The Spiritual Practice of Commitment (Part 3)
Embracing the Shadows: How Love Illuminates and Heals Our Deepest Wounds
“Can we make this choice, of 100% choosing for each other and at the same time, being 100% honest with each other?”
What does that even mean, to choose 100% for each other? It sounds so definitive, so black and white. It’s like saying, “This is it. It’s just you and me, forever.”
How we are scared of all that is definitive… It comes with tightness in the chest, a feeling of being choked. “But what about my freedom? I want to be free!”
What a commitment that seems to be, to choose 100% for another! For someone that comes not only with bright sides but also with imperfections, weaknesses, flaws. That comes with all those traits that you label as imperfections, weaknesses, flaws.
I have asked myself so many times, why is it that the person one loves, that special someone, has the power to trigger the deepest fears and the most intense and exquisite pain? How is it possible that people, once so much in love, turn against each other and hurt each other in the most cruel ways? And sometimes, while being trapped in this pattern of love and hurt with all my partners, I ask myself, “How do I know exactly what to say to hurt them the most?”
It’s like we are attuned to each other — we know exactly where the deepest wounds are. And the more intense the attraction and love between us, the finer the attunement to each other’s wounds.
Is like a big, fat cosmic joke. It brings people together, using love as bait, only to see them hurt each other. What a sadistic joke, isn’t it?
What if this is not a cosmic joke, but a blessing in disguise? So many times in my life, when encountering difficulties and challenges that I thought would break me, the pain I experienced was the best thing that could have happened to me.
Because the pain exposed the cracks in the foundation of my being: where I was not honest with myself and the world, where I was in the victim role, bullshitting myself and others with excuses, where I was living in a way that was not supportive of my health and well-being.
That pain was the signal that I was out of sync with myself, with my values.
That pain signaled that there was a discrepancy between what I said and how I was acting.
That pain signaled that I was suppressing parts of myself.
So what if this crazy thing called love is the way to heal those deepest wounds that it exposes in the interaction with the other?
This is not really a new idea. I found it elaborated in the work of two pioneers in relationship counseling, Harville Hendrix and Helen LaKelly Hunt. In their book “Getting the Love You Want”, they make this simple point: these wounds are open and so sensitive in an intimate relationship precisely because it is in the relationship that these wounds can be healed.
It has been clear to me for a very long time that the pain I experienced when in a relationship was not my own. The situation that triggered the pain was never serious enough to warrant the kind of reaction I had, whether it was pain, anger, or irritation.
I used to feel a wave of irritation coming up when he was preparing his breakfast and the tabletop was full of crumbs, the butter was not put back in the fridge immediately after use, and he used the bread knife to spread the butter on his sandwich. And that wave of irritation was so strong! It was not an easy case, but a good one.
My father, who had struggled with alcohol addiction and depression throughout his life, would leave everything all over the place during his bouts of heavy drinking, which could span over a couple of weeks straight. Leftover food on plates and in general, leftover food everywhere, is what comes to mind when I recall those times.
However, there was more. As the wave of irritation grew, angry thoughts flooded my mind. They said: “See? He left everything on the table again, even though you asked him not to. He’s not listening to you. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t care about what you want, what’s important to you.”
I remember when I was around 12 years old, my parents were heavy smokers. My parents used to smoke so much with the windows closed that the smoke in the room was so dense, it was like clouds occupying the room.
It was the 90s. In those days, there was nothing special about how my parents behaved.
I heard or read that smoking is bad for your health, even if you’re just exposed to it passively. I have told my parents many times that their smoking is bad for my brother and me. I asked them to stop smoking when we are around, at least when we watch television together. They didn’t.
I protested and threatened that I would not watch television anymore. There was no change.
In the end I accepted defeat and went back into the room with smoke to watch television with them.
That day, the little girl learned that those who were supposed to care for her, despite knowing that they were hurting her, would not stop. And those same people, her parents and guardians, would not listen to her needs.
That she is not important enough for them to listen to her needs. That she doesn’t matter. That she is worthless.
My son has a kick scooter, which I bought for him when he was 4 years old. The handle can be raised so that he can continue to use it as he grows. He goes to school in the morning with it; he loves that. We can’t leave it at school, so every morning after my son goes to class, I raise the handle to fit my size and bring the kick scooter back home.
This particular kick scooter has a system to prevent the handle from changing position during use. However, this system is not easy for my 5-and-a-half-year-old son to use. When I get home with it, I leave it on the highest stand. And the next morning, when my son goes to pick it up, he has to ask me for help to lower it.
At some point, he asked me, “Mama, can you lower the handle as soon as you get home? So that it is good for me when I go for it in the morning.”
