I’ve been pondering how much we shame ourselves lately. Frankly, it’s pissing me off.
Shame is appropriate if we do something to purposefully hurt someone. The problem is, too many of us our shame ourselves willy-nilly. I was in a group earlier this week and some of the members expressed shame because they did not accomplish their goals. Why? They didn’t hurt anybody. None of the other members were damaged because they didn’t accomplish the tasks. I can understand disappointment; they didn’t keep their word to themselves. That is disappointing, but shameful? No.
We have taken the usefulness of shame and splattered it across our lives. Instead of using shame to prevent us from taking dishonorable action, we have elevated shame to everyday use. We essentially are saying to ourselves “Because I did not do (insert whatever here) I am a dishonorable person.” To put it simply, this keeps us small and stuck.
I’ve seen in my life, and the lives of my clients, how much more can be accomplished when we have compassion for ourselves. It is time to take the sledgehammer of shame out of daily use and put it back in its rightful place.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
A Meaningful Life
I’ve been pondering how to quickly explain the purpose of my groups for women over 40 who never had kids. I believe I have found it—to delve into the meaning of life without children, or more precisely, how do we make meaning of our lives as they are?
I’m reading “The Second Half of Life” by Angeles Arrien (a fabulous book so far!) In it I found the following quotation:
The Bushman storytellers talk about two kinds of hunger.
They say there is physical hunger, then what they call
the Great Hunger.
That is the hunger for meaning.
There is only one thing that is truly insufferable,
and that is a life without meaning.
There is nothing wrong with the search for happiness.
But there is something great—meaning—
which transfigures all.
When you have meaning you are content,
you belong.
Sir Laurens van der Post in the documentary “Hasten Slowly”
Women who end up without children can sometimes wonder where they belong. Having children usually engenders a sense of belonging and a purpose for life (though, to be fair, many parents yearn to create meaning beyond parenthood.) For people without kids, that meaning needs to be consciously created. The exercises, rituals, and conversations that take place in my groups are tools to help women go deeper into understanding who they are, and what they desire in order to live a meaningful life.
So, next time someone asks me what my groups are all about, I’m ready!
I’m reading “The Second Half of Life” by Angeles Arrien (a fabulous book so far!) In it I found the following quotation:
The Bushman storytellers talk about two kinds of hunger.
They say there is physical hunger, then what they call
the Great Hunger.
That is the hunger for meaning.
There is only one thing that is truly insufferable,
and that is a life without meaning.
There is nothing wrong with the search for happiness.
But there is something great—meaning—
which transfigures all.
When you have meaning you are content,
you belong.
Sir Laurens van der Post in the documentary “Hasten Slowly”
Women who end up without children can sometimes wonder where they belong. Having children usually engenders a sense of belonging and a purpose for life (though, to be fair, many parents yearn to create meaning beyond parenthood.) For people without kids, that meaning needs to be consciously created. The exercises, rituals, and conversations that take place in my groups are tools to help women go deeper into understanding who they are, and what they desire in order to live a meaningful life.
So, next time someone asks me what my groups are all about, I’m ready!
Endings & Possibilities
Lately, there have been numerous “endings” in my life, and in the lives of those near to me. Many of those “endings” were break-ups of relationships.
I’ve noticed when a relationship ends, we tend to globalize its meaning. A single break-up confirms why all our other relationships didn’t work out, *and* it confirms that all our future partnerships will similarly “fail.” Our present grief infuses our past and our future. Frankly, that is a lot to place on one event. It is no wonder break-ups are so miserable!
I wonder how our lives would be different if we chose to keep the scope of an event to *that event.* What if, instead of seeing misery extended through-out our life, we would salve our hurt, learn our lessons, and let go?
I’m not proposing that we experience no pain, or hurt, or loss. Frankly, that would be silly; those feelings are natural responses to an ending. What I am proposing is to fully feel our grief, and to take advantage of that moment of vulnerability to go deeper inside ourselves, to find the learning--and the possibilities--that end began.
