Winged Opening

Sitting on my shawl, legs crossed, feet nestled in the sand, pelvis, ankles, feet, warm and supported.Pelvis feeling present, planted, confident: an emergence I’ve been dreaming of for a long time. The wind is strong and playing with my clothing, with my hair, which covers and uncovers my face. The waves lapping like visual music, their sounds flowing like an infinity sign across the shoreline.   

I ended up here on a whim.  Several client cancellations gifted me a free morning, and on the ride to drop off my youngest, sand and water called my name. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been longing for the sensation of sand beneath my feet until, coming out of the parking lot, my feet begged me to lose my shoes and step onto the little sandy dunes ahead.  Aaaaaaaahhhhhh.   Heaven.   Also Ouch!: quite pokey with hidden grasses, I soon realize, and cross the fence onto the actual, sandy beach.

 The beach is surprisingly crowded, and as is typical of me, I steer clear of the hubbub and follow the shoreline alone.  Better.    At first, walking on the shoreline, I feel out of place as giant mansions emerge to my left.   A jealous part of me arises, comparing financial positions.  I remind my body why it’s here today and reorient to the water, sand, and freedom of this time being all for me.  

The first winged seashell catches my attention -wings fully spread-,  and then I suddenly see them everywhere, in all stages of metamorphosis.   I’ve reached the edge of the shoreline and loop back around -three winged seashells in my palm- when I stop again.  This time for what looks to be a moth’s wing in the sand.  An ‘Ohhhh..’ leaves my throat for this delicate departed creature, but when I pick it up to investigate, a frantic vibration fills my fingers, startling me.  It is a living, orange and black butterfly.  It clings to my finger with one leg as if its life depends on it.  I walk with it towards the grasses at the edge of the beach, hoping it can find some solidity in which to recover from all that sand .  As we walk, I”m surprised by how much this little creature’s vibrating energy disturbs my calm.

Returning to the water, I continue collecting the metaphorical winged creatures, picking up and dropping them as I go.   I reach the end of quiet shoreline, and need to decide whether to loop back around.   I find a place to sit instead and see what wants to happen next.  I didn’t bring a towel, so I sit on my sweater shawl, which feels just right.  I sense the weight and texture of the five winged shells in my hands, and begin to arrange them in a semi circle around me, each in its rightful place.   As these shells surrounds me, I begin to feel calm, loved, held.  

There is a pain in my heart, equal measure grief and gratitude.  My brain remembers the family that walked by me a few minutes ago and picks the grandma as the most likely candidate to judge the tears or sobs that may be visible when they loop back up the shoreline.   I continue inwards, weighing self-consciousness with the gift of unwinding.  As I make my choice and settle deeper into the heart, I see and feel my own wings across my chest.  In the center of my chest is a magnificent winged sea shell, blessedly open.  I allow the crying to cry, the open wings to expand to their rightful size.  I am free.  I am held.  I am here. 

 This is all I want to do: to listen more exquisitely to the opening of each moment, to share this blessing with those who want that too.  And so it is.  

Waking Up in Nature

When my brain gets foggy or in an anxious loop, as often as I can, I walk to the woods. Something in the woods almost always brings me back to wider breath, to rootedness, to softening. Typically it doesn’t happen immediately. I may walk and barely sense my feet, barely hear the leaves crunching under my feet, barely see the river rise into view through the loop of my thoughts. Until.

Lately, my return helpers have been the deer.

A couple weeks ago, I was walking a path right next to the river, barely breathing, barely sensing. And then full stop. A family of deer taking their time, grazing within twenty feet of me. I paused. Three of the deer retreated and kept grazing. But the fourth, maybe a pre-teen by its spots and height came closer. I breathed and felt her. I felt a crack in my left shoulder blade giving more space to my heart, and then the gratitude tears came. She looked at me and came a little closer still. Maybe seven feet away. I closed my eyes, feeling my energy and hers. I felt her so lovingly that I imagined she would come all the way over and touch me. She didn’t, but those closed eyes, heart opening, tears flowing moments felt endless.

When the moment was over, I thanked her and breathed as she went on her way and began to join the others. For the rest of the walk, I felt the earth and my body pulsating, connected. I was aware of the squirrels and the birds, aware of the constriction in my heart, my stomach, my pelvis, my legs begin to unwind. My brain still had its worries, but they didn’t take over because they felt held by me, and I felt connected to myself and held by Mother earth.

So here is your invitation: when constriction pulls you out of presence, go outside. You don’t have to do anything right, or find a practice to make you feel better. Just wait and see if you can stay open to receiving the particular flavor of help/support that the moment holds for you.

I’d love to hear what happens.

Understanding Internal Family Systems therapy

You may have noticed that I use the language of parts throughout this site (an anxious part of you, a distracting part of you etc).  This language comes out of Internal Family Systems therapy (IFS for short), which is one of the primary modalities that I use in our work together. 

The Pixar movie 'Inside Out' got the IFS community very excited in that it made the language of parts (my mad part, my anxious part) more commonplace and accepted.   But even prior to the movie, you've probably often considered parts of yourself (e.g. one part of me wants to go to this party, but another part of me wants to stay home in my pajamas).

In internal family systems, we get to know and develop a relationship with the different parts of us, so that rather than feeling tossed around by our emotions, we can help our different emotions live together in relative peace.  When we can take the fight out of our parts that are trying louder and louder to be heard, and simply be there to notice and understand all of our parts, everything can get calmer and more quiet, and we end up with easier, clearer choices, and more energy to do what we really want.

