Breathe. Seems simple, right? Something we all do every day. And yet, there have been so many moments in my life when I feel like I’m holding my breath. And sometimes I am. Literally and figuratively. My body tense, like it’s ready to take a punch.
As I’ve been thinking about the power of the breath and noticing what’s happening in my body, I’ve also been reflecting on the difference between thinking about what I’m feeling versus feeling what I’m feeling. I’ve been going through a lot of transition in my life over the last few months and it has been pushing me past the edges of my comfort zone in big ways. Testing me. Triggering me. Bringing up old stories. And giving me opportunities to practice leaning into the feels.
I was in a therapy session once, working through some particularly heavy stuff when my therapist said, “You’re great at thinking about and articulating feelings that are coming up for you, but what would it look like to sit with the feeling?” That was a terrifying proposition. It took me some time to realize that feelings (even intense ones) wouldn’t kill me, even if I was sure they would. Ironically, I was trying to protect myself by not letting myself feel the full weight of what I was carrying…but by avoiding sitting with them, I was ensuring they would stick around in a state of never being fully processed. Wading into that pool meant dismantling more than a few beliefs about what it means to truly care for myself.
But wade, I did. And at first, the water was freezing.
The one who does most to avoid suffering is, in the end, the one who suffers most.
Thomas Merton
I sat with the pain, the fear, the sadness, the anger…I let myself break. Truly break. I thought about all the times I had numbed, sought distractions, or shoved the feelings down so I could continue pushing forward. All the days I would get up and attempt to disregard how I felt so I could “keep my life in order”. It had all finally caught up with me. I’m a BIG feeler, so for me to numb, distract, or press them down took an incredible amount of energy. Over time, it had all stacked up and when I hit that breaking point, I hit it hard.
After that session, I remember feeling so spent I could barely move. It’s like when I was in school and would push myself beyond what I should have to get through finals week. Then when I was done and I let my body relax, it felt like I’d been hit by a truck.
I still have moments when I avoid sitting in the fullness of the feels. Or moments like I’m in right now when I have a to-do list a mile long that makes it easier to slip into old habits (i.e. distracted by being productive, not giving myself enough time to feel the feels the way I need to, and then hitting a major wall). I can always think about what I’m feeling, and I can always talk about how I’m feeling, but letting myself feel the depths of what’s truly there? I still sometimes hesitate at that step, scared of what will come out when I fling that door open. But I’m learning that the sensations I feel, the tears that may fall, and the thoughts that might come up are all okay and part of the process.
The wound is not what happens to you; it is what happens inside you as a result of what happens to you.
Gabor Maté
I used to think that trauma was the event, but Gabor Maté talks about how the wound “is not what happens to you; it is what happens inside you as a result of what happens to you.” So, how do we tend to those wounds? How do we lean into self-compassion? How do we get grounded and back into our bodies? How do we give ourselves permission to sit with the fullness of the feels? Even the big ones? Even if we feel like we might not survive it?
I’m still working on the answers to those questions, and it’s something I’ll be searching for and practicing until the day I take my last breath. I’m sure of it.
I’ve been so fortunate to have people in my life who see me as whole, even when I feel broken. I think that’s really the key…we’re all healing, but that doesn’t make us any less whole. And when you have people in your circle who recognize that and sit with you in whatever life brings, those are your people. Our individual journeys might look different, but there’s such strength in seeing one another exactly where we’re at and cheering each other on. We don’t have to wade into that pool alone.
And when we hit that cold water, we need people who will sit in it with us. Shoulder to shoulder. Who will remind us of who we are when we start to doubt it. Who will bear witness to our pain…and who will show us how to breathe when we forget.
To all those who have done that for me, I have so much gratitude in my heart for you. And to those who are just beginning to dip your toes in the water, remember to keep breathing. You’ve got this.
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