I’ve noticed when a relationship ends, we tend to globalize its meaning. A single break-up confirms why all our other relationships didn’t work out, *and* it confirms that all our future partnerships will similarly “fail.” Our present grief infuses our past and our future. Frankly, that is a lot to place on one event. It is no wonder break-ups are so miserable!
I wonder how our lives would be different if we chose to keep the scope of an event to *that event.* What if, instead of seeing misery extended through-out our life, we would salve our hurt, learn our lessons, and let go?
I’m not proposing that we experience no pain, or hurt, or loss. Frankly, that would be silly; those feelings are natural responses to an ending. What I am proposing is to fully feel our grief, and to take advantage of that moment of vulnerability to go deeper inside ourselves, to find the learning--and the possibilities--that end began.
Death & Girl Scout Cookies
Apparently, endings, and the aliveness that death brings us, are on my mind.
I was talking with a friend who is over 50. He commented on the poignancy he experiences because, now that he sees death is on the horizon, life feels more precious. People, experiences, and nature are all more beautiful because they are no longer perceived as there forever.
Yet another strange gift of death (see last week's post).
Which brings me to Girl Scout cookies. (Stay with me here.) Girl Scout cookies are available only once a year. I will do everything in my power to corral a Girl Scout so I can get my Thin Mints and Do-si-do's each spring. Because I know the time to procure them is finite, those cookies are precious.
When we know something is ending, we more fully appreciate it. When my attention is focused on gratitude for something, I am more alive. The possibility of death, then, makes me more alive. A strange gift indeed.
I was talking with a friend who is over 50. He commented on the poignancy he experiences because, now that he sees death is on the horizon, life feels more precious. People, experiences, and nature are all more beautiful because they are no longer perceived as there forever.
Yet another strange gift of death (see last week's post).
Which brings me to Girl Scout cookies. (Stay with me here.) Girl Scout cookies are available only once a year. I will do everything in my power to corral a Girl Scout so I can get my Thin Mints and Do-si-do's each spring. Because I know the time to procure them is finite, those cookies are precious.
When we know something is ending, we more fully appreciate it. When my attention is focused on gratitude for something, I am more alive. The possibility of death, then, makes me more alive. A strange gift indeed.
The Strange Gift of Death
A dear family member is dying. I am calling her frequently and flying out to see her. And I am missing her. I'm already anticipating grieving her after her death. I am making sure I have left nothing unsaid and unsettled between us.
There is the strange gift of death.
We don't have forever in this life; by being born, we sign up to die. When we are conscious of this, we tend to get our proverbial butts in gear to accomplish what is important to us, whether that is to open up to love, travel to Australia, find meaningful work, make contact with that long-lost friend, or simply say goodbye to those we love.
When I make goals that are meaningful to me a focus of my life, my heart is more at ease. I have peace, knowing that I am making progress on (or have completed!) what is truly important to me.
If I had a gazillion years in this life, I *might* watch more t.v. Because I likely don't have more than 100 years, I chose to risk, and to live. Do me a favor, remind me of that next time you catch me watching reruns of "I Love Lucy."
There is the strange gift of death.
We don't have forever in this life; by being born, we sign up to die. When we are conscious of this, we tend to get our proverbial butts in gear to accomplish what is important to us, whether that is to open up to love, travel to Australia, find meaningful work, make contact with that long-lost friend, or simply say goodbye to those we love.
When I make goals that are meaningful to me a focus of my life, my heart is more at ease. I have peace, knowing that I am making progress on (or have completed!) what is truly important to me.
If I had a gazillion years in this life, I *might* watch more t.v. Because I likely don't have more than 100 years, I chose to risk, and to live. Do me a favor, remind me of that next time you catch me watching reruns of "I Love Lucy."
Grief & Freedom
Not having children does not have to mean unending grief.
I received a phone call from a woman in another state. She will likely never birth a child of her own, and she called because I was the only person she found on the web who expressed a hopeful view of life without children of one’s own. She had read story after story of women who constantly grieve their childless life. She wanted assurance that there is another way to live. There is.
