, and spiritual.

    At some point in my life, despite running, literally and figuratively, the feelings I was trying so desperately to avoid caught up with me.

    I had been running from feelings left over from childhood. I was angry. I was sad. I felt unloved. My self-worth was in the toilet. I tried not to notice.

    Having never learned my value, I unknowingly invited further abuse in my twenties. Running helped me deal with the emotional energy and irritability without my processing the feelings in ways that would permit resolution. In fact, I did not know feelings could be resolved. I thought, “I guess I will always feel this way.” I was wrong. Thank God I was wrong!

    So now, like one of those 5k races, I had run out of steam and I could not outrun my pursuer. So, unable to avoid any longer, I instead began to befriend those difficult feelings. Admittedly, I begrudgingly befriended those feelings, but befriend them I did.

    And I am forever grateful for having done so.

    I learned to be present to my own pain.

    Life is a mix of the good, the bad, and the ugly. Many of us have experienced some degree of childhood abuse, bullying, neglect, or trauma. The truth is, even in the best of circumstances, we have painful experiences and loss.

    As kids we were powerless. We were dependent on the adults in our lives, unable to fend for ourselves. That left us pretty vulnerable to our environment. As kids we were also pretty ingenious, finding phenomenal ways to defend against situations and feelings we could not handle.

    I became an extension of my dad, trying to be as agreeable and as like him as possible. If Dad was happy, I was better off.

    The problem is, I became the agreeable one in my adult relationships, denying the essence of who I was. I was taking care of the people around me better than I was taking care of myself. I hid who I was assuming it was not acceptable, since in childhood, it was not. What worked in helping me survive childhood ceased to serve its purpose in my adult relationships.

    In fact, those survival skills impede us from being whole, accomplishing our dreams, and having the healthy, intimate relationships we actually want. Unresolved feelings can leave us feeling depressed, anxious, physically sick, and any other number of symptoms. I had them all.

    I remember sitting in my family room one day, thinking. I probably don’t have to tell you how dangerous thinking can be! It’s one of the things we are often trying to avoid. I sure was. The next thing I knew, I was wiping down an already clean kitchen counter. As I regained consciousness from my obvious lapse, a light bulb came on.

    I realized that I did not like what I was thinking about, because it made me feel something I had no interest in feeling.

    Without any conscious awareness, I had gotten up and moved to the kitchen. Now, having woken up from my sleepwalking, I said to myself, “I keep moving to avoid my feelings.”

    Bingo!

    That awareness was a turning point for me, as I began to pay closer attention to the ways that I was avoiding myself, my thoughts, and my feelings.

    As a result of my newfound awareness, another light bulb moment happened one day while driving. I was entering the highway from a two-lane ramp, when a huge dump truck decided to cut over in front of me. I, having little choice, hit my brakes; otherwise, I would have hit him. Man, was I ticked!

    This was not a new experience for me. Trucks cutting me off always left me angry. That was the invitation. I had ignored it long enough. This time I was paying attention.

    Having a history of being pushed around by men, I had learned to be very quiet and compliant, in my attempts to avoid their wrath. Their unresolved anger was taken out on me and being smaller and weaker, I had little choice but to endure.

    Those unresolved feelings still festered inside, and every time a vehicle bigger than me “pushed” me into another lane or forced me to relinquish my right, those feelings got triggered.

    Now, I had something to work with. I needed to be angry. I needed to be sad and I needed to cry. I also needed to feel the powerlessness that had been mine.  

    This was just one of many aha moments I had on this journey of self-discovery. Feelings of anger, grief, sadness, and loss showed up in so many ways and for so many reasons. I finally allowed them to express themselves.

    So, yes, I was lucky. I could not avoid my feelings any longer.

    Through this process, I began to get more comfortable with the pain. It ebbed and flowed like the tides. I found the support I needed and could trust. This is not something we can often do alone.

    I chose to take myself to a psychotherapist, and that turned out to be one of the best things that I ever did for myself. “When the student is ready, the teacher will come.”

    I also began to deal with my self-esteem issues. My inner voice was harsh and judgmental. My feelings about myself were pretty hateful. Each feeling led to the next, taking me deeper into my own experience, and like the proverbial onion, I peeled it back.

    I was being invited to heal. And heal I did. Had I not gone through it myself, I would not have believed that my own transformation could take place in the way that it did. I was made new.

