The pattern of choosing to love the wrong person

Tags

Choosing to love the wrong person, Enter your zip code here, Heart, Love, low self-esteem, patterns, protection, safety

I’ve written about this a little already, but I thought I’d expand on the topic. Be prepared, coz this post is a long ‘un.

Choosing to love the wrong person is something we humans do when we feel the need to protect ourselves: weirdly, we pick the wrong person on purpose.

It’s meant to be a way of keeping our hearts safe from future emotional devastation. But it’s a trap. It only works for so long, if it ever really works at all.

My theory is that it’s the mind’s way of doing what it thinks needs to be done to protect that pesky heart that’s always getting hurt and causing a world of pain for the rest of the body.

But we all know what happens when the mind gets involved in matters of the heart, right? Hint: it usually stuffs things up, no matter how well meaning.

The twisted protection logic goes something like this: if I’m with someone I don’t/can’t really love because they aren’t the right person for me, then I can’t have my heart broken because I’ll never really love them. There’ll always be space between my heart and this person, and so I’m Safe.

If you’ve been hurt before – in that everything fallen apart, life ceases to have any meaning kind of way – then it seems like a sensible idea in theory, right?

Except it’s not.

I can trace the development of this pattern back to the failure of three relationships in a row from my early-to-late 20’s: three men I loved who didn’t love me back.

Although I suspect the groundwork for the pattern was there long before that.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure by the time the third relationship blew up in my face, my heart was broken in a fundamental way. Like, engine fallen out of the car kinda thing.

Let me share some back story on these three loves of mine, then…

Love #1

Was my fiancé. We met when I was twenty-four and he in his late thirties. I suspect my idea of relationships was already a bit warped. I mean, take a highly repressed and aloof father, a physically and verbally abusive brother, chronically low self-esteem, a terrible first boyfriend, an abortion, and a whole heap of other issues never written about here… my ability to choose the right man to marry was already impaired.

Back then, I was attracted to older men. Men I thought could teach me something. Little did I know what I was really looking for was an honest-to-goodness teacher, but that’s another story.

I’d conflated the idea of a romantic partner with someone I could trust as a teacher. And back then, my standard modus operandi with men was to throw my power at them. To inhabit their life and let them be in charge.

My fiancé btw, was a good and honourable man. Really. I’d thought we’d marry and have kids and be together forever.

But he was just as confused and lost in his own ways as I was. By the time our relationship entered its third year, it was no longer the force of nature it’d once been, and he pulled away from me. Which of course, triggered my paranoia, insecurities and low self esteem.

These days I suspect that things ended because he was no longer “in charge” in the way I needed. Which meant the guy I’d been throwing my power at wasn’t doing what I needed him to do. By the time I was ready to leave, my heart had bled all the tears it’d held and there was no way across the chasm that’d grown between my fiancé and me.

So he became my ex-fiancé.

Love #2

Waiting in the wings was another man. The second ill-fated love of mine and a mutual friend of mine and Love #1.

In retrospect, it’s not surprising to me that he was in fact, a teacher. Not this teacher, but the person who introduced me to him. He also taught martial arts.

Oh look, how perfect! Someone big and strong AND an actual teacher that I could offer myself to on a platter. Which is exactly what I did.

Having leapt from one relationship to another, I was amazed at how different things were. I chastised myself for almost settling for much less, and I proceeded to fall hard. Harder perhaps, because now I was *sure* that this was The One. Someone much more suited to me.

Except. He had a binge drinking problem. I was sure I could “help” him with that.

And. In the end, he didn’t want me the way I wanted him.

He was honest about this important detail eventually, but I wanted him so much that I ignored that fact and let the relationship carry on anyway. He didn’t exactly say no. Not very often anyway.

It was off and on, passionate, sexy, dangerous and highly destructive to my sense of self. For eighteen months. I had counselling in my attempts to resist him.

When it finally, absolutely ended for the last time, I hit rock bottom. It was very ugly. Crazily, I even intentionally got myself into a fight and let a group of girls beat me up (it didn’t hurt as much as my broken heart).

Then I went overseas, as an absolute raving mess. I had fun, visited far-flung places and came back feeling more together than I had been in a while. I even went to my first Ayurvedic doctor and stated to turn my health around.

With better health, came a better state of mind…

Love #3

Which is when I met the next guy, via online dating. Which I was only trying because Love #2 had started doing it, and I was actually there to stalk his profile. When was he last on? Who was he talking to?! Ha, so sad and pathetic. 😉

Anyway, out of that came a welcome surprise in the form of an email from someone very interesting.