Such a simple request, isn’t it? And yet, I forgot to honor it for a couple of days. It wasn’t until two days ago that I remembered and lowered the handle immediately after getting home.
The next morning, I heard my son say with happiness in his voice, “Mama, you did what I asked you to do!”
How easy it is to send the signal that we don’t care about another person’s expressed need. Even a simple wish, such as my son’s, which I labeled in my mind as “What does it matter?” I lower the handle in the morning anyway for you. What does it matter if I do this when I get home from school or in the morning?
It matters. Because it was his wish.
Yes, apparently it matters whether you put the butter in the fridge now or later. It’s never about the butter. It’s always about a deeper pain. Of not being seen, of not being heard, of not being important enough for someone to honor a wish that you expressed.
Love is a force that focuses its light on the deepest shadowy parts of ourselves. It brings to the surface the parts of ourselves that we most desperately try to keep hidden. (Gay Hendricks and Kathlyn Hendricks in Conscious Loving. The Journey to Co-Comitment)
Jung said: “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will rule your life and you will call it faith”. What if love is the biggest force that can expose the shadow and bring it to light? And what if, instead of running away from the pain (like I usually do), we can turn to it and face it?
I thought that I could do this alone. I thought that it was only my responsibility to deal with the shadowy side of me. And I tried so hard to do it. I kept quiet about the war inside, the voices, and the pain. I was ashamed of it. I was desperately trying to “fix” myself.
Awareness. Acceptance. Action.
These days, every day, I call the pain to me and then I feel it in my body. I name it. I then project onto the pillow in front of me the child in me that is still suffering. I give her a voice, I acknowledge her pain. I ask what she needs.
She needs to be heard. She needs to be acknowledged. She needs to be accepted as she is, with her pain, her anger, her frustration, and her confusion.
And every day, I hold her in my arms and give her that.
And that is the work that I can do with myself.
But that is not enough.
These parts of me reveal themselves when the light of love shines brightly. And the brighter the light, the deeper the pain. Alone, I cannot bring them to the surface. And no other, more superficial relationship has the power to bring them to the surface. It is only in the closest, most intimate, and love-filled relationships that these parts show up.
So why would I ever think that I can heal them by myself, alone? Why would I ever think that it is only me who can do this work?
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We talk so much today about individual responsibility that we almost forget that we are social animals. That we survived on this Earth, despite our fragile build, because we understood that cooperation and numbers mean power. Belonging to a group means safety, and we suffer when we are alone and feel that we don’t belong because that signals a threat.
But we are so indoctrinated with this idea of the individualistic man who is endowed with the superpower of being able to do everything alone, including healing all his inner wounds, that we forget that those wounds were created within relationships.
When I am by myself, I cannot wound myself. It is only when I interact with the world that I get scratched.
And so we fear closeness. We fear letting anyone in. We build shields and defensive walls. And we hide behind them, ashamed of our weakness and our inability to be more “perfect”, more “healed”, or stronger, or smarter, or whatever our wound is.
Imagine that instead of hiding, you can leave the walls down and show yourself, showing what is happening inside. But the fear is always present: “What will they think? What if they laugh at me? What if they judge me? What if they don’t acknowledge my fears and needs and tell me it’s all nonsense? What if they leave me?”
When my wounded parts showed themselves, I used to do just that: tell them that their pain was unfounded, that it was an illusion. I would say that whatever had happened, happened a long time ago, and why don’t they just get over it?
I was judging them, trivializing them, and pushing them away.
I was certainly not accepting them or even being kind to them.
And it was certanly not safe for them to be with me.
And because I was doing this with myself, I expected that others, and especially this important one, would do the same. And the pain linked to that expectation was too strong to even dare to open up and say what was happening inside.
And all my parts did not feel safe to express themselves in this relationship.
But make no mistake, I treated my partners’ parts similarly. I dismissed them sometimes, trivialized them, and did not acknowledge them.
So how could they ever feel safe with me? How could they ever be open and honest about what was happening inside them?
How would it be to be in a relationship where we commit to doing our best to not judge, trivialize, or push away our own and each other’s feelings? But instead, to do our best to stay open, to create a safe container where the other can share their deepest fears and pains. Where we would make a commitment that no matter what, we will stay. We will not run away. We will listen. We will acknowledge.
And when we can and it is within our power, we will provide the other with what they need. Not because we want to please them, but because we know that they are already doing everything in their power to provide what they need for themselves.
And we also know that that is never enough. It is the power of love, unconditional and freely given, as our own individual choice, that can fully heal those deep wounds within the psyche of the other.
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