I was reading an article about child-rearing in the April edition of Real Simple and came across an acronym for adults to keep in mind when their child is having a melt down. The acronym is H.A.L.T. and it stands for the four feelings that cause a child to become upset: hunger, anger, loneliness and tiredness.

I thought, shit, I’m thirty-two and those are the same reasons I get upset! Surely, I’m not the only adult who grows irritable when hungry (I get hangry). And who hasn’t vented and cried only to eventually say, “I’m just so damn tired.” Loneliness? Absolutely. And anger? Well, that’s obvious. We all feel these things, and most of us allow them to upset us. We are human.

It’s incredibly easy to identify with these four feelings… when we’re not upset though.

The hard part is to H.A.L.T. in the moments of upset and irritability, bring mindfulness to the situation and get ourselves what we need, be it some food or a nap. If angry, we need to stay focused on what’s making us angry and not let it snowball and get redirected. For example, one morning a few weeks ago I opened a brand new container of spring mix to find it wilted. I was annoyed. Before I knew it I was angry at things I hadn’t even thought about yet that morning. My husband reminded me I was just pissed at the lettuce and I immediately retaliated with “Noooo! Everything sucks today!” or something equally as over-reactive and dramatic. The truth is: I was pissed at lettuce.

Emotions gain so much momentum so fast and it takes practice to slow it all down and think rationally in the moment and consider the source. I still suck at this most of the time.

It’s not unlike when we want to eat. We’ve all heard the advice that we need to assess our hunger. Are we really hungry, or just bored. Maybe we’re just thirsty?

H.A.L.T. is another checklist I am adding to my toolbox. I was upset nearly all of 2014; it is what started me on this journey. And I can tell you now it was largely because I was tired and lonely. But if you had asked me then, those two feelings would have been amongst a laundry list of other complaints and emotions. Now, when I am feeling upset I need to go through the list and be responsible for my emotions and keep them under control.

Am I hungry? If so, I need to eat something and it’s probably best if I don’t interact with anyone until I do. Am I angry? If so, what am I angry about?  Can I keep the anger directed and try to work through it there? Am I lonely? If I am is there someone I can talk to or who can give me a good hug? Am I tired? Can I stop what I’m doing and nap, or at least take a night off and have some couch time?

I believe that I can spare myself a lot of unnecessary upset if I remember to H.A.L.T. and address these underlying emotions.

Obviously, there are times when we are upset for reasons outside of these four emotions. Our lives are much more complicated than children’s. But I definitely think it doesn’t hurt to H.A.L.T. and see.

Happy Easter and Passover to all those who celebrate! Although I am Catholic, I attended Good Friday mass at an Episcopalian church and today, I will be attending meditation practice at a Buddhist Sangha (spiritual community).

I have a very open mind when it comes to religion and spirituality. Raised Catholic, I received my sacraments in the Catholic Church, except for my marriage sacrament, which I received in a wonderfully welcoming Methodist church because the Catholic church my husband and I hoped to marry in was disappointingly difficult and unfriendly to work with. Before Christmas I attended the Episcopalian church for the first time and found the sense of community and touch of informality incredibly refreshing compared to the rigidity of the traditional Catholic services I was used to.

Several years ago on assignment from a Comparitive Religions course at Saint Joseph’s University, I chose to visit the Buddhist Sangha. I had no idea what to expect and was quite nervous, but with a tinge of excitement, too at experiencing something brand new. The sparse website instructed me to arrive 15 minutes early. During a brief introduction all those years ago, I would receive my first meditation lesson from an English scientist who practiced Buddhism. And in the basement of a Unitarian church, where the Sangha meets every Sunday evening, I would practice meditation for the first time. Although I felt incredible afterward, it would be years before I would practice again…

When I set out on this journey to become a more compassionate and gentler person, I had no backpack full of tools and books, nor any advance training. My anger and frustration was snuffing out my life so in one last act of desperation I walked out the door and started down this path with nothing more than a desire to change. It wasn’t until I had begun my journey that I began to recognize tools, pick up books, really listen to those who lived the life I wanted for myself, and start canceling out some of the noise. The constant path that weaved along mine, intersecting here and there freely, has been the path of Buddhism. Cracking the nut on my suffering, allowing the light in, has been the start of my awakening.

Contrary to popular belief, Buddhism is not a “religion” by the common application of the word; it is a living tradition. Buddhism is a practice. By practicing Buddhism, one practices compassion, acceptance, kindness and meditation in an effort to end suffering.

