normalize crawling back into bed and crying for 30 minutes

Whew. It has been a month.

So earlier this year I started a book club dedicated to reading books about awakening and spiritual/personal growth. We read The Untethered Soul by Michael Singer for our first book, and split the book reading and the discussion over five sessions. We met every other week. It turned out that such a format is perfect with this sort of dense, idea-filled book that is supposed to prompt personal introspection and growth. Our second book was The Courage to Be Disliked by Fumitake Koga and Ichiro Kishimi, and it so happened that it also divided up neatly into a five part discussion. We wrapped that book up in July and I didn't have an idea for our next book, but I trusted that it would come to me and I'd know it was the right choice.

Fast forward to the end of August and despite lots of reviewing books I've already read and loved, and also scouring lists of "the best spiritual books" online, nothing was really rising to the top of the list for me. I was started to get slightly worried. Then, partially as a result to my blog post about IFS, a friend messaged that they were starting with a therapist. Following up with them after their first appointment, they mentioned that the therapist required all new clients to find their Enneagram type. That sparked my curiosity, and I dug out my RHETI results from last fall. When I'd taken the assessment, I'd read over my results and thought there were some things that resonated but hadn't felt very drawn to dive into it.

That same week, I felt like I should connect with one of my friends from the book club and like that might give me some more insight into which book to choose, so we arranged to meet for coffee. The Enneagram came up, and she mentioned a couple of recent Glennon Doyle podcasts she'd listened to on the subject. I listened to those, and there were a lot of ideas that jumped out, but especially the idea of using the Enneagram as a tool to increase our understanding and compassion, for others as well as ourselves. That sounded like just the thing for book club! Our previous books had been a little more inward focused, centered on becoming aware of our internal default/unconscious programming and finding the courage to live true to our own beliefs and desires. I felt like the perfect book would be something a little more connective and outward facing. After listening to the episodes, I reached out to another friend who was also in book club and asked her what her experience with the Enneagram was. She said she hadn't had much experience with it, but she did have a book on it she was meaning to read. She sent me a picture and it was coauthored by the woman who was on the podcast. Even though I'm not a big-time believer in signs or such (yet), I couldn't help but notice that this was the third data point indicating this was the topic & book for our book club. Alrighty, Universe, I got the message.

With that squared away, I really started diving into Enneagram information in earnest. I guess this is where I disclose my type. I'm a 4, most commonly referred to as the Individualist. Reading through the list of traits common to most type 4s, many things jumped out to me because they SO CLEARLY put my experience into words in a way that I hadn't framed before. But a somewhat surprising thing happened, in that things I'd taken for granted as being pretty common for most people were included as traits more specific to 4s. Huh? Doesn't everyone feel that way? That's something maybe unique to me (and other 4s)? In addition, the more negative traits were shining a light onto things that I had tried to keep in the shadows or the closet or under the bed. Type 4s "deadly sin" is Envy? Ooof. Yeah. 4s feel like there is something fundamentally flawed or lacking in them that gets in the way of living a happy life. Check. Type 4s can get sucked into themselves to the point of getting disconnected from their outside world and believe their feelings over evidence to the contrary. Okay, that's enough. Get the hell out of my brain, you stupid ancient personality profile thing. Fours experience the rush of emotions intensely and these feelings can turn out to be quite overwhelming for them. Sigh...yes. The balancing act between looking happy and tackling the inner wave of emotions makes things tough for enneagram 4s. Yep. Fours tend to feel possessive of people in their lives. One hundred percent. Fours feel a very strong need to be authentic. Ah, maybe that's where the impetus for this blog came from.

I could go on, but hopefully that's enough of an introduction to My Life As a 4. In light of all I'd discovered about Fours, some really challenging experiences I had in August looked different. And I couldn't really hide from some of the insights I had. (But I really wanted to.) Oh, look how your possessive feelings about your friends showed up and you went into a shame spiral of abandonment fears. And then your defensive part showed up to try and tell you that you didn't really care about them anyways and its fine and you don't need them. But you don't really believe that anymore. But maybe? Ugh what's wrong with you? Why can't you just not be so damn sensitive? How come you have to ruin the fun?

