The Cure for the Pain is in the Pain

It was late at night.
Dark and massive, hugely oversized, Regret rolled on top of me.
“Ouch! You’re hurting me!” I cried. “Please get off!”
“I’m so sorry,” Regret said. “I didn’t mean it.”
Regret started to cry.
I struggled to move underneath Regret’s heavy bulk. I felt trapped, suffocated, it was so weighty. “Please move,” I gasped, straining to shift positions so I could avoid looking it in the face.
Regret was still crying; tears were landing on my face and then I was crying too.
Finally, we looked at each other.
It wasn’t pretty.
But it was poignant.
“I am not sure I ever looked you in the eyes,” I said, tears still flowing.
“I’m here,” Regret answered, with a swollen face, puffy eyes, pleading gaze.
So we talked.
The conversation began with Regret reminding me of incidents that made me cringe: I curled into a ball as Regret reminded me of a few years ago when I left my husband and chose to rent a one bedroom apartment that I could afford on my own, instead of choosing a bigger place that gave my kids their own rooms, but required me to use family money that I didn’t want to use. I didn’t want to rock the boat, but in the process, I believe I pushed my kids away. They have never slept over.
Regret and I sobbed together. “I feel so guilty,” I said.
“Yeah well, Guilt and I feel you too,” it answered.
“We’ve got some things to talk about, don’t we?” I asked.
“We’ve barely started the conversation,” it said, “and it’s time you spoke up.”
I shifted again under the weightiness of Regret, feeling hopeless. I realized Regret had been sleeping with me for so long, I was used to the heaviness in this dreamlike state. I was good at bypassing difficult feelings, slipping easily into Compassion. But those tough emotions didn’t go away, they just got more intense. And then something woke me up.
Fear was poking me.
Hyper and crazed, Fear’s angular limbs jammed into my sides, my chest, my back, my face.
“What are you doing?” I screamed at Fear. “Stop hitting me!!”
I crossed my arms over my body to protect myself but somehow Fear got below the surface. It was jabbering away so fast in a language I couldn’t understand and pummeling me at the same time.
“Stop!!!” I shrieked and Fear suddenly slowed down enough so I got a look at its face. It was scary. Sunken eyes and gaunt cheeks. Pasty skin. When it opened its mouth to speak I could see sharp teeth.
“sdflkj248u09ugw&^&(*&*&^*%%$$#!!!!!!” it spewed.
“Whaaaaa??” I was lightheaded and scared.
I suddenly recognized the languages of Anxiety, Doubt, Panic; Fear was a polyglot. I turned away.
“I can’t do it, I never could, it’s too much, I don’t know how, nobody likes me, I’m a phony, I suck!!!” Fear screamed on and on in my ear. It was so close I could feel its breath, on me, in me, hot and fast. My heart started beating faster. Fear wrapped itself around me.
I turned my head to look it in the face, it was so close. It opened its mouth to scream but no sound came out this time. And I felt the vibration of pain. So deep. It was the agony of choosing to leave my 31-year marriage to a beautiful, kind man, the ache of my kids not accepting me, the anxiety of being all alone. I felt abandoned yet I was the instigator. Fear ripped me open, tore me to shreds, stabbed my heart, my gut, whatever was left. I doubled over, flailed my hands to hold on to something but nothing was there except Fear. It gripped me tighter.
“No!! Please let me go,” I sobbed.
But it held on. Squeezed me so I couldn’t breathe. I was shaking like a leaf. Encircled by Fear. And it all came rushing in. There was Unworthy reeking of self-loathing. Insecure was right behind filled with uncertainty and self-doubt. Needy was there too, a mess of self-pity and shame. I heard Guilt revealing its dirty secrets under its breath. Unwelcome visitors all but I opened the door anyway. I could barely stand up. They stared me in the face, and I couldn’t fight them off. It was a rough night.
The next day, curled in a ball, I remembered the words of one of my teachers. “Stop trying to figure everything out,” she said, with such clarity, certainty, that I sat up a little straighter, leaned in a little closer, listening intently. “Meet it: your Fear, Regret, Anger, whatever is showing up.” Needless to say, this was no facile meeting of the minds.
It took some flesh and blood friends to come in and peel me off the floor. They made food and made nice and said the right things to soothe me. They reminded me of Strength, who finally showed up to stand with me and help me stare the others in the eyes. And not turn away.
I’d been so busy putting Band-Aids on all of it, making nice, avoiding Fear, Regret, Guilt, Anger, and who knows what else. I had diminished, or worse, ignored, these difficult emotions knocking at my door for years. And they weren’t going away. Only getting stronger. Until they were too loud to keep out. The tough part was this one particular scary night, they collectively made their presence known. I had no Band-Aids left, and my wounds were deep and raw.
Lately I’ve been spending more quality time with my friend Truth, who reminds me that it’s only me that can take my most difficult emotions on, grab them by the balls, stare them down, sit with them and hear their stories. At age 54, I feel like I’m just being born, a work in progress, learning for the first time how to take care of myself. Pain shows up and I listen. We hang out in nature. Meditate together. Turns out, the cure for my pain is meeting it.

                    Stretch out your arms
and take hold the cloth of your clothes
with both hands. The cure for pain is in the pain.
Good and bad are mixed. If you don’t have both,
you don’t belong with us.
                     When one of us gets lost,
is not here, (s)he must be inside us. There’s no
place like that anywhere in the world.
                 – Rumi (as translated by Coleman Barks from The Book of Love: Poems of Ecstasy and Longing HarperOne, 2005)