Holding the Space for Our Suffering to Heal Us

Posted on September 22, 2016 by Catherine Cheng, MD

Hello again, dear friends. Peace, love, and joy be with you on this, the autumnal equinox.

This post marks the conclusion of the Healing Through Connection Summer Series, 2016: Holding the Space. The story I will tell is important to me, and I love that it’s the series finale. I wish I had posted on the last day of summer, but the first day of fall is okay, too. Two days ago I was privileged to witness a whole lot of people, hold a whole lot of space, for a whole lot of suffering. And I posit that we all came away better for it. I invite you to sit back, get comfy, and take your time with this one. I’m feeling particularly fulfilled as I sit to write, and I hope to convey the deep gladness I gained from the experience.

***

It was day three of the International Conference on Physician Health, in Boston. I had anticipated this meeting giddily for nine months. From the moment I heard the call for abstracts, through the iterative preparatory steps, to the final emails, texts, PowerPoints, and conference calls with collaborators, through the personal connections and learning, I was now positively beside myself with zeal. It was everything I had hoped and more. I was surrounded by colleagues from three continents, all gathered to share and unite around making our professional world more humane. We explored ideas like awe, joy, mindfulness, empathy, presence, and vulnerability. I had lived two glorious days in a cocoon of safety, love, and resonance. I was among my people.

This day’s workshop focused on compassion, and aimed to tap its deepest reaches within each attendee. The presenter prepared us for the exercise by describing his work with previous groups—CEOs breaking open in anger, shame, forgiveness, and finally compassion. He asked that we hold the gravity of vulnerability with reverence and respect. We understood the solemnness asked of us, and responded in kind. This was the exercise:

On a blank 5×7 index card, write a personal story. You will have five minutes. The cards will be collected at your table, redistributed, and shared anonymously at another table. Be aware that your writing may be shared aloud with the whole group, later in the exercise. Instruction: Write the story of a time in the past year that was really hard for you, when you suffered. It could be personal or professional.

For a split second I felt a catching in my chest—‘Yikes!’ And in the next breath, ‘Bring it.’ I knew this tribe. They would hold it for me, with me, no question. And because I was also a tribe member, I would do it for them. I looked forward to it, actually. I wrote with surprisingly little effort, concisely yet in detail, about a particularly challenging relationship and my struggles with perfectionism. How could my other relationships shine so brightly, feel so easy, and flow so freely, while this one so regularly caused me angst and turmoil?

At the end of five minutes my tablemates and I placed our cards in an envelope provided. I felt oddly relieved, as though a great weight I carried all this year had been lifted. The envelope was marked, then passed three or four times between tables, so we didn’t know where our cards ended up. They were as letters in a corked bottle, cast into the ocean, released to an uncertain, but hopeful, fate.

Our presenter explained that at this time, the envelopes would normally be opened, and each of us would take one card and read it. We were to hold it and its anonymous author in the space of compassion, then share with our tablemates. We would help one another hold one another. Then, if so moved, each table would choose one card to share with the larger group. Our task was to connect, with ourselves and one another, to feel deeply now, to remind us how to do it out in the world. This was where it would get real, we all knew. And though he had warned us earlier about an unforeseen shortening of the workshop schedule, we did not see the abrupt end of the exercise coming. He told us we would not have enough time to do the exercise justice, and so the envelopes would remain unopened this day. He acknowledged the conflict we all felt, the urge to look. But he stood firm that experiences like this cannot be rushed, and he respected the time constraints of the meeting.

The tension in the room was palpable, even as we all sat in silence. It felt jarring, painful, anxious. What would happen to the cards? What about all that suffering contained in them, people’s hearts and lives scribed with intention to be seen, known, understood, and held? Surely they would not just be thrown in the trash? One colleague voiced so poignantly our core conflict: We all wanted closure for this vulnerable exercise, and that need competed with honor for the time required to complete it. Our leader gracefully acknowledged this truth, and solemnly held the space for us all to be present to its discomfort.

For a moment we felt stuck, we connection seekers. I looked at our leader. His expression conveyed nothing but humility and empathy. His posture conveyed resolution. Despite our deep longing, he refused to lead us into treacherously thorny fields, because he knew he did not have the time to bring us safely through to the other side. But he also allowed us to process, invited us to consider how else we could collectively resolve our unease.

I wondered what would physically become of the cards. Would he take them home with him? Would he burn them in a reverent ceremony of sorts? I knew he felt responsible for us and our predicament. Would he read each one, hold each of us and all of our suffering, all by himself? I felt immediate compassion for him, and hoped that he would not take that route; none of us would want that for him.

I wanted to suggest that we be given the option of each pulling one card, to hold in compassion privately, as we left the workshop. But we were spread out in a big room, feeling separated from one another rather than connected, and I felt sheepish.

