It's amazing that someone else's insecurities can have a sword-like effect on the heart. And it's amazing that, while I can rationally know that it's her own insecurities, it can still feel very painful in my body. Which, ultimately, shows me there's still some work to be done letting the story go.
A few months ago, when we first arrived in NYC and my son was getting used to school, he said to my husband, "I think there's something wrong with me. I don't have any friends." It broke both our hearts and we desperately wanted to do whatever it took to make sure he didn't ever feel that way. And yet, I can't protect him from feeling alone. It's part of the human condition.
Feeling alone can be paralyzing, depressing and incredibly painful. The ultimate heartbreak. But I also find that these moments of aloneness can be a source of connection. It can propel me into finding connection with myself and the earth, but when I'm really in it, I see how others are lonely as well. As I sit on the grass, with the morning sun on my face, I see all the people walking around me, carrying their pain around. We all have our story, our trigger point, that the smallest eye aversion can break back open. And every time it does, it's another opportunity not only to heal, but to have compassion for ourselves and all of us humans. We all show our pain in different ways, but underneath it's there. My work is to let it be less underneath, but allow the raw, vulnerability to be there. I don't always know what that looks like, but it's a question I roll around when this comes up.