When I see people who had a decent childhood (and I mean, even sub-par) or relationships with literally anyone in their extended family, or support from family with their children, etc etc etc. Sometimes I feel a rage boil up. It feels like it is bursting flames, like a windstorm spreading in all directions.
I immediately judge myself and then feel shame for feeling this way. I try to coach myself out of these thoughts…or scold myself. But more and more, I’m trying to listen, to dig, to get curious.
And often, I see a pretty simple message: an empty place, a place that feels loveless and unloved. A place so dark and cold that I don’t want to remember or visit anymore. I lived through horrible horrible things and sometimes I just want to forget. But it’s never that simple. There is no forgetting…our bodies will always find a way to remind us.
Then, I can see, that I need to care about this pain, that I accept and love this grieving place.
Offering a compassionate and clear attention to my vulnerability has connected me with a vastness of being that could include my pain.
B 🤍