Two weeks ago I visited the Mongkoltepmunee Buddhist Temple in Bensalem, PA. Again, I was nervous, but excited. The website was sparse and terribly outdated. I knew there would be Tak Bart (almsgiving) so in my research I learned that meant I was to bring food to offer to the monks.

Walking into the Temple felt as if I had left the West. The gold statues of Buddha, the altars and flowers, the monks in their bright orange robes… Not one word of the entire four hour service was in English, and yet I felt welcome, just like I did when visiting the Sangha for the first time.

The Altar at the Mongkoltepmunee Buddhist Temple

The day before I visited the Temple, I was in Philadelphia near my favorite Cathedral, The Basilica of Saints Peter & Paul, where I attended mass almost weekly when my Mom was battling cancer. I knelt before Mary in the alcove dedicated to her and prayed.

As I knelt before a statue of Buddha the very next day (before the communal [and free] lunch comprised of the copious left-overs from the offerings to the monks), the contrast was not lost on me, nor was the similarity. In both cases, I knelt before a symbol of someone whom I revere and expressed my gratitude and prayed for guidance and blessings for my loved ones. (Kneeling before Buddha I also apologized for having no idea how to “pray” to him. I like to believe he found the whole thing humorous.)

There are so many similarities. At the beginning of Lent, it struck me that I was also in the midst of another 40 day long tradition, empowering my mala with my mantra. At mass on Friday, the Bishop delivered a wonderful sermon about the four pillars of faith. When he spoke of prayer, he explained that prayer is not talking, but listening. It is about paying attention, he said, being present and seeing what needs to be done. There he was, an Episcopalian Bishop, more or less explaining that prayer is meditation.

I am happy to be a Catholic who practices Buddhism and occasionally attends Episcopalian mass. It is what works for me. To me, it’s all about something bigger that gives us hope, love and guidance, and about trying to be a better person. I am going to use every tool I come across on this journey of mine in an effort to reach that end.

I encourage you to explore and check things out for yourself, even just from a comparative or curiosity standpoint. Apprehension is natural. But I assure you, your interest is welcome. Just attending is a sign of respect. Just do what everyone else does – you’ll catch on. For example, at the Episcopalian church, all the parishioners stand in a circle and give Communion to one another. At the Temple, a lovely Thai women led me by the hand into the kitchen and helped me to arrange my organic fruits onto a platter then led me to one of the monks, where I slid my offering before him with an awkward (unknowing) bow. She walked me around the Temple explaining a few things in broken English and guided me in some of the rituals, like when we poured water into tiny bowls in honor of one of the monk’s birthdays and then went outside in our stocking feet to pour it into the earth to symbolize life.

I do not intend to return to the Temple – the Sangha is more appropriate for what I am looking for. But I will say it was a wonderful experience and made me feel a little more traveled and experienced, despite only being 45 minutes from home. There are so many wonderful things to experience in our own backyards that may provide a sense of adventure or peace, perhaps even a Quaker or Franciscan retreat house. Explore and observe; see what works for you, even if it is a little of everything.

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In nightmares there is often no escape, a concept that adds to their terror. We are stuck, desperate to save ourselves or a loved one until the nightmare runs its course, releasing its grip on our mind. Yet sometimes, when struggling to endure our greatest fears, we have the power to just stop and say, I can just wake up. And just like that, the nightmare is over.

That feeling of awareness, power and relief is how I can best describe the choice to meditate.

Our minds act on auto pilot bombarding us with imagined crises, worries, and to-do lists to which there seems no escape. But unlike nightmares that do eventually cease, these thoughts stay with us, running in the background of every single thing we do, distracting us from tasks, conversations, pleasurable moments… the present moment. Waking up from the conscience daymare is harder than the unconscious nightmare, but with practice we can learn to simply wake up, and just like that, it can all fade away, just like the remnants of a nightmare.

All it takes is practice.

I have recently renewed my meditation practice with vigor and already, I feel different. I am more attentive: to myself, my tasks, others; I am significantly calmer; I crave peace, within myself and with others.

Meditation requires nothing but a willingness to try. If you think you need a serene space with the perfect incense, you are terribly mistaken. Right now at your desk, on the sofa, or on the train, you can choose to close your eyes. Breathe. Note the breath, count it if that helps to anchor your mind. Feel the sensation; be in this moment. Nothing in the whole world requires your attention this minute except your breath. When a thought occurs to you, acknowledge it and simply send it away, returning your attention to your breath. Breathe…

Open your eyes. How do you feel?

