I've done a lot of therapy in my life. Some of it has been really good, some of it really not so good.
The good has brought me to startling levels of self-awareness and understanding. It has brought me the validation I've needed. Solace, accountability, clarity.
But rarely has it ever helped me know where to go from there.
It turns out, that when you want to be different, when you want to change — to be less reactive or bolder, to be softer or unflinching — cataloging your various issues does little to get you there.
It's not enough to know what you're moving away from. You have to know where you're going.
In their book Working on Yourself Doesn't Work, authors Ariel and Shya Kane suggest that it is only through assuming a position of compassionate curiosity towards oneself (rather than an active "I'm gonna fix what's broke" attitude) that we can truly transform.
What this looks like is simply paying attention. We welcome all we notice with loving kindness. And then slowly, over time, we start making different choices. Our attitudes and words and actions start to shift. The transformation happens organically.
To use Danielle LaPorte's words, you have to leave the church of self improvement for the temple of you.
It takes a willingness to look. At all of it. It takes reverence and awe and a sense of humor. You have to be willing to welcome your shadow and your light. Not just the shiny parts. Not just the socially acceptable parts.
Every last human part of you.
Brené Brown, the mama bear of the vulnerability movement, says in her book Daring Greatly, that "None of us is ever able to part with our survival strategies without significant support and the cultivation of replacement strategies."
If this is true (and it is), then where do we find that significant support? How do we cultivate replacement strategies?
We can find support in our family and friends, in books or music, at an ashram, or in therapy. We can stop drinking, lying, overeating, overspending, being a doormat, and take up yoga or meditation. We can embrace radical honesty. We can embrace our fragile, mystical humanness.
But how do we do that? Because anyone who has tried to break a habit or reinvent themselves knows that the struggle is real. When we start recognizing shimmery bits of our truth, our true nature, our soul says "Yes! That!" It falls in love all at once. But our behavior, our bodies and minds, resist. They cling to what is known, what is familiar. And it's not to be stubborn. It's not for lack of willpower, or weakness of character. We literally have a primal aversion to doing things differently. We evolved that way. To our amygdala, anything unfamiliar is unsafe.
It's an epic battle. Not between good and evil (because really, we're all so, so good), but between what has been and what can be.
And when the fate of your potential happiness hangs in the balance, what do you do to assure victory?
You call in your worthiness superhero.
They offer significant support and a replacement strategy. A way to define what Brown calls your "practiced values" (what you do), and then cultivate your "aspirational values" (what you want to do).
I've known and worked with Alicia for several years. And so I knew of Stan through conversation, though it wasn't until last year that I met her myself, in Positano. Stan is Alicia's worthiness superhero. She is the strongest, bravest, most resilient parts of Alicia. Truth be told, they're really not so different, even though the magic of a worthiness superhero is saying that they are.
I have created my own worthiness superhero. She is outgoing and outspoken. Ace at negotiation, relationships, and loving unconditionally. She's had many names and has shown up in many ways in my work over the years, without me knowing it until now. I couldn't recognize her until I knew she was there.
When my back is against the ropes and the urge to just duck out is strong, she is the one who steels us and throws the first punch. We may still end up flat on the floor, but we fought the whole way down.
And so here we are, us four. Alicia and Stan, me and mine. I so hope that you choose to join us here. To share your stories, your characters, your worthiness superheroes. We're all in this together, as they say. You're never really alone.
Whoosh.
-Shannon