by David Richo
Let’s look carefully into what may be going on when we fear being engulfed: It can be a throwback to a traumatic experience in childhood when we were overly controlled or patrolled by a parent. It might also be a throwback to how a parent smothered us with invasive affection. We had no way of establishing a boundary, of protecting ourselves. That connection between closeness and powerlessness led to a trigger: We are now triggered into fear by closeness even when it is expressed appropriately, so our reaction is to run from it. Superficially, this may seem like a fear of being engulfed and defending against it. But, more subtly, it can be that we are using our fear to keep people away. We might use fear in this way rather than engage in limit-setting, the adult way of dealing with closeness that becomes uncomfortable for us. But if we can be assertive about our comfort zone, we no longer have to keep people away. We can let them know our boundaries directly. We can tell them how much and what kind of closeness works for us. Then we are truly protecting ourselves while still allowing the closeness we long for. We no longer have to use fear as a wall to keep out what we ultimately want.
We might also be triggered by the prospect of making a commitment. We might be triggered into fear by noticing that a person has committed herself to us. We might feel that puts us on the spot. We might feel engulfed, obliged, indebted—all powerful triggers in any relationship. We fear losing our freedom. Our reactions to such triggers might be to avoid full commitment, to find a way out of the relationship or a way of buffering its impact on us. We are careful not to have both feet planted in the relationship.
In so many relationships there is, for example, a third party, noticed or unnoticed—something going on that prevents or protects us against full commitment. It can be a person, a thing, or an ongoing triggering issue. In each instance, the partners keep themselves one step removed from one another because they have to focus on what is standing between them. That third is a buffer against both closeness and commitment.
Such in-betweens can take many forms: a divorce not yet finalized, a money problem, an addiction, an affair in progress, an unmet need or expectation, a conflict that can’t be resolved, a grudge, or a child, parent, or former partner with needs. The third party can also be an unresolved issue from the past of one of the partners—for instance, resentment remaining in a betrayed partner about an affair now long over. That third presence requires so much focus that it becomes, in effect, another member of the relationship. The partners never have to face life only as a couple, a prospect that has become too scary. A presence between partners likewise saves them from having to feel and face that very fear. We may, for instance, use an affair both to avoid closeness—the fear dimension—and to look for it in a noncommitted way—the safety dimension.
The between-presence also serves to make a partner stay longer in a relationship that doesn’t really work. The phantom partner—the third party, event, or thing—makes an unbearable life together tolerable: “As long as we are concentrating on our son’s addiction we don’t have to notice and deal with our own problems.” We can’t help but notice the similarity between this issue in a relationship and what happens in politics: “As long as we are concentrating on foreign wars we don’t have to admit, focus on, and deal with our domestic problems.”
Weaponizing is another subtle way of maintaining distance when we fear closeness in a relationship. For instance, Robin has a habit of cutting off communication when Adrian wants to talk. Adrian is willing to overlook this because it gives him ammunition to use later. He can build resentment toward Robin for not listening. He also feels justified in making a unilateral decision and keeping it a secret. Adrian feels justified in this because he figures that Robin will only disregard or discount his idea anyway.
The alternative is to seek open communication. The couple that wrestles issues to the ground wants closeness. If that becomes the style for Adrian, then he can affirm his decision openly—“I am doing this”—once the discussion is over. It will not have to be kept under wraps. It will be known and become the next thing to deal with. Couples who want to deal with things stay together. Is that what some of us really fear? What is our real agenda, fearless closeness or fear-based avoidance of it?
In some close relationships, we find ourselves walking on eggshells—that is, fearing being triggered again, feeling anxious about ongoing triggers in our time together. Walking on eggshells is a sign that triggers are happening too often. It may be that one partner, knowing the other’s fear or trigger points, uses them to manipulate her. The one who created the eggshell floor is maintaining distance. The one walking is putting up with fear.
Likewise, as we become more familiar with our own triggers, we might invent complex strategies to avoid having them occur. For instance, we might fear someone’s wrath or disapproval. We then placate or curry favor lest we upset him or her. Later, we might feel ashamed of ourselves for being timid or obsequious. So then we feel anger at the other because we believe we are being forced into doing what we don’t want to do—even though it was always our choice. In fact, the human journey is meant to move from having a parent as a boss who directs our actions to having a partner or friend who loves equality. The more equality in relationships, the fewer the triggers.
Finally, we might use fear as a protective device because we don’t know yet whether we can trust a prospective or present partner. The fear then provides a buffer, a boundary that keeps us safe from making a rash decision. This fear-as-reluctance keeps us from jumping into something that is not good for us. We might use anger or ongoing resentment in the same way. They help us keep our distance when our impulsive heart may be foolish enough to move too close to what can sting us.
PRACTICES FOR FREEING OURSELVES FROM THE GRIP OF FEAR
Even a little progress is complete freedom from fear.
