Wrestling with Your Demons

He had asked me to meet him there. ⁣⁣

We kneeled across from each other, a few feet apart, on a padded mat in a corner of the large open room. It was noontime on a steamy summer day. The room was nearly empty; most folks were at lunch. ⁣⁣

He started rambling, not making eye contact, as if uncertain of what to say or where to start. After a few seconds, I said derisively, “Jesus, this is so fucking boring.” I leaned in and abruptly shoved him off balance. He immediately recovered and sprang at me. “FUCK YOU!!!!” he yelled. And it was on.⁣⁣

It wasn’t the first time we had met like this, but it was definitely more intense. And this wasn’t a fight. We were on a retreat, and this was a counseling session. ⁣⁣

This man is a friend I hold in great affection and esteem—a deep and soulful individual, close to my age, who is widely known and respected in his professional community. ⁣⁣

He knew he had some hard unfinished business left with his father, and he intuited that the only way he could move the angry energy trapped in his system was through full-body expression, including wrestling and yelling. ⁣⁣

So, for the second time that year, I became a surrogate for his father, and a compassionate witness to his anger and pain. ⁣⁣

I wasn’t overly concerned about our safety, besides the possibility of a minor bruise or two. I was several inches taller and probably 30 pounds heavier, so I felt fairly confident that I could control the situation. Besides, we had enough emotional intelligence that I knew we could snap out of the heat of the moment if necessary.⁣⁣

Back to it. “IT WASN’T FAIR! AND I’M NOT LIKE YOU!” he yelled. I sneered and responded mockingly, “YOU WISH. You’re NOTHING like me!”⁣⁣

And so it went, back and forth, as he yelled and strained and fought, pushing against me, while giving a voice to all the hurts and transgressions—visited upon him and other family members—that he had been too young, too powerless, too unresourced to confront at an earlier time in his life.⁣⁣

Our bodies are the vessels through which our hopes, dreams, fears, and hurts are expressed and onto which they are imprinted. We literally carry our issues in our tissues. And when we get stuck, attuning to the body’s wisdom and impulses can be a pathway out. ⁣

Besides his head, this angry energy had dug deep into my friend’s gut, chest, throat, and limbs, and he understood that it was through the body that he would have to release it. It was going to take more than a moment of insight on a therapist’s couch.⁣⁣

Now, this is not a typical intervention that I use with my coaching clients. It requires a high degree of maturity, self-studentship, and mutual trust. ⁣

I had witnessed over time my friend’s commitment to his growth path. I was willing to do this with him because of our history together, and our shared understanding and appreciation of the power of such a somatic practice. ⁣⁣

After several minutes of mighty striving, he was spent. He lay winded, sweating and weeping on the mat as I pinned him down. “I’m not like you,” he repeated under his breath, “I’m not like you. I'm not.”⁣⁣

I saw my moment. I released the hold and curled in next to him. I put my mouth to his ear and, as tenderly as I could, whispered, “You’re right. It wasn’t fair. And you are nothing like me.”⁣⁣

LEAN FORWARD: What I Learned on a Mountain in Maine

⁣⁣I know folks who every January choose a single word or expression as a touchstone for the new year. I’ve never done that successfully. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to limit myself to one primary focus. Or perhaps I just get distracted—Hey! A squirrel!!!!—too easily. ⁣⁣

⁣⁣But, a couple of weeks ago, a mantra was given to me on a ski slope in Maine, and I think it just might be The One for 2020. It’s this: Lean Forward. ⁣

⁣⁣I’m a cautious critter by nature. The thought of attaching to my feet two long pieces of fiberglass that are exquisitely designed to reduce friction and increase speed and then LAUNCHING myself down the side of a MOUNTAIN is, on the face of it, problematic. Heck, even the ski lift gives me the willies.⁣⁣

⁣But there I was, wrapping up two hours of lessons on the super gentle "bunny" slope. At the end, our instructor—a grizzled veteran skier—squinted at Michael and me and said, “You guys did all right. You might be ready for the bigger slope, though I’d feel better if you had a more experienced skier with you.” ⁣⁣

⁣Aaah. We were in solid Peter Principle territory—an opportunity to rise to my level of incompetence. Yes, but I had an out! My Catholic and military upbringing had, if nothing else, taught me to respect authority. I didn’t have a more experienced skier at hand. Therefore, if I didn’t follow The Expert’s advice, something bad was bound to happen.⁣⁣

⁣But then I thought of some of my more intrepid friends, who instinctively put a finger on the side of the scale that tilts towards adventure rather than caution. I wanted to be more like them.⁣⁣

⁣My gut recognized something at that moment. There’s a huge difference between assuming at the get-go that you’ll probably make a mistake and things will go badly versus assuming that you and All The Things will probably be okay. The net results might not even be that different—you could ace it or break a leg either way—but the lived experience (i.e., dread vs. anticipation) will be vastly different. ⁣⁣

⁣I was also aware that progress happens when you push over your edge, past the point of certainty. Beyond the comfort zone, but before the panic zone. ⁣⁣

⁣It helps to have a partner in crime. Michael looked at me and said, “I want to do it at least once while we’re here.” It was our only day on the slopes and sunlight was waning, so I agreed.⁣⁣

