Here, in all sincerity
(Latin) compati: ‘to suffer with’
Compassion: a state of active non-doing; being with an undefended heart; an open stance toward suffering.
Some of the key themes in my life involve the (absence and) need for enduring support and patient guidance; for attunement and validation; for compassionate holding and witnessing to presence my hurt and sensitivity. If I am to do a word cloud based on my sessions with my therapist, some words that will stand out from our exchanges are too alone, pain, validated, mirrored, attune, purity, sincerity, openness, exquisite tracking.
I suffered no abuse, but the hole in my life was huge. Too alone, as my therapist would say.
The effects of neglect can be as distressing and damaging as abuse, yet we can easily overlook the former. I was an only child, often left alone to fend off the imaginary monsters creeping up in my own darkness as a result of turbulent emotional experiences evoked by my keen sensitivity and curiosity. I suffered terrifying nightmares between 7-10 years old. I scared myself to death only to be jolted awake.
When my mother took her own life, the dose was multiplied. I lost the holding of a mothering figure, and with an emotionally unavailable father, I lost, too, the support and guidance to step into the adult world. I was also told to “not air my dirty laundry outside” when my father knew I had a counseling session with my school teacher. Overnight, I was orphaned.
If you are feeling sorry for me, thank you for your care. At the same time, I survived, and I now have the privilege of doing the work to understand and unlock the tension patterns in my soul to free myself from my history. If pain is awoken in you as you read my words, this may be a sign and an invitation to sit with yours. And if you are willing, imagine that I am sitting right there next to you, feeling the pain with you.
Pain needs to be acknowledged, mirrored, and validated for it to be felt and released. When it is not validated and felt, it has nowhere to go. We may experience the pain whenever it is touched, but parts of us will resist it, sweeping it back down under the carpet. It stays stuck in our system, and over long periods of time, plays out as chronic issues or illnesses.
Over the weekend, I had been releasing lots of tears and laughter. Grief came and went in waves, and occasionally, the insights gleaned evoked wonder and joy. I was a mess, a puddle, a Super Mario star, at least that was how I saw myself. Though I have no qualms writing and talking about these, this sight of me is reserved for a selected few.
Pain needs room to breathe.
It is not easy to sit with suffering, but when we are willing to open ourselves to it, it is a gift to everyone (including ourselves) in the circle. Pain is not a pleasant feeling, yet when shared and felt with another, we can experience more ease and space. Our heart can breathe a little easier, our belly can shake a bit more to release what it has been holding. And we get to learn that our heart is both tender and strong, vulnerable and durable. Our capacity to be with suffering increases.
My husband, Daryl, sat with me through my recent breakdown. It has been amazing how we came together. What started out as a pairing between a disorganized attachment style and an avoidant attachment style has been morphing with our development, and we are gradually moving closer to meet each other. I am grateful that we had not given up on each other.
(P.s. If you’re interested to have a short conversation on attachment styles or authentic relating, schedule a moment here.)
Let me give you an example of how our styles influence how we interact. When I am in a pit, I can run a pull-push tension pattern, which sounds something like this:
Pull: Where are you? I need you with me (here in the pit), please don’t leave me alone.
Of course, not everyone knows how to be with such energy, since our own structures can get triggered. In my case with Daryl, his care and love for me will bring up his own pain and reactivity. In our earlier years together, he would attempt to jump in as a savior and solve problems. This then activates my Push.
Push: No, go away, you don’t understand, just leave me alone.
Having someone who could not be with me in my suffering intensifies the pain of disconnection. I felt more cut off from the world and trapped.
Over time, he developed capacity to hold himself from reacting, and sat quietly beside me as I cried. However, his avoidant attachment style would put him on the sidelines. Though his physical body was beside me, his presence was withdrawn, and his heart was closed.
Through my latest breakdown, it was the first time I felt him with me.
Inquiring with him after, he revealed his experience and what he learned about compassion and being with. Before, he felt sorry and sympathetic toward me, I appeared in his mind as a victim of circumstances. He was watching from a distance. This time around, he felt soft and tender, viewing me not just as the victim but also his partner. To use a cliché, there was skin in the game. He chose to step in to be in relationship with me. I was no longer just a ball of pain, I was something more. I was also not alone in it, I was held. From his also hurting heart, he uttered these words to me, “I’m sorry we did not give you the confidence we could hold you.”
Something in me softened and relaxed. My pain was seen and validated; I was not imagining it. And it inspired a new insight: once the victim was acknowledged, she could move on. The stickiness of my victim structure has little to do with putting the blame on the other. What the victim needed was validation of her suffering. The relationship dynamic frozen in time was of that between the suffering child and the adults who did not believe her.
Every bit of us is fighting to have a voice and be heard; every bit of life force that was trapped desires to be felt, and is saying “I am here” in all the ways they could, unable to rest before their existence is acknowledged and validated. Now, I see, that I have two options when this structure in me is activated: will I attend to her with sincerity or will I treat her like how my caregivers did?
What about you? How will you be with yourself?
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Hello & welcome — I am glad you are here. I am Rosslyn Chay, facilitator, healer, poet—each of these, a very human attempt to mend our fractured relationship with our nature and free the truth of who we are from the weight of our history. The Dandelion Notes are field notes on my attempts.