    Learning to sit with my feelings freed me from the need to live in avoidance mode day in and day out. I was no longer fearful. I was better able to go with the flow of life.

    As feelings showed up, I processed them by giving them voice and expression. They were leading me somewhere, and although I was not certain of the destination, I began to trust them.

    As the old feelings began to find their rest, I began to feel better. I was less depressed and less anxious, until I was neither. I enjoyed myself more. My relationships began to be easier. I was more comfortable in my own skin.

    Weeding through those difficult feelings was not easy, but neither was the way I had been living my life previous to having them. I had been afraid to speak up. I had been afraid of being ridiculed. I didn’t like myself. I was more uncomfortable than not. My relationships were distant and disconnected. I was living beneath my potential.

    The avoidance of those feelings controlled my life in more ways than I had been aware.

    We all avoid; it is human nature. We are afraid of the unknown. We are afraid we will collapse and never get up again. We are afraid of spiraling out of control. We are afraid of what change means. We are afraid of what others will think. We are afraid of so many things. And so we avoid.

    We tell ourselves, “It was in the past” or “It happened so long ago.” And lets not forget the “shoulds”: “I should be over this.” “I should let this go.”

    People would tell me, “Let it go.” I would think, “Don’t you think I would if I could?”

    People would say, “Get over it.” I would wonder, “How do I do that?”

    I would think of the people who hurt me, “They did the best they could. What’s wrong with me?”

    I realize now that those telling me to “let it go” or “get over it” were not dealing with their own feelings. And telling myself, “They did the best they could” may be true, but it did not eliminate the fact that what they did hurt me. It was just another way for me to avoid the hurt.

    There was nothing wrong with me. My feelings were about me. No one else. It wasn’t about blame. It was about acknowledging myself and listening to my pain.

    Unexpectedly, I began to trust myself. I learned what it meant to take care of myself and to follow my heart. I made myself a priority. I finally understood what it meant to “let go,” and I could. I made peace with my past, began to enjoy the present, and started to look forward to the future. I was excited about the possibilities.

    Don’t let anyone else tell you how it is. Don’t wait for someone else to make it okay for you to do what you need to do. Don’t minimize your own experience.

    I want to invite you to wake up. Dig in. Lean in.

    Know yourself, understand yourself, learn to love yourself. Pay attention. There are buzzwords like meditation, mindfulness, and self-awareness. Pick one and put it into practice.

    It’s okay to be scared and uncertain. It’s okay to find the support you need. Be your own best friend. Let those feelings have their day. Release them from your body. It will change your life in ways you cannot even imagine.

    You deserve to be free. You will be amazed at your own transformation. You deserve to have all that your heart desires. Can you hear it calling you?

  • Does Your Partner Often Get Angry and Shut Down Emotionally?

    Does Your Partner Often Get Angry and Shut Down Emotionally?

    Relationship Trouble

    “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” ~Carl Jung

    Three years ago I was on top of the world after realizing I had fallen in love with my best friend. Relationships this rare are beautiful, until one vital piece of them breaks down: clear communication.

    Although I didn’t know it at the time, when my ex and I came together as a couple, rather than being in love, we were both just mirroring each other’s deep unconscious pain; his mother had walked out on him at a young age, and my mother had unconsciously shut me down emotionally at a similar time in my life due to her pain and frustration with the reality she had created.

    I was not my most wise when I was with my ex, and I certainly wasn’t connected to my highest self. Instead, I was living from my mother’s pain, which I had taken on as my own. And I was putting undue amounts of pressure on my partner to step up and be the man I was waiting for him to be instead of accepting and loving him for the one he already was.

    So many of us do this, but it’s not our fault. If our parents only ever show us how to behave in childish or selfish ways, then that’s what we’re going to default to when we’re under pressure in our own relationships.

    I watched my mother behave resentfully toward my father on a regular basis when he did something that in her eyes was inherently “wrong.”

    I watched her shut him out for working late or not living up to her expectations, because she was struggling but unable to communicate how she was feeling.

    Then, whenever my partner did the same thing to me and I also considered it unjust, I activated my mother’s pain and everything she had taught me as a child. Consequently, I did the exact same thing to him, toxically damaging the trust between us.

    What I didn’t realize was that I needed to fully heal the wounds of my past. Without first doing my own healing work around my relationship with my mother and really understanding what she was going through, I could never fully love or trust a man, whether that man was my best friend of fifteen years or not.

