Breaking Point: #18

I have been busy writing my novel during this Breaking Point series and so I’ve handed over this platform to you brave souls.  Though I haven’t been responding to your comments, I’ve read every one and I love how people are reaching out to each other with such love and support.  It’s such a testiment to the power of sharing our pain.  You are all amazing human beings.  Hamlet talks about The thousand natural
shocks that flesh is heir to… 
Natural shocks.  Pain is natural.  Normal.  When we resist it, we make it worse.  A deep breath for us all, from this Montana morning.  Thank you to Joy and Karly for today’s brave Breaking Point stories.  yrs. Laura

Here’s an affirmation for you from a GREAT book by David Richo called:  “The Five Things We Cannot Change”:

As I say yes to the fact of suffering, may I accept the dark side of life and find a way through it, and may I then become an escort of compassion to those who also suffer.

Submitted by: Joy Weber

I was 22 years old and lonely as hell. I had moved from Minnesota to upstate New York in hopes of a geographic cure for the pain in my heart.

I was a new RN, working a new job and scared to death that I couldn’t do it. I had very few friends and those I had, I thought I would lose if they ever knew the real me. So I hid in a world of lies and pretended to be whatever I thought they wanted.

And through it all, I drank.

I had been a daily drinker most of my life since I was 15. Sometimes I had to drink in secret. Now that I lived alone, it was easy. I came home from work, closed the blinds, and drank until I “fell asleep” into that desired oblivion.

I drank so I wouldn’t be afraid, I drank so I wouldn’t feel lonely, I drank so I wouldn’t remember my childhood, I drank because it hurt too much to be alive in this world. I drank because I hated myself, I drank, well, because I’m alcoholic. I was completely lost.

And then one night, the alcohol didn’t work. It didn’t take away the pain. I was raw, aching, and desperate. I paced the floor. My chest ached so badly I could hardly breathe. I wanted to die but was too frightened to kill myself. It was 2 in the morning, pitch black in the country, and I was more alone than I had ever been in my life. Morning was still much too far away. My pain and anxiety escalated as I paced. Finally, I stumbled and fell to my knees and something inside of me broke and I began to cry. “Please!” I half-cried, half-yelled to a God I didn’t believe in anymore, “Please!! Help me!!” and the flood of tears finally came.

I wept from the very depths of my soul. Wept all the tears that hadn’t come for years. I cried for the little girl I was who grew up too fast in the face of physical and sexual abuse. I cried with the pain I wasn’t allowed to speak when Daddy left. I cried for all I’d lost and all I’d never had. The sobs wracked my body and the waves kept coming. I cried out my self-hatred, I cried out my fear. I wept for my lost faith which had once been so precious to me. And still I cried through the night with the tears ebbing, flowing and finally, at last, quieting.

The morning dawned with gentle birdsong, glorious orange sunrise, and my heart, for the first time in my life, beginning to know peace.

I went to my first AA meeting that morning.

I am 26 years sober.


Submitted by: Karly Pittman, who blogs here.

For most of my adult life, I’ve suffered from various forms of mental illness – over 20 years of eating disorders, 15 years of on and off depression, and lifelong challenges with anxiety. I also cope with several other traits, that while not mental illness, are often shamed by our culture – like high sensitivity, distractibility/ADD, insecurity, and low self esteem.

I’ve felt terribly guilty about these traits, as if I should be able to will myself into being different. (To put it another way, I’ve felt insecure about feeling insecure.)

Yes, I’ve made progress; I’ve seen growth. And yet as the years go by, I’ll be honest – I don’t like the fact that I’m still – after all this work, and all this time – having to cope with anxiety, or depression, or a spinning, stressed out brain. I’m frustrated that I’m still, well, me.

If I examine my beliefs, I see that I approached my healing journey with a very closed fist and rigid, high expectations. My expectations went something like this:  if I do all the right things (forgive and let go and take the high road) and undertake this healing journey (God knows it isn’t easy), then I want a reward. I want a guarantee that all my pain will just go away; that I will be wealthy and happy and healthy and loved.

When I didn’t receive these things, I blamed myself. My pain was proof that there was something very wrong with me. This, my friends, is suffering.