I shared with her my own story. I left a wonderful relationship at the age of 40 because I knew I needed to try to find a partner with whom I could have children. I knew it was a gamble at my age (I have been known to take risks…). At 44, I realized my chances were waning and I decided to let go of that dream. I went through a ritual, grieved intensely for awhile, and bought myself some beautiful jewelry to symbolize the shift in my life plans. I felt a weight drop off my psyche, and I felt a new freedom to move forward with my life.
I still have tinges of regret sometimes. Overall, though, I am content with my life, and I appreciate the freedom my life gives me.
Every woman deals with her loss of dreams differently. In the groups I have the privilege to run, I see women who are coping in many different ways. What they all have in common is their determination to move through life as consciously and gracefully as they are able. They inspire me with their courage.
So yes, there is a way other than unending grief. There are many ways of courage, strength, hope, and freedom.
I received a phone call from a woman in another state. She will likely never birth a child of her own, and she called because I was the only person she found on the web who expressed a hopeful view of life without children of one’s own. She had read story after story of women who constantly grieve their childless life. She wanted assurance that there is another way to live. There is.
I shared with her my own story. I left a wonderful relationship at the age of 40 because I knew I needed to try to find a partner with whom I could have children. I knew it was a gamble at my age (I have been known to take risks…). At 44, I realized my chances were waning and I decided to let go of that dream. I went through a ritual, grieved intensely for awhile, and bought myself some beautiful jewelry to symbolize the shift in my life plans. I felt a weight drop off my psyche, and I felt a new freedom to move forward with my life.
I still have tinges of regret sometimes. Overall, though, I am content with my life, and I appreciate the freedom my life gives me.
Every woman deals with her loss of dreams differently. In the groups I have the privilege to run, I see women who are coping in many different ways. What they all have in common is their determination to move through life as consciously and gracefully as they are able. They inspire me with their courage.
So yes, there is a way other than unending grief. There are many ways of courage, strength, hope, and freedom.
It's Not About Me
“It’s a good thing we aren’t dating huh?”
He was right.
My friend asked me to call him to make sure he was awake to pick me up for a 6 a.m. trip to the airport. He wasn’t…and his phone was turned off. I was nervous, but not angry. My energy went into problem-solving mode to make sure I didn’t miss my flight.
If we were dating I might have been angry—angry because he obviously didn’t care enough to make sure he would be awake. He didn’t care enough not to make a mistake. Because he is a friend and not a partner, I could see the situation for what it was—He forgot to leave his phone on—simply that. It was not about me. His mistake did not reflect our depth of friendship.
I realized after hearing him say “It’s a good thing we aren’t dating huh?” how much we can make others’ actions a reflection of us. I also realized how much happier I am when I take people's actions and words at face value. They are acting according to their desires. I get to decide if I like the actions, but I don’t get to decide the motivation behind their actions. (I have plenty on my hands analyzing my own actions!)
So when I get perturbed or flummoxed about something someone else says or does, I repeat “It’s not about me.” That simple phrase gives me peace of mind.
Oh, the airport ride? He picked me up at 6 a.m. on the dot.
He was right.
My friend asked me to call him to make sure he was awake to pick me up for a 6 a.m. trip to the airport. He wasn’t…and his phone was turned off. I was nervous, but not angry. My energy went into problem-solving mode to make sure I didn’t miss my flight.
If we were dating I might have been angry—angry because he obviously didn’t care enough to make sure he would be awake. He didn’t care enough not to make a mistake. Because he is a friend and not a partner, I could see the situation for what it was—He forgot to leave his phone on—simply that. It was not about me. His mistake did not reflect our depth of friendship.
I realized after hearing him say “It’s a good thing we aren’t dating huh?” how much we can make others’ actions a reflection of us. I also realized how much happier I am when I take people's actions and words at face value. They are acting according to their desires. I get to decide if I like the actions, but I don’t get to decide the motivation behind their actions. (I have plenty on my hands analyzing my own actions!)
So when I get perturbed or flummoxed about something someone else says or does, I repeat “It’s not about me.” That simple phrase gives me peace of mind.
Oh, the airport ride? He picked me up at 6 a.m. on the dot.
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