Practicing meditation gives our over-active minds a much needed break, a chance to quiet the incessant thought-process that jumps with the agility and haphazardness of a flea in a shelter.

Emptying your mind is damn near impossible. What I have found useful is imagining myself on a train platform. The trains represent my thoughts. I am aware of them as they speed by, but I do not board them. When I catch myself riding a train, I do not wait for it to stop, but jump off in a very Indiana Jones sort of way, tuck and roll, and take my place once again on the quiet platform with a playful smile on my lips. Sometimes I like to imagine myself lying on a grassy hill on a beautiful summer day. The lidded darkness behind my eyes brightens with the imagined sun and a slight breeze rustles the leaves on the nearby trees. The clouds are my thoughts. I watch them as they drift by, but do not allow them to take shape. When I catch myself riding a cloud, I immediately jump off abandoning the thought, and float back down to the ground and my body.

It is one thing for your mind to wander to dinner, but quite another to allow your mind to meal-plan for an entire week. With practice, you will learn to catch your thoughts before they wander too far from home.

This blog is about my journey to becoming a gentler, happier, and more compassionate woman. The terrain is incredibly rocky and uneven. Meditation is my new walking stick.

If you are interested in beginning your own practice, and I certainly hope you are, here are some resources I have found helpful:

1. The Calm app – 7 day guided introduction practice, soothing sounds, meditation timer, guided meditations
2. Zen Habits blog – I have linked to the “start” page where you can browse the most popular posts

There are also countless articles on meditation that are helpful, but remember, research can be a form of procrastination. You can close your eyes right now and just breathe…

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I don’t believe that people can change. A sapling doesn’t change into a tree; it grows into a tree if cared for properly. If not, its growth is stunted. Rather than changing, I believe we grow into ourselves; like a sapling into a strong tree, becoming more what we were born to be, as we care for ourselves and reach our true potential.

I am growing. I feel it in my limbs. There are all these little amazing things, so small no one else would notice, that I am feeling, observing, and that are happening. Like a tree at the very beginning of spring, tiny specks of growth are budding everywhere.

Although people can’t change, they have the power to change their stories. Heatherash Amara writes in Warrior Goddess Training that transformation starts with how we use our words – how we speak our story to ourselves and others.

“Each word we choose can hold the vibration of healing, peace, and love, or be brimming with fear, victimization, and judgment.”

I am going to tell you a very personal story that I have been telling myself for a very long time:

Your dad doesn’t love you. He is ashamed of you, even though he knows hardly anything about you, and he doesn’t care to get to know you. He doesn’t talk about you and he rarely thinks about you. Seeing him brings nothing to your life but a week of heartache and tears. There are two people in the world who are more or less obligated to love you, and there must be something wrong with you if your father doesn’t.

It’s a sad story. It’s made me cry hundreds of times, and has made me feel great sorrow for the little girl in the story who grew up without a father’s love never feeling like a princess and that she was the most important little girl in the whole world; without that one man who would do absolutely anything for her that she could always count on.

A little over three years ago I decided not to speak to my dad anymore. I did it for me, to spare me from additional hurt and disappointment. It was a good choice at the time. I didn’t have any other tools at my disposal.

But now I do.

I saw my dad for the second time in three years last week. I knew in advance that I might see him. The second the thought occurred to me, it was gone. No trepidation, no anxiety, nothing at all. It wasn’t until I saw the back of his head that I remembered I might see him. Oh, there he is, I thought.

Once we met up, I observed and interacted with him, calm and composed. Nothing he said upset me, except his own self-deprecating humor – it was sad. I gave him a hug goodbye, and went on my way. Be it maturity, new tools, compassion or something else… it was that afternoon that my story began to re-write itself. I realized that he couldn’t hurt me anymore. It was my own attachments to my own idea of what a father/daughter relationship should be that had been hurting me for nearly 30 years. I thought that by not having his doting love, there was a part of me that didn’t grow right, that I would forever be a member of the Daddy Issues club, that I was left with a twisted, rotted limb that dangled dangerously in the wind and I’d never be whole or beautiful.

