Willingness

A journey of self compassion

Through self compassion we are offered the possibility of new beginnings - Weller

It’s hard to recall many details of that night. I know I sat on the floor near the phone, my friend Amanda somewhere close by. I was in a state of alarm, waiting for a call from the police, desperately trying to come up with reasons why I had not heard from him since first thing that morning. My naive, hopeful self wondered if maybe he was on the ferry surprising me with a belated Valentine’s Day visit as he had been at the hospital the night before. If that wasn’t true then what? It was so out of character for him to not be in touch. At some level, I knew something was terribly wrong.

The phone rang and it was his twin brother. All I heard was “I’m so sorry Ali…” I don’t know what happened next. I just have snippets of memories of that night. Sometime, I’d like to revisit that experience with Amanda. But not yet.

When I think about receiving the awful news that would instantly change my life, it was like walking into a room and suddenly realizing, no, this was not where I wanted to be. “Wait a second…No no no…this is not happening….I am not doing this!” But when I turned around to leave, the door was already closed and locked. I was trapped. No. Let me out. I am not willing to do this. No fucking way. No! No! No! Turn back time. Go backwards. Redo the previous 12 hours. Rewind. No. no. no. I did not sign up for this. I am not willing to do this.

I think you get the picture.

Early on in this unwanted journey, I found myself desperately grasping for ground, some sense that I could survive this. I looked to others further along this path as validation that what I was experiencing was perfectly normal, although perfectly fucking awful…and as proof that I, just like them, might not die from the pain…and I am not being melodramatic when I say I thought I might die from it or even that at times, dying seemed like a way out. Note, I am not referring to suicide here…there is a big difference between seeing death as an escape from pain and actively wanting to leave the planet. I just wanted to get off the ride. It was the first time I could truly appreciate the relief potentially offered by drugs or other substances and in that, found more compassion for those who might fall under their spell with the promise of relief. Who in their right might would willingly show up for this kind of pain? Who wouldn’t want some kind of anaesthesia?

Luckily (or as planned?), I stumbled upon a TED interview with the author, Elizabeth (Liz) Gilbert (think of the book Eat, Pray, Love and several other books since then..one of my favourites being Big Magic which speaks about following your tiny sparks of curiosity and creativity, while not letting fear or judgement get in your way). In the interview, she was speaking about her experience of grief following the death of her beloved wife, Rayya. What she said, resonated so deeply within me.

People keep asking me how I’m doing, and I’m not always sure how to answer that. It depends on the day. It depends on the minute. Right this moment, I’m OK. Yesterday, not so good. Tomorrow, we’ll see.
Here is what I have learned about Grief, though.
I have learned that Grief is a force of energy that cannot be controlled or predicted. It comes and goes on its own schedule. Grief does not obey your plans, or your wishes. Grief will do whatever it wants to you, whenever it wants to. In that regard, Grief has a lot in common with Love. The only way that I can “handle” Grief, then, is the same way that I “handle” Love — by not “handling” it. By bowing down before its power, in complete humility.
When Grief comes to visit me, it’s like being visited by a tsunami. I am given just enough warning to say, “Oh my god, this is happening RIGHT NOW,” and then I drop to the floor on my knees and let it rock me. How do you survive the tsunami of Grief? By being willing to experience it, without resistance.
The conversation of Grief, then, is one of prayer-and-response.
Grief says to me: “You will never love anyone the way you loved Rayya.” And I reply: “I am willing for that to be true.” Grief says: “She’s gone, and she’s never coming back.” I reply: “I am willing for that to be true.” Grief says: “You will never hear that laugh again.” I say: “I am willing.” Grief says, “You will never smell her skin again.” I get down on the floor on my fucking knees, and — and through my sheets of tears — I say, “I AM WILLING.” This is the job of the living — to be willing to bow down before EVERYTHING that is bigger than you. And nearly everything in this world is bigger than you.
I don’t know where Rayya is now. It’s not mine to know. I only know that I will love her forever. And that I am willing. - Elizabeth Gilbert

Wow. Just wow. These words instantly transported me out of the tight vice grip of grief, to a momentary sense of spaciousness. As I have said before, it was the first thing that echoed of comfort, almost akin to medicine. What comes to mind is the horrible pink drink often given in the ER for acid reflux or gastritis. Affectionately called a “pink lady”, it is comprised of both liquid antacid plus lidocaine. When you drink it, it coats the throat, esophagus and stomach, offering soothing and numbing. Well that is exactly what EG’s words were like to me, an emotional pink lady of sorts. She was able to capture aspects of my experience that I was previously unable to articulate. There was also wisdom here. Grief is an ever shifting landscape that calls for humility…and it is big and powerful. I needed to find my way to willingness. Willingness to show up for my grief, my new reality, for myself, for Jason and for my life. I had absolutely no idea how to do this.

After hearing this interview, I sought other interviews with Liz. After gobbling those up, I went to her website, still ravenous. Lo and behold, in the uncanniness that I have found coexists beside the pain in grief, she was coming to give a talk in Vancouver the following weekend. A friend was eager to go with me. Correction, she scooped me up and carried me over to the mainland in a big heap, kept me fed and housed, lovingly gave me a sound healing facilitated by her and a friend and accompanied me to the talk. Hearing Liz’s message was worth every moment of distress in being away from the comfort and familiarity of home and my kids, while deep in the embodied and highly uncomfortable phase of early grief.