If Loves #1 and #2 had bowled me over, I wasn’t prepared in any way for Love #3. He was around my age (the first one in a long time who was), gorgeous, intelligent, gentle, charming, sweet and genuine.

We shared many things in common and the attraction was mutual and instantaneous. On our second date, we both agreed the line “where have you been all my life?” was appropriate for us.

True to form, I let myself fall in love quickly and deeply. This time I was VERY SURE I’d met The One. It had to be, right? I’d had two (three actually), terrible and failed relationships only to meet my knight in shining armour, with his sunny demeanour and adventurous nature.

He was so attentive, calm and wonderful. He’d Christmas with his relatives in Canberra and then drove to Melbourne to pick me up from my parents’ place so we could slowly 4WD our way back to Sydney. We had New Year’s in Jindabyne and I was so happy.

Until January, when he took me to see Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and ever-so-respectfully dumped me. In public, so I couldn’t cause a scene. He wanted to be friends however – really wanted it – and in fact, we are good friends to this day.

But for an entire week after he dumped me, I felt myself shutting down. I was quietly sad. Despairing. I couldn’t imagine someone more perfect for me (or so I thought) than Love #3. I couldn’t believe my rotten luck and I’d no idea what was so wrong with me that no one wanted to be with me.

My heart, I’m pretty sure, was packed up neatly into a shuttered wooden box. Surrounded by layers of bubble wrap and duct tape.

It’s good, they say, to be friends with your exes. This is sort of both true and false. True, because people you’ve loved (and who’ve loved you back) are still in your life. False, because unless you’re the one doing the dumping, there’s a good chance you’ll still be in love with them and wanting more than they can give.

I was in love with Love #3 for years, and most of that time I was in denial about it. I analysed his every word and action even as we hung out (skiing, motorbike riding, camping, 4WD-ing, hanging out with friends who declared we looked like a couple). Even as we took more long cross-country trips together.

Neither of us dated, and we might as well have been together except for the lack of sex.

It drove me crazy. Why? WHY? Why didn’t he want to be my boyfriend?!

Eventually I started dating again. However, Love #3 and I still hung out AND I was still hung up.

THIS was the beginning of choosing men I had no chance of falling for…

It wasn’t conscious, not entirely anyway. It was a survival mechanism. My mind overrode my heart because it knew I couldn’t withstand any more heartache.

And so I continued… the loser friend of my cousin’s boyfriend; the weird Persian student; the sweet guy I was never into; the tall, dufus-y baseball player; the dorky ex-air force guy who insisted on a relationship I never wanted…

And then this guy.

Which is one of the problems, with this whole “protection of the heart” pattern, no?

Not only do you end up wasting your time and the time of the people you date when you should’ve said no… but one of them could turn out to be a secret sociopath with a penchant for hitting women.

And, because you’ve been busily tuning out your instincts about who you should be with, you lose the connection to that gut feel which tells you NO.

So you miss it, and you’re unprepared. And then your world breaks into tiny little pieces.

Which is really just the Universe presenting a wake up call to you in the strongest possible language. Because there’s only so far you can go while wilfully ignoring your own path in life.

And being with the wrong person is DEFINITELY ignoring your own path.

It’s taken me all these years to piece this understanding together. Of what happened and how things got to where they did…

And now I’m doing what I can to undo this pattern. Which isn’t as easy as it sounds.

For the longest time, I simply didn’t want a boyfriend. Until I did. But even then, men remained scary.

Actually, men I have no interest in romantically were and are fine.

But liking a guy and wondering if he might like me back? A massive risk. Terrifying, even. Something that until fairly recently, left me feeling disempowered, goofy and maybe all of thirteen, all over again.

Around cute guys, I still feel like a kid with no social skills but like many things in my life, I relate this re-learning curve to yoga.

Specifically, to something I often tell my students:

You’ll never be able to do the poses you find difficult if you never do them. So practice and enjoy them, even when they aren’t perfect. Even when you fall over. Because one day something will change and you’ll find yourself able to do the thing you told yourself you never could. All because you kept up your practice.

So right now? I’m practicing. Flirting. Confidence. Noticing when men notice me. Noticing men and not feeling shy about it. Being able to be attracted to men without losing all sense of reason. Making eye contact and holding steady.

~Svasti

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Soften. Relax. Surrender.

Tags

Anger, autoimmune disorder, completely heart-centred life, fire personality type, Hashimoto’s, Heart, hridaya, inflammation, Inspiration, letting go, Mark Whitwell, observations from the mat, Relax, relaxation, soften, Surrender, tension, vira, Yoga

King Crankypants needs to relax!

