2. The Power of Presence
Are you fully here or are you inclined to disappear?
“Disappearing” might mean hiding in the bathroom at a party when you feel self-conscious or retreating emotionally in a situation where there’s conflict. It might take the form of “spacing out” in the middle of talking to someone or never raising your hand to speak in class. It might mean using substances to numb uncomfortable feelings or retreating from reality into video games. Some of you might struggle with dissociation, in which you mentally disconnect from your body or surroundings and may not even recall how you spent the last few hours.
If any of these describes you, do you know what triggers make you want to absent yourself?
I learned early how to disappear. When my mother and stepfather fought, I knew how to disappear into my room. I could be so quiet they would forget I was there. When they didn’t come home from the bar at night, I learned how to medicate with M&Ms to disappear from my feelings. When my stepfather “taught me about sex” by molesting me, I learned to disconnect from my own body.
Maybe you learned to disappear because you were neglected, or maybe you learned to disappear to avoid unwanted attention. Maybe because you were too pretty or because no one ever said you were beautiful. Maybe because the expectations of those around you were too high or because no one expected anything of you at all. If you are differently abled, you may find yourself being made invisible to abled culture without wanting to be.
Sometimes the wish to disappear arises out of being a target of hostility and aggression. People of color may feel all too visible to people with racist intentions. Transwomen are too often assaulted or murdered for appearing different. Without rigorous internal work, such external onslaughts can trigger a process of receding from oneself, erasing feelings, denying identity, perhaps even going unconscious.
I learned how to disappear into books. Into fantasies. Into alcohol and drugs. I could even create a persona that seemed highly visible, then hide my authentic self behind it. I was very good at disappearing.
But here’s the thing Guru Grrrl knows for sure: You can’t be powerful if you’re not present. Inhabiting your body, your mind, your feelings, and your life is a necessary precondition to being powerful.
Will you take a moment to reflect: where are you right now? Are you aware of your surroundings? Are you aware of your inner state? Do you feel focused or distracted? If the latter, are those distractions outside or inside of you?
Disappearing is a way of running away. As a kid, I had a lot of reasons to want to make myself absent. There was a lot of distress in my family, and no one talked about it. My mother and stepfather disappeared into alcohol, into drama. No one took the necessary steps to become present and acknowledge what was happening. To do so would have been powerful and created the capacity for change. The only thing my family feared more than how things were was the prospect of things changing. I especially feared being the one to provoke change and being blamed for it.
I didn’t believe I had the power to change anything in my family. Not my mother’s unhappiness or my stepfather’s pain. Not their drinking or their tempers. Not the jobs they hated or the dreams they had forgotten. I didn’t believe, but at the same time I knew that if I did speak up, if I did acknowledge what was happening under our roof, my words would cause the family to collapse. I didn’t believe I had power, and at the same time I feared the power I intuited. How could I be responsible for upending my parents’ lives?
The price of my silence and withdrawal was despair. I didn’t know how to change that despair. I didn’t know then that despair is one of the consequences of denying your own power. If I could go back and speak to myself as a girl, I would say, “Your silence will not save anything. Speak and claim your power. The truth always heals eventually.”
Let me say that to you now in case you still need to hear it: Your silence won’t save anything. Speak and claim your power. The truth always heals eventually.
During the day, at school, I did allow myself some power. I was a good student. Teachers liked me, even if they did sometimes feel I was spookily unchildlike. I participated in as many extracurricular activities as I could — singing in the chorus, acting in school plays, taking part in the Service Squad. School was an arena where I did not need to disappear completely.
Still, I needed to adopt a mask, a mask of a high-achieving student, extroverted, in control of things. This persona served to disguise the fear, anger, and despair that ruled my inner world and home life. It helped me hide from others and withhold my true feelings from myself. Performing can be a way of disappearing, of hiding in plain sight.
What kinds of masks did you adopt? Which ones are you using today?
Over the years, I assumed different masks — the cool, tough girl from Detroit who could drink and drug and remain unscathed; the radical feminist with confrontational, separatist politics; the flirty femme who touted the virtues of nonmonogamy but could not show up for genuine intimacy. I believed each of these masks would confer power, but I did not understand then that there can be no power without authenticity. So practiced was I at disappearing, I had no idea who my authentic self might be.
And besides, who would want that — my authentic self? Not my family, not a lover, not the world.
Really, though, the person who didn’t want my authentic self was me. I was afraid to pick up the mantle of my own power. I didn’t want the responsibility for my own life.
But power is like water. It will flow, and if you try to dam it up, it will find another route. It will drip through or seep through or crash through, but it will flow.
We live in a society that does not want people to be present in our own lives. We are encouraged to be consumers, not citizens, passive receptors, not activists. We are plied with a dizzying array of distractions, from TV and video games to social media, all designed to occupy our attention. We are urged to ingest altering substances, from coffee and Red Bull to alcohol and weed; we may be prescribed medication for depression or anxiety or chronic pain. We’re encouraged to hide our distress from others and from ourselves. What would happen if we all felt and acknowledged exactly how much pain we are in? What power might that information confer? Would that truth bring about healing?
Have you ever experienced the relief of acknowledging or expressing exactly how you feel?
