“Anger is sadness’s bodyguard,” Paul Denniston said recently in a Grief Yoga® class. I heard it. It stayed with me. And, in my mind, it became, “anger is fear’s bodyguard.” As someone who has always been afraid of anger and what might blow up if it was unleashed, I’m wondering if maybe I’m even more afraid of the tender bits of fear and sadness.
I can see now I was angry with Nate so often because I was too afraid to feel my fear. What would I have had to feel if I had softened and removed the protective armor of anger? Would I become weak, at risk? As a toddler, I had big temper tantrums. I’ve had a few as an adult too – when they come it’s always out of a place of feeling trapped, wanting to jump out of my skin. When I was a kid, none of the “negative” emotions were allowed. I could only hold them for so long before things blew up. At other times I’ve experienced depression - maybe an implosion from emotions stuffed away for too long?
Fear and sadness are vulnerable, exposing. It’s risky to express them or even give them voice in my own mind. Sometimes I withhold my sadness and fear for fear of infecting others, which leaves me carrying the weight alone. That sucks! And so, I’m likely to try to talk myself out of those feelings. Which I know isn’t helpful or healthy.
One of the things I love about my meditation practice is its inclusivity. As we sit with our breath, we don’t push anything away. Thoughts come and go, sometimes taking us with them until we wake up and bring ourselves back to the breath. Emotions move through, but nothing needs to be denied, ignored, or pushed away. In welcoming them all, they have room to breathe and space to be. They don’t need to escalate to get our attention. As we relax with them a bit, they too relax.
In my grief I’ve become far more comfortable with sadness because I know it’s understandable, rational. No one’s going to tell me I’m crazy for feeling sad. My son died, for heaven’s sake!
But fear? Seems like lots of people want to question my fear or tell me I’m being ridiculous, I’ve been lied to, it’s not going to be as bad as I think… As those messages trickle in, a little voice inside of me joins in. Self-doubt arises, despite the evidence I have that my fear is warranted.
Fear needs a place to express – to not be gaslit into oblivion! Can we gaslight ourselves? Seems we can.
Fear is real and reasonable. Please spare me the “False Evidence Appearing Real” bypass! It’s deeply offensive when people are facing indisputable threats to their well-being.
Fear tells us to pay attention – to check things out. To be discerning. It’s a built-in survival mechanism that alerts us when something is “off.”
Maybe if we turned toward our fear and befriended it, it ‘ll visit at times and take a rest at times, leaving us alone to rest. If we push it away, ignore it, or slam the door in its tender little face, it only grows stronger and nags more. It’s here. It’s part of me and for the rest of my life, it will show up at different times in varying ways.
When I deny my fear, it comes out sideways, in snarky comments, or bigger blasts of rage.
Fear is tender. It needs tender care and gentle respect. I’ve never thought so compassionately about this bit of me I’d rather not have.
Don’t talk yourself out of fear too quickly. Sit with it and ask what it wants you to know. (*Please take care of yourself as you consider making this inquiry. If you find yourself getting more agitated or traumatized, find someone to talk it through with - a counselor or trusted friend who can provide a safe space). If it feels ok and safe enough, go ahead and explore:
If fear runs away with you (as it is very good at!), keep it in healthy dialogue:
Is it wrong to take this time to sit and get to know your fear? No! It’s medicine that helps calm your being so you can continue to be, first and foremost. Maybe so you could be helpful in some way when the time is right – you’re not helpful when you’re running around in a panic. We need our energy for when the panic meets us at the door so we can face it then. Until the moment when action must be taken, let’s foster the energy reserves. Get to know this part of ourselves so it doesn’t catch us off guard or leave us vulnerable to those who prey upon our fear.
What if we were to not silence, dismiss, or push away our fear? What if, for a bit, we didn’t cover it over with anger? Don’t get me wrong – the anger is also warranted and has information for us, but for now I’m curious about peeling it back to see what’s underneath. My guess is you’ll find your anger rises out of deep caring, and you’re worried or terrified for yourself, for loved ones, or for people you don’t even know. For our planet and all of its inhabitants. For the future we’re leaving our children and grandchildren.
So, I admit I’m scared. I’m too tired to pretend to be strong all the time (and p.s., even strong people get scared). I don’t need to be strong all the time. I can’t be. We often think being fearless means we can’t feel afraid or that somehow, we miraculously have no fear, when in reality, courage is feeling the fear and showing up anyway. I think probably we’re stronger when we allow our humanness to be exposed. Vulnerability can connect us. So, I admit I’m feeling scared these days. The particulars of my fear aren’t the point.
If you’re scared too, can we just sit together, hold one another for a while? We won’t cower away forever, but can we just give ourselves a little respite of honesty and be afraid together? Because we’re not wrong to feel this fear, and maybe it won’t consume us if we can sit with it every now and again. Shall we give it a try? Somehow sensing “me too” leaves me feeling a little less alone and gives me the courage to go on.