Our parts in this model are divided into Protectors and Exiles.  Protectors are parts of us that are trying to make sure that we don't get hurt and don't feel bad (for example, an anxious part constantly considering worst-case scenarios, worrying if you've ruined a relationship with a certain comment, over-eating when you are flooded with negative feelings  etc).  Exiles are parts of us that have already been hurt.  Exiles are often younger parts that have been burdened with some feelings about ourselves that aren't true because of things that have happened to us.   If we act on automatic pilot, we can often live our lives operating from the beliefs of our exiles (e.g. I must be bad, the world is not safe), and our protectors (e.g. Over-working to prove we're good enough, staying in control or saying f*** it).  

This is where the Self comes in.  You have probably experienced moments in your life where you feel strong, wise, and clear: where you don't have to work in order to be enough, where things feels aligned.  Maybe in nature, looking at a sunset or the waves.   Maybe with a pet or a special person next to you.  Maybe while you're in flow working on a project.  Maybe just an ordinary moment by yourself or on a busy street.   The idea (in IFS and in pretty much every spiritual tradition) is that there is a you that is separate from but connected to all the parts of you that often crowd you out.  The practice is to access this Self more and more readily, and to develop a relationship between your Self and your parts.  One way to think about it is that you are restoring your Self as the leader of your life, with your parts trusting you enough to help you where you want to go rather than pushing and pulling you along.

In session, we access your Self (also called Self energy) using mindfulness that's grounded in the body.  We slow things down and notice places of ease- in the breath, in different parts of your body- so that we are literally making space for whatever needs your attention.   As you slow things down and invite parts of you that have been trying to get your attention (often unpleasantly) all week, you will start to learn that every part of you is trying to do something positive and helpful for you (even though it doesn't always work out that way).  Our clue to whether your Self is really there listening to your struggling parts, is your answer to the question 'how do you feel towards this part?'.  When you feel irritated, frustrated, worried etc, about whatever your parts share with you (thoughts, emotions, images), we know that other parts are present and worried about the attention we are giving to a particular part.  We then keep slowing things down and let everyone be heard that needs to be until all you feel naturally is compassion, curiosity, and a wish to help your part that is sharing its struggle with you.  That is your Self energy, and with enough patience, breath and time, you will find that this openness exists in you for your every part of your experience.   Our whole process is to help you connect with this compassionate openness in you, because when you are in that space, you know just what to do better than any therapist or any other person in your life. 

For more information on IFS, you can go to the official IFS website https://ifs-institute.com/, or read Richard Schwartz's (its founder's) introductory book:

Introduction to the Internal Family Systems Model (2001)

On Making Decisions (a.k.a on certainty and self-acceptance) written May 2015

My dad always used to say that he thought I had a hard time making decisions because when you say 'yes' to something, you are saying 'no' to other things, and I liked all my options open.  

He said it in an endearing, 'my daughter has so many talents that she can't decide what to do with herself' kind of way, but I took it to heart, and for a long time I thought that there was something wrong with me, a decisiveness button missing, a manufacturer error.

And then it dawned on me:  I didn't have a decisiveness problem,  I was misinformed about certainty!  

Here is what I mean:  Somewhere along the way, I learned that there is a right way and a wrong way to go in life at every crossroad, and so when I felt all the shades of gray of my experience-excitement, fear, passion, reticence, lack of clarity- when faced with my next move, I doubted myself, thinking that everyone else 'knew' something I didn't, had razor-sharp clarity instead of the messiness, the push and pull, that I was feeling.

And because I thought it was a problem that I didn't have this black and white certainty, I tried to manufacture it, prematurely making what I thought was the decision I 'should' make.

Often, I would then freak out and change my mind, and sometimes freak out again, and change my mind, and again, and sometimes again, eventually exhausting myself and landing somewhere.  I did it with locations to live, jobs, relationships, and even much smaller decisions.

And so, whereas it seemed that I was a slow and 'shifty' decision maker, in reality, I didn't trust my experience and my timing, and so I made decisions too quickly.

I'm thinking about this because just last week I had the opportunity to make some career-related decisions.  I was invited to teach another graduate course and to collaborate on a project in the fall.   My initial reaction was to get that freaked out, 'I must know right now, what is wrong with me' feeling? and I blurted out 'Yes', even though it didn't feel authentic.  That was the old pattern, and with it came the old 'I'm not okay' gremlins (in 'Brene Brown's words).  What was different is that I saw myself doing it, and instead of completely burrowing into myself, I talked about it with people I trust.  I then wrote a couple emails, letting folks know where I was at with it, and asking for a little more time to sit with the decision, perhaps even talk it out with them, so that I could make a committed, whole-hearted 'yes' or else turn it down.  Ultimately, I chose to say 'no' to both as a way to commit all my energy to Encounters in Motion and to projects in which I can teach and share more directly the work that I am passionate about.  And the awesome thing?  I didn't burn any bridges with these people by being honest!  Even though it felt a bit messy, I actually made a greater connection with one of them.  I also learned that every time we say 'no' to something, we are also making room for the right 'yeses' (in fact, new opportunities are already emerging...!)

What is your process with decision-making?  How do you check in with yourself to find out which decision is right for you?  Do you have any judgments that arise about yourself around decision-making?  Who gets to see and support you while you're feeling uncertain and sorting it out?  What might it be like to accept that messy place in the middle and be seen in it, as you wait for the dust to settle into more clarity?

I would love to hear your thoughts!