⁣The ski lift seemed sketchy, but miraculously I enjoyed it. I focused on the beauty around me and the fun of being with Michael. I barely noticed how far up we were, and how all of our weight was balancing on a skinny moving cable, and how the restraining bar holding us in didn’t lock. ⁣⁣

⁣At the top, we dismounted like pros, and it was Go Time. Michael and our other friends launched ahead of me. I took a deep breath, checked all my gear, and shoved off. ⁣⁣

⁣It was definitely faster than I expected, with less room to maneuver. And there were a few moments that were truly terrifying, when I was going too fast to slow down and knew it. Times when I felt like I had very little control and a rendezvous with a tree trunk was imminent. The muscles in my legs, unused to these vectors, were complaining loudly. ⁣⁣

⁣But I stayed up. And it was because I remembered what the instructor said: Lean forward. Against all your instincts—always forward. ⁣⁣

⁣It. Rocked. My. World.⁣⁣

⁣Here’s the thing. When I’m on uncertain terrain (both physical and metaphorical), my overwhelming impulse is to pull back, to lean out. But when you’re on skis, apparently that’s precisely the wrong thing to do. It messes with the physics and geometry of the process and is the shortest path to a wipe out. ⁣

⁣⁣To maintain control and have the best chance of landing safely, you have to lean forward. You have to lean in, not pull back. Move toward, rather than away from. By doing that, you have much better ability to direct your skis and your center of gravity the way you want to—even if it’s back up the hill in a gentle swoop to slow yourself down. ⁣⁣

⁣But you have to embrace and respond to what’s unfolding in real time. There’s no armchair retreat (another favorite move of mine) for pondering your next move.⁣

⁣And I found it’s hard to lean forward and stay afraid at the same time. There’s something about the hopefulness, direction, and power of that stance that just feels good.⁣⁣ ⁣ As someone whose habitual posture is a cautious lean-back, this revelation was disorienting in the best possible way.

⁣And, as the process unfolded, I had an amazing epiphany. “OH. This is why people ski. It’s not just about white-knuckling it down a hill to the relief (hopefully) of a safe landing. It’s kinda thrilling. In fact, it’s FUN. Who knew?!?”⁣⁣

⁣I arrived at the bottom of the slope. No sign of my friends. But there was the chairlift. And I knew I had to do it again.⁣⁣

⁣As I moved into position for the chair to scoop me up, I could feel a shift inside. This was a Big Deal. I could taste the deliciousness of a new, more adventurous normal. ⁣

⁣That ride up the mountain was one of the best, most optimistic experiences of my life. (Even when it stopped for a couple of moments—previously, one of my worst nightmares.) From my perch, I spied some of my pals still making their way gingerly down the slope after a major pile-up and I waved excitedly.⁣⁣

⁣Once at the top, I took a selfie to commemorate the moment. Just for a second, I entertained the possibility of a TV news report later that night: “The rescue team found his phone twenty feet from his mangled body, with this last poignant picture taken moments before his death.” ⁣⁣

⁣But that turned out to be anxiety, not intuition. Truth is, on the second run I had a spectacular wipe out about halfway down. I was off my skis for all of a minute. I took stock, laughed, and jumped right back in. That is, I leaned right back in. ⁣⁣

⁣And I’m planning to keep doing it for the rest of this year, on and off the slope.⁣⁣

"You Stopped and Listened"

Late on a chilly December night in San Francisco, the Castro still hummed with activity. Chatty groups moved between clubs and smokers huddled together outside bar entrances. A seventy-something nudist wearing only a beatific smile twirled down the sidewalk, admiring his reflection in the store windows.

By contrast, the serious young black man approaching me as I walked down 18th Street locked my gaze with gentle urgency. Of medium height, with dark eyes and a wiry build, he was speaking as we passed each other, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.

I stopped and faced him. He looked at me with surprise and hesitated. “You threw me,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to turn around.” I smiled and nodded.

“What time is it?” he asked. “Can you tell me what time it is? I don’t like to leave my girlfriend for very long. We take turns going out, trying to find food, or maybe some clothing, or other things we need.” The words tumbled out rapidly. “We do have some money—thirty-six dollars—but we’re saving it to buy a cell phone.”

I smiled again and touched his arm. “It’s 11:45. Relax, take a breath.” I put a hand out. “My name’s Chris. What’s yours?”

He exhaled. “Syed. My name is Syed. I’m homeless right now. Some people offer to buy us food—they don’t like to give money. I understand. That’s okay.”

As he spoke, I fished in my front pocket for a wad of bills—an evening’s worth of change from the bar I had just left. I grabbed it and quietly put it into his hand.

He looked at me with surprise. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Can you spare it? I don’t want to create any hardship.” I nodded. “Yes. It’s for you. It’s all good.”

We looked at each other for a moment, smiling. Then, I opened my arms and he came in for a strong hug. “Thank you,” he said, and, taking a step back, turned to continue on his way down the sidewalk.

But then he paused and looked at me again. “You stopped and listened,” he said, shaking his head. “You have no idea how much that means.”