To become present is a radical act.
So where are we if we’re not present? Usually, we are either inhabiting the past or the future. This is inherently not powerful because change can only happen in the present. When we are not in the present, we cannot make change.
My mind was often preoccupied with replaying some scenario that already happened or projecting into some imaginary situation to come. I would frequently revisit old wounds in the past, retelling my painful story, savoring that pain because it was mine. I could recall those heartbreaking moments in expansive detail. I allowed them to define me.
Or I would project into the future with fantasies of disaster. If my partner was late getting home, I would imagine she was having an affair, was lying to me, was going to leave me. Or that she’d been in a terrible accident, was in the hospital, would die, and I’d be left alone. I would get myself completely worked up, only to have my girlfriend come home and have a perfectly reasonable explanation, like traffic.
Where do you go when you want to escape the present? What’s your preferred escape route? What sends you there and are you aware of it when you go? What brings you back?
It was in an Adult Children of Alcoholics workshop, taught by Jael Greenleaf, that I became aware of my habit of disappearing from the present moment to take up residence in fantasy. Jael called it, “Running disaster movies.” I would totally pollute my present moment, keeping myself in a constant state of agitation and distress. I had never been aware of it before, but once it was named, I began to see this as an insidious tool I used to keep myself from being present.
Jael encouraged us to interrupt our “disaster movies,” those mental escapes from inhabiting our actual lives. I learned to catch myself doing it; then I’d imagine an actual film projector (this was in an analogue decade) with its great loop of film and visualize using giant scissors to cut the film. Sometimes I’d imagine taking a match and setting it on fire, watching it melt into a celluloid puddle.
As my mind had been trained to flee into fantasies of past and future, I had to retrain it to stay in the present. It did not happen overnight. The mind can always come up with new tricks — Okay, I can’t run disaster movies? I’ll just work all the time. Or I’ll look at the computer screen constantly. Or I’ll clean compulsively (that strategy’s not mine, but it might be yours).
What are the tricks your mind plays that keep you from being in the moment?
As I teacher, I learned to stay present with my students; they required it. That wasn’t so hard because I had a very specific role to fulfill, and that felt safer. It was a great arena in which to practice. If occasionally I slipped up, the feedback was immediate. Sometimes a student would say something to bring me back, or sometimes I would notice a look of neglect or disappointment cross their face as someone experienced my lapse of attention.
Personal relationships were more difficult. There were lovers who complained about my absence, even as I was sitting right next to them. They needed and were entitled to intimacy, but I hadn’t seen that modeled in my home growing up; it would take a long time for me to be able to offer that in any consistent way, and Yvonne, my spouse, would tell you I still struggle with it.
It was a series of breakups in my forties, each more painful than the last, that began to turn this around for me. The first was a breakup of a nine-year relationship, one I had thought would last forever. The despair of that loss led me to Kundalini Yoga, and I began to meditate and work with my breath. Sitting quietly, concentrating on the breath going in and going out, learning to do this for longer and longer periods of time, was a vital first step to becoming present, at least to myself.
After the fourth breakup I did not seek another relationship; indeed, I didn’t even go on a date for the next four years. I learned to sit with myself, sit with what I was feeling, to stay present with those painful feelings instead of pushing them away, to keep breathing in and out. I had to learn to become intimate with myself and, over time, this increased my ability to have an intimate presence with others.
Although I’m better than I once was, it’s an issue I still contend with. Yvonne will bring to my attention that in a middle of a conversation with her my focus has drifted away to staring at the screen of my phone or my laptop. It’s hurtful to her and much of the time I am not even aware of doing it. And so, reminded, I come back again.
If you experience these kinds of disappearances, what effect do they have on your life? On the people in your life? On your work?
The practice of coming back to the present moment is called mindfulness.
Practice: Coming Back
(If you’d like to listen to this practice, click here)
• Sit in a chair or on the floor with your head, neck, and back
straight but not stiff. It’s helpful to wear comfortable
clothing.
• Set your intention to put aside all thoughts of the past and the
future, to stay focused on the present.
• Turn your awareness to your breath, allowing yourself to
experience the in-flow and out-flow of air. Feel your belly rise
and fall with each breath. Notice how each breath changes,
different than the one before.
• As thoughts come and go, try not to hang onto any of them. Just
notice them, then let them go, just as the breath goes.
• If you do get carried away with a thought, gently bring yourself
back to your breathing.
• Start by doing this for three minutes at a time. (You can set a
timer.) Gradually you can increase the time as needed. When
the time is up, give yourself a moment or two to transition back
into daily activities and awareness.
You can also practice mindfulness during some of your routine behaviors. Simple tasks such as doing the dishes, making the bed, brushing your teeth, or taking a walk can be ideal opportunities for keeping your attention on the present moment, rather than going on automatic pilot and letting your mind drift into past or future.
Guru Grrrl understands that dwelling in the past may lead to depression; focusing on the future can lead to anxiety. In the present moment, I am usually okay, despite my regrets or fears. A practice of being present in this moment allows us to fully experience our lives, and that is a stance of power.
Further reading
Hạnh Thich Nhất, et al. You Are Here: Discovering the Magic of the Present Moment. Shambhala Library, 2012.
