“I knew Tim would get defensive and shut down if I blamed him for not being more involved,” reflects Max. “So when we got together, I simply told him how alone I felt, how physically and emotionally drained. Up until that moment, I don’t think Tim fully grasped the situation. That was partly my fault, because I’m so good at playing the silent suffering martyr. As a doc, it’s part of my job description. But I think because he didn’t feel attacked, he really heard me. He promised to spell me one week out of every month, which, luckily, he can do because he’s able to work remotely. He’s kept his promise, and I trust that if at some point we need him more, he’ll show up. Most important, his presence hasn’t been just a relief for me; it’s been a great gift to my mom—and to Tim, as well. Of course, it’s true,” Max adds, “that our involvement with our mother isn’t exactly quid pro quo, and it never will be. But that’s okay. In this scenario, we all win.”
THE DANCE OF CARING
RECENTLY, A WOMAN wrote to me about the love she shares with her adult children. “When I see my children, my whole body feels joy,” she said. “I want to touch them. I want to hug them because they are so precious to me. I feel relaxed and at ease because they know all the different ways I behave. They have seen me in more situations than anyone else. Now that they’re adults, I don’t have to hide anything from them. I’m no longer the ambassador for the way one is supposed to behave. They’re old enough to make their own choices, and I can be more candid about mine; also I can admit more weaknesses, be more vulnerable. We’ve been through some big crises together and come out the other side. My children are protective of me now. I feel the mutuality. I feel fluidity, meaning the power between us is shifting in their direction as I get older. Last year, I borrowed money from my son. My daughter sat at my side and read to me when I woke up from surgery. More and more in the future, they will be caring for me. But I feel safe because there is a central core than has been tested. I feel free.”
Clearly, this woman hadn’t cared for her children with a payoff in mind. She did so because she loved them, and she wanted their home to feel safe and happy. The flow of giving and receiving nurtures them all.
CHAPTER 13 PRACTICES
What is fairness?
Hibbs defines fairness as a “muddled mix of beliefs, traditions and multiple and sometimes opposing truths.” And of course, the idea of “playing fair” in our relationship is complicated by the fact that we all have our own definition of what it means to be fair. When we are clinging to our own definition of fairness during a conflict with a loved one, it’s not that we are not being fair, but we may not be as open as we could be to the notion of this “muddled mix of beliefs”—essentially a compromise.
In a notebook, consider the qualities of fairness you value in relationships. You may find that certain qualities are more important than others—or even that a particular behavior or lack thereof might be non-negotiable. Here are some questions to get started:
–What does fairness mean to you?
–What behaviors or ways of communicating do you value in others?
–Did you experience any issues with trust or notions of “fairness” in your childhood or in certain past relationships?
–What has been your experience with generosity in relationships? Do you feel that you tend to give more than you get? Do you keep track of these dynamics or find yourself drawn to people who keep score?
Too often, we believe certain things about ourselves and our relationships without assessing whether or not we are focusing on the presence of certain long-held assumptions, judgments, or reactions to past wounds. This exercise is one of gaining clarity—in creating a vocabulary for your own value system of fairness. That way, when the time comes for you to talk about fairness in a conflict, you can use “I statements” and speak from your experiences and belief systems, rather than assuming what you think is a universal truth.
Letting go of right and wrong
Hibbs’s related belief of “relational ethics” in a relationship refers to the creation of a world in which we can expect to be treated with care, tenderness, and compassion. We may have different beliefs about fairness than those with whom we interact—but we are both fundamentally committed to supporting one another.
Being ethical—“fair”—in our relationships is really about being able to approach things from a new perspective—constantly. We don’t cling to a set idea of what we think is “right versus wrong” or “virtuous versus unjust” or even “kind versus cruel”—but are open to co-creating a system with those we love to ensure we are both heard, seen, and recognized.
This practice is a basic meditation, but one that shows us the relationship between “beginning again” in meditation and seeing things with fresh eyes again and again in a relationship. The overarching practice of letting go is also one of gaining resilience and insight.
1. Sit comfortably, with your back straight. Close your eyes or not; if you feel sleepy, you can open your eyes and gaze softly downward to stay awake.
2. Bring your attention to your body. Notice any sensations you may feel in your hands (heat, cold, pressure). Notice where you are most conscious of your breath—at the nostrils, chest, or belly. Breathe naturally, noticing each inhalation and exhalation. Feel one breath, and then let it go.
3. Some may choose to make a mental note of in, out or rising, falling to support awareness of the breath. But let your awareness rest on the sensations, rather than the words that accompany them.
4. As images, thoughts, emotions, and concerns come up in your mind, notice them and let them pass. You will not clear your mind when you meditate—but rather develop the practice of noticing distraction and then beginning again and again (and again), each time without rumination or regret.