I thought if I did all the “right” things – that if I pray and do yoga and meditate and look at my stuff and surrender and forgive – that I could turn myself into a being of pure light, pure radiance, and all my human messiness would fall away.

It is a subtle, perhaps the most subtle, form of control. In the wake of this control – or rather my lack of it – I feel ashamed. I feel perhaps the deepest shame, a spiritual shame, that I’m failing life 101 and it’s all my fault. I feel like I’ve flunked some spiritual test because I haven’t created my life in the way that I’ve wanted.

We feel so, so ashamed because we can’t control. We can’t control the challenges in our lives, the pain that needs healing, we can’t even control our emotions – they just arise. But this shame is based on a false truth:  that we should be able to control. We were never meant to control life in this way.

Perhaps viewing my mental health challenges, my inherent sensitivity, my humanity itself as something I can control with enough spiritual practice is unkind. Perhaps if I surrendered to it, instead, I may find a much gentler – and wiser – way of relating to it. And perhaps in this kindness, I will find a freedom, a peace even in the midst of anxiety, or sadness or sensitivity.

If I’m honest, I can see that my spiritual seeking was about trying to banish my pain, not care for it. I just hated it. I hated the dark muck of depression, the panicky spiral of anxiety, the wobbly feet of insecurity. I have come to see that as long as I’m relating to my pain from that place – a bargain of, “If I care for you, will you go away?” – I will suffer. I will feel guilty, like I’m being punished, and ashamed, like it’s all my fault.

But to release this suffering means to let go of control. To open my heart and release my expectations, my focus on how my life looks on the outside, my need to have a guarantee for a positive outcome. Big, deep breath.

So as I sat last week, with fresh grief in my heart and tears dripping onto my keyboard, I bowed to my pain. I surrendered. I said, “It’s okay anxiety, I love you. It’s okay depression, I will care for you. It’s okay sensitivity, I’m here.” I stopped fighting against my pain and turned towards it in love and care, allowing it to be.

I think there is no greater love than this – to open to all aspects of ourselves, even our deepest, muckiest, ickiest, most shameful parts, and to wrap them in our arms and say, “I will not abandon you. I will stay with you and I love you.” Maybe my deepest pain, all the mental illness and suffering and food stuff, is just that:  something to learn to love. If I don’t love these parts of me, who will?

When I stop judging my insecurity, my anxiety, my depression, and just allow it to be, I feel free. I feel free because I’m not so tense, fighting against myself. I don’t blame or punish myself for feeling sad or lonely, I reach out for support. I don’t feel so caught in, “It’s all my fault.” Instead, I surrender to the wisdom of detachment. As my friend Deidre says,  “It couldn’t have happened any other way.” Another way of saying this is, “You did the very best you could.”

This morning the Beloved whispers to me, “Dear one, you were never meant to be in control. You were never meant to take on so much. You were never meant to carry so many burdens. Let go, dear child. Let go.”

There is so much about life that is not in our control. Do we have the courage to let go, to accept this, and to open to grace? This journey, as all journeys do, comes back to love. Can I love all of me – even the dark, most painful bits? Even my very, very messy humanity – humanity that may never go away?

Rumi put it this way:

Learn the alchemy true human beings know:
the moment you accept what troubles you’ve been given,
the door will open.

Perhaps our brokenness – our humanity – is the call that brings us back to love. We fight against it, try to evolve out of it, hide it, overpower it, and then, exhausted and discouraged, we return to love. Can we just love ourselves, right now, in this moment – where we’re feeling afraid, or anxious, or distracted, or lonely, or depressed? Can we care for our pain, just to care for it – and not for any other reason but that it’s simply a very kind thing to do for ourselves?

May we all remember who we are:  fully valuable, enough and worthy with all our tender humanity. The New Testament says, “the truth shall set you free.” This is what I know to be true:  that each and every one of us is lovable, is worthy, is precious, just as we are – with all our human muck, all our challenges, and all our pain.

We are wonderfully and beautifully made, and we are good; very, very good.



Filed under Breaking Point, My Posts

9 Responses to Breaking Point: #18

  1. What a beautiful way to close out this series. Thank you for sharing your struggles, and for your willingness to openly share your pain and the lessons that you have learned from it.

