In a prior post, I explored my thoughts on safety and how I can maintain it when the instructions by Marshall Rosenberg to give almost all of my attention to the experience of the other person in an empathy session led to me interpreting it as a demand when I wasn't always resourced enough to be with anyone else's experience but my own.
Since then, I've done more research into what it feels like to not be able to (or not even be allowed to) hold my own experience while in relation to someone else. In that last post, I described it as a kind of "erasure of self." I'm going to describe something that happened at a women's retreat during a meditation session that might give a bit more insight into what that means for me, and what that experience feels like.
Erasure of self
We were doing a meditation in which we were asked to feel the energetic boundaries of a shield or shell that we have around our body, that protects us from the outside world. We were asked to try opening a small hole, as part of what we were learning was how to receive from life, both the pleasant and unpleasant, as being defended cuts us off from being able to receive life fully. We had also been doing some other practices for nervous system regulation and being with strong emotions, so this wasn't done haphazardly, but I was surprised at my own reaction.
I immediately went into terror, and touched into a young child part that was so scared to be open and unprotected. Her fear was that she "wouldn't exist," because she experienced a form of transparency, as if she became invisible when faced with intense stimulation or feelings from the "outside world." Rather than being able to experience expression of something that comes from within, it was drowned out by all the stimulation and experience of the outside. And her experience was that of my emotionally disregulated mother who also sought coregulation by forcing other people to mirror her intense emotions, and shaming or blaming any other expression that didn't mirror her own.
I was shaking and in tears as I told my teacher that I was afraid I "wouldn't exist." And she gently said, "And yet, here you are." And I remember laughing in a surprised way, realizing that my definition of "exist" would have to shift to include being open, and yet still being there. That maybe existing didn't mean either being totally closed or totally open, but some in-between state where I am at choice to move between the two as necessary.
As a child, we learn how to take up space, to differentiate our experience of being and self. This is our sole purpose in those early, formative years, when we realize we are not mother, but separate beings. But in my case, any form of self-expression (i.e. self-exploration) that wasn't liked was not tolerated, and even punished. Thus, there was a need to build a strong shield or boundary, a density between myself and the outside world, in order to be able to feel myself in relation to the other, and protect myself from being overwhelmed by the intensity of stimulation that didn't spring from myself or my own essence. I believe that's how a protector part was born, whose strategy is to come out of myself and form a thick barrier instantly, at any time that it felt I would be overwhelmed and lose myself.
The Protective Shield
My first experience of becoming aware of it was in a Reiki course. At one point between practices, the teacher was explaining how energetic reactions are often automatic. In the middle of explaining this, she lunged toward me by one step and explained, "...and Christina most likely has put up a shield in response to what she interprets as my attacking her." Lo and behold, she was right. It was totally instant, a dense wall that came up about a foot and a half in front of me, paired with a twinge in my solar plexus that I associate with fear and anger. It was no bigger than a spark, but it was there, and I got acquainted with it and also the density that was put between she and I.
A few days ago, I noticed it again. I was talking to my husband about something that brought up a lot of pain in me, and he was a part of it. He came to give me a hug as I cried. I noticed that as he held me I felt so much sadness and there was a belief in me, something like, "I'm alone in this, nobody cares about me, I'm the only one here experiencing this." Then there was a disconnect because a part of me realized, your husband is hugging you and being with you in your pain, so he does care. And then I was able to respond to the hug by hugging back. Then the pain became greater as I plunged deeper into it, and it was if that density came between me and him again. I put my hand back down, disconnecting again. I could physically feel the hug, but I couldn't receive the full impact - the loving intention and warmth of the hug.
My ability to receive diminished the more I believed the painful story. The more I believed it, the more tenacious the shield between he and I grew. In the end it was a self-fulfilled prophecy of isolation. Though there was someone right next to me, it was too difficult to feel and receive their care. While I was not physically alone, my experience was of loneliness.
This difficulty with connecting with others is amplified especially in situations when I would like to practice NVC and be with others in times of conflict, but I am so deep in beliefs or judgments that self-empathy is the only viable solution. Or, I would need to meet with this part and fully listen to it, building a new relationship with it each day so that it can hand over the job it's been doing for me. But is having choice always possible?
(after 4 months in drafts...)
On one hand, a part of me believes that if I want to connect with someone else, I must forego my own needs. This is on the surface level. On a deeper level, it feels like there's not enough space for me to inhabit my own body when being with the other.
That's why my conclusion to be fully grounded in the living energy of needs in myself was important. When doing this Robert Gonzales meditation, I felt more connected to my essence, my true self, and could feel the energy of touching into the beauty of the need I have. It requires inner stillness to do this, but it's difficult, if not impossible, to drop into stillness because that requires an openness, and when in contraction and defense then it's not possible to go there.
Working on my capacity to be with this will directly affect my capacity and quality of capacity to be the space for others to unfold in their own process.
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