Fours are part of the Heart Triad, which means they respond to life first from the heart, or in the realm of feelings. (This is in contrast to the Gut triad and the Head triads.) Fours are also doing repressed, leading with Feeling and then getting Thinking on board, but really struggling when it comes to action. Fours can get into a Feeling, then Thinking about the Feelings, then having more Feels about those Thoughts, and more Thoughts about the Feelings, ad infinitum. And that cycle can wear us out to the point that we feel like we've done something, since we used up all our energy. Fours are the artists, especially the tortured artists. I don't feel very artistic, so that part didn't land as well with me. But then I read that Fours can be adept at expressing their inner emotional landscapes through words and I thought, oh, maybe writing what I write here isn't something anyone could do, which is what I'd thought. (Fours also have a tendency to dismiss anything they are good at as being not that valuable or unique.)

I mentioned to a friend that I was a Four and she was surprised. We didn't get into it more than that, but I thought more about it and I think it's because I don't show up to most people as having a tumultuous emotional existence. I'm pretty good at keeping the sad and messy stuff under wraps. Except when I'm not. And the more I've put myself out there with friends, the more the messy stuff has shown up IN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE. And I have struggled mightily with that.

We've met twice for the book club. The first session was mostly an overview and introduction to the types. This week we dove into the first three types covered in the book, the Gut Triad, so 8s, 9s, and 1s. It was lovely and insightful to hear people of each type share more about how they see the world and how they feel and thing and what motivates them. It was really great. But then I had a painful and kind of embarrassing realization. I realized that I've spent so much time and energy trying to keep others comfortable and having positive feelings throughout my life, but based on what would make me feel good. And that so much of what I decided to do with regard to other people probably didn't matter all that much to them. So I'd wasted a lot of time and energy and tied myself up in knots emotionally, all for what? Ugh. I think probably the end result of my assumption that people were like me was generally positive, as I have erred on the side of being extra considerate and thoughtful, but it feels like I put myself through the wringer again and again unnecessarily. That sucks. Also I couldn't help but feel like some types (especially 8s and 1s) are really awesome at stuff that our society values and also rewards financially, like getting shit done and being organized and articulate and logical. Meanwhile I'm over here having Feelings. Super useful.

Well, I decide, if I'm living and responding to life from my heart, what does that mean? How can I do it well? Sitting with that, it wasn't too long before I felt like I really had very little practice showing up that way, even though I've been living for over four decades. As a child, there was no support or space for my feelings. Definitely not the challenging ones, but also not really the positive ones. Being exuberant or delighted just didn't really fly in my family. The image that comes to mind is a little soul with these intense feelings of joy and sorrow and delight and grief just yearning to bounce and move and whirl and collapse but being constrained to just. stay. still. All that unexpressed and unfelt feeling became focused and turned into a hyperawareness of the soul's environment, knowing it wasn't safe to Be. Anxiety. Feeling wasn't safe.

And I don't think it is that surprising that what felt comfortable to me was someone like David, where he was at back then. Growing up in a very volatile emotional household, he had deeply internalized a survival framework of "Emotions lie. Don't trust your feelings." (Which isn't necessarily false, but there's definitely a need for nuance with that approach.) So for most of our marriage, there wasn't place for my feelings either. My strong emotional responses to things were suspect, and something to be ashamed of or overcome. I remember trying to go into "Robot Mode" as a mom of young kids, just feeling too overwhelmed by the feelings that would come up and not knowing what to do with them.

When I started working with Luann (my therapist) back in 2020, an analogy she shared with me hit me so profoundly. I've since adapted it and made it my own. But the idea is that we get so overwhelmed by the challenging emotions, the storms of life, that we decide to move into a cave to escape them. Here we aren't so buffeted by the wind and the rain. We've pretty effectively shut down our emotional responses to most of life. (Oh, the occasional one will still sneak through, so maybe you keep moving further back into the cave.) But just like living in cave, you don't only escape or block out the challenging stuff. In the cave, there's no cool breeze coming in, there's no feeling of the sunshine on your skin. And the scenery sure gets old really quick. It turns out, to enjoy all of those lovely parts, we actually have to learn to be present for all of life. There is no option to only have the sweetness. That's just not how it works.