    It appears that most people are recovering from a broken heart caused by one or both of their parents.

    I was broken hearted not from the so-called flaws in my partner and our relationship (although there were many issues), but from the deep, unconscious sadness that stemmed from never experiencing real love.

    If our parents are never educated on how to show us love, how can we hope to give that to ourselves and then create a strong foundation on which to meet a partner?

    It’s hard to show our true feelings to the person closest to us in our adult life if, as kids, we were repeatedly told to “shut up” every time we started crying.

    My mother’s behavior, learned from her own mother, made me numb and often terrified. She taught me that I needed to be perfect, and I unconsciously expected that same perfection of my partner.

    Because my mother had exhibited cruel behavior toward me when I was a child, I often didn’t feel safe to express myself around my partner and just be who I really was. So I often activated pain and anger that wasn’t mine, but was actually hers. I didn’t feel permission to ask for what I really wanted in my relationship, or anywhere else in my life.

    My ex and I were products of loveless marriages full of fighting, anger, and emotional numbing. That’s the education that many of us receive on relationships as kids, and so that’s what many of us perceive as “normal.” Then we carry that education into our own adult relationships and interactions.

    My ex’s stories and mine matched; neither of us had parents that showed us what it really meant to feel safe and secure.

    If we could all learn how to tap into and release our subconscious pain and understand each other and our differences, our relationships would take on a completely different form.

    I didn’t know how to communicate my feelings without my partner feeling judged or rejected because I had such a backlog of unprocessed emotion. In the same way, he didn’t know how to fully let me know he loved and supported me without feeling that he had to risk his masculinity and pride by being intimate and letting me into his heart.

    If we misunderstand each other and make assumptions that our partners don’t want to support us, we continually shut them down emotionally.

    So here’s what we need to understand and remember when our partner seems to be shutting down or struggling.

    We’re not angry with you. Our hearts were broken at a young age, and we’re not always aware of how deep that pain goes or how to communicate that to you.

    We don’t require you to troubleshoot for us when we’re struggling. We simply long for you just to listen to us talk about how we’re feeling and hold us in your arms when we’re not feeling good enough.

    We don’t mean to take our frustration out on you. We’ve just forgotten how to really love and nurture ourselves because we were never shown how to connect to ourselves on a deeper level and put ourselves first; you can remind us that it’s more than okay to do that at the times you can see our strength wavering.

    When we pull away, it’s not really the person you can see in front of you that’s doing this; it’s the terrified little child inside of us who has been frozen in time, and who’s still scared of getting their feelings hurt. Sometimes that child just needs a reassuring hug.

    There’s no doubt that our parents can mess us up emotionally, but it’s up to us to change the stories we have been conditioned to believe are our reality.

    Really, all that was playing out in my relationship was the result of what both of our parents had shown us. I denied the painful feelings of my parents’ divorce and played that story out unconsciously with my partner.

    Most people exist in relationships unconsciously, but if we’re serious about creating real and healthy partnerships, we need to become conscious. It’s about finding the best in each other every single day and co-creating an epic and expansive life together that allows two people to grow as individuals, as well as together.

    It’s time for us all to wake up and do the necessary work to understand each other so that we can coexist on this planet without pain, and learn to live only from love.

  • It Is Possible to Heal and Move On

    It Is Possible to Heal and Move On

    It is possible to heal and move on

  • You Don’t Have to Be Positive All the Time

    You Don’t Have to Be Positive All the Time

    You don't have to be positive all the time

  • Staying Angry Robs Us of Happiness

    Staying Angry Robs Us of Happiness

    Staying angry robs us of happiness

    Source: Guidepost of Light

  • What Creates Abusive People and How to Release Your Anger

    What Creates Abusive People and How to Release Your Anger

    Peaceful Man

    “The biggest problem for humanity, not only on a global level, but even for individuals, is misunderstanding.” ~Rinpoche

    Through the course of the relationship he was dishonest, emotionally manipulative, and unkind. It was subtle at first—do we really sign up for this on the dating application? But the acts wound their way through like a slow vine that eventually kills a tree. When it ended, he handled it atrociously.

    It took me many months to process it all, facing things I had suppressed in denial. When the shock wore off, I had a desire to let him know how he traumatized me—to outline all the ways in which he made me uncomfortable and how unbelievable and disgusting his behavior was.

    I wanted to punish him.