—Bhagavad Gita
Fear thrives on convincing us there is no way out, no alternative to the catastrophe that we imagine awaits us, no strategy to free ourselves from the stubborn grip of terror. We are actually in the stubborn grip of myopia, tying ourselves to only one meaning, believing there is only one valid interpretation, imagining only one possible consequence. This is how fear thrives. We fail to see that all thought, especially a fear-based thought, is partial—that a sky of possibilities is hidden behind the one cloud we are fixated on. It is ultimately a restricted imagination that causes our panic. What makes fear so disempowering is our deluded belief that its consequences are inescapable.
The following simple four-step practice can be an empowering resource when we feel ourselves triggered into a fear reaction:
Admit to yourself and someone you trust that you are afraid. Use that word, not euphemisms like “uncomfortable” or “a bit uneasy.”
Allow yourself to feel your fear fully, with no escape, denial, or distraction.
Act as if or Accept with trust. At this step, we have a twofold choice:
Act as if: If what we fear is something we can change, we act as if our fear had no power to drive us to do something or to stop us from doing anything. This is not acting as pretending but as behaving in a new way. To act in spite of fear is to be courageous. We will never be able to stop ourselves from feeling fear. But we don’t have to be bullied by it, either.
Accept with trust: If what we fear is something we can’t change, we accept that fact and the uncertainty of the outcome. We accept that we don’t have control and we trust that our inner resources will kick in when the outcome occurs.
Here is a somatic practice for acceptance with trust in ourselves when we feel fear about what might happen: We hold our hand warmly and gently on the part of our body where we feel the anxiety—for example, stomach or throat. We take deep breaths, and with each in-breath we say silently, “Yes to what is and what might be.” This is an acceptance of the known fact as well as the as-yet-unknown outcome. With the out-b
reath we say silently, “I trust myself to handle whatever happens.” We repeat this until we calm down, then add one final breath.
Here is an example of combining the Act and Accept steps: Your doctor suggests a medical test for a serious disease, but you are afraid to take the test. Here you “act as if” or “act so that” the fear could not stop you, and you go ahead and take the test. Then you are waiting for the results and you fear what they might be. Here you use the “accept with trust” technique.
Affirm your own courage in the moment. Any or all of the affirmations in the appendix at the end of this book can help enormously with this affirmation part of the practice. Here you have two goals: asserting your courage and desensitizing yourself from what scares you.
There is no terror…in your threats
For I am armed so strong in honesty
That they pass by me as the idle wind.
—Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
MINDFULNESS AND LOVING-KINDNESS FOR FEARLESSNESS
Fear triggers us to cling to what might please us or to run from what might harm us. However, Buddhist teaching—that is, the Dharma—helps us access inner resources that liberate us from those compulsions. For instance, it is natural to us to grab and clutch what appeals to us and to reject and avoid what is not appealing. Attraction and repulsion are frequent trigger reactions for all of us. Buddhism offers a new way of responding—not attaching and not escaping. We do not cling to what is attracting us, nor do we run from what is repulsive to us. We simply notice the shape of what faces us, notice our triggers and instinctive reactions, and then let go of having to choose either option. We hold our experience rather than grip or be gripped by it. For instance, even though our relationship is secure, our ongoing abandonment fear compels us to keep asking our partner for reassurances. In mindfulness, we simply notice our fear and give up checking—unless real evidence of abandonment appears. We do not try to allay our fear by finding an assurance externally. We witness from our prefrontal cortex rather than react from our triggered amygdala. Mindfulness gives us something to do with our agitation. We are no longer at the mercy of triggers because we are witnesses of them. The best next step is to see them with compassion and even amusement.
Sigmund Freud described the equivalent of what we call mindfulness in his “Recommendations for Physicians on the Psycho-Analytic Method of Treatment”: “Making no effort to concentrate the attention on anything in particular, and in maintaining with regard to all that one hears, the same measure of calm, quiet attentiveness, of evenly hovering attention.” In this mindful style we pay attention to the flow of thoughts and feelings in ourselves. We allow them to pass through us without stopping to examine, judge, or entertain them. When we really are in the moment mindfully it is impossible to keep holding on. Paradoxically, by not reacting we grow in awareness of what things and events are in themselves, before we dressed them up with our projections, desires, fears, add-ons. This is how mindfulness helps us with desensitization: We are no longer so triggered by our cravings and repulsions. We shift from reactions to triggers to pure awareness of what happens out there and in ourselves. Soon the triggers show themselves for what they really are: facts to look at, not self-constructed fictions to grasp onto or escape from.
Fear—and self-doubt—are like the weather, not like house arrest. No matter what the conditions they do not stop us from going out and doing what we have to do that day. Fear is an atmosphere that does not have to be an interference.
As we saw above, Buddhism teaches us to avoid suffering by not attaching to what is transient. Yet, in our loving-kindness practice we can still love ourselves and all beings in the midst of suffering, sometimes even more than when all is well. So why do we put so much energy into avoiding suffering? As long as love is possible in the midst of our pain, suffering is a path to depth, compassion, and redemption.