Within a minute or so we had decided to collect the envelopes together, stand surrounding them as if around an altar, and offer a benediction of sorts. I could not shake the urge to reach out, to take one person’s suffering and hold it for them, love them, send energy of compassion and solidarity to them, whoever they may be. I realized also that this was exactly what I wanted for my card, for my suffering. And now that we stood shoulder to shoulder, at least physically if not emotionally proximal, I felt more comfortable to speak. “I really want for someone to take my card and hold it for me, and I really want to do that for someone.” Another attendee immediately looked me in the eye and said, “I’ll do it.” The group consented; each of us would take a card at random, if we wanted. I pulled one from the third envelope from the top of the pile. I held it to my chest and returned to my seat. I forgot all about my own card, and my anxiety evaporated. I no longer cared if anyone saw mine; I had released it. My task was to hold my colleague’s sorrow with my own heart, and wish with my whole being for their peace and healing.

I’m so proud of all of us. We attended to so many needs that morning, all with respect and kindness. The presenter set the tone for the workshop from the beginning and we all understood the learning objectives: Practice opening up to let the healing in and practice the inner work of holding another’s suffering with your own. Connect with our shared humanity. We all learned an important lesson in flexibility, creativity, collaboration, and acceptance. We held space like champions.

I’m proud of myself for finally speaking up, for asking for what I needed. That I was met with such generosity and tenderness speaks to the remarkable power of mutual understanding and compassion. I took a deep breath and read the card in my hands. My colleague’s story was short, about the 5 year anniversary of his/her father’s death, and memories of loss and helplessness. Tears came when I read it. I hugged the card and said a prayer for its writer. I’ll keep the card someplace safe, and eventually release it in some respectful, peaceful way.

I don’t know if anyone pulled my card. It’s okay. Just the hope that someone might have seen it and given it some consideration is enough. I learned the lesson I needed: Offering my pain for someone else to hold a while, and accepting another’s sorrow to hold for them, constitutes the cycle of healing. We are not here to go it alone. We need one another in the best ways.

Holding the Space for Connection Through the Hard Conversations, Part II

Posted on August 6, 2016 by Catherine Cheng, MD

Today I watched this video of Trump supporters at his rallies. Their words, actions, and expressions represent the basest human emotions. I posted the video to my Facebook page, commenting:

(Donald Trump incites rage and hate) in his followers. He stokes the worst in people. He provokes the emotional states that preclude rational thought and reasonable behavior–he is the king of emotional hijacking. Nobody ever makes a good decision while emotionally hijacked; that is when relationships and connection are destroyed, often violently and permanently.

And here’s another irony: We non-supporters are similarly hijacked by his belligerence. He and his supporters incite us to rail against them all, collectively and wholly as individuals, as racists, bigots, idiots, haters, etc. Name-calling is the easiest and most convenient way to separate ourselves from what we disdain, what we fear, and what’s too uncomfortable to tolerate. But how does this help anything?

On my last blog post I wrote:

I intend to avoid:

-Speaking and writing in sweeping generalizations

-Following snap judgments about groups, or individuals based on their group membership

-Labeling and shaming people or groups as ‘racist,’ ’ignorant,’ ‘stupid,’ ‘lazy,’ etc.

Today I wrote about Trump’s supporters:

I’m trying not to label and pigeon-hole these people, trying not to judge them and discard them, just by what I see here. That only advances the exact mentality I seek to reverse: more separation, more hatred, more “you are less than me, you don’t matter.”

I guess I have to keep reminding myself.

I can hardly imagine what it would be like to sit down, one-on-one, with someone who sincerely supports a Donald Trump presidency, and have a conversation about it. But I can easily imagine talking to a Trump supporter about the trials and joys of parenting, the breakneck evolution of technology, and a mutual love of Marvel movies. Who knows, maybe I already do.

I think most of my friends know my political persuasion. Most of them also share it. But probably more than I realize don’t share it, and we avoid talking about it. Why? Because it’s uncomfortable. We don’t trust ourselves to avoid the emotional hijacking. We’re afraid we’ll say something we’ll regret and damage the relationship. Or (and), we see the only objective of such conversations as trying to change the other person’s mind, or having our mind changed, which feels at the same time futile and scary. So our avoidance of the hard, uncomfortable conversations is an attempt to maintain connection (with ourselves as well as one another). We intrinsically understand that our relationships are important. So we limit our conversations to topics on which we agree.

At this time in our human evolution, however, we are called to do more. It’s too easy to live in the echo chambers of like-minded friends and media sites. It’s too easy to filter our perceptions through repetition and reinforcement, to think that our point of view is the only one, or worse, the only right one. It’s too easy to label others as wholly racist, sexist, bigoted, idiotic, communist, misogynist, mindless, right-wing, extremist, or evil, based on impulsive interactions in comment sections on a blog or Facebook post. It is simply too easy to fall victim to premature judgment and conviction based on skewed and incomplete evidence. We are called to so much more. We are called to the hard conversations, the interactions that require effort and persistence. Why? Because the rewards of this work are understanding, compassion, empathy, connection, and love.

My friend wrote to me, “We have to do this work for your beautiful children.” Yes, my dear friend, for all of our beautiful, innocent children. Let us model for them what it means to Hold the Space for Connection, even, and especially, when it’s hard. This is the work we are called to do.

#AtoZChallenge: Opposition and Openness

Posted on April 20, 2016 by Catherine Cheng, MD

Image from Google long ago; I can’t find the link anymore, sorry…

OH, this is a hard one. Okay, Okay, I just have to write it. And OMG, I am now two letters behind!

Oppose, Dictionary.com:

To act against or provide resistance to; combat.
To stand in the way of; hinder; obstruct.
To set as an opponent or adversary.
To be hostile or adverse to, as in opinion: to oppose a resolution in a debate.
To set as an obstacle or hindrance.
To set against in some relation, especially as to demonstrate a comparison or contrast: to oppose advantages to diadvantages.
To use or take as being opposite or contrary.

There is so much Opposition in our world now. I’m thinking specifically of politics. Like many of my blogging friends here, I eschew writing about politics because it can have unintended consequences and distract from the intent of this blog. I have alluded to it (Obtusely) here, and commented on another blog here. Mostly, I don’t feel qualified to comment on politics. But a Facebook post I wrote a few days ago keeps nagging at me to be shared, and I have struggled around the best way to present it. So here goes.

When I look at the list of definitions of oppose, I feel tired. When I think of the energy it takes to constantly stand against something, I feel listless and drained. Fighting, resisting, combatting, Obstructing, standing in the way, hindering, disputing, dissenting, contradicting—it’s exhausting. I think of times when I meet someone new and all they talk about are the things they hate, that they can’t stand, that they want changed. I cannot wait to get away and find levity. There are two main consequences of the oppositional mindset that put me off:

Polar Isolation

Oppositional mindset pushes people apart—to extremes. I think now of my Facebook friends who post incendiary words and images. They blame, shame, ridicule, mock, and degrade Others. By others I mean those who do not share a common economic background, political ideology, religion, skin color, profession, or even parenting style. When I see these, I conduct an internal debate. Part of me wants to engage, to call my friend out for posting something Offensive, distasteful, unprofessional, or unkind. I try only to be friends on Facebook with real-life friends, so I know these people are not offensive, unkind people in general. But each time one of them posts something deriding a group to which I belong, I feel hurt. So I want to ask them, what are they really thinking? Would they say these things to me in person? But I know that social media is a poor venue to hold these conversations. So I almost always scroll over. Every time, though, there is residue on my figurative shoe from stepping over these posts. I have to work harder to think of my friend in the same positive light. I wonder whether we really do share values like I thought we did—because one of my highest values is to be kind to others. I feel a distance now that I have chosen deflection rather than engagement. It feels sad and lonely.

This is not to mention the escalating verbal wars waged by our politicians today. Suffice it to say, I have stopped watching the news and listening to the radio. I curate my information in small doses and avoid sensational headlines. Everybody is out to paint the Others as dangerous, untrustworthy, less than.

When all we hear from our Opponents is how much they hate us, how stupid they think we are, how they wish we would shut the f*** up, we will do one of two things. We will disengage, or we will engage with acute and increasing hostility. Either way, we push one another further and further apart, and we end up living in polar opposition. And as we know, conditions at the ends of the earth are harsh. It’s a desolate and heartbreaking way to live.

Rigidity, Immobility, and Stagnation

The other consequence of a singular focus on that which we oppose is a complete and total lack of progress. Two examples come to mind:

My child is jumping on the sofa. “Stop that,” I say, “don’t jump on the sofa.” She stops momentarily, then starts again in a few minutes, moved by a spontaneous joy that I have long since forgotten. I keep repeating, “Stop that, do NOT jump on the sofa!” The focus remains on what I do not want. I keep a lookout, and each time she repeats the unwanted behavior my frustration mounts. I may employ negative consequences—the next time she jumps, I take away screen time, or a stuffed animal. The stakes climb and everybody gets tense.

I hate my body. I am 20 pounds overweight, I feel sluggish, none of my clothes look good, and it undermines my confidence. I keep thinking, I don’t want to be fat, I don’t want to be fat. So every time I’m faced with donuts that someone brought to work, every time I go out to eat with my friends, I brace myself to guard against behaviors that I know will make me more fat. I succumb sometimes. I feel shame. I keep thinking to myself, What’s wrong with me, why do I keep doing things that will keep me fat, when I don’t want to be fat?

There is a saying, “Energy flows where attention goes.” I don’t know who said it first. When we focus on what we don’t want, there we remain. Even when it’s what we oppose, if we continuously attend to it, precious little energy remains to spend on what we do want. This constant vigilance and guarding keeps us preoccupied with the problem, and impairs our ability to develop solutions. What if I changed my focus with my child, and let her know what I expect from her? “The sofa is for sitting. Can you please sit nicely on the sofa? How long can you sit still?” Now I’m generating movement toward something desirable. I’m making it a challenge, it could even be fun. Tension is diffused, and I might tap into that long lost joy a little. My self-talk around weight could also benefit from a subtle shift. The difference between I don’t want to be fat and I want to be healthy can be profound. The former keeps me fixated on and entrenched where I am. The latter helps me move toward a goal, gives me an aspiration. What does a healthy person do? She avoids the break room when donuts arrive, finds alternate routes to the bathroom. She takes the stairs rather than the elevator. She chooses salad more often than burgers. I start to envision my best self, and I feel motivated to pursue it (me).

Letting go of my oppositional mindset allows my creativity to shine through, and a world of possibilities may Open up before me.

Open, Dictionary.com:

Not closed or barred at the time, as a doorway by a door…
(Of a door, gate, window…) set so as to permit passage through the opening it can be used to close.
Having no means of closing or barring: an open portico.
Having the interior immediately accessible, as a box with the lid raised or a drawer that is pulled out.
Relatively free of obstructions to sight, movement, or internal arrangement: as an open floor plan.
Constructed to as to be without cover or enclosure on the top or on some or all sides: an open boat.
Having relatively large or numerous spaces, voids, or intervals: an open architectural screen; open ranks of soldiers.

Letting go of opposition means Opening ourselves to new possibilities of thought, engagement, Outcomes, and connection. I believe my friends are kind and generous at heart. I can still oppose their offensive expressions. If I do it with an open heart, ready to hear their point of view, withholding judgment and honestly listening for understanding, then I can maintain our relationships, even deepen them. If I can make them feel seen, heard, understood, accepted and loved, despite our differences, then they will be more likely to extend me the same courtesy.

Being open means being vulnerable. Just because I Offer openness and understanding does not mean my counterpart will reciprocate. I could be rejected, ridiculed more, hurt more. These are the risks and costs of openness.

But what of the benefits? What if my openness actually creates a space for communication and mutual understanding? What if my friends and I can lead by example? Could we start a movement toward taking time to hear one another, seeing different points of view, and holding multifaceted perspectives? Humans and our experiences are complex. We cannot easily be distilled into soundbites, headlines, cartoons, and labels. We should not accept such oversimplifications—we should Oppose them. And at the same time we need to stand Open to the validity of our fellow citizens’ experiences. We need to remain Open to the possibility—the certainty—that we really do share common values, goals, and hopes. We need to work harder to hold our hearts Open to one another, reach out and come in from the cold, polar regions, and strive together for a better world for all of us. We cannot hold hands with clenched fists (another quote, no?). I would rather hold hands.

***

Here is the video that triggered my Facebook post of April 15, 2016, and the actual post:

I love Bernie. Also, though, I am starting to notice that his severe criticism of ‘the rich’ and his characterization of them as greedy as a group, oversimplifies. It does so IN THE SAME WAY AS DOES THOSE WHO CHARACTERIZE POOR PEOPLE AS LAZY. There are greedy rich people. There are also lazy rich people. There are also greedy and lazy poor people.

I agree with Bernie’s core values and his consistently stated vision for our future. I understand that his proposed policies may be unrealistic and unattainable in the foreseeable future, or maybe even ever. But he gives me something deeply meaningful to strive for, and that is the kind of leader I will follow. Even if we never get there, I will happily trudge the path *in the direction* of said future, because it’s where I want to go. I do not hear or see a clearly stated vision or aspiration from the Republicans. Bernie inspires me to be a better person, to make my best contribution to society.

We all have a desire to make a contribution. Psychology research over literally DECADES tells us that human nature is wired to be both productive and connected. So these premises that some of us are innately lazy and live for handouts, and others of us are conversely inclined to accumulate wealth only for ourselves and for its own sake, are not only severely misguided, they are dangerous. These toxic assumptions are exactly what keep each side permanently entrenched in opposition. Assumptions turn into accusations, which then engender mutual defensiveness, then offensiveness. It’s no wonder we have devolved into the current political morass.

I want Bernie to soften his language and invite the rich into conversation, collaboration, innovation, and creativity around solving the problems of inequality and disparity.

I want Republican leaders to moderate the voices in their party who blame the poor as personal failures and the sole architects of their downtrodden situation.

I bet most rich people really do care about the poor, just like I believe most poor people really do want to work and be productive members of society.

How much more could we do, how much better could we be, how much movement could we achieve, based on these assumptions instead?

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Holding the Space for Our Suffering to Heal Us