    I wanted him to understand that his actions—secrecy, meanness, disregard—were simply not the way you treat someone you supposedly love, someone that cares for and supports you.

    I knew I had my own issues to work out around why I chose to stay in this kind of dynamic, but I somehow thought a really good apology on his part would at least validate my experience and hike me back up onto the pedestal on which I deserved to stand.

    I wanted to believe that somehow my words would enlighten him—that understanding my experience would affect and change him for the better.

    And I tried! My goal honestly wasn’t to get all prison gangster on him. I just wanted my pain recognized; to feel regarded and important.

    I wrote a few letters that I thought diplomatically captured my hurt and positioned him perfectly to validate me and apologize. That apology would never come. In fact, when he did respond, it was in the form of anger, denial, projecting or minimizing. 

    When engaging him didn’t work, I turned inward. I created little pieces of art that depicted him with a huge ego and small…other parts. (I did not send those. One mature point for me there.)

    In time I accepted that the recognition and apology were clearly not going to happen.

    But the anger kept surfacing, and it was getting annoying. I had read volumes on the notion that “the behavior of others is about them, not you.” Logically I understood this, but I remained stuck in a purgatory. I couldn’t fully connect to and let go of the hugely distracting resentment.

    Then a curious thing happened. As I began to learn the deeper roots of why a person mistreats another, the anger dissipated.

    This didn’t require an individually detailed personal history to construe. They were facts that can be generally applicable to anyone that displays habitually abusive or destructive behaviors. They came through lots of therapy and research as I sought understanding I would never receive from him.

    It is this:

    When a healthy person behaves in a way that hurts others, they take responsibility for that action and make amends.

    I was dealing with an unhealthy person.

    There are people who, because of an abusive childhood (emotionally, physically, or otherwise), navigating their way with a narcissistic or extremely controlling parent, or suffering other emotional trauma, developed protective mechanisms early on to avoid dealing with the shame and violation they experienced.

    These mechanisms can start in the form of an inflated sense of self, denial, or even a secret life. They are ways to create “emotionally safe” conditions that allow them to experience freedom, “love,” or accomplishment in a way they didn’t have access to through healthy means.

    Emotional stability was the most immediate, basic human need. But they had to learn to achieve it at a time when core values—such as respect, honesty, and empathy—may have not been fully developed.

    When this person fails to deal with their pain and anger into adulthood, they never outgrow their early emotional survival skills. As these mechanisms take on an increasingly functional role, values that the person eventually came to understand (or claim to adhere to) become secondary to protecting their emotional safety.

    These methods weld to their identity: they can live without the values but not without the relief their emotional protections provide. They develop into practices such as criticism, disconnection, projection (applying their transgressions or perceived shortcomings—whatever they don’t want to own about themselves—onto their victims), lying, and addictive behaviors.

    What a healthy person considers a normal relationship negotiation or expression of personal needs, or even when life demands the basics of responsibility of regard for others, the unhealthy person perceives a threat to their vulnerable sense of self and unleashes their behaviors to maintain the emotional “safe place.”

    Their abusive techniques essentially produce short term (false) feelings of success, confidence, or acceptance that feel uplifting and comfortable, especially when the alternative is to face a reality that is filled with perceived failure. 

    In my experience, there was often no discernable threat when my ex displayed inconsiderate, bizarre, or hurtful behaviors.

    For example, if his sense of self was feeling particularly low—despite my adoration and support—that may have meant him blatantly ignoring me in a social situation to drink and flirt with other women. He often met requests to accommodate my schedule or needs with indignation. Playing with my son started to turn antagonistic to the point where I’d have to intervene.

    Mere days after we ended our relationship, he claimed he had become “emotionally connected” to a new lover. A couple of weeks later he purposely paraded her in front of me and my children, yet completely ignored us. I couldn’t fathom what I, much less innocent children, had done to deserve that.

    Even long before this absurd “new lover parade,” trying to have open, mature dialogue about the effects of his behavior, even in the most non-threatening way, resulted in projection, disconnection, or playing the victim.

    There they were: the mechanisms to cushion himself from the emotional pain associated with having to take responsibility for his behavior (that he most likely regretted or felt ashamed of already).

    The crazy-making boomerangs hurled at me made me realize the relationship would never grow into the beauty I had envisioned for myself, and if I stayed in, I would have to live with only erratically and unreliably receiving the things that were important to me: honesty, respect, commitment, kindness, empathy.

