Phrases of Self-Compassion

Over the past week or so I've been busy digging a truckload of dung into my garden (metaphorically speaking of course, I don't think I could lift a shovel if I tried). 

 

As I've been digging I've been developing some phrases of self-compassion and kindness to help me as I face all the crap that surrounds me - grief, despair, helplessness and hopeless. I think of these phrases as my little cheerleading support team. They are 'Team Emma' - waving their pom-poms around and giving me a good old razzed-up cheer when I finish yet another hour of digging through my truckload of crap.

 

Here are a few of my phrases:

 

'Oh, this looks like anger.  It's here, but I'm sure I didn't do anything to deserve it. It's not my fault.'

 

'I don't expect too much of myself today. However I feel is fine.'

 

'Oh, more anger. It's OK. If I am angry, that's OK.  If I'm not angry, that's OK too.  I don't have too many expectations of how I'll feel - it could go either way.'

 

And, if I'm sitting with any kind of pain - emotional or physical - I say:  'Pain, yes...this is pain.  I'm so sorry.  I'm so sorry it's here.'

 

I've just returned from a visit to my doctor. I dragged myself out of bed to go (only realising when I arrived that my jumper didn't completely cover my pyjama top underneath. Oops!)  Anyway, as I was sitting waiting for my appointment I shut my eyes and noticed my physical discomfort.  I had a racing heart, a tight fist of tension in my stomach, and my head and back hurt. 

 

'Oh, this is pain,' I said to myself, 'I'm sorry.  I'm really sorry it's here.'  And, as I sat waiting the tears started rolling down my cheeks.  It was such a relief to give myself some sympathy and kind attention.  In those moments it didn't matter that other people in the waiting room could see my pyjama top peeking out the top of my jumper, or the tears on my cheeks.  I  just a great relief and sweetness at being able to express some compassion towards myself in my suffering.

 

The view from my front-yard at dawn.

 

The Chronic Meditator vs The Voices

Over the past few weeks I’ve been reading some books by zen teacher Cheri Huber and listening to her on-line radio show.  One of the good things about being in bed all day is that if I want to spend 8 hours lying back on my fluffy pillows, listening to a radio show, with only my black teddy-bear for company – I can! 

 I’ve been bowled over by Cheri’s work.  As I’ve said in previous posts, a lot of what she teaches is about gaining an understanding that the voice that speaks to us all day every day in our head may not have that much to contribute to our life – and (quelle horreur!) might actually be causing the suffering that’s in our life.

The voice in my head claims that what its saying is of vital importance and that it’s imperative that I listen and react to it (even when it contradicts itself). Cheri’s work is helping me to relate to this voice – not by obeying it, or flinching in reaction to its criticisms – but by investigating how it works. 

As an example of this practice, I’m going to track some feelings, sensations and thoughts I’m having around what’s present for me at the moment - anxiety and exhaustion.  I’m going to write my original thoughts and feelings in black and the commentary from ‘the voice’ in red. (I’ve learnt that a good clue to picking up which comments are from ‘the voice’ is that they often call me ‘You,’ as in ‘you’re hopeless,’ or ‘you’re too fat.’)

My overwhelming feeling is of anxiety. I'm thinking, ‘Oh God, I’ve done too much again, now my adrenals are totally overwhelmed, I feel like crap.  Oh God, this is awful.’

‘Now you’ve gone too far, you’ll never get over this adrenal spike.  Why can’t you ever stop before you get totally exhausted?  This is just hopeless.’

I start to investigate this. How does it make me feel, this voice telling me everything is hopeless?  It makes me feel anxious.  I realise that my response to this anxiety is actually making me feel more anxious.  It’s fuelling my anxiety, like hot air fanning flames.

Just noticing this makes me feel a little more relaxed.  It allows a little more spaciousness around my experience. I feel my arms slowly start to sink into the pillows.

‘Well...you can relax a bit, but it’s never going to make a difference to this huge anxiety and adrenal surge you’ve created by overdoing it.’

How does that comment make me feel?  Good, bad, anxious or relaxed?  I feel anxious and overwhelmed! This voice seems like it’s trying to help me, but it’s actually making me feel worse.

I feel like I will never climb out from beneath this mountain of anxiety. I lie resting for a few more minutes. My heart is pounding.

‘Boy, this is bad, this is so uncomfortable.  And, worse still, it’s all my fault.  Why can you never learn to rest?  You’ve really got to somehow work out a way to stop yourself overdoing it.  It’s not rocket-science – why can’t you just be more restrained and rest more?  When will you ever learn?’

