A personal story of finding the way to meditate….

It has been four years since I last felt my heart. Not the beating physical organ inside me; I mean the seat of the soul, the driver of my passion for life. I shut it down during the summer of 2012, building a defensive barrier after the death of my brother, the stresses of the bar exam, and new traumas that merged with old ones turning my days into a nightmare.

I know I am not the only person to have experienced tragedy and pain. Nor was this my first time. But my heart, my openness, my willingness to surrender to the divine had always been there to see my through. I had always been able to rebuild, brick by brick, whenever a wrecking ball forced its way through my life. I could even connect with others to help me preserve joy in my life. 

But this was different, a breaking point. I quickly slid into survival mode and the first thing I sacrificed was that oh-so-open heart of mine. As you might guess, the inner hurt manifested as outward symptoms that drove me further into self-protection: weight gain, body aches, mystery illnesses, loss of confidence and isolation. I wrapped a cocoon around me, holding my misery tight against me. I kept everything close exercising complete control in order to stay safe.

I admit, as an attorney and a former Catholic that sense of control was addicting. And perfectionism was my “drug” of choice.  So when I tried meditation, a tool that had helped me in the past, it ended up looking a lot like this:

• The room had to be just so: must go on a mad dash to clean the space. -10 minutes
• Maybe light a candle: must go find the “right” candle -10 minutes
• Close my eyes and listen to a guided meditation: Nope, the voice isn’t right.  -30 minutes searching for one I like
• Take a deep breath:  Who does my neighbor think he is running his lawnmower at this totally reasonable time of day? -5-20 minutes for distractions.

My perfectionism was giving me a ready list of excuses to not give up my control. And all that wasted time just bolstered those defenses. I kept flirting with the edge of surrender and would find tiny reasons to step away, unable to even breathe deeply. I felt powerless to give myself permission, even for a moment, to risk letting go of my protections. I hobbled around spiritually during those years convinced that healing just would never happen, never feeling safe enough to do anything else.

Then, a few months ago, a new option emerged. There I was, at the end of an impossible day at work, in tears because I couldn’t take the pressure and strain any longer. I finally remembered the meditation website I signed up for over the holidays and I took a chance on a “Take 5”. I didn’t expect much, but five minutes without a needy client or another assignment had to be better than the alternative.  

I closed the door to my office and tried to settle in. The old panic patterns emerged:  The room isn’t right. There’s too much noise in the hallway. Too much light. How I can possibly relax in this space? 

Come on, it’s five minutes. You can handle it for five minutes. Now, sit down and press play.

“Choose to let go. Let go of the thinking…there is no right way or wrong way…intend to let go.”

Those words initiated a small flicker of trust. And instead of controlling it, expecting perfection, I simply chose to let it exist in that space with me. I made a choice to not give into the panic for just a few minutes.

When I opened my eyes again, I realized that I could breathe a little easier and that my tight, little cocoon was beginning to unravel, a few threads at a time. Over the next few weeks, I took small steps with that trust. I found my courage returning, my confidence building, and my perspective widening. I kept going back, trying a little more, and going a little deeper until an unexpected catharsis arrived. I surrendered and I finally broke free.  

I know now that my power, and indeed my healing, comes from the ability to make choices that better align with my spirit. Rather than chasing perfection and exercising control, I embrace my autonomy and audacious vulnerability. It’s not a magic pill because it’s difficult to trust in the midst of so much pain, but sometimes making even one small choice can trigger a cascade of transformation that our souls have been yearning for all this time.

GUEST AUTHOR:  Janet Rose