“Who do you have compassion for?” the facilitator of the workshop asked. We were remembering a scene where we were a bystander in an uncomfortable interaction. That was easy.
I recalled a time I was working in a residential treatment centre for teens. I felt compassion for the frustrated and angry kid struggling while the staff restrained her and carried her away to keep someone else safe. It was painful to watch. There was no gentle solution and I felt compassion for all those involved—except me. Instead, I felt ineffective and defective because I couldn’t change what was happening. I forgot that being a witness meant that I, too, was involved. I was taking this in, and it mattered.
I’ve had lots of practice with abandoning myself. When (in the past) I pushed through and didn’t allow time to notice what I felt, or when I picked up the remote, the wine glass or the carton of ice cream, all were ways I tried to get away from discomfort because it was painful to witness suffering. What has shifted and given me the ability to stay present and tolerate my helplessness is the ability to see myself as worthy of compassion.
Circle of compassion: Our own need for care
As caregivers and parents, we can forget to include our own need for genuine care.
One of my habits is to hold myself to impossible and lofty standards. I’ve designated myself as the one to swoop in and make peace, partly because I have experience with mindfulness and training in compassionate communication, and partly because I find it terrifying to be in situations that are fraught with anger and misunderstanding that can easily erupt into violence.
But this is a heavy lift, especially when I believe that it’s my duty or job to manage other people’s emotions. This crosses over into the world of co-dependency, where I think I can take away other people’s distress and I will berate myself if I don’t. Or I can unconsciously line up all the times I didn’t step in and attempt to be a peacemaker, and apply that deficiency liberally to my sense of worth.
The remedy for me is the acknowledgment that this is hard. I get confused and I don’t know the best thing to do. Just admitting this to myself allows me to hold my feelings with care—my fear, my helplessness, my doubt and my desire for things to be otherwise.
As elders, it’s our job to regulate and care for ourselves first, so we can care for our kids.
I know how deeply I care about peace and non-violence. I know how much I cherish self-responsibility and the capacity to regulate my feelings. Witnessing suffering in others stimulates pain. It’s important to acknowledge our own experience and recognize that even when we’re not the central characters in the action, we’re impacted.
It’s hard to stay balanced and see the bigger picture when we feel hurt, blamed or scared. When we act from these emotions, we aren’t using our wisdom and larger perspective. We act from an incomplete understanding. As parents, our responsibility is to care for our own feelings and needs so we can straighten up emotionally and have more sovereignty and power to create the lives we want to live. The more we are regulated and calm, the more calm there will be in our lives—and the lives of our children.
We have a lot to do with the invisible emotional lightning that flies between parent and child. As elders, it’s our job to regulate and care for ourselves first, so we can care for our kids. This means not excluding ourselves from the circle of compassion.
4 steps to self-compassion
Pause
Take a break from talking and from doing, and look inward. What’s happening right now? Are you furious, frustrated, scared, feeling helpless, or overwhelmed? Bringing awareness to our own emotional state can help separate us from the reactive and automatic escalation of feelings.
Recognize that it’s hard to feel this way
Give yourself permission to feel what you feel. Painful feelings are painful. It’s OK to want to get away from them. It’s important to know that feeling our feelings doesn’t mean we need to act from them—especially if they involve rage or anger. Give yourself understanding about the desire to run away, become numb or hurt, or blame yourself or someone else for these feelings. This opens the space for care.
Create a gesture of care
This can be a verbal, “It’s hard to feel this. It’s hard to watch this.” Some people like to put a hand on their heart to give themselves some warmth and a physical signal of care. For some, it can be offering ourselves a word of endearment—“dear one” or “sweetheart”—to signal we are worthy of being loved, even with these feelings. When we can respond to ourselves with compassion, we can more quickly return to remembering our bigger intentions.
Remember your intention in each interaction
What do I want? Peace, some reconciliation, respect, to be treated with dignity? Remember what is truly precious and give that to yourself. Think, “I love it when people listen to me,” or “I want to live in a house where there’s respect for you and me.” Let yourself know that it’s OK to want what you want. Nurturing your own needs in this way will let you return to what’s important from a larger perspective with more clarity and self-empathy.
We can meet our needs and those of our kids
The more we can stay with our emotions, the more ability we have to care for ourselves. And we can learn that meeting the needs of our kids doesn’t mean denying our own needs. We can learn to not abandon ourselves and to include ourselves in compassionate care.
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image 1: Gerd Altmann; image 2: Saltanat Zhursinbek