How does this voice make me feel?  Blamed, I feel blamed and criticized. I feel like I have a huge task ahead of me to change my behaviour so I never overdo it again – and I feel confusion, and overwhelmed, because I feel like I am not up to this battle.  I feel more stressed and anxious because I’m faced with this enormous work task that I’m bound to fail at.

So, I’m lying in bed, exhausted, in pain, and anxious, and a voice in my head is badgering and dictating to me about how I have to work hard to improve myself...even though it’s all hopeless.

Hmmm. The penny drops. This is a no-win situation. No wonder I’m so stressed out!

I can see quite clearly, for the first time, how my usual responses of blame and challenging myself to improve are making my situation worse.  They are promising to ‘help me’ (in the long run), but in this moment they just make me feel worse.  I suddenly realise that there is no future here – there is no ‘long run,’ there’s just the present moment and in the present moment I feel worse. Perhaps there is no point in making myself suffer in this instant?

But, now I feel stuck because what can I do?  I don’t know of any other way to respond but to urge myself to improve my habits to get myself out of this mess and make sure it never happens again. It feels very strongly that I have to criticize myself or I’ll just become so lazy I’ll never improve.  But is this true, or is this just another example of conditioning? Will my life become better or worse if I stop haranguing myself?

‘DOH! WORSE!’ says the voice.

‘Well...I’m not sure.’ says me. ‘Maybe there is another way.’

+++

Will Emma and her bear find 'another way' or will the forces of evil win out??!!

Stayed tuned for the next exciting episode of...

The Chronic Meditator vs The Voices

Coming soon to a laptop near YOU!

Just Relax!

This post was written in December 2009, when I was spending a month staying at a Buddhist monastery near Sydney, Australia.

7th December

At lunch today I was talking to a woman named Jacqui who’s come up from Sydney to stay here for a few days.  Over our dhal and rice, we talked about my experiences with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and the time she’d spent with an auto-immune disorder.

She made a comment that I thought was really interesting. She’d been to see a psychologist, who was also a Buddhist and he told her that her illness was caused by stress.Jacqui’s face became animated, and she talked about how this comment made her feel.

‘I asked him why he said that,’ she said. ‘Because it’s just not helpful!  It might be true, but for the person who’s having the illness it’s not helpful. It’s up to the person themselves to come to some sort of realisation about what their illness is caused, or not caused by.’

‘That’s so true.’ I said. ‘It’s like someone wagging their finger in your face saying ‘just relax!’ – that’s not relaxing at all.  All that happens is that you have your original problems and then on top of it you feel ashamed because you think you shouldn't be stressed, but you are!'

Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m not guilty of thinking other people should ‘just relax;’  my sister and I have often fantasized about dropping a valium in my mother’s cup of tea in the hope it would calm her down -  or at least make her sit down.  (We never used it; you’d need a bulldozer and a ten battalion fascist army to subdue my mum – I’m fairly sure mere pharmaceuticals couldn’t do it).

Jacqui and I talked about the best way to get the ‘just relax’ message across without making the other person feel judged. We both thought that it was important to be able to support and encourage people to relax, not to just wag a finger in their face telling them what to do.  Better still – just provide the supportive conditions and encouragement without even telling the person you think they should be more relaxed.  After all, what’s more delightful and helpful to hear?

a)    You’re so stressed out...just relax!
b)    You’re a great friend and I really care about you. Life seems hard for you at the moment – would you like to spend a week chilling out in my multi-million dollar Byron Bay beachhouse?

OK – obviously a rhetorical question, but as I was typing I spent a few seconds imagining a friend in front of me saying a) and b).  When I imagined someone saying a) I had tightness in my chest, and feelings of disappointment and not being understood.  When I imagined b) I felt relaxed, delighted, and very connected to my imaginary property tycoon friend.

I also winced at the thought of how many thousands of times I’ve told someone to ‘chill out’ or ‘just relax’ and how this might have made the other person feel.  Because my illness causes a lot of adrenal problems and anxiety, I probably order myself to relax many more time than I say it to anyone else. So, maybe I’ll try to take a break from telling other people – and myself – to ‘just chill out.’  (Because it’s probably the least likely thing to induce any chilled-ness!)

Coming back down to my little caravan in the bush after my conversation with Jacqui  I lay on the wooden deck outside the van, and started listening to a Tara Brach talk. She said, ‘ I sometimes get impatient with the instructions that are given traditionally for meditation which is ‘just relax, just relax, be in the present moment’...as if that’s, like, an easy thing to do!’

Relaxing is not, like, an easy thing to do – or we’d all be walking around in a state of calm equanimity.  I must try to remember that next time I’m with an uptight person (such as myself!) and am thinking impatiently to myself, ‘Could you just relax!’

My fantasy Byron Bay beach house. Boy...could I relax there!