When We Abandon Ourselves

“Illuminating the sore places with the light of love”

The other day, I had the most trivial of experiences (seemingly) in a restaurant. Yet it taught me, reminded me, of an important lesson I’ve worked on for years: the practice of not abandoning myself. Not going into that trance of unnecessarily putting up with something, when changing my situation for the better is easy to do and would not negatively affect anyone else.

It comes from a lifetime of conditioning. Being taught as a child not to have needs, to be quiet and not make a fuss, to be essentially invisible. Being taught as an adult woman that others must always come first, that my role is to accommodate and be helpful, and not have a voice. That may sound extreme to some, yet look closely. Look at the cosmetic and clothing industries; what do they tell women – to be pretty, compliant, and not to take up too much space. Even the most sacred of roles – motherhood – is laden with the pure necessity of putting herself last.

There are exceptions to this, I realize. But it’s a challenge not to be influenced by societal and often familial values. I also am not advocating that women or anyone be selfish. I’m advocating for balance and wise discernment. I’m encouraging us all to become aware of and break out of roles, beliefs, and behaviors that keep us small.

That being said, I’ve been a major carrier of the ‘don’t have needs’ influence. I’ve worked hard to change that, and I have made great strides. But sometimes I find myself caught short, and before I know it, I’ve succumbed to the principle of not making a ‘fuss’ on my own behalf, as if standing up for oneself constitutes making a fuss. When this happens automatically, or unconsciously, I call that being in a trance, driven by old habits. And in so doing, I abandon myself.

Here’s a summary of my trivial yet important restaurant self-abandonment: A dining companion offered to order a meal for me so it would be waiting for me when I arrived. “Do you like grouper”? she asked. I told her I did, very much. When I arrived, I saw that the fish waiting for me was deep-fried, something I would never have ordered, something I don’t usually eat because it doesn’t agree with me. At this restaurant, it was a well-loved dish, and my dinner companions had ordered it for themselves and assumed I’d want the same.

I guess my face reflected my surprise and, well, let’s say disappointment. I’m being polite. My friend apologized. I said, “Really, no problem. It’s fine. I didn’t tell you that I don’t eat fried food.” And I tried to eat it, I politely picked at it, and that was the end of the matter.

Here’s what I could have done: “Oh, I forgot to mention that I wouldn’t want this fried; that’s my fault. No worries, I’ll just explain the misunderstanding to the waiter and ask for a grilled grouper. If they have to charge me twice, that’s okay, and one of you could take the fried dish home if you like.”

That’s not really so hard to say.

I’ve asked for a dish to be replaced before; most restaurants are happy to oblige. What happened to me in that moment? I wasn’t being mindful, and I fell back into old patterns. I abandoned myself. I felt troubled about it for a couple of hours, then was grateful to have had that moment be my teacher. I didn’t want to make things worse by chastising myself over it.

 This restaurant moment is, on the one hand, trivial and inconsequential, but not trivial in its importance. Teacher Larry Rosenberg writes: “Life is a mosaic of trivial moments.” They are the stuff of our lives.

In the mindfulness world, we like to say:

“Our practice is our life and our life is our practice.”

Every moment, no matter how seemingly small, matters when it comes to living true to our values, to living in a wholehearted way. It takes practice; it is a practice. I want to live my life in a manner that does not abandon myself out of unconscious habit. If I choose to step back or put others first in a given situation, that’s fine. But not treating myself with respect and consideration is abandonment, in the small moments as well as the large. Sometimes, trivial moments can be profound moments if we see them clearly. And, they are good practice for being wholeheartedly present for the truly major moments.

This poem by Jeff Foster comes to mind:

“ …the most potent medicine
is this ancient commitment
to never abandon yourself
to discover wholeness in the whole-mess
to be a loving mother to your insides
to hold the broken bits
in open awareness
to illuminate the sore places
with the light
of love.”

-Jeff Foster

How have you experienced a ‘learning lesson’ in an ordinary life moment? What components of living a wholehearted life are most important to you?

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