    • I feel grateful and happy that my words resonated with you, Jamie. Thank you for writing and sharing your feelings and thoughts with me!

      I love having kindred spirits along the path, and am grateful for this introduction through Laura.

      Warmly, Karly

  2. cindy Pitre

    A subtle form of Control – I related to alot of what you were saying, I too “bargain” with life, and at some level do believe that since I do most of the “right” things, I should get the rewards…. but it doesn’t always work out that way…. we don’t always get what we think we deserve…..

    • Cindy,

      I know, I know – I think we all want life to arrange itself according to our plan.

      I’m reading “The Five Things We Cannot Change…and the Happiness We Find by Embracing Them” by David Richo right now, and he talks about one of the five things we can’t change is that things don’t always go according to plan. I’m guessing you might like this book, so I wanted to share it with you:

      I am (slooowly) learning to let go of my expectations that life should be fair. It brings great peace, even though it also means surrender.

      I feel happy to share this path with you! Thank you for writing as I feel less alone on my journey.

      Warmly, Karly

      • God, I love your post.

        And I love that line: “I am (slooowly) learning to let go of my expectations that life should be fair. It brings great peace, **even though it also means surrender**.” Sometimes the bravest, most courageous thing we can do is accept that life isn’t a constant battle or competition. It just is. You’ve just inspired me to write about that amazing nugget. So, thank you for that. And for your openness in general.

        I’ll now be reading the book you recommended AND your blog. :)

        • By the way, acceptance is where healing begins.

          By trying to make ourselves less depressed we have further instilled in our psyches the idea that we are not good enough as is — in turn making ourselves more depressed. By trying to make ourselves calmer and less anxious we have set higher expectations than we’re not meeting — making ourselves more anxious. And by trying to make ourselves feel more confident we’ve focused not on the infinite positive possiblities or our successes but on our failure to measure up — making ourselves feel more insecure and sensitive.

          Acceptance begets a focus on grace, lowered expectations and highlighted worth and successes. Surely happiness, peace and confidence will follow. Acceptance is where the healing begins.


          • Dear Grateful.humble,

            I love your name. I love your passion for acceptance.

            I am laughing thinking about how sometimes in my work I will say, “Just relax.” And realize how funny (or ridiculous!) that sounds when you aren’t feeling relaxed….

            For me, I feel that allowing ourselves to feel all our feelings is one of the kindest things we can do for ourselves. It means we are opening our hearts wide enough to hold our entire human experience, to not leave a part of ourselves outside of our love, compassion or acceptance. I find that incredibly healing – not to cut off or edit parts of me.

            And I love lowering my expectations, especially since I have pushed myself so, so hard for most of my life. (You may enjoy my dear friend Abby Seixas’ book, Finding the Deep River Within, where she talks about softening expectations.)

            Today I picked up my daughters from the airport, as they had been visiting my parents for a week. While she was away, I had sent my daughter a card of love and encouragement. Her response surprsed me – she felt pitied by my card and felt angry. Not the reaction I was expecting!

            It was very interesting to watch my brain roil with all that – to feel disappointed, sad, hurt, misunderstood, angry, defensive. And then I came to a place of acceptance: “These are her feelings. I can allow her to have her feelings. I can lower my expectations. She did not have to love my card for me to love sending it. I can let go.”


            Warmly, Karly

  3. Michelle Roberts

    Last week I listened as a third grade teacher told her student to focus on his work and his path. She said that correcting other students, worrying about classroom behavior and keeping his peers on task was her job so “let me take all that from you”. I smiled at her as the last student in line walked past and said, “I could use someone like you around.”

    Your beautiful words are a gentle reminder that, whatever we believe in, we all have that same calm, peace and acceptance already available to us if we just relinquish control. Thank you for sharing!

    • Hi Michelle,

      Wow – I love what that teacher said to a student! So beautiful. Wise. Powerful. Thank you for sharing that with me.

      Ha, ha – I may post that as a note from the Divine on my desk:

      God: Let me take all that from you. That’s my job.
      Me: Okay. I will focus on my work and my path.

      That feels so good!

      In gratitude, Karly

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