I believe that even when things are deep in the sh*tter, it’s ok. It’s a paradigm that has helped me through the darkest, most painful moments of my life, and it’s a way for me to increase my tolerance for discomfort. It’s a practice of accepting everything that comes with the present moment, and when I succeed, my entire body relaxes into what’s true in that moment, even when what’s true is absolutely NOT how I’d prefer it to be.
This paradigm is convenient, because when people ask me how I am, I can truthfully answer, “I’m ok,” even when I’m not.
But that reveals exactly nothing of myself.
I’ve recently begun paying attention to what I truly reveal, because my understanding of the importance of living, healing, and thriving in community has changed to account for the rapidly changing world around me.
In my line of work, I witness revelations from clients that range from quotidian to devastating, and I’ve staked my reputation on creating safe, nonjudgmental conditions for those revelations. And although I don’t always feel safe revealing myself outside of the confidential containers created by my own coaches, I recently decided that these times demand levels of courage and connection that stretch me beyond the comfort I’ve settled into over many years of relative ease.
These are not ease-y times.
Now, if you ask me how I am, I stop.
I take a deep breath. I say, “I am feeling…” and I make an intentional effort to fill in the blank with specific, nuanced language.
This morning, for instance, I am feeling moderately riled up—like I have so much I want to do, and I’m not at all sure I can stay focused long enough to do all the things. I’m also feeling troubled by current events. I feel uneasy about the possibility of a dark turn ahead, even while I hold onto hope that humanity will step back from the brink of self-destruction.
At the same time, I feel deep gratitude for the love and connection and community I’m fortunate to have built over the years, and for the work I get to do in the world. I feel overwhelmed with love for the people I’m closest to, and awestruck by the beauty of the early yellow buds of forsythia that will soon take over from the Lenten roses, daffodils, and crocuses as most eye-catching patch of spring color.
If I sit with the question a bit longer, more feelings emerge, and I find it surprising to notice how many emotions I’m processing at once.
If I answer your question with, “I’m fine, how are you?”, I’ve ended the conversation before it begins. I’m saying, “I’m not telling you anything about me—do you want to tell me something about you?”
That’s a shortcut, not a recipe for connection or a demonstration of courage.
When I don’t have the energy or the inclination, or when I need to set some other kind of boundary because I don’t feel safe revealing myself, I still say, “I’m doing well…and you?” and that’s ok, too. What’s important is that it’s no longer an automatic response.
Everyone I’ve responded to with the honest and sometimes messy answer has reacted with appreciation. Sometimes it feels like a relief to them, as if they’ve been waiting for a real answer, and it it’s rare and lovely when it arrives.
No one has expressed disappointment, no one has judged me, and no one complains about TMI.
Consider this an invitation to join me in this practice. It may take a few attempts before you even remember to do it, and a few more to find a comfortable way to express yourself. Fret not, as this is the normal, awkward process of change. I promise you’ll learn more about yourself and your connections than you will by taking the usual shortcut, and you’ll be taking an action that will foster transparency and resilience.
