What does it mean to remember ourselves?
For some, this might seem like a strange question prompting a different one in response: How could one forget themselves?
In my experience, self-forgetting is a safety strategy and just like any other safety strategy is formed in response to early experiences and perceptions of our environment in order to secure or preserve a sense of safety and whatever semblance of belonging was available to us.
I could write volumes on how self-forgetting can manifest—it might be through busywork, distractions such as hobbies that we begin to do by rote, numbing out with mild forms of addiction, or being overly deferential to those who have passion and drive, are aiming for something, or are otherwise self-directed. Their energy can be inspiring to witness but can feel overwhelming to embody in a sustained way over time and yielding makes sense on an energetic level even if it doesn’t make sense on an emotional or physical level.
For some, self-forgetting might be a mild state of distracting from our heart’s longing while for others it can be a more severe habit of orienting away from ourselves toward others. To my mind, self-forgetting is a near-universal experience, we all have some way that we turn away from a deeper impulse or desire, put ourselves on hold for the sake of some other priority, or obscure some part of ourselves that feels like it might be too much.
Self-remembering can be the ultimate act of self-care, and it can be inconvenient. It might mean changing our minds, turning around mid-stream when the current is strong and we don’t know if we have the strength to swim against it. The process can be likened to when our foot has fallen asleep and begins to wake up—partially numb and also full of high-sensation pins and needles. We need to move it but might fall if we try to put our full weight on it to “walk it off.” The question is, can we stay with all of the sensation and the unknowing?
It can feel like a radical act of rebellion to remember ourselves when so many other things are tugging at our attention or making demands for whatever is required of us to maintain our sense of balance. Rebellions tend to sound far more interesting than they feel, particularly at the outset when the outcome can’t yet be seen or felt, having been barely imagined. But we know that the current state is untenable and we enter into the process even when it feels deeply unsettling and has the potential to be dysregulating.
It can mean changing one’s mind, disappointing another, conceiving new boundaries, or call for an explanation that we don’t have yet. It might look like pulling a thread and watching something so carefully stitched unravel. What’s hard to see as these threads come undone and lay in a heap at our feet is that they are freed to create a new tapestry woven with memories of what came before but with a new sensitivity to what is possible. It can mean sitting in the empty, navigating the void, allowing eyes to adjust and make sense of a new pattern as what lies ahead comes into focus.
This holding space for something new that we haven’t even imagined can stretch us in unimaginable ways. Will this new tapestry tear? Will it hold what’s to come? It requires a certain fortitude and resilience and the willingness to rely on the moment in which we are remembering ourselves. Can we wait without falling asleep?
It may mean being willing to pass by or say no thank you to possibilities that aren’t our own. Not because something wonderful doesn’t belong to us but because discernment asks to be used lest it atrophy. Can we hold this space for ourselves even before we’ve begun to reconstitute or become fully known to ourselves?
I had a whole list of things that might lead us back to ourselves and as I walked the cemetery tonight, remembering myself amidst the demands of the day, became aware of something that underlies and supports them all. The thing that always leads me back to myself is the willingness to be curious. In particular, to be curious about me, what is present in my experience, and what desires to be expressed—even if, especially if that feels uncomfortable or unimportant. Often I can reach this state of curiosity on my own and sometimes I need the witnessing, reflection, and support of a trusted guide to help me soften into it. What lies on the other side is, simply put, more. More awareness, more feeling, more sensation, more expression, more experience, more access, more life. More possibility, more joy, more tenderness, more vitality, and deeper presence to hold it all. What’s important and so incredibly beautiful about this more that becomes available to us is that we can simultaneously hold it all and show up in it as our fullest and most authentic selves in each moment.
May you be curious, may you be soft to yourself.
As always, if you find yourself wanting support to help you unravel and reweave, please reach out, I’d be delighted and honored to walk with you.
Recent Comments