This process of noticing distraction and then letting go, and coming back to the breath, is often a catalyst for judgment and guilt among meditators, myself included (it’s a practice!). But the moment when we notice ourselves veering away from the present moment is the most important. We see where we’ve become lost and begin again.
This is similar to how we can expand our perspective in relationships. Any time we find ourselves relying on the ideas of an absolute, frozen state of right and wrong—or fairness versus unfairness—that we are used to, we can compare the habit to distraction during meditation. We are relying on something that we are habitually conditioned to do; then we make the intentional choice to let go and begin again as much as we need to—each time without rumination or regret.
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NAVIGATE THE SPACE BETWEEN
Certainly there are very real differences between us … But it is not those differences between us that are separating us. It is rather our refusal to recognize those differences …
—AUDRE LORDE
WHEN SHE WAS IN HER early twenties, Diana believed that the only way she would ever find her soul mate was to have sex with prospective partners soon after they met and then to spend every possible minute with them. In her mind, they would experience such an exquisite blending of body and soul that the man in question would never want to leave her side.
“I wanted us to be so attuned to each other, we’d be like one person in two skins,” she says now. “I even remember saying to my true love du jour that I couldn’t tell where I stopped and he began. Needless to say, my designated soul mates were terrified of my dependency and headed for the hills. It took me years to unpack my neediness and see that I was trying to heal my lonely childhood by trying to merge with my lovers. Thankfully, I learned that in order to truly see and be seen by another person, there has to be differentiation and space between you. We cannot be one.”
In every intimate relationship, there are three elements: us, our loved one, and the space between us. That space is rich with possibility, but it can also become a battleground or an inhospitable no-fly zone. How do we balance privacy and intimacy, self-protection and vulnerability, fear and longing? Can we love without trying to possess?
If we’re hurt or betrayed, can we trust in love again?
Mindfulness practice gives us a way to explore the space between and to discover safe ways of navigating it. When we meditate, we hope to create space—whether it’s a step away from our chattering minds where we can gain perspective, or a new opening to tenderness and goodwill. We come to realize that we can fill that space between with generosity, respect, support, and fairness—or anxiety, resentment, anger, and silence. How we traverse the space between us is critical. How do we remain open when it makes us feel vulnerable?
We humans suffer from a porcupine problem, trying to live with bodies that combine a soft underbelly and a back bristling with spiky quills. The German philosopher Schopenhauer invented this metaphor to describe the dilemma of relationships. In the cold of winter, his porcupines tried to huddle together for warmth. But when they got too close, they stabbed one another, so they’d move off to a safe distance until they got cold again.
The psychotherapist Deborah Luepnitz investigated this tension in her book Schopenhauer’s Porcupines: Intimacy and Its Dilemmas. “Definitions of love, aggression, intimacy, and privacy vary enormously, of course—by culture, historical moment, and social class,” Luepnitz wrote. “Without making universal claims, we can assume that people in the contemporary West … live lives bedeviled by the porcupine dilemma. That is, we struggle on a daily basis to balance privacy and community, concern for self and others, sexual union and a room of our own.”
HOW WE CONNECT
IF OUR TENDENCY is to be anxious and grasping, we might try to fill the space between with whatever we think will hold others to us. We try to become indispensable. We’re determined to be the most helpful, the sexiest, the most perfect, the smartest, the kindest, the most interesting. Of course, not only are we being inauthentic but also we’re often wrong about what the other person really wants from us. We’re making assumptions based on our own needs, and we may even be trespassing on the other person’s autonomy.
One of the most poignant ways that many people, historically women, try to bridge the gap between themselves and their loved ones is to disappear, to make their own needs and desires invisible. Gina told me about the awakening she had as she worked on healing from cancer: “I used to be the kind of woman who would be driving in the car with my husband, feeling boiling hot, and the most I could bring myself to say was ‘Are you warm, dear?’”
We can also attempt to erase the space between by keeping the focus on our own needs. Another student, Bill, says that he found a “liberation of the heart” only when he stopped needing to be completely center stage in his wife’s life. That realization came when she told him she wanted to leave home for a three-month trip with her sister following the death of their mother. His honest response: “That doesn’t really suit me, but if it’s what you really need, you should go.” Her gratitude helped him see that honoring the difference in their needs was a way of strengthening their love. As Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “The giving of love is an education in itself.” We learn as we go.
For both Bill and Gina, until they recognized within themselves the anxious desire to fuse, they were unable to grow as individuals or with their partners. Rainer Maria Rilke described the sacred space between people beautifully in his book Letters to a Young Poet:
“The point of marriage is not to create a quick commonality by tearing down all boundaries; on the contrary, a good marriage is one in which each partner appoints the other to be the guardian of his solitude, and thus they show each other the greatest possible trust … Then a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.”
MOVABLE BOUNDARIES
IN ALL LONG-STANDING, committed relationships, whether between partners, spouses, relatives, or friends, the space between will wax and wane over time, pushed and pulled by circumstance, changing as each person moves through life. Barbara writes about how she learned to tolerate the expansions and contractions in her lifelong relationship with her cousin Sue.