Love is the antidote to fear. Our full breadth of affection appears when our love comes in closer and goes out farther. We love ourselves and expand our circle of love to include all beings. How do we bring love in closer to ourselves and let it extend out farther to others? Buddhism offers the practice of loving-kindness, also called metta—the Pali word for benevolence, well-wishing.
A simple entry technique for the practice of loving-kindness is to picture ourselves in the center of concentric circles. The first and innermost circle, beside or around us, includes those we love personally—for example, family, friends, or partner. Moving out, the next circle is composed of people about whom we feel neutral. The next circle includes people with whom we have difficulty, enemies, opponents. The final, outer circle includes all beings. We beam our love equally to those in each circle, beginning with ourselves—“May I be happy”—and then “May those I love be happy,” and so on. We can use this practice daily. We thereby find the “more” that personal love can be—that is, it can be limitless and unconditional. Now we have found the most powerful remedy for fear. It is this universality of love. As an aside, we can notice that our unconscious sometimes does metta, shows loving-kindness. An example is having a dream in which we act kindly toward an enemy or are embraced by a lover who left us.
As we engage in the loving-kindness practice that Buddha taught, we also find a sense of connection to our own Buddha nature. We can feel our Buddha nature as a power higher than ego yet ordinary too. When Buddha says, “Be a refuge to yourself,” the “yourself” is you just as you are, at your best or worst. Our true refuge is not our fully enlightened nature as all-perfect. It is simply our day-in, day-out being, the one that makes one mistake after another. Thus, our Buddha nature is a refuge, a place to deposit our mistakes and our missed chances at love. Having our Buddha nature as such a repository makes it no longer shameful to be inadequate, erroneous, or adrift. We recall also that the word “refuge” means “fly back”—so appropriate to our coming home to who we are, the home that turns out to be the capacious palace of enlightenment.
Our minds are not equipped to know the infinite, but we touch into it when we put ego aside, sit in the silence of our true nature, and show unconditional loving-kindness. In fact, Buddha nature is described as loving-kindness as well as compassion, joy, and equanimity—all spiritual inner resources. When we trust the true nature of all that is, Buddha nature, and see ourselves as participants in it, we have all those spiritual resources to draw on. Every resource any human ever had is accessible, the basis of hope, the foundation of self-trust.
People of faith can turn to God, who is also described as a Oneness around us and inside us. We see this inner divinity described in a letter by Benjamin Franklin in 1788: “We have a Constitution and I hope future generations will transform its thoughts and make for themselves a place where Life can experiment with its truthfulness and human beings can discover their divinity in their humanity.” Thus, we go to the divine—not above, but as an inner resource.
The following outline provides a summary of the three feelings we have explored in these three chapters on sadness, anger, and fear with descriptions of how they show themselves in the experience of triggering.
SEVEN
RELATIONSHIP TRIGGERS AND RESOURCES
Partners in romantic relationships naturally trigger one another. This follows from the fact that our choice of a partner has so much to do with transference from our past. We often unconsciously choose a partner who reminds us of the parent with whom we have unfinished emotional business, hoping to work out as adults what we could not work out in childhood. We are often triggered by something a partner says or does because it has resurrected a pattern of abuse, distress, or unfinished emotional concerns from our past. We might say that the part has triggered the whole. That explains why our reaction is overblown. It also shows us the real issue a trigger points to: the need for our own work on our own past. When we do this work, we still speak up about what triggered us in our relationship. What changes is that we do it
in a matter-of-fact way. We are reporting an impact, not heaping blame and pouring out vitriol, not triggering our partner but communicating with her; this is an act of love.
We don’t have to fall back on using a trigger finger in our relationships; we can move away from being at the mercy of triggers. An essential feature of healthy communication is to know one another’s triggers. We tell one another from the very beginning of the relationship what our triggers are. Then our partner can avoid going there, or he or she can help us work on the issues from our own past that activate our trigger reactions.
Once we know each other’s triggers we agree not to pull them. This builds trust: “I can be vulnerable by telling you my trigger points, what my buttons are, and you will not use that information to push my buttons.” To know what triggers the other and to use that information to manipulate or frustrate him or her is the style of a toxic partnership, not the style of a loving one.
We can distinguish two kinds of triggers that appear especially in relationships. The first trigger is one that a partner pulls purposely to annoy or hurt the other, with a malicious or mean intent. In this instance, the triggering partner may later feel appropriate guilt and can make amends. The second kind of trigger is one that is simply a given of life, a possibility that is implicit in any relationship. For instance, one partner announces her desire to break up. The other partner is triggered, but a breakup is something that can happen to anyone; it can be an ending with no intent to hurt. The partner who is leaving needs to feel no guilt, only grief and compassion.
When we are triggered, we tell our partner that it is happening and where it comes from, and we can ask for help getting ourselves back on the matter-of-fact track and off the trigger mode. That kind of communication is another way to show healthy vulnerability and build trust. Such vulnerability is not self-victimization, but courage.