Later that night, I received a text message from my dad about a surfing movie he had watched and thought I would enjoy. One thing my dad does know about me is my passion for surfing and love of the ocean. He did think of me…

Since seeing my dad, new growth has formed and new words have graced the pages of the previous story. I have decided to let go of my expectations once again and work on accepting my dad for who he is and our relationship for what it is, not what I wished it would be, even if it means talking once a year instead of not at all.

I am going to rewrite the story. The next chapter will begin with a phone call to my dad, inviting him to dinner.

This past week a theme has emerged in my life, smoothing the shards of heartbreak, like the long-awaited spring has softened the edge of winter.

I awoke on Monday morning fatigued from restless sleep. Sitting up, the recollection of upsetting events the day before hit me, pushing me back down in defeat. Curling up, tears fell from my eyes.

Everything is going to be okay, came my own voice, but soft, gentle. You can do this.

All day this loving voice encouraged me. Feeling fragile in the past, I’d chip away at myself, forcing the break. This time, I was treating myself with care, avoiding further damage, seeking out that which would reinforce me, like a walk with a supportive friend, nutritious food, exercise, keeping busy.

After writing about not loving myself the night before, I began to think I may have been wrong because here I was treating myself the way I would someone I care for.

That night I wanted to curl into bed early, having used all my strength getting through the day. But again came the voice. Yoga will be good for you.

When the teacher came around with a deck of cards fanned out, I reached with my non-dominant left hand, my receiving hand, for a bright yellow corner. Looking down at the vibrant card holding my intention for the evening’s practice was a woman, a sunflower growing out of her cupped hands. The card read, “Are you taking care of yourself? If not, begin your self-care practice today.” The Universe had intervened again, sending me what I needed.

That night in bed, propped up, not curled up, I made a list of all the ways in which I cared for myself that day. It totaled nine items. Settling in for the night, I prayed, placing my fears and worries in God’s hands. I slept soundly.

Throughout the rest of the week, I continued to care for myself the way I would a friend or a child. There were times it was like caring for a child. Wednesday I craved the comfort of food, an emotional and self-destructive response that has been my inclination since my teenage years (or longer). Okay, one piece of chocolate. No, no, don’t cry. Two pieces. But then you must clean your room.

All week long I took my time, making one sandwich at a time, a tool I learned applies to much more than just anxiety. I do care for me. I was wrong when I said that in order to love myself I must eliminate all the things I don’t like about myself. All I need to do is to continue to care for myself; which is ultimately an act of compassion, love and affection.

Were you loved enough?

That is a very tough subjective question, I know. What defines enough? Can there ever really be enough when it comes to love?

My dog, Cooper is snoring beside me right now and the sound is to me what a baby’s laughter is to a new parent. When it comes to my feelings for this mustachioed, four-legged love of my life, there is no room for growth. My heart grew three sizes the day I met him, nearly making my chest explode. He has taught me more about the human capacity for love than any romance movie or relationship ever could. That is because he taught me what unconditional love is.

Love is a human need. Once our physiological and safety needs are fulfilled, we seek a sense of belonging, interpersonal relationships, and love. Without it, we don’t grow right, like a sunflower in the shade.

We spend our lives throwing the word “love” around; craving it, seeking it, feeling it; giving it. We love siblings, ice cream, parents and pets; snow days, pizza, spouses and brunettes.

But are you loved enough?

I want to be loved so deeply and so hard that a magical whirlwind of sparkles forms within my chest collecting every shattered fragment of my heart, piecing it back together. I want to be loved so much that it makes up for every single time I wasn’t. I want a love that I never have to fear losing. I want unconditional love for the rest of my life.

This is a tall order.

Cooper loves me unconditionally. He is also a dog and a fool who will not live the rest of my life, assuming I stick around a while. I say he is a fool because I am not who he thinks I am. I wish I was, but I’m not. I am broken and imperfect.

I haven’t been loved enough. But am I even worthy of such love that I seek? Aren’t we taught not to ask for things we’re not willing to give? I can’t give myself the love I seek. How often do you love yourself?

I have looked in the mirror, right into my own eyes, and said, “I hate you.” I know how to love, and I’m not just referring to the love for my dog. I love many people. I have loved flawed, broken people with the intensity that I wish to be loved with. I have looked into their eyes and found the perfection, and said the words, and meant it.

I have looked into the mirror, into my own eyes, found nothing but imperfection, said, “I don’t love you,” and meant it.