And I thought to myself, I do now.

Crying over Spilt Coffee

Recently, my client was beating themself up.⁣
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Earlier in the week, they had had a meltdown in the morning over a cup of coffee they had spilled—a full-on tantrum as they described it. When they brought it up, I could tell they were feeling really bad about it, dismissing it as pure childishness.⁣
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So, as I do whenever I get a whiff of a strong judgment, I decided to dig a bit deeper.⁣
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This person arises early and makes a cup of coffee first thing in the morning. It’s part of their awakening and centering ritual. In some ways, it’s the foundation and springboard for their day, and typically includes a single cigarette and a walk with the dog.⁣
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Their spouse, who usually sleeps in, woke up early that morning. They came into the kitchen, and expressed a desire to go along on the walk, too.⁣
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It was then that the coffee spilled, followed by an even bigger outpouring of tears and anger about the mess. And right behind that was a wave of shame around the seeming outsized reaction. Which in turn was followed by a simple truth bomb from their spouse: "I don’t think this would have happened if I hadn’t come down."
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The spouse understood: it was never about the coffee. But, paradoxically, it wasn’t anger at them, either. My client would truly love to go for a long walk together. The tears were about my client’s need for solitude and grounding in the morning, and their reluctance to make the request, largely out of fear of seeming “selfish.” ⁣
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It’s part of the ongoing process of recognizing, clarifying, and prioritizing the self-care that is important to them. Put another way, it’s part of the process of helping to see that their own needs and desires are worth paying attention to. That *they* are worth paying attention to.⁣
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So we talked about being clear about both of those things next time. “I would be thrilled to go for a walk with you. But first, I just need a little time to myself. Maybe in half an hour?” Offered gently and lovingly. A simple request that will allow for a more clear-eyed, honest, and easy embrace of themself and their partner.⁣
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How about you? How often do you send that hurt side of yourself to the corner to soak in shame, without looking any closer?

Why couldn’t you ask yourself, with full compassion, “Whoa, I can tell that you’re feeling pretty strongly about something. What’s up? How can I help?” That’s what a friend would do.⁣
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In this case, for my client to just beat themself up and dismiss their reaction as childish was the wrong solution to the wrong problem--but one so easy to make. One that was probably modeled throughout their life.⁣
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That's a pity, because buried under that tantrum was an important truth about themself. It wasn't just a pouty fit, but a portal to deeper self-understanding and self-appreciation. ⁣An invitation.
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So pay attention the next time you (figuratively) spill your coffee. Lean in and look. There just may be some gold in those grounds.⁣

Cultivating Your Inner Witness

In Carly Simon’s hit “You’re So Vain” (now I’m really dating myself), the speaker sings to her narcissistic lover: “You had one eye in the mirror as you watched yourself gavotte.” Based on the lyrics, he was one self-absorbed cat.
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That example notwithstanding, there's a certain kind of self-observation that is super-useful as you gavotte through life. It’s what we call the witness consciousness.⁣
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I wrote recently about the importance of holding yourself “in your own embrace” when you’re going through something hard. That in itself is a form of witness consciousness: you not only go through the experience, but you also observe yourself going through it (in this case, with tenderness).
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Witnessing allows you to get in touch with your more expansive self that is beyond your immediate situation. It can be especially helpful when you're in an uncomfortable, aversive state, like anxiety. Instead of allowing your entire attention to be taken over by the stressful experience, you put it in a container and name it: “Chris is feeling anxious” or, more simply, “Anxiety.”⁣
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The act of naming reinforces that the difficult experience is just one fleeting part of you. You are bigger/wider/more enduring than it. It wasn't always there, and it won't always be there. It will end, and you will keep going.⁣
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Put another way, witnessing allows you to stop *identifying* with your experience. Who you are and what you’re going through are not the same thing. ⁣
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Recognizing this distinction is one of the common goals of meditation. In fact, meditators often use witnessing and naming to bring themselves back around when they notice that they are distracted—“worrying,” “daydreaming,” “itching.”⁣
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Now, I think there are times when it may be useful and preferable to identify with your experience as completely as possible. During passionate lovemaking, for example. You don't necessarily want to be on the sidelines watching yourself. ⁣
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But I think it's really helpful to have this tool and capacity available to you whenever you need it.⁣
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I even find it useful when I'm doing something much less traumatic, like getting into a chilly swimming pool (I am TOTALLY a baby about that). Rather than letting my whole being get overwhelmed by the shock of the cold water, I notice myself feeling it and I get in touch with the part that knows that this will pass (you know, once the hypothermia sets in): “Chris is feeling freakin cold right now.” ⁣
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The act of naming is useful even if you do it dispassionately or matter-of-factly. BUT, if you can bring compassion and tenderness to the witnessing, that turbocharges the whole enterprise. ⁣
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As a coach with a bent towards healing work, a lot of what I do is to serve as a compassionate and trustworthy witness to other people’s suffering. To let them know that they’re not alone. If you can muster that kind of regard for yourself, you can play an active role in your own healing. ⁣
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Because when you do that, you’re not just witnessing, you’re loving. And love is potent balm for our wounded bodies and spirits.