“Sue and I used to be such close friends,” says Barbara, who is now in her fifties. “But we’ve grown and changed. When we were younger, I gave her these two hugging monkeys that were attached to one another with Velcro. But I think my idea of being best friends was smothering for her. Her way of being is different—she needs more space. She told me that best friends didn’t have to mean ‘Barb and Sue’ on a plaque. That really stung me, and it still hurts to this day. But it was also a lesson that other people aren’t always going to reciprocate love the way that I want them to.”
Between parents and children, the boundaries are always moving; preparing children to become independent is the number-one job of parents and their greatest gift of love. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to see your child walk to school for the first time, or get behind the wheel of a car and wave good-bye as he drives away, or head to college—in each instance, leaving you behind. Joyful and afraid for what may lie in store for their beloved children, parents cheer and cry and worry all at once.
I’ve always believed that a particularly difficult line to navigate is the one between fear and love, especially for parents, who want more than anything to protect their children from suffering.
Claudia, a longtime meditator, ran head-on into her fears during a vacation on a Caribbean island. Her nine-year-old was excited about hiking a famous trail that wound precipitously through the tropical forest down to the ocean below; Claudia’s anxious mind filled with the guidebook’s warnings about jagged rocks and scorpions, conjuring up images of broken ankles, venomous bites, and heat exhaustion. But she also loved her son’s eagerness and wanted him to have the adventure he craved. And so they set out.
“He dashed ahead down the path like a baby mountain goat,” she wrote me, “stumbling but staying upright. I lagged behind, calling out reminders to be careful, to slow down, to watch his step, to steer clear of wasps and webs.” For Claudia, this was not fun, and she realized she was tipping into panic.
Claudia told herself what she’d said so often to anxious friends: Breathe. Relax. Soften into the moment. Exactly what might bring her into mindfulness. But she was breathing too hard to shift gears quickly. A few breaths passed. And then, as she recalls, “Up from the depths of my belly, I heard a voice whispering a Buddhist teaching: ‘Rest the fearful mind in the cradle of lovingkindness.’”
Yes. Of course. I can do that! she thought. She began by silently offering lovingkindness toward herself, a mother filled with love but rocked by fear. “May I be safe and protected from harm,” she whispered. “May I be peaceful and at ease.” Next, she sent love and wishes for well-being to her son as he scrambled down the trail. Some hikers appeared, heading uphill. They looked tired and sweaty. Claudia sent goodwill their way. And by the time she and her son neared the trail’s end, she felt so happy that she was wishing peace and safety to everything around them, the trees and the rocks and even the scary, scuttling creatures that had thankfully left them alone.
Without intending to, Claudia had worked her way through all of the traditional phases of the lovingkindness meditation, from herself, to her son, to strangers, and to all the beings she encountered. Most important, by managing to control her fear, she gave her son the space he needed to fulfill a dream and flourish. That was her gift of love.
THE DIFFERENCE IS THE BOND
HOW WE TRAVERSE the space between us when conflict arises has a profound effect on the health and longevity of our relationships. Over the past four decades, psychologists John and Julie Gottman have studied thousands of couples, sometimes focusing on how they discussed a current problem in their relationship, and at other times observing them during ordinary everyday interactions. They discovered that a few measurements, focused on what they call “emotional safety,” enabled them to predict with more than 90 percent accuracy whether couples would be happy, together
but unhappy, or broken up several years later.
Couples who responded to a conflict with contempt, criticism, defensiveness, or stonewalling were on the path to unhappiness. Not just their words but also their bodies told the story; when their physiological signs were recorded, they were in fight-or-flight mode. Even in less stressful moments, their physical tension was measurable, and they often ignored or cut short their partner’s bids for attention.
The couples who remained together did not suppress their conflicts, but also took a specific approach to them. They found ways to express their needs clearly, without attacking or belittling each other. Each partner assumed that the other’s overall intentions were good, even if their actions had been hurtful. And they created a background of safety by everyday small acts of kindness, attention, and generosity.
Candace told me a wonderful story about the day when she and her husband finally accepted their differences. As she recalls, she’d recently read an essay by the renowned Thai teacher Ajahn Chah in which he wrote, “If you want a chicken to be a duck, and a duck to be a chicken, you will suffer.”
She thought about her last fight with her husband, and the metaphor clicked. So the next time conflict loomed, she said to him, “I really think when we get into these binds, it’s because you’re a duck and I’m a chicken, and we’re trying to change each other.” She continued, “We both liked that. A few days later, we got into an argument when he had a rash. I wanted him to go to a doctor, and he refused. So I said, ‘How come whenever I want you to do something, you want to do the opposite?’ And he said, ‘Because I’m a duck.’ Ever since that time, we’ve been working with that image.”
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