Why is it so hard to love ourselves? If we can’t love ourselves, why should anyone else? I can hardly take a compliment. Last night I told a friend he looked great when I greeted him and he kissed my cheek and said, “so do you!”. I said, “Ugh, no I don’t. I got so fat.” Why did I do that? I stopped myself and apologized and said “thank you”. If I can’t even take a compliment, is it any wonder I have trouble believing I deserve to be loved.

We need love to grow right. Are we really at the mercy of our parents, family, friends, lovers, spouses to love us enough? Is our growth really forever stunted if we weren’t? Can they ever really love us enough to make up for how we really feel about ourselves? What happens when people stop loving us? Love is the sun. Without it, we droop and shrivel. Why should anyone love me if I cannot even love myself? Only one person can love me the way I want to be loved, forever and unconditionally, and it’s me.

I do not hate myself anymore, but I barely like myself. In some ways, I am like a somewhat annoying acquaintance to myself that I have some respect for and who I sometimes have a good time with, but mostly try to avoid. To love myself is the pie in the sky dream – it’s the goal. To be forgiving and gentle and kind and to look in the mirror when my heart is broken and my eyes are red and swollen and smile at myself and say “I love you”.

For now, I just want to like me again.

See this little girl?

I love her. She is beautiful and fun, confident and free. She is bold and adventurous, innocent and honest.

I used to be her.

I no longer identify with her; she is a completely separate person whom I love because I admire so much in her. Isn’t that how we begin to fall in love? We see things in someone that we admire? Their smile, their intelligence, the way they use words, the way they make us feel when we are around them, like we can be a better person. She makes me want to be a better person. Several people I love make me want to be a better person. I want to be worthy of their love. I want to make this little girl, and the people I love, proud to love me back.

In order to be able to look at myself in a mirror and be able to say the words, “I like you”, I will need to eliminate things I don’t like about myself. When I set out on this journey, I have aimed to be more loving and kind, gentle and compassionate to other people. Only a little of that has spilled over in my own direction.

Being at war with myself has been so exhausting. I need to work harder at being someone I am proud of; someone I admire. Maybe then I could learn to love myself and receive love from others.

I wasn’t in the best mood yesterday afternoon. Originally, I had plans to go home, experiment with zucchini noodles for a low-carb vegetarian dinner and then go to yoga class. I could just feel those plans slipping away in a fog of ambivalence as I sat annoyed for no particularly good reason. Visions of pajamas, pizza, bad television and an early bed time danced seductively across my mind.

I have often been a slave to my mood, allowing it to cancel my plans, dictate my behavior, control the foods I ate. Yesterday was no exception. That was until four one-syllable words burst through the voices of defeat and indolence, loud and clear.

I have a choice.

I almost laughed, as a joyful calm came over me. I can turn it around right now.

I thought of all the hours, evenings, DAYS I had wasted being pissed off or in a funk, riding it out because nothing happened to warrant a shift in my mood or make me feel better. I had forfeited my right to choose, giving in to negativity. But all along I could have simply chosen to feel better.

In no time, I was looking forward to my evening.

I arrived home and was harshly reminded by my discomfort that the heat was still broken. The thermostat read 52 degrees. My warm bed was very inviting.

I have a choice.

Then my husband informed me that the water was currently off while the heat was being repaired.

Annoyed. Pizza. Bed.

“The Brita is full. We have some water,” he said.

I chose to cook.

After dinner, my bones achy from the cold, I crawled in to bed with a magazine.

Is this it for today? Is this your choice, or are you just cold?

I got out of bed, did laundry and cleaned up.

Feeling more accomplished, I climbed back in to bed and made the choice to spend the rest of the night playing on Pinterest, another excellent choice.

This morning, I made the choice to get up at 4:45 am and go to the gym. Afterward, grateful for my wonderful new mantra, I decided to meditate and begin the empowerment of my mala.

A mala is basically prayer beads that come in either necklace or bracelet form, made up of materials and colors that represent the characteristics the wearer seeks. A dear friend gave one to me several months ago. To use a mala, you meditate on your mantra reciting it for each bead, empowering it with your mantra so that when worn or placed on others, it can transfer the power of the mantra. This meditation is done every day for 40 days. I hadn’t done it because I didn’t have a mantra.

Incense and candles burning, music playing, I took my mala in my hand and began to meditate on my choices, reciting my mantra as each cool bead passed between my fingertips.

