There is a story about the Buddha that details the epic attack he encountered by the demon Mara as he sat under the Bodhi tree in his attempt at, and eventual achievement of, enlightenment.

Long story short, Mara was enraged at the Buddha’s journey, afraid that he would wipe aware desire from the world. In response, he called his army to shoot arrows at him, but as they approached, they turned into flowers.

The violence, hostility, and weapons were not threats to the Buddha. He had learned to see things differently. He had learned to be gentle and content with his emotions and, consequently, with the outside world.

This is not an easy feat, but it is one many of us are on the path of trying to reach, myself included. What often has held me back, and still sometimes does, is my own judgmental treatment of my thoughts and emotions as well as my harsh perception of the circumstances of my life.

I have always been inwardly pessimistic, though usually outwardly and socially optimistic, and the things I would tell myself were not statements I would ever make to anyone else. To me, I was never good enough, I was never smart enough, I was never worthy enough.

Being the victim was a natural character for me to play, and I played it well. That is, until life decided to shut down the theater, leaving me having to face the reality that I had to ultimately be without a façade.

A life-changing incident involving unrequited love and disappointment slapped me in the face, and I was left broken-hearted, scrambling for some sort of ground, but searching for it in bottles of liquor and late nights I can’t even remember.

Keeping with the tradition of my usual behavioral patterns, I saw what happened as an attack against my being. I saw myself as not being wanted.

For months and months, the grief manifested in many different ways but the one thing that stayed consistent was the harsh manner in which I viewed it. I judged myself for being so stuck on the situation and for not being able to let go.

Every time a sad thought or a memory popped into my head, I wanted to punch myself in the heart. But biologically, I could not do that, so instead I distracted myself with reckless conduct.

Trust me when I say that this can only go on for so long before your mind, body, and soul reach their breaking point. Mine was reached a year after the incident, and I highly doubt the anniversary was not a factor.

Regardless, mental and physical exhaustion woke me up and made me realize things had to be different. I had to learn to settle down and just be with what I was feeling.

Yoga came back into my life with full force, as well as a renewed interest in Buddhist philosophy, and very quickly I was realizing that allowing my emotions to be as they were felt ten times better than pushing them away.

It was taking so much effort to do so, and I decided that was not energy I was willing to put forth. I recognized that I have one life, and I don’t want to spend it wallowing in self-pity, shame, or remorse.

With this epiphany, I am becoming incredibly close and friendly with my inner makings — my fears, my desires, and my boundaries. Even the gritty parts of my soul are becoming more manageable to be friends with, such as my odd quirks, my hypocrisies, and my moods.

I am now learning to be starkly aware of my habits of gripping on to things, good and bad, and how I have let them sink their own claws into me and define me for no reason other than my own doubt and lack of confidence.

I don’t think I’ve ever had such clarity in my 25 years, and it’s only because I finally let myself open up to all of the vulnerabilities that the situations in our lives can bring, though they are usually the ones we want to deny.

I think psychotherapist and Buddhist philosopher Mark Epstein says it best when he states, “The more a person has seen his own clinging, the less the need to get in the way of intimate connection.”

We truly have to find our own ways of being content with ourselves and not seeing everything that happens to us or hurts us as a threat to who we are. Gentleness is key.

Once we can practice that consistently, a whole new view becomes accessible to us and, with those eyes, we can hopefully see more flowers than arrows coming our way.