The crux of her talk was Liz’s unexpected and novel wish to create a world in which all women were relaxed. This statement led to an anxious ripple of laughter, followed by a deafening silence when she went on to ask, “No seriously, who here knows a relaxed woman?” To which no one raised their hands. Liz shared she always aspires to be the most relaxed person in the room now because they have the most power and the biggest capacity to face whatever life throws at them. Her musings about how to cultivate this state of relaxation centred on three areas: priorities, boundaries and mysticism.

I loved listening to her speak. She is a truth teller, a blond haired, living Buddha of sorts. So grounded and down to earth, not an ounce of pretension…you can tell she has lived. Nothing picture perfect. Two divorces and now a widow. Hmm, I could kind of relate, two divorces and now a widow. Kind of out of sync with what I expected or what society expected of me. If not careful, this could be a source of self judgement and shame…yet Liz seemed so noticeably comfortable in herself, appeared fiercely loving towards herself. To top it off, her living demonstration of boundaries mid presentation was inspiring. When she spoke to her actions at the end of the night she stated, “I am the only one up here, if I don’t take care of myself, who will?” Hmmm, that seemed applicable in grief too. If I don’t figure out how to take care of myself in this wasteland, who will? This proved to be foreshadowing for the journey ahead.

It was the mysticism that really caught my attention. When speaking about how to cultivate it, Liz shared a daily practice that she has done for the past twenty or so years called Two Way Prayer or Letters from Love. In this simple practice, she has a conversation with unconditional love. The instructions are simple….write down the following words in a notebook or on a computer, “Dear Love what would you have me know today?…” and then you pause and wait for love’s answer, which ideally begins with a loving salutation to yourself (e.g. Dearest Ali or Dear little green bean or Dear little anxious flower….however you might greet yourself with tenderness). This general prompt to Love can also be adapted for whatever you are currently facing in your life or curious about; you can ask Love about specific things and see what wisdom it offers you e.g.….Dear Love what would you have me know today about forgiveness?…or guilt?…or loneliness? …or my job? …or my relationship? …or my body?

The next day I returned home to my faithful post lying on the living room floor and tucked away this practice in my back pocket. It was several months later, that I was inspired to give it a try. What did I have to lose?

That was about ten months ago. Since then, I have kept up this practice every day as part of my morning routine. To say that it has been life affirming and life changing would be an understatement.

Sidebar…I know it might seem like I am going all rainbows and unicorns here. But trust me, in the beginning…this whole thing felt awkward and Love and its messages were really faint. I struggled to even to begin with a loving salutation. It was strange to be speaking to myself in this way. I persevered…and now, the wheel is well oiled and spins freely… Love speaks to me loud and clear now with all sorts of tenderness.

Without realizing it, I have been cultivating self compassion. My self-love muscle has been growing in response. This has been a welcome antidote to the harsh nature of grief. When someone you love dies, especially traumatically and way too young, it is easy to judge, blame and criticize yourself at every turn. This only adds more suffering to your already broken heart. This practice is teaching me how to care for myself and tend to my pain and inner world so I can participate in my outer world in a more resourced way.

Francis Weller states, “ Bringing compassion to our suffering is an act of generosity.” He goes on to suggest that self compassion can be likened to an internalized village, it’s like having a whole host of caring individuals living inside us. He suggests if being kind to oneself is difficult for you, think about how you might respond to a friend who is suffering…with caring and tenderness right? rather than judgement or criticism (which is so often how we treat ourselves).

Research has shown that at a physiological level, self hating and critical responses to ourselves throws us into the fight or flight state (as it is perceived by the brain as a threat, even though self inflicted). This calls forth a huge response by the motivational system in our brain - for us to immediately work harder, to be different, to pursue or fix etc. etc. and when we fall short again, which we will invariably do as imperfect humans, beating ourselves up again will send us back for another round, the exhausting cycle continuing ad nauseam. There is no psychological rest here and distress and a lack of wellbeing naturally ensues.

Self compassion offers us a way out of this loop. Holds us in moments of suffering and increases our ability to process it and respond. It allows us to remain open to our heart, life, ourselves and each other. Compassion actually comes from the Latin root, compati which means “to suffer with…” (Weller). Through our own self compassion we naturally become more compassionate towards others.

I must say, unconditional Love has been my faithful companion on this journey to self compassion, has walked alongside me and continues to do so each day that I am open to its messages. Love offers me a perfect invitation (something no human on this planet can give us) and says things like….I am right here. I am not going anywhere. I’ve got you. You are not alone. These powerful words are creating new neural pathways of resilience.

Liz Gilbert has now expanded her personal practice to creating a beautiful community on Substack called Letters from Love where every week she shares her insights, one of her own Letters from Love and one from an invited guest. Members are also encouraged to share in the chat, both their own letters and respond to the letters of others. It is amazing to see and to read how much love is available and what love has to say, if we can only listen. As of last week, there are over 90,000 people who have joined this community and Liz affectionately calls us members, Lovelets. This makes me think of the butterfly effect. I hope there is truth in this phenomenon. This world certainly could use a big dose of Love.

