What matters most? I ask softly as she listens on the phone from the other side of the world. I have my earphones on and I’m moving around the house, tidying up. I’m on the phone with a dear friend who had a particularly hard day at work. She contemplates this question, in her silence I can hear a part of her wanting to dismiss this whole exchange, but after awhile she answers reluctantly, ‘that I feel safe’. I ask if she is safe in this moment. The answer is yes. I know she doesn’t feel safe in her head. But there is more than her head; she is safely resting in her beautiful bedroom laying on her comfortable bed, hugged with soft blankets I imagine. I want her to take notice because just like her I tend to get lost in my head, thought after thought take me to places I don’t recognize, places that do not resemble anything real in my life. A nightmare. And as Byron Katie says, if you’re having a nightmare it is time to wake up.
We start from there, by this time I’m done tidying, and seated by the window absorbing the warm rays of sunlight. And as she starts to feel comfortable we question a few of her anxiety inducing thoughts. Simple as they seem, powerful they are. The want of approval and the fear of losing it, as she recognizes, is at the core of all. She comes to understand that it is her own approval she is after. But that leaves her feeling inadequate, for once again she doesn’t know how to approve herself.
In the end it is the assurance of her bed, her sheets, her beautiful feet, her hands, her chair at work, keyboard, mouse and so on, these things that quietly comply, approve and obey her all day everyday, not with words but by actions, or inaction, waiting on her, always ready without judgement, that uplifted her. From her relaxed breathing and laughs I could tell she now felt she belonged in her life, and it is ok that she is not yet ready to love and approve herself, especially at those crucial moments when one voice in her head takes over and makes her feel ashamed, inadequate, and lonely. Perhaps it is time to have space for that voice, black and angry as it comes, rather than fighting it. Perhaps that voice above all else longs to be loved at its worst. Perhaps one day…
