We feel alone until we’ve shared our story
Feeling alone is so much worse than I thought. In fact, I don’t think I ever gave it any thought until my husband headed Home.
Then, all of a sudden, facing the gaping hole of grief, ‘alone’ became a daily experience, to be embraced and eased — or else.
Supported by beautiful friends and sibs, the question, How’re you doing? was an open invitation. Time and again I considered the question, over those days, weeks and months in the aftermath.
Do I share the story?
Do I tell them how I cry?
…How much I long to die?
Sometimes, I really wanted to. But in the moment, generally, I didn’t. Afterwards, once I’d regained some balance, I’d refer to it, briefly; but I’d never explore it in depth with anyone else at the time.
I remember one friend reaching out via text. I let her know that at the time of her text, I was working hard to keep my head above waves of painful emotion. She kindly suggested a phone call. Much as I appreciated the offer, I said no, as I would only cry.
Her warm response, ‘I don’t mind crying.’
Mine in reply: ‘I do.’
Fact is, I felt alone if I didn’t share the story, but I felt even more alone if I did.
I did more crying in that grieving time than I’d ever imagined possible. But I knew it was healthiest to cry on my own.
We’re used to sharing our sad stories. We ache to be lifted, to be understood, to be soothed by another’s validation.
But perhaps you’ve found that, for the most part, no matter how often you share those stories, no matter how kindly the listener’s intent, the story carries on clinging.
In fact, often, the story only stops its clinging when we find something worse to replace it! One awful story is gazumped by another — a crisis that makes the last one seem pitiful.
Now, after those months befriending aloneness, I see its full value and beauty.
Aloneness, like all painful emotions, is my Inner Being, calling me Home. It has to feel awful to get my attention, to force me into my focus. It has its work cut out for it, that’s for sure…
But the work isn’t what I might think it is. It’s not about going out there to find people to play with; or pastimes to divert my attention. That doesn’t do it for me.
For me, it’s the work of stepping back from the story. Stepping back enough to embrace what maintains it.
The story clings to us, for its life depends upon it. It spins us into its powerful web. The more we struggle against it, the stronger the story’s grip.
Working with clients, I watch the epic battle, time and time again. I see it played out in myself, of course, too. The aching to relay all the painful happenings — to find comfort in a listener; fighting for some semblance of relief.
Clients try, time and again, to take me into the story web with them. To get me to agree that they are right — that it’s hopeless; that someone should do something about it…
And I know that relief found that way is shallow; it’s fickle and fleeting at best.
At worst, it adds to the pain as the isolation hits home —
No one can save me from this.
Hell, no one even understands this.
How could they?
How do we soothe a story that’s clinging and relentless?
If drawing others into our story doesn’t ultimately release us, what does?
What if we weren’t alone with our sad, aching story? What if we were simply looking for soothing in all the wrong places?
We know we’ll never find the Love we want in anyone outside us. No one understands us that well. Nor will they be on call, 24/7 all the days of our life, no matter what we might hope…
What if the soothing could all come from inside us? What if the story dissolved as soon as we took ourselves Home?
What if we could imagine — reach for / ‘make-believe’ / create — connection with the love and understanding we crave? What if that connection could be a simple act of will?
Creating connection with a team of pure Love* has been my daily mainstay for more than two years now. (*Unconditional love, for me, deserves a capital.)
I take my sad stories to my Dream Team. I write from what’s real, right here, right now. I don’t pull any punches. If anything, I exaggerate, get it all out on the paper, or into the air, if I’m venting on the hoof…
That’s what my husband’s translating to WiFi has taught me to do. Conversing with Love and Love’s envoys, as I imagine them, is the source of all the soothing I could want.
They also make me laugh.
And bring me wonderful inklings…
The story can be soothed when fully downloaded
When I’ve downloaded the story, it’s ready for soothing. My Dream Team is always accessible.
They’re always there.
Fully with me.
Totally understanding.
Because I make it so!
Paper works best, but it’s not essential…
I sat on our bottom stair on Monday, having a cry, downloading out loud after the plumber had left.
I’d found my lip trembling in our little box bedroom as I tried to absorb instructions he was giving so patiently. He didn’t see the effort it took to bite back the tears that had taken me completely by surprise.
Why wasn’t Michael here to help me?