    And that’s when a giant light bulb shone on my anger. His mechanisms for achieving emotional “stability” occurred in direct conflict with some of my deepest core values.

    Anger is not a primary emotion; it is created to avoid core hurt feelings such as being disregarded, devalued, or rejected. And I felt all of those things every time my values were trampled.

    Anger isn’t a measurement of something negative in your life; it’s a signal to reaffirm your own boundaries and values. 

    With emotionally unhealthy people, we’re not talking about mild immaturity or self-centeredness—we’re talking full-scale inability and unwillingness to recognize responsibility for their actions. And almost anyone is subject to the pie-flinging.

    The slightest thing that he could translate into a question of his principles, responsibility, or regard for others resulted in anything from stonewalling to an aggressive verbal assault. I observed it wasn’t just me: it was his siblings, parents, the mother of his children—anyone he felt was “locked in” to him enough to have to swallow his behavior.

    When I could finally understand that his motivation wasn’t to devalue me—that his destructive decision-making processes existed long before I came along—the adage “Don’t take anything personally” finally, fully came to life for me.

    I was able to dissociate from the anger and focus on the more critical issue: regaining control of my life and all the wonderfulness of me. He was stuck in his own tornado, but I had a choice to live differently.

    There are still moments where a tiny part of me wonders “Why won’t he change?” Because the fact is, he could. We are all capable of extraordinary growth. He chooses the comfort of the known; though disappointed, I can now accept that the disregard, disrespect, and uncompassionate behavior I experienced weren’t a matter of my value or importance.

    I never thought it could be possible, but the love I feel now being alone with just my kids and my friends is more fulfilling and inspiring than having a partner I couldn’t trust to live by the values of basic human kindness when life gets challenging.

    Understanding allows me to hold a prayer for peace for him in my heart, while I live my own life of opportunity from a place of strength and joy.

    Peaceful man image via Shutterstock

  • Angry People, Loving People

    Angry People, Loving People

    Background - frame with American Indian traditional patterns

    Source: Gratitude Habitat

  • We All Have Bad Days and All Need a Little Kindness

    We All Have Bad Days and All Need a Little Kindness

    ”Be kind to unkind people. They need it the most.” ~Unknown

    A couple weeks back I had what Alexander would call a no good, terrible, very bad day.

    I’d slept poorly the night before—possibly because I had caffeine, which I usually avoid, somewhat late in the day, and possibly because I have a toddler-sized bladder that doesn’t seem to understand or care about REM cycles.

    In addition to being physically exhausted, I was feeling emotionally spent. I’d been dealing with a high level of uncertainty, as my boyfriend and I were preparing to move yet again, after months of discussion about where we’d live long term.

    Also, I was feeling a little disappointed with myself. I’d recently slowed my work down a bit, both to allow myself space to process my feelings related to the move and to work on some new creative projects.

    Turns out, it’s poor logic to expect that I can simultaneously allow a tidal wave of emotion to wash over me and create something completely unrelated to those feelings.

    So on top of fear and worry about the future, I was feeling guilty about “wasting time.”

    In an attempt to improve my mood, I asked my boyfriend if he wanted to get lunch, but first I needed to stop at the post office to mail a package.

    The line looked like something you’d see at Disneyland, except without the enthusiastic banter you usually hear when people are inching closer to Space Mountain.

    My patience was right there with my bladder—the size of a toddler’s—and I really wanted to leave; but the sooner I mailed that package, the sooner I could stop telling myself, “Why are you doing nothing? You have to mail that package!”

    I thought, “It will go quickly,” without any good reason to believe this was true other than wishful thinking. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

    There were three people working at the counter: one helping people with passports, one giving mail to people who were picking it up, and one working with a customer who seemed to be mailing holiday gifts—five years’ worth, to friends, friends of friends, and friends of those people too.

    I was four people away from the front of the line when it hit me—I really had to pee. But I’d already written on a padded envelope I’d gotten from their retail area. I couldn’t leave; I had to pay for it.

    Sweating, with the sun beating down on me through the window, I started shifting my weight from leg to leg, texting my boyfriend in the car to let him know I’d be a while.

    I felt annoyed with everyone—the postal workers, for not working more quickly; the other customers, for not having fewer things to mail; the manufacturer of my shirt, for not making it more breathable.

    By the time I finally got to the front of the line, I felt ready to explode. I hoped this would be quick—here’s my package, mail it cheaply, have a nice day.