Yoga starts from the heart, spreads through your whole body, then to your loved ones, then to the whole world.
~Mark Whitwell

I don’t enjoy writing posts like my last one. Really. But sometimes I feel like they’re necessary.

I just read the above quote from the delightful Mark Whitwell and I realised that pretty much everything comes down to the heart – crappy Funny or Die videos don’t come from the heart. Those who actually think those crappy videos are funny? That sense of humour is not heart-centred. Being abusive towards someone who makes a stand and says what they think, is also not heart-centred behaviour. Getting stroppy with perpetrators of said abusive behaviour? Nope, not quite heart-centred either.

Increasingly, I know that what I want for myself is a completely from-the-heart life. Where everything I do, every action I take and every word that comes out of my mouth is coming from the heart. That DOES NOT mean that everything will always all sunshine and puppy dogs. I’ll still have healthy boundaries, be ferocious when required, and speak out about stuff I think of as wrong. But maybe not quite in the same way.

All of this is challenging for me as a vira/fire personality type. Like many people, anger has been the default response to things I don’t like for most of my life. I’ve done a fantastic job thus far at tempering that fire but there’s more to do. I mean heck, getting an autoimmune disorder is a clear sign there’s too much fire and inflammation in my system, right?

As such, I get the point of doing things like having a negative media fast. Still, I’ve got the heart of a protester and I aint afraid to call it like I see it when needed.

But reading quotes like Mark’s help me to remember to keep a balance. I reckon it’s okay to be angry about something when it’s needed. But letting go is important, too.

So as always, it’s back to practicing yoga for me

The best things I learn from my yoga practice aren’t about how to work my way into a more advanced version of some asana or other. Don’t get me wrong – that’s lots of fun but it’s not what keeps me coming back.

What I value most are the moments of inspiration in how I deal with myself, my body/mind and/or with other people.

Monday was day one of a new term – the second for me at this yoga school – and the bearer of new realisations, too.

Given that I spent most of the winter term rather unwell (with Hashimoto’s) and injured (torn right calf muscle), I was surprised last week to discover that despite all of this and despite doing a very basic kind of practice for the last couple of months, I’ve gained strength. It’s pretty amazing actually – every inversion I do feels stronger, more balanced and stable. Every balance is steadier.

In other words, a gentle and steady practice caused an increase in strength.

So I was excited to come back to day one of classes for the term, now that my energy levels have lifted a little and that after two long months, and I’m no longer limping.

One of the themes of Monday night’s class was the difference between tension and relaxation.

Without meaning to, I found myself sharing this:

What I learned from last term’s classes is that even when we think we’re relaxed, we can still be holding a lot of tension. It wasn’t until my teacher suggested a slightly different arm or leg position, that I noticed my previous one wasn’t exactly comfortable. We just sort of get used to holding our tension, to the point that we simply don’t feel it until someone shows us an easier way.

This is actually true for many things – yoga, our lives, or looking at our own behaviours and actions. We sometimes don’t see our own tensions, or limitations. We don’t get the easier way until someone else reflects it back for us.

Then we have a choice – we can keep doing what we were doing all along, and possibly do ourselves an injury in the process. Our rigidity might even hurt someone else. Or we can adapt to another way of being that flows better and requires less energy to maintain.

It’s up to us, isn’t it?

Like most westerners who spend too much time n front of a computer, I hold a lot of tension in my shoulders. So in my practice I have to constantly find ways to soften and release through my shoulders and upper back. I’ve also been learning the difference a 10 degree angle can make in the positioning of my arms over my head. If one position jams my neck, why do I persist in holding my arms up higher when I don’t have to?

Soften. Relax. Surrender.

Until we learn to treat ourselves this way, it’s impossible to show others kindness as a day-to-day 24/7 way of being. We need to let go of our anger and frustration (they’re actually the same thing) and soften the way we treat ourselves, first. Then, we can expand that out to others.

This is yoga, and this is life.

Here’s to keeping our hridaya (heart) centre in mind as we practice and move through our days.

It’s a process I’m in. What about you?

~ Svasti

Gettin’ in the groove

Tags

beginners luck, Big Scary Idea, chanting, Depression, fraud, groove, Heart, in the zone, Meditation, pranayama, PTSD, teacher training, Yoga, Yoga In Daily Life, Yoga teacher, yoga teacher groove

Anahata Om Mani Padme Hum - by Gabriela Pomplova

Had quite the magnificent day yesterday. Can you guess why? Well, in part it’s down to some glorious sunshine-y Spring weather and then, uhhh, I’ve been talking an awful lot about yoga lately, haven’t I?

*grