Trusting Ourselves

Dear friends, 

I hope you are well, enjoying the beauiful days of early summer. 

For me, and, I know, for some of you, even amidst the beauty and celebrations of May, the last couple of weeks have been pretty intense. Along with the many things going on in the world, a report was released about a week and a half ago detailing the extensive abuse of a very well-connected person here in Louisville, a former Presbyterian pastor who, more recently, was very involved in, and often leading, interfaith initiatives. I have known him for about a decade. The report details his abuse when he was pastor before I knew him.

I am connected to many, many people who either experienced his abuse, both while he was a pastor and in the decade since, or who are reeling from the news of it. I know that keeping more people safe from him means sharing his name, and I have and will in other contexts. Here I am choosing not to. I don't want to speak/write/see his name*. 

Since the report came out, I've been part of many conversations with people about the report, their experiences, and the resulting shame, embarrassment, self-doubt, confusion, anger, grief, and more. I have also experienced this range of emotions. I could write volumes about each emotion, but today self-doubt gets the spotlight.

When I work with people, I often say, "I do not want you to trust me to the detriment of trusting yourself." 

There are so many ways we are taught to ignore, deny, dismiss, or numb our inner knowing. We are taught that there are authorities- religious, political, secular, familial- who know better than we do. We are encouraged to trust and follow them, even when our bodies are giving us warning signals that something is off. If trauma is a part of our story, understanding and trusting our bodies' signals is even more complicated.

Self-doubt serves a charismatic, abusive leader well. The patterns of manipulation only become clear in retrospect or from a distance. Once we see the patterns, we question, "Why didn't I see it?" "Why did I laugh that off?" "Why didn't I speak up?" 

Even outside of the context of abuse, self-doubt is a normal part of being human. Wanting to see the best in someone and offering grace are also so very human and really quite wonderful. That we would experience these doesn't mean there's something wrong with us or that we have reason to be ashamed. We're just human- messy, complicated, beautiful humans. 

Knowing this, the question then becomes: If self-doubt is so pervasive, how do we move toward self-trust? 

I belive it's through practice. I believe it's through tuning to the body and being in dialogue with it. Dominant culture doesn't encourage us to love or honor our body wisdom. Compassionate Communication has helped me tune in more skillfully and identify more easily what my body is telling me- that I want safety, ease, acceptance, understanding, something else. 

When I'm struggling, thankfully I have a few friends I can turn to to help me see and move through what is murky, unclear, difficult. I have come to trust them because when I've been most vulnerable, they have been ever so gentle with me. They affirm my worth, even when I'm feeling low. These are the ones who, even when challenging me, do so in a care-filled way. Even when they present a perspective very different from my own, they give space for me to be choiceful about what I do with that perspective. These are the ones who, in action and word, help me to trust myself more, not less.

This is how I hope to be with others. Sometimes I do so well. Other times, less well. I will keep trying. 

And I wonder about you: 

How or when do you experience self-doubt? 

What or who has helped you to trust yourself more? 

I'd love to know. 

If you want to explore self-trust with me, the next Savoring Time mini-retreat is coming up on June 9. Each one of these in-person experiences is an experiment with our individual and collective wisdom. June's theme is Light!

For a more sustained and a deeper dive into self-trust, I'll be facilitating The Artist's Way starting August 17th. I am offering this on a sliding scale and have payment plans available. Through June 15th, there is an Early Early Bird rate of $50 off for the Standard registration level. 

I am also excited to be a part of my first gallery art show. The opening reception is coming up this Thursday, June 6th, so if you want to see my collages and the works of Joan Zehnder and Kathy Christian, I hope you'll come to the show or visit the gallery during the 6 weeks it's up!
     
To learn more about these and other events, visit this page. If they speak to you, I hope you'll join me.  If you know of others who'd love this work, please share with them!

With love, 
Cory

*I originally wrote this for an email and did not link the report. Here, though I am still not using his name in the post, I am choosing to link the executive summary and the full report about the abuse. Both were originally posted here. If you decide to read them, please give yourself time, space, and whatever other support you might need to process. They are not easy to read and, as noted above, can bring up a lot of strong emotions. If you are a survivor of abuse, please be particularly care-filled as you decide if and how to engage.

You Are the Light of the World

You are the light of the world.

I see you looking around, eyes wide and quizzical, eyebrows raised, finger pointing at chest.

“Who…me?”

Yes.

You.

You are the light of the world.

“No, no. No, not me. Let me just tell you all the bad things I’ve done. Let me tell you all the ways I’ve f***ed up, the people I’ve hurt, the times I’ve been hypocritical, downright mean and nasty, the times I yelled at my kids, my partner, my parents, my friends, my co-workers, my neighbor, the customer service guy, the cashier, myself. The times I’ve lied and cheated, and the times I’ve rested in my own comfort while others suffered.”

You are the light of the world.

“I’m sorry, but the more you say that the louder the NOOOOOOOO becomes. This is getting a little ridiculous. I thought you knew me. I now know you don’t.”

You are the light of the world.

“Please stop.”

You are perfect. Perfectly imperfect. Broken and whole. Light and shadow.

“Those are opposites.”

Sometimes the opposite of a profound truth is another profound truth.

“Uuuuuuuuuuuh.”

*

*

*

*

You are the light of the world.

*

You are light.

*

You hold darkness, but you are not darkness.

“I…am…not…darkness.”

You hold pain, but you are not pain.

“I am…not…pain.”

You hold grief and doubt and fear and anger, but you are not grief or doubt or fear or anger.

“I am not grief or doubt or fear or anger.”

You are the light of the word.

“I am the… I can’t. How can I be the light of the world when I feel so ordinary?”

You are ordinary.

And you are the light of the world.

Extraordinarily ordinary.

Ordinarily extraordinary.

Your light shines just like the light of every other being.

It shines with its own particular luminescence.

Your light shines in its own particular way.

You are doing your own particular work.

“Well, that feels true. I don’t always like my work, though.”

You don’t have to.

Even though you have hard days and

even though you cover your light or someone else tries to obscure it,

You are the light of the world.

“Hmmmmm….”

*

You are the light of the world.

Will you try,

just try,

to believe it,

and see what happens?

Breathing In...Breathing Out

I arrived home and opened Facebook where several friends had shared live video footage from the ongoing efforts to stop the construction of the North Dakota pipeline through sacred tribal lands: police in riot gear, a few water protectors shouting at them. I started watching.

Shouting is not the same as holding a baton, ready to strike.

The image froze on the police, faces shielded, batons across their bodies. Though not as ominous, my mind shifted momentarily to the "peacekeepers" in The Hunger Games. On my screen the image of the police changed to a screen with a geometric pattern. Was the signal lost or blocked? By the time the video came back on, the police were moving, telling protesters to move south. Some water protectors faced the police, walking backwards as the police moved towards them. “Keeping moving south or we’ll arrest you.”

I start writing with the video on, though I can’t see it as I type. I only listen.

This is not what I thought I was going to write about when I opened a new post.

I turn to the video and see armored police vehicles. I think of Palestine.

I return to my page.

This morning I woke up grumpy. I had no excuse for my mood except that I was tired. The mood followed me through the day. It’s actually been haunting me for several days, coming and going as ghosts do. The source is a sense of loneliness, a desire for more constancy than my current relationships provide, a ghost that visits me periodically, even in times like now when I am being showered with love and love and more love from far and wide. I would like to befriend this visitor, Loneliness, but thus far we haven't hit it off.  

This afternoon I had a meeting at the local Tibetan Buddhist center. The friend I was supposed to meet with was tied up in a call when I arrived.  I had arrived a few minutes late, but my attention only focused on her lack of immediate availability. I could feel a foul mood sweep over me again – resentment, loneliness, anger, impatience, each out of proportion to my current situation. And on top of these, frustration with myself for feeling all those things.

I type now and hear chanting and the rhythm of a drum, what I assume is prayer. I turn to the image and see the chanters standing calmly, feet planted solidly the ground, as their voices sing words I understand only in the way one understands rustling leaves or rushing water: they offer soothing beauty.

I return to the page.

As I sat waiting and stewing earlier, it occurred to me that a few feet in front of me was a beautiful shrine, a room that for me is peace. I entered, sat down, crossed my legs, closed my eyes, and turned my attention to breathing. The aroma of incense lingered in the air as I started to take deep, slow breaths.

Breathing in peace.

Breathing out, releasing anger.

Ah, yes, there are things I need to let go of.

Breathing in peace.

Breathing out, releasing sadness.

Breathing in peace.

Breathing out, releasing impatience.

Breathing in peace.

Breathing out, releasing intolerance.

Breathing in peace.

Feeling my body relax, calm.

Knowing I am ready to offer something different to myself, to the world around me.

Breathing in peace.

Breathing out acceptance.

Breathing in peace.

Breathing out love.

Breathing in love.

Breathing out patience.

Breathing in love.

Breathing out gratitude.

Breathing in love.

Breathing out gratitude.

Breathing in love.

Breathing out peace.

Breathing in love.

Breathing out peace.

I opened my eyes, ready to meet with my friend. Ten or 15 minutes had passed.  She had just finished her call.

She apologized for being late. She apologized for a few other things from the last few months that she labeled as “failures.” If I had not spent time in the shrine, I feel certain I would only have given an insincere “It’s ok” in return. Having had those minutes to focus, I could tell her that her that her delay had been a blessing and that her perceived failures had also allowed me unexpected gifts.

The video behind my writing has ended. I am relieved by the quiet, but left wondering about the well-being of all whose faces and voices passed through my consciousness.

I want to be there. If the protests continue, if my presence is needed, I will go in a few weeks.

In this moment, I am far away. In this moment, I can offer no more than my breath, my calm, my prayer.

This afternoon as the meeting with my friend wrapped up, she apologized again for our late start. I assured her that the wait had offered a gift, sacred solitude, that unfolded into other gifts.

I carried them home: calm, trust, patience. I nearly allowed them to spill out, wasted, as I watched and listened to the video. And then I heard and saw the prayer.

I remembered my own prayer hours before in the shrine.

Now, holding peace gently, I leave my hands open,

ready to receive what may come,

ready to release what must go.  

Breathing in love.

Breathing out peace.