Recently, while helping out at a course called Come Alive at The Haven, I was given an opportunity to speak about self compassion. I offered this Letters From Love practice to the 30 or so participants and leaders. As I sat there watching everyone engaging in the process, I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Two things were happening for me…I was moved by the notion that in real time, people were connecting with Love, maybe for the first time and who knew what might emerge now and in the future if that conversation continued? I also felt a deepening sense of meaning and purpose as I watched myself have something to offer others and the possibility, at some point in the future, of making a real difference for adults through group work. Previously the future felt so dark and bleak. This noticing marked another turning towards life. Not in a wow, I am all healed and now I can just move on kind of way. But rather, here I sit aware not only of my tender, fragile heart that is slowly being sewn back together, but also of my ever deepening capacity to show up for others …and how it seems I am being called back to life through service. Healing and integration of grief is supposed to occur most naturally in this context of service. It certainly fits when I consider what also happened in my school community this year.

Last November, one of our grade 12 students unexpectedly and tragically died leaving our school community reeling. At that time I was only back to work on a very part time basis but felt called to show up and help to lead the support response. If I had not gone through my own experience of grief, I would not have had such a felt sense of what was needed. The first day back to work after this tragedy, I awoke early and this is what Love had to say to me in anticipation of meeting students, staff and parents in their grief.

Dear Love, what would you have me know today about serving others while in my grief?

Dear precious dewdrop,

I know you see the magic at work here…how you are being called into service at this time of devastation and heartbreak for your school community. Trust in that sense that your capacity to hold space for pain and grief comes on the heels of all the heart wrenching work you have done in your personal apprenticeship with loss. This capacity is hard earned. I know it has been the most challenging and painful journey of your entire life and I have been holding your hand the whole time, even when you thought you were all alone. You are never alone. I just went quiet for awhile so you could hear your own heartbeat and follow it back to the table of love, recognizing how you, like everyone, deserve a spot there. How you, like everyone, deserve to feast there; it is a place where all you have ever needed is provided.

Now you find yourself, as a conduit of healing; this is profound and sacred work. Jason and I are right there with you. I can hear you doubting your place even still. I can hear you questioning if you are strong or skilled enough to courageously bring the truth of death and grief into your school community. To normalize the experiences of these high school students who have just had their hearts ripped out and been thrust into an initiation of sorts. You are their fearless leader in moving towards what hurts and holding themselves and each other with kindness and generous heaps of self-compassion.

There are no mistakes. You are right where you are meant to be. Lean into this sense of belonging and purpose for it will keep guiding your path forwards. I know the truth, that losing Jason was so unexpected, that you assumed that love could save him. This is held with such tenderness. I know you would hand all this important soul work back in an instant, if you could bring him back.

And here you are, in a reality you did not expect which at times is just as overwhelming in its love as in its grief. You must know that he and I are working in tandem. He is, as ever faithful in his love to you. We will never stop loving you. You are being held every step of the way. When you get weary from this work because it can be exhausting, always shining a light into the darkness of grief and loss, make sure you retreat and rest. This is how you are meant to cycle in and out of service. Dedicate yourself to your practices that anchor you, offer your gifts as you are guided to and then return to us for replenishment and love. We will hold and rock you gently when you feel exhausted. And yes, this is the tender beginnings of how you make meaning from losing your love and soulmate. This is how you start to remember with more love than pain. Listen to us cheering you on….Ali, Ali, Ali. Oh little froggy, you can do it. We believe in you.

Love from, Love. xoxo

So that’s a sample of what unfolds for me when I get quiet and invite love into my life. It is worth noting, not all my letters are this long. Sometimes love just says a few words like, “Hang in there”; it just depends on the day.

Letters from Love is a sacred practice. One that has helped me so much in my grief. Although still intense and ever-present, grief is not as scary to me as it was in the beginning. I am learning to no longer resist it. Fall to my knees more quickly. I am learning to be more relaxed in myself and in whatever shows up and to accept that I never know what will show up. This practice is a way of meeting myself every morning, before engaging with the rest of the world and has given a structure to my inner work. It is a foundation that is holding me, an anchor where before I was simply falling.

How this all unfolded…finding Liz Gilbert, listening to her words, seeing her speak and engaging with this heart centred practice seems like another example of divine intervention and how I am being held on this journey. The side benefit of my efforts, is my ever deepening capacity and willingness to step into my life, exactly as it is. I am willing for all of this to be true (even though I hate it), willing to bow down to my grief and cry every single tear for Jason that needs to be cried and willing to see what I am being called to do with the rest of my time on this planet.

I urge you to try it. See what Love has to say to you.

You can search throughout the entire universe for someone who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and that person is not to be found anywhere. You, yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection. - Buddha

Our approaches to ourselves in our own grief are most useful, most loving and kind, when we find ways to keep our hearts open in the midst of the nightmare, to not lose sight of love amidst the wreckage” Megan Devine.