Fast forwarding a bit, the past three years of growth and healing have been incredible. I have loved feeling like I can show up more authentically, more lovingly, and more joyfully than ever before. I have made so many lovely and true friends along the way. The lovely parts of my life are lovelier than I could have imagined. But I have to admit that I really did think I could heal or grow my way out of suffering. That my high points would become better and better and my low points would get more and more shallow until maybe they'd just kind of be flat and more of a "Oh, I don't feel amazing today, just neutral." But instead, the lows seem to be lower. Excruciatingly so. Am I doing something wrong? Am I broken? Is it just the contrast that makes them seem so much worse? Or have I opened my heart to the degree that I am just that much more sensitive to ALL of it? I don't know. I really don't. But on days like today, the cave is looking pretty tempting.

David and I had a fight last night. My feelings got hurt, I made assumptions, and put him on the defensive. From there, things deteriorated. Eventually we came to a resolution and have made some decent repairs, but this morning I felt acutely how painful it is to live and respond to life primarily from the heart. I wrote to David, "I don't want to be empathetic and supportive to everyone else in their challenging emotions because I'm so familiar with the landscape but still feel overwhelmed and alone with my own." And I thought about my blog, and how I can pull all of this stuff to write about my emotions eloquently and in a way that connects with people. And I got MAD at words. Because words give us the impression that we have some sort of handle on things. Some understanding. I can sit here and type all of this and the reader can think, "Oh yes, Mindy had a hard time." I can tell you that I sobbed uncontrollably in my bed for thirty minutes, and my body shook and all I wanted to do was stop hurting and feeling. And those words are so polished and understandable, you'll feel like you understand that I had a hard time today. But when we are in the throes of those feelings, NOTHING FUCKING MAKES ANY SENSE. There is no thought, no word, that can act as a lifeline. Our brains with toss ideas into the stormy chaotic sea, like "Hey that person is actually to blame and you should just focus on hating them and that's your way out of here," or "Yeah, you're pretty much a complete mess and you'll never feel better," or something like that, and if you grab hold of the thought to escape the feelings, you think you're in the clear. But you're not. Because you didn't finish feeling. And the feeling isn't finished with you. But feeling is so damn hard that most of us grab whatever lifeline the brain sends us, no matter if it is damaging or false. Anything to get out of the whirlpool of feeling. Today I resisted. I didn't grab onto any of the lifelines. I just let myself cry. And cry. And noticed the coldness in parts of my body. I noticed that I wasn't entirely present. I noticed that parts of me really did want to escape. And I thought about the really awful fall at the gas station I had at the beginning of the month, after which I sat in the Jeep for a half hour and could tell my body was tempted to lose consciousness to escape from the pain. And I thought about the miserable time vomiting for several hours after taking something that disagreed with me, and wishing so desperately my mind could latch onto a thought to carry me away from that experience. But it couldn't. The only way through, was through. The only way through, is through. And I thought of the phrase "tortured artist" and how it conjures up ideas of beautiful, talented people who we admire but we don't understand how they can be so amazing but also apparently suffering? And I felt the misery and depths of all the sorrow. And knew that I'd end up writing about this and be upset that nothing can fucking convey just how awful and alone a person can feel.

But, after a while, the sensations eased up. I started to feel a little clearer. A little lighter. I felt like I could get up out of bed. I had felt what I needed to feel. And I didn't escape. And maybe had a little bit of a breakthrough in understanding something about myself a little better. And maybe it was time to show up a little more authentically. I can't actually will myself to be different than I am in this way. I'm sure if any environmental pressures to stop experiencing life from my heart could work, they would have by now. So I guess I just have to figure out how this is going to look going forward. Yeah, I do feel grief about the time that is lost to me to have lived more in touch with my self. And I feel anger about it, too. But I can have those feelings and also feel excited about having something to figure out, to feel curious about who Mindy is going to be.