The spectrum of acceptance
I used to think that to accept something meant to give in to it. To shrug my shoulders and admit with reluctance, I guess this is my life now. My stubborn nature would rarely, if ever, let me give in to this idea, and with good reason. I’m not one to “give up”. I can’t stand the idea of throwing in the towel knowing that there might have been something else I could have done to fix a problem or resolve an issue or get my way.
Resistance as the opposite of acceptance
Then I was introduced to a meditation about acceptance on the Headspace App. Guided by the soothing voice of Andy Puddicombe, co-founder of the app, it was explained to me that it’s helpful to think of acceptance by considering it’s alternative, resistance. To accept is simply not to resist. Not to fight.
Huh, thought I. What have a been resisting? This concept opened up a new pathway in my brain that allowed me to consider what kind of actions I’d been performing that were actively working against something or someone. One of the first realizations that came from this meditation was that I’d been resisting myself to a large degree. I heard a loud voice during one of my sessions that seemed to shout out at me after asking the question: Who or what are you resisting in your life right now? It said: Me! I mean, you! You’re resisting yourself, Samantha.
Something doesn’t feel quite right
I’ve sat with that realization for some months now, considering it throughout my time in physical rehab and during my trauma counselling sessions. While it was revealing for me to think of acceptance as the opposite of resistance, something still didn’t feel quite right with my experience.
For one, I hate scales. Anyone that has dealt with pain scales can likely relate. It’s too linear. Too clean to represent the realities of how emotions and sensations present themselves in mind and body.
Then it came to me; the thing that’s missing is avoidance. Which to me feels very different than resistance. Where resistance feels like an active fight, avoidance feels like a passive numbing. So instead of being a line, it feels more to me like a swing: where avoidance and resistance are at either extreme and where acceptance resides in the center.
Wildly swinging from one extreme to the other
For most of my life I’ve swung wildly from one of these extremes to the other when trying to manage, or more like cope, with consistent pain. The majority of the time I feel like I was operating on the avoidance side of the spectrum, ignoring the pain signals from my body, disconnecting from the emotions that felt too scary or too dangerous to acknowledge. I was particularly good at numbing. Using tactics that helped me to escape the internal feeling. Things like using various substances over the years, starting with alcohol, then cannabis, then experimenting with other drugs throughout my early twenties, and with behaviours like moving from house to house and city to city, and engaging in a series of unhealthy sexual relationships.
When the pain signals would get so loud that I was unable to ignore them, I would push off with all my strength and swing hard over to resistance where I would wage war against the pain. I would do this by seeking out whatever physical therapies were available to me, always within my financial and geographical limits, where I would instruct the therapist to “get it out!”. They would crack their knuckles, loosen their necks and get to work on my aching body, pulling, popping, stretching, cracking, stabbing, poking, kneading. All in an effort to force the pain signals into submission until I could re-engage in numbing once again.
It’s time to stop
This wild and aggressive swinging, always bypassing the happy medium of acceptance, lasted until my body decided it had had enough. My mind, the fragile cord that was holding it all together, cracked under the weight and pressure of the aggressive swinging and my body took full advantage. “Time to stop”, it told me.
But the swing didn’t snap and fall with ease into acceptance. It got tangled in the branches of the avoidance tree. My fear of the pain grew so great that I couldn’t think about physical or mental activities without further shutting down or causing a major pain flare up. So, I began avoiding everything. Even though I had spent a lot of time in avoidance before, this felt different. It seemed there was a difference between actively choosing to be in avoidance and being stuck there. I had lost my sense of control, or at least what I thought was control.
Sitting in the depths of avoidance helped to solidify the idea that to accept is not to give in. I had already started exploring the notion that acceptance was more of a wholesome, peaceful, and empowering experience. I had rolled the idea around on my tongue, savoring the taste of it, judging its shape and texture. And the feeling of avoidance, with its layers of loneliness, hopelessness, and despair, simply didn’t match up.
Experiencing acceptance for the first time
It’s taken me some time to untangle myself from the tree branch and allow the swing to fall gently, so gently, towards acceptance. Gravity, once I allow it, seems to guide me there on its own without much work on my part. The most fascinating part about truly exploring acceptance is realizing how much work avoiding and resisting it has been. The effort it takes to swing wildly from one extreme to the other is immense. It takes both physical and mental strength to keep that momentum up and it’s impossible to sustain with permanence.
Experiencing acceptance for the first time was to hear the words: “I see your pain. I acknowledge your experience. I’m here and I’m listening. What do you need?” Acceptance is getting curious about what’s happening to my body. It’s neither ignoring the feeling nor fighting it into submission. It’s also not trying to run from or fix a problem. It brings me towards those uncomfortable feelings while gently holding my hand and saying: “I got you. Let’s do this together.”
Looking back with clear eyes
Once this process started, I found that I was able to think more clearly and rationally about how I wanted to feel towards the pain, and towards my life in general. I began to ask myself, was what I was doing before working? Is that truly where I want to return to? Was I honestly living a good life constantly running from or fighting the pain? Was I fully present in all those good memories of active lifestyle and busy work? I can honestly say, no.
At first, there was tremendous grief as I was facing the loss of those things that I felt identified me. It felt crushing and unbearable. Yet, by inviting acceptance into my life, I can look back with clear eyes and see that most of the activities that I’ve engaged in were efforts to push or rush through life in an effort to get to “the other side” of the pain. Filling my life with distractions to help me bear it for a little longer.
When I truly think back to some of the activities that I’m most proud of, I realize how much I was suffering, either during the activity itself or in the days and nights that followed. These realizations don’t make me regret the incredible journey that I’ve been on. They simply let me see it for what it has truly been and allows me to plan a better way forward so I can take the best parts of the past and bring them with me while leaving the parts I no longer need behind.
I hear you, Samantha, and I believe that I understand. So many of us (all of us, maybe) are on a continuum of avoidance, resistance and, sometimes, acceptance. Oh, to be able to stay in that “clear eyed” perspective…but it seems a continual striving, doesn’t it? I appreciate your candor.
You’re so right Rebecca. It’s one thing to finally be aware of it, now comes a lifetime of putting it into practice.
You have such a way with words Samantha. It pains me to know that you suffered so much in silence. So happy you are on the right track. The powerful point is that you have acknowledged the struggles and you are working at fixing it. You are an inspiration!
Thank you! There are so many people out there suffering in silence. Sharing our stories makes it a little less scary to come out of the shadows and ask for help.