I can see now I was angry with Nate so often because I was too afraid to feel my fear. What would I have had to feel if I had softened and removed the protective armor of anger? Would I become weak, at risk? As a toddler, I had big temper tantrums. I’ve had a few as an adult too – when they come it’s always out of a place of feeling trapped, wanting to jump out of my skin. When I was a kid, none of the “negative” emotions were allowed. I could only hold them for so long before things blew up. At other times I’ve experienced depression - maybe an implosion from emotions stuffed away for too long?
Fear and sadness are vulnerable, exposing. It’s risky to express them or even give them voice in my own mind. Sometimes I withhold my sadness and fear for fear of infecting others, which leaves me carrying the weight alone. That sucks! And so, I’m likely to try to talk myself out of those feelings. Which I know isn’t helpful or healthy.
One of the things I love about my meditation practice is its inclusivity. As we sit with our breath, we don’t push anything away. Thoughts come and go, sometimes taking us with them until we wake up and bring ourselves back to the breath. Emotions move through, but nothing needs to be denied, ignored, or pushed away. In welcoming them all, they have room to breathe and space to be. They don’t need to escalate to get our attention. As we relax with them a bit, they too relax.
In my grief I’ve become far more comfortable with sadness because I know it’s understandable, rational. No one’s going to tell me I’m crazy for feeling sad. My son died, for heaven’s sake!
But fear? Seems like lots of people want to question my fear or tell me I’m being ridiculous, I’ve been lied to, it’s not going to be as bad as I think… As those messages trickle in, a little voice inside of me joins in. Self-doubt arises, despite the evidence I have that my fear is warranted.
Fear needs a place to express – to not be gaslit into oblivion! Can we gaslight ourselves? Seems we can.
Fear is real and reasonable. Please spare me the “False Evidence Appearing Real” bypass! It’s deeply offensive when people are facing indisputable threats to their well-being.
Fear tells us to pay attention – to check things out. To be discerning. It’s a built-in survival mechanism that alerts us when something is “off.”
Maybe if we turned toward our fear and befriended it, it ‘ll visit at times and take a rest at times, leaving us alone to rest. If we push it away, ignore it, or slam the door in its tender little face, it only grows stronger and nags more. It’s here. It’s part of me and for the rest of my life, it will show up at different times in varying ways.
When I deny my fear, it comes out sideways, in snarky comments, or bigger blasts of rage.
Fear is tender. It needs tender care and gentle respect. I’ve never thought so compassionately about this bit of me I’d rather not have.
Don’t talk yourself out of fear too quickly. Sit with it and ask what it wants you to know. (*Please take care of yourself as you consider making this inquiry. If you find yourself getting more agitated or traumatized, find someone to talk it through with - a counselor or trusted friend who can provide a safe space). If it feels ok and safe enough, go ahead and explore:
If fear runs away with you (as it is very good at!), keep it in healthy dialogue:
- Is that really true? If it is, is there an action I can take so I don’t feel helpless?
- Do I know without a doubt how this will end? I cannot know, so I can breathe with that truth.
- What’s true in this moment, right here? Can I ground myself into this present moment? I can, because I’ve found ways to do this all my life, despite fearful things near and far.
Is it wrong to take this time to sit and get to know your fear? No! It’s medicine that helps calm your being so you can continue to be, first and foremost. Maybe so you could be helpful in some way when the time is right – you’re not helpful when you’re running around in a panic. We need our energy for when the panic meets us at the door so we can face it then. Until the moment when action must be taken, let’s foster the energy reserves. Get to know this part of ourselves so it doesn’t catch us off guard or leave us vulnerable to those who prey upon our fear.
What if we were to not silence, dismiss, or push away our fear? What if, for a bit, we didn’t cover it over with anger? Don’t get me wrong – the anger is also warranted and has information for us, but for now I’m curious about peeling it back to see what’s underneath. My guess is you’ll find your anger rises out of deep caring, and you’re worried or terrified for yourself, for loved ones, or for people you don’t even know. For our planet and all of its inhabitants. For the future we’re leaving our children and grandchildren.
So, I admit I’m scared. I’m too tired to pretend to be strong all the time (and p.s., even strong people get scared). I don’t need to be strong all the time. I can’t be. We often think being fearless means we can’t feel afraid or that somehow, we miraculously have no fear, when in reality, courage is feeling the fear and showing up anyway. I think probably we’re stronger when we allow our humanness to be exposed. Vulnerability can connect us. So, I admit I’m feeling scared these days. The particulars of my fear aren’t the point.
If you’re scared too, can we just sit together, hold one another for a while? We won’t cower away forever, but can we just give ourselves a little respite of honesty and be afraid together? Because we’re not wrong to feel this fear, and maybe it won’t consume us if we can sit with it every now and again. Shall we give it a try? Somehow sensing “me too” leaves me feeling a little less alone and gives me the courage to go on.
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