I'm Worried

I have tried very hard to work Worry out of my life.

Almost every year since 2014 I have read about Ahimsa, non-violence, in Deborah Adele's Yama and Niyamas book. (The Year of Expansion group is where I keep reading this text).

Deborah Adele describes Worry as "a way violence gets masked as caring. Worry is a lack of faith in the other and cannot exist simultaneous with love. Either we have faith in the other person to do their best or we don't. Worry says I don't trust you to do your life right. Worry comes from a place of arrogance that I know better what should be happening in your life. Worry says I don't trust your journey, or your answers, or your timing. Worry is a fear that hasn't grown up yet; it is a misuse of our imagination. We devalue and insult others when we worry about them."

I am arrogant. I think I am right, a lot. I have this belief about how the world is doing things wrong and I can offer an alternative.  I can be abrasive, defensive, and condescending in my delivery of my ideas. And then I worry.... that it won't hit, that it wasn't understood, that my explanation wasn't good enough, that I will be ignored. 

I can see the pattern that serves no one. And because I can see it, I can change it.

Over the last 10 or so years, I have tried to let go of worry. To not only trust my own experiences, but offer that trust to those around me. Believing in people. Believing that they are capable humans, who's life experience perfectly sets them up to answer their own questions. To know that at best I can shine light or be the fresh water that they need on their journey, but I can't do their journey. Decide, direct, or know what is best for anyone else but me. 

Worry... It is a natural expression, a thing that happens in us when things are uncertain or too much.

We lost my nephew last month. A vibrant teen, gone way too soon. As the deep anguish moves to palpable, life-long grief.... I can feel worry elbow its way in.

In Atlas of the Heart, Brené Brown says "worry is not an emotion, it's the thinking part of anxiety." We can believe that worry is a coping mechanism, to help us negotiate negative thoughts about bad things happening. Based on her research, worry is not a helpful strategy. Being able to notice it, name it, and ask ourselves, 'what are we avoiding by worrying?' What is the emotion driving the thinking? is important. 

I am worrying right now. 

I worry about the people I love who are already running on empty. About the ones who need to understand before they can believe. About youth navigating that very normal, very hard "I don't know what I want to do with my life" stage. I worry about the community will "do" anything to help, but doesn't know what. About the the compound effect of loss and grief. I worry about people that are lonely, hyper-independent, guarded, over-giving, always showing up OK when they aren't. I worry that we all pretend we are fine when it could not be further from the truth. I worry .. I could go on and on.

If worry isn't a worthy expression of what I'm feeling. If I am just trying to THINK my way through these emotions. I know I need to come back to feeling. I know I need to allow myself to feel each and every emotion that this activates in me. 

I also need to radiate out my belief in each individual. I want to show up trusting each beautiful, crushed soul, in anguish over this. Trust them to step into their lives the way they know best for themselves. I don't want to give micromanaging advice, or let my worry share all the actions I think "should" happen. I want to honour every individual's connection to their intuition to guide their journey, and have faith that what they chose is always going to be better than any guidance I want to constantly offer.

For some reason we feel like we can see the lives of others better than we can see our own: Raising our children to become independent adults that no longer need you, is a cruel joke some days. Caring for aging parents who's independent steak refuses the support you can see they need. Watching a friend stay in a relationship or job that you see is killing them. Or watching them leave when you think they gave up too soon. We worry as we anticipate their potential missteps, or actually watch them happen, and then try to protect them from the harsh realities of the world when they bump up against disappointment, rejection, loss, or any of the other deep and all-encompassing emotions that all humans face.

So damn... how do we do it. How do we love and believe in the people around us, the people we love and want to support, when we want so badly to protect them from the obstacles of life they may face.

We can't.

I can't.

I can't worry my way to anyone else's healthy and wellbeing. In fact, my worry is experienced by them as a heavy blanket, suffocating their ability to move with ease and agility forward, carrying the weight of my fears on top of their own. 

So what can I do? How do I help? How do I support? In a way that offers my trust and love?

• assume the other person is on equal footing with equal ability to do life as me.
• sit with awe and respect of where they are at, and not try to give answers
• practice Namaste - seeing them in their full and perfect form - the light in me see and honours the light in you. (basically - under all my flaws is a light and from this light I see past all your flaws to your light, and I trust this place!)
• practice the Ho'oponopono prayer. Circling people with my intention: I'm sorry this is hard, Forgive me for not being able to take this pain away. Thank you for all the gifts you bring to the world. I love you. The 4 statements allow me to release the worry and see the person I love, the friend, sister, child, nephew, neighbour, mother, cousin, partner in front of me and let love radiate my belief in them. 

I want my presence to give them breathing room. Peace. Space. To offer energy. Build power. Trust.

The more I try this, the more I notice that my belief in someone is far more powerful than my worry for them. My silent trust more powerful than my words of advice.

So, I am tell that to my brain - again. Because damn, the worry comes pouring in so fast and furious, some days. With a big sneer, showing up smug and satisfied.  Worry anchoring itself in the soft, vulnerable space I have been so tenderly tending, and it tries to tear up all my attempts to placate it. 

And, as worry keep coming, my practice needs to as well. 

My work isn't to stop it. That is probably an impossible human task. Instead of trying to stop it, I will practice, again and again - noticing it, naming it, and choosing to let it go. To drop back into my own wisdom. To tend that soft, vulnerable place gently, instead of guarding it with fear.

This is the practice.