    That’s not what happened.

    The woman behind the counter told me I didn’t write the city legibly, and then began to write, even less legibly, on top of it.

    Since I’m a perfectionist, and because this package and the recipient were important to me, this really bothered me—that it looked like I spelled “round” wrong the first time, then scribbled over it and said, “Yup, this looks good to go.”

    Exasperated, I told the postal worker, “That looks horrible. I don’t want it to look like I can’t spell ‘round.’ Can I just get a new envelope?”

    I ran to grab one, then looked at the winding line and panicked. What if she took another customer while I was writing, and it was someone else with a half-hour worth of stuff to do?

    Then, while pressing the pen so hard it almost broke in my hand, I heard “Next in line.”

    “Could you just wait one second?” I implored. It’s just such a long line, and I waited so long, and I’m like three pen strokes from done.”

    She obliged, equally annoyed—after all, the winding line had greater implications for her than me. Then, after beginning to process my package, she said, “You have the wrong zip code.”

    Thus began a ridiculous back-and-forth discussion about who was right—her computer, or my post-it note, backed by Google.

    I really didn’t want to have to come back, and I didn’t want the package to get returned to me—at a place I wouldn’t be living at for long.

    So finally, after arguing for a bit, while shifting from leg to leg and wiping sweat from my brow, I said, “Never mind. I’ll just pay for my two envelopes and go.”

    I hadn’t yelled at her. I hadn’t insulted her. But I’d been rude. I’d been frustrated, impatient, and impolite. I’d vomited “bad day vibes” all over her, then left in a huff.

    And I felt terrible about it.

    I returned home and emailed the recipient to verify the zip code, and it turns out the postal worker was right—the recipient had given me the wrong one. It showed as the right address in Google because Round Rock has multiple zip codes.

    I felt even worse then.

    “This was so un-Tiny-Buddha-like,” I thought. “I should be better than this.”

    Should. There was that word again. What’s the worst thing you can do when you’re having a bad day? Pile on reasons to feel bad.

    So I decided to cut myself some slack. Did the postal worker deserve my attitude? Nope. Could I have been less volatile? Sure. Would it do any good to beat myself up over it? Absolutely not.

    The next day, after getting a better night’s sleep, I went back to the post office again, armed with the correct address. This time, there was no line. I immediately saw the postal worker from the day before, rearranging some packing material in the retail area.

    “Excuse me, “ I said, “Do you remember me? I was here yesterday…”

    She seemed to arm herself emotionally, glancing at me, then quickly away, before saying, “Um, yeah.”

    “I was rude to you yesterday,” I said, “and I’m sorry.”

    It felt strange and vulnerable to say this to a stranger, but I was sorry.

    I was sorry because I imagine her job isn’t easy. And the sun was beating down on her too. And she didn’t get to run out when I did, to eat lunch, go home, and decompress.

    She was doing her job—and a good job at that—and I was sorry I treated her poorly.

    She looked at me, her body softened, then she reached out for a hug. I doubt she knew it, but I really appreciated that hug. I needed it.

    “It’s okay,” she said. “I know how it is when you have an important package to mail.”

    “I was just having a really bad day,” I said, “and you were right. I had the wrong zip code.”

    “It’s okay,” she said again. “We all have bad days.”

    Where I stood just yesterday, feeling rude and ashamed, I now stood feeling kind and proud. I doubt she knew it, but she gave me a tremendous gift. She reminded me that my worst moment didn’t have to define me.

    I could choose to do something different. I could choose to take responsibility, admit my shortcomings, and do better today than yesterday.

    I don’t know about you, but I’ve come to realize I’m a lot like that scribbled “Round Rock”—messy and far from perfect. I make mistakes. I’m not always kind or polite. Sometimes I let my emotions get the best of me. Sometimes I don’t deal well.

    But maybe these little mistakes are big opportunities. Maybe the worst of humanity can give way to the best.

    Maybe every moment of rudeness is a hug waiting to happen. Okay, so that’s kind of cheesy, and maybe a little idealistic. And I realize there are situations when people are far ruder than I was, and far less understanding than she.

    But I know next time I encounter someone who seems impolite, I’ll remember how I felt that day. I’ll remember I’m likely not seeing them at their best, and this doesn’t define who they are.

    Then I’ll look them in the eye and think to myself, “It’s okay. I know how it is. We all have bad days.”