Either Way, the Answer Is Tenderness
A lot of the people I work with are in pain of some sort or another. Which, of course — it’s part of what we do as humans, and the work I do is a little closer to that than most. I was musing on this just last month, actually, and thinking about how the people I see who are most at home, or able to be with, or just not completely thrown by their pain, are those that are able to have a relationship with it.
Which got me thinking about the kinds of relationships I want, especially with the hard things. In any relationship I’m in that I care deeply about, I want there to be understanding. A willingness to be in the mess together. And always, always, tenderness.
You might be able to move the pain, or not. Either way, the answer is tenderness.
It might be very heavy for you always, or you might forget about it from time to time. Either way, the answer is tenderness.
You might get the big huge catharsis, or you might take it in sips. Either way, the answer is tenderness.
And, there’s an invitation there.
Anyone who tells you that all pain happens for a reason, or that you somehow invite it into your life to teach you a lesson or something like that? They’re wrong. I worked as a 911 operator for decades, believe me, I know.
But in some cases, we do get something out of the pain. It could be a chance to grow, or know ourselves more, or make a change that makes the pain go away. It could be a relationship with the pain itself, or strength you get from overcoming it.
The invitation is tenderness.
We tend to default to our protective maneuvers out of fear, of course we do. But what if the pain could just be there? What if you could just be with it, and be with yourself? What if, instead of trying to squelch it, push through it, ignore it, or feel horrified when it leaks out, you could incorporate it as a part of you, and be tender in that?
Because of course a relationship with what’s hard isn’t just about you and that thing. It’s about your relationship with yourself, too. And sometimes, if that’s a relationship that’s been distant, or hard, or just on the back burner, having to become aware of it again because of something painful can be another layer of complexity, and another layer of tenderness.
What if it’s not about getting rid of the pain, but rather, growing yourself around it?
Like a tree with something stuck in it, you can become more than this, and make it part of you. If you want to. And — hear me when I say this — you might not want to, and that’s perfectly fine. You are under no obligation to be other than as you are ... which is, in itself, a kind of tenderness.
Try This:
If you’ve got something that feels painful when you bump up against it (or all the time), can you be with it? If not, that’s OK. But can you be with one part of yourself that doesn’t feel it? I often invite clients to think about how their big toe feels. When everything is falling apart, can that one place feel OK?
The next time that pain comes up, can you talk to it? Or at least be with it, without it needing to go away, without anything in the situation needing to be different? Can you take it in sips, rather than shoving it down?
The next time one of your reflexive protective maneuvers comes up, try getting curious about what’s going on. Is there a way you could breathe, expand, become bigger than this moment?
Again, a reminder: this section is called “Try This” for a reason. Not “Do This Or Else”. It’s all an experiment, and we’re all works in progress.
If you’d like some soothing along the way, I’m here for you. Find out more about how we can work together here.