Despite months of wall-to-wall smiling, the old story on this topic was right there where I’d left it, last time I’d had a heating problem… Clearly, there was soothing to do.
The download doesn’t take long these days. Mostly, it’s over in minutes because I’m super sensitised to sad storylines now.
Then — step back, distil the download
Then — the critical step. A step back to distil the real drivers of the story. The emotions. Always, the emotions drive the story. They hide there, in costumes, with flesh and blood characters, acting out dramas again and again.
When we call the emotions down from the stage and see them for the actors they are, we can acknowledge their value, see their full worth.
Monday’s emotions?
Vulnerability, grief, alone-ness,
overwhelm, anxiety, fear…
I hold the emotions on this topic, like a gathering of energy, cradled, cupped in my hand.
Softly. Gently. With acknowledgement.
I hold them.
They have their reasons for being there — no question.
Bridge to a place of deep presence
As I slow down to acknowledge the emotions, I breathe. I stretch the out breath: out and out and out and out and out and out and out…
Again I breathe out for the longest time.
And again.
I breathe out for all the relief it can give me.
I feel tension release.
Mind slows.
Presence returns.
No past.
No future.
No story.
No need.
What do these emotions signal?
I know that contrast signals creation. Like a sine wave, as contrast hits, painful emotions, in the pit of the wave, point to an equal curve upward.
Staying story-free now, I ask the crucial question:
What are the equal and opposite emotions to these painful creation-pit signals?
Vulnerable — creates a feeling of power. I am mighty!
Grief and aloneness signal — greater union: I am at one with my Beloveds.
Overwhelm — creates ease; I’m relaxed and oh so capable!
Anxiety — begets sureness; all the strength I could want.
Fear — expands my confidence like nothing I’ve ever known!
I don’t have to feel these upward curve emotions just yet, but I know they are there; they are mine. They are the truth of who I’ve become.
I delight in the expansion! I give thanks for the contrast that created these emotions. Knowing how to ride the wave of creation is nothing short of thrilling to me.
I continue my day. In my mind, I start by going through an alphabet of states I love.
I love appreciating and basking and clarity and delight…
Chatting to and back from my Dream Team; they are my breath, my heartbeat, my pulse. I am with them, in my imaginings, having a ball, back to my wall-to-wall smiling. There’s nothing here for me to fix.
The work is done.
I can leave the story be.
The story clings no more.
Emotions have been acknowledged.
My Dream Team call me and I am welcomed Home.
Joy!
A process for soothing the story
If you’ve got stories that are clinging, it’s the emotions making them sticky. Feeling alone makes you want to take them to others.
Instead, bring them Home to yourSelf*.
(Your highest self also deserves a capital!)
Download the story.
On paper if possible.
Step away from it.Distil the story down to the emotions.
Name them.
Hold them.
Acknowledge their presence.Bridge to calm with long, long out breaths.
Breathe out and out and out and out and out and out again.Name the opposite emotions to those you have distilled.
Think about how much you love feeling that way.
Remember the sine curve.
The upside awaits you.
Simply knowing that’s true is enough.
Even hoping that’s true will do.Leave the topic and trust.
If you can’t trust yet, think how much you’d like to trust.
That’s more than enough.
That’s the process but something else must come first
Start by imagining your own Inner Being. Your Dream Team. Your counsel; a Love that never lets you down. Make it up if you need to, that’s fine. let the process happen in dialogue with Love.
No process can ever take the place of the relationship we long for — the Love pouring in from our core.
Processes alone will not take us into Love. Imagine Love guiding you through the process and you’ll find much greater soothing, for sure. It doesn’t matter if you don’t feel it. Ask yourself what Love would say to you, if it did exist in this way, at your core.
Give it time. Practise daily. It takes time to build a relationship — especially one of your imagining…
Try it. What do you stand to lose?
Acknowledgement: My blogs, my coaching and my life are based on many wondrous teachings, most particularly those of Abraham-Hicks.
So so beautiful! Thank you so much for sharing your process! I can totally relate to that. We are the love we are searching for. What you write about feelings makes me think of the book I am currently reading: Letting go by David R. Hawkins. Can only recommend. He says that every feeling has an intention for us to get some result. Very interesting. Thank you for shining your light and sharing your process! I wish you some good winds and sunny days as you ride the waves of grief. Sending lots of love. 💕