The Whole Truth

When I was deciding what to write about to close the year, it seemed like a no brainer. I wanted to write about feeling whole and how my understanding of that concept had recently changed. Yet when I put pen to paper, I found it was more difficult than I had anticipated to translate my experience into sensible words. For instance, what does “feeling whole” even mean?

It’s an airy thing to define, and I don’t really feel qualified to do so. But I can share my experience, and for me it is this sense of peace and comfort I have about myself. Feeling whole is a sense of self-okay-ness in the best possible way, and it does not depend on external inputs, feedback, or circumstances. I don’t have to change who I am or fear that I am somehow lacking.

Until recently, I couldn’t have even attempted that description because feeling whole seemed an elusive state. Countless books, podcasts, and experts advised me that I was already whole as is. Easy for them to say, but not so easy for me to manifest. I just didn’t feel whole. I had a few character flaws I wished I didn’t have. I had destructive habits that I occasionally slipped into. Sometimes I was an absolute mess! By my reasoning, this was all solid evidence that I had some work to do. I thought if I addressed these issues and made some serious progress in the self-improvement department, then I would finally be capable of feeling this wholeness.

Since I started traveling, however, I’ve had a lot of time to wander and question, to sit and listen. And my heart has begun to understand that all those books and podcasts were right. Feeling whole doesn’t require a certain level of personal development. It’s not a future state to achieve. Feeling whole comes from accepting myself just as I am here and now.

This means I have to welcome the parts of myself that I label as flawed (the selfishness, insecurity, and all the rest) instead of wishing them away. It means I have to accept that I will sometimes do the wrong thing. It means that even when I think I’m a disaster, I accept that there is no other way I’m supposed to be.**

This new understanding has fostered a sustained feeling of ease and comfort that I haven’t had before. I don’t need to add or subtract anything in order to be whole. I just need to embrace all of me: right here, in this moment. This doesn’t grant me permission to swear off personal growth, because there will always be more for me to learn. But I’m no longer waiting on some better version of me to come along. There’s only the me that I am and the extent to which I can accept that flawed but lovely human.

**Note: I’m not suggesting that accepting yourself is necessarily quick and easy or that it’s something you do once and never think about it again. Accepting yourself frequently requires rethinking deeply held beliefs about right and wrong, good and bad. It involves letting go of feelings of shame and resentment as well as forgiving yourself for past actions. Accepting yourself also challenges you to give up your dependence on other people’s opinions of you. It's legwork I've been doing for years.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

I was raised to believe that if I worked hard enough, I could achieve anything. This statement–repeated overtly to me in my early years as fact more than aspiration–has proven true in my thirty-some years of life experience. I devoted more time to studying than most, and I earned straight A’s from first grade through college. (Okay, okay…there was that one B in penmanship in fourth grade.) As a veterinary nurse at an animal hospital, I initiated several improved processes that led to my promotion to supervisor. I wanted to become a yoga teacher, so I spent twenty hours a week in a training program while working full-time at my real job.

Yet despite my track record of success with this maxim, I’ve finally had to acknowledge that not everything in life can be overcome by sheer force of will and applied effort. I fought harder for my marriage than I have ever fought for anything in my life, yet it didn’t survive. But in the process I learned countless other important lessons about how to be a better partner, friend, and human.

I learned that it’s okay to be vulnerable, to let myself cry in front of people, and to be honest about how I’m feeling instead of putting on a brave, happy face.

I learned to ask for help. Then I practiced accepting help when it was offered, without letting my pride and ego get in the way.

I learned to let myself be angry–to explode with anger sometimes. I learned to accept my outbursts of intensity without judging myself for them. I eventually learned appropriate ways to express my anger and that it often stemmed from my lack of boundaries. I learned that a few minutes of very loud shouting can cause laryngitis.

I learned to trust. I learned to trust in my intuition because my mind prefers denial. I learned to trust in the goodness of other people and that the messy events of the past two years were necessary for whatever comes next in my life.

I learned that no one can read my mind. I learned that it is my responsibility to ask for what I want. I learned to stop feeling guilty for having wants and needs.

I learned that I’m not responsible for how other people feel. I’m responsible for my own feelings and for having kind and honest intentions when I communicate with others.

I learned to listen and to keep listening even when I don't like what I hear. I learned to let painful words hang in the air without shutting down or becoming defensive. I learned to listen to my partner’s perception–entirely different than my own–and accept that neither one was right.

I learned to say, “I’m sorry.” I practiced saying it without justifying my actions or making excuses. I learned to examine my words and actions and make an apology when one was needed. I learned how powerful this short little phrase can be.

I learned to forgive and forgive again. I practiced forgiving even when I didn’t receive an apology. I learned that practicing forgiveness without establishing boundaries is an invitation to be hurt again. I learned to forgive myself for my own mistakes, which was the hardest of all.

I learned to love, despite all the obstacles. I had the opportunity to love deeply and openly even when walls were thrown up and doors slammed in my face. I learned that love is not static nor is it just a feeling­–it’s also a choice. Sometimes it’s an easy choice and sometimes it’s a grueling one, but it’s a choice that I make day by day, moment by moment.

When I look back on this period in my life, I feel conflicting emotions. There’s been so much sadness and disappointment, but the pain has been a catalyst for curiosity, introspection, and growth. Until now, I’d always been able to get what I wanted by being persistent and working hard. What I wanted was to save my marriage; what I got was totally unexpected and maybe exactly what I needed. 

Starting Over

Like many people, as the end of December draws near I am already looking forward to the new year ahead. I'm imagining all of the things I want to accomplish during my next trip around the sun. The close of the year is a natural time to pause and reflect on where I am, to figure out where things are going right and where I want to make changes.

There's something special about starting a new year that gives us permission to be gentler with ourselves. Sure, I wanted to learn another language this year. I also wanted to paint my bathroom and travel abroad and run a 10k. The fact that I didn't tackle (or even make progress toward!) these goals has been quietly nagging me all year. But not anymore. It's 2016! I get to start over. I can sincerely let my failed attempts go because it's the one time of year when we all agree to wipe our slates clean. 

But are we really only allowed that magical eraser once a year?

I heard "Grace" by the October Project at a restorative yoga workshop a few weeks back. The class was being offered to volunteers who work with disadvantaged populations, introducing yoga and the coping skills it offers to youth and adults who have experienced trauma in their lives. The dynamics in these classrooms are often quite difficult and unexpected. As a volunteer yoga teacher I often feel ineffective, wondering if any part of what I am trying to communicate is being received. 

At the workshop, my teacher played "Grace" as a reminder of not just the opportunity but the obligation we each have to wipe our slate clean, moment by moment. Maybe our actions didn't have the results we intended. Maybe we said something we wish we could take back or say a different way. Maybe that's okay. The real work is to stop dwelling on our missteps and instead accept that we do the best we can in each moment. Maybe our best doesn't feel good enough, but it's all we have. And in the next moment, we might know a little better. We might do better.

Now in this moment
It's time to start over
Open your heart
You know there's nothing to forgive

The lyrics of "Grace" remind me that every moment can be my own personal New Year's Day. I don't have to wait for an annual celebration to give myself permission to accept where I am–off track and all–and move forward. I get the opportunity to start over hundreds of times each day. 

To Forgive and Not Forget

"Today I'd like to talk about an unpopular topic that no one likes hearing about. Today I'd like to talk about forgiveness." That's how my yoga teacher started a vinyasa class last Saturday, and it is just one of the many messages about forgiveness that I have happened upon in the past week. In my case, the teacher was close to the truth when she remarked that we don't like to talk about it, because I'm struggling to forgive right now and it doesn't feel good. It's much easier to cling to my feelings of betrayal and indignation than to sincerely examine the obstacles that prevent me from forgiving. So when my teacher started talking about the dreaded F word, I asked myself to truly listen to what she had to offer and to be equally open in the other encounters I've recently had with the subject. 

One of the biggest roadblocks for me has been the idea (and impossibility!) of just forgetting about the pain that someone caused me, especially in instances when the person won't even acknowledge that his or her actions caused me pain. As much as I wish I could forget certain moments–things I saw or heard or read–my brain has already forged the connections. Those circuits are hardwired now to evoke very strong emotions when triggered. But in the past week I've uncovered that forgiveness is not about forgetting or letting go of the pain. It's not about locking the door to that anger and throwing away the key. Forgiveness is about making conscious decisions about what I do when I feel the pain surface. 

The typical human response is to react with anger when something sparks a memory about a time we were wronged. Maybe we concoct some wild revenge plot. (We know it will never happen but it feels good to imagine anyway.) Or perhaps we make a passionate plea for karma to do its thing. 

We are conditioned to think this way because we believe in fairness and justice, but forgiveness offers us an opportunity to change the way we think. When we encounter the pain that someone's actions caused us, instead of unconsciously spiraling into anger and resentment we can intentionally acknowledge what happened and how we feel about it. It's okay to feel anger or betrayal or sadness and to sit with those feelings for a bit. But we can't stop there. The second step is to choose our focus. Do we dwell on the pain and relive every second of it in excruciating detail? Or do we ask ourselves to move forward and set our minds on something that lifts us up? Which is a better use of our precious time and energy?

Changing our pattern of reaction is easier said than done. I know that I am only hurting myself by staying angry at someone, but I have also realized that identifying as the victim in a situation gives me a sense of righteousness. In a backward way it makes me feel good about myself–look, I have never done that terrible thing so I must be a better person. If I practice forgiveness, I won't have this pedestal to look down from any more and I'll find myself standing amongst the people who hurt me. But if I'm honest with myself, that is right where I belong. I am choosing selfish action, too, by holding onto my righteous anger in order to feed my sense of self.

The truth is that we are all capable of making mistakes and of learning new ways to be. Right now I'm learning that forgiveness means choosing love, even when it's hard.