I have a choice in how I feel.
I have a choice in what I say.
I have a choice in what I eat.
I have a choice in how I behave.
I have a choice in what I think.
I have a choice in what I do.
I have a choice…
I have a choice…
I have a choice…
I have a choice.

In my last post, I had mentioned that I was feeling great sadness at the hands of someone I love and wrote about how I was sending myself and them loving-kindness.

Since that post, I have learned firsthand quite a bit about cycles of negative behavior: how hard it is to break them, how hard it is to step outside and watch someone you love continue to go ‘round and ‘round, and also how it feels to finally witness the cycle you habitually participated in throughout most of your life. It feels absolutely awful.

Sometimes, opening your eyes is extremely painful.

After being hurt by this person, I realized that what I wanted most was to forgive. It was in that moment that I jammed my foot in the revolving door of my past behaviors and broke the cycle. It felt incredible. I realized that there were more options than to be angry and turn my hurt on the person who hurt me, ensuring they felt as badly as I did, ultimately evening the score and allowing for the eventual canceling out of both wrongdoings and a consequent truce. I decided instead that I would allow myself time to process my pain, create space for compassion, and come to a place of forgiveness before pushing myself to speak with this person. I didn’t want to risk falling back into the cycle I was trying to end.

I was proud of my decision and it felt good. Until with a sharp pain of manipulation on the part of the person who hurt me, I realized I hadn’t created that cycle alone. There was someone else behind the glass of that revolving door pushing hard to keep it turning against my efforts to hold it.

That’s when I learned that people don’t like their familiar cycles being toyed with.

I witnessed this person go through all the emotions of the cycle completely unprovoked and it was devastating. I experienced the attempts at manipulation, that gave way to guilt, that gave way to anger, that eventually turned to desperation, and finally exhaustion. I watched this person fight with an opponent who never showed up as I stood outside the ring in tears, fighting my own urge to jump in and scream “STOP! PLEASE!” I could barely stand the sight. But I knew the cycle had to play out. And even when horrible things were being said to me and I began to question what I had done to deserve it, I knew that I had done nothing. Nothing, except set this cycle in motion through years of participation. And I think that was the hardest thing of all.

Cracks need to happen to let the light in. Awareness hurts like hell. Waking up to the truth is hard; literally heart breaking, and I have cried more in the past two weeks than I have in a long time. I am still allowing myself time and space, although taking it worries me. I am afraid that something will happen to me or this person before things are resolved. But I also know that guilt and fear are the culprits at work behind that thought and I cannot allow fear to dictate my actions.

I’m still working it all out in my head. It is a lot to process. But I know I can only change my behavior and I can only be responsible for my own actions. My habits and behavior contributed to the creation of the cycle I was a part of. Perhaps I can slow it down for the other person as well if I continue to keep my weight against the door, no matter how much the push back hurts.

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Recently I added a new book to my current rotation, which immediately introduced me to the Law of Attraction, which I am not convinced isn’t a bunch of phooey (no, it’s not The Secret). Basically, the Law of Attraction is centered around the belief that by focusing on positive or negative thoughts, one can bring about positive or negative results. For example, if you believe and envision yourself as fat and lazy, chances are that’s exactly what you are going to be no matter how much you wish otherwise. Your thoughts attract the reality. It really makes sense. It is safe to say that there is great power in a positive attitude and we have all witnessed how detrimental a negative one can be. Where I am skeptical is the notion that I will find money or win a trip to Hawaii simply for believing and envisioning that I will. But I digress…

As I was reading about the Law of Attraction, it was suggested I look at photos of my loved ones and direct positive thoughts and energy toward them, too, which I thought was a very lovely idea. It was like giving a little, free gift, not unlike saying a prayer for someone, and it made me feel good. But rather than ask that they be watched over and blessed, I envisioned them feeling the warmth of the sun on their face, peace in their hearts, hassle-free days; things like that. At the very least, it couldn’t hurt.

A few days later, I was having a really off day. My mind was busy. I felt anxious and depressed and everything seemed unstable. I wanted comfort and distraction; to dive headfirst into the pitfalls of my bad habits and embrace my bed and sleep for twelve hours, or get a bunch of junk food and zone out to movies, numbing all the pain I was feeling in the process.

The realization of how far I have come that I was actually aware of how I was feeling shed enough light through the crack that I knew I couldn’t give in and pull the shades on the sun shining through. I practiced meditation to abate my unquiet mind and pacing body. It was a futile attempt. With nothing to focus on and being completely unable to focus on nothing, I went to a coffee shop and wrote.

The very next day, switching gears, I went back to another book I have been reading. On the very page that my bookmark casually leaned against as if waiting patiently for my return, I learned about Metta Meditation. Metta means loving-kindness, and the goal is to help you reverse your programming so you can open your heart, rather than close it. It involves four steps:

1. Send loving-kindness to yourself
2. Send loving-kindness to someone you love
3. Send loving-kindness to someone you are neutral about, like a colleague or acquaintance
4. Send loving-kindness to someone you dislike or feel resentment toward

The similarities between the two concepts couldn’t be denied and I realized the universe was speaking to me. Furthermore, I also just found a solution to my shoddy meditation practice. Rather than try to focus on nothing, I would focus all my attention on sending loving-kindness to myself and others while practicing letting go and positive thinking.

But I also sensed something was coming. The universe was preparing me.

The very next day, someone I strongly dislike really ticked me off. I was irritated and wanted to confront her although I knew it would only exacerbate things. Anger can eat at me for some time and I hated thinking such negative thoughts. Again, I was failing to be compassionate and gentle – I was closing my heart. After a short while, I remembered Metta Meditation and smiled. Thanks, universe. It was a foreign, yet incredible thing to sit and think loving-kind thoughts to someone I really can’t stand. It wasn’t even as hard as I thought it would be, because the universe had sent me another little gift that morning by means of the below photo in my Pinterest feed:

How true that is.

If only that was the end to putting knowledge into practice for one week.

Most unfortunately, over the past three days, I have quite unexpectedly felt profound disappointment and great hurt at the hands of two people I love. I have felt agonizing helplessness, as well as great sadness. With no opportunity to communicate or resolve, there was literally nothing I could say or do except feel my feelings, try to process them and allow them to close down my heart until they diminished and I would be able to let them go. That was until I remembered that I had been prepared for this. I knew what I had to do, and it involved opening my heart.

First, I sent myself loving-kindness. Then, one at a time, I sent loving-kindness to the people who hurt me. It wasn’t elaborate; there was no incense or music. These things are unnecessary and procuring them can be a form of procrastination. Right where you are this very minute you can shut the door if you’re alone, or go in the bathroom if you have to, take a deep breath, lower your eyes, and begin sending loving-kindness. Not sure what to say? Say this: I send loving-kindness to ________. My wish is that he/she experiences only love and happiness in his/her life.

I still feel sadness and disappointment, but rather than anger toward these people, I feel love. I do not wish bad things because they hurt me. I do not feel the need to convey my feelings to them nor do I desire an apology. I will simply continue to send loving-kindness, just like I did from my bed this morning when I woke up.

Being hurt, yet feeling love is incredible. Next time you are angry at yourself or someone else, I do hope you will try it. Whatever you wish to call it, you are opening your heart, and it is a wonderful thing.

Peace.

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Heatherash Amara says in “Warrior Goddess Training” that we commit to who we think we should be, rather than committing to meeting ourselves where we are. That is absolutely true in my case. As I have explained, a lot of my suffering has stemmed from my attachment to my desires and expectations; who I want myself and others to be, and finding myself often terribly disappointed. I know I’m not alone in this.

On one particularly tough day several months ago, all I wanted was a long hot soak in the tub. That’s what women do after a long, hard day, right? It sounded so relaxing. I imagined myself in my pristine tub, soaking in bubbles up to my neck, breathing in the scent of pumpkin spice, a soft gentle smile on my face as I sighed the nonsense of the day away, completely at peace.

When I got home, I headed for the bathroom and pulled back the shower curtain. Since I wasn’t expecting company, the tub definitely needed cleaning before I soaked naked inside of it. Looking down at the grime, I remembered the awkward truth that I barely even fit in my tub. I don’t even own bubble bath!

My entire image was a bullshit creation of who I thought I should be. I wouldn’t be a peaceful woman soaking elegantly in bubbles with a smile. I would just be an angry woman squeezed into a tub with a face full of discomfort and disappointment.

So instead, I got changed, put on my sneakers, and ran as fast as I could for as long as I could. And then the stresses of the day fell away and I felt better. That’s who I was that day. Learning who you are on any given day takes trial and error. I know I don’t want to be the angry person in the tub, so I’ll continue to practice being flexible and remembering that who I want to be might not be who I actually am at the time. Let’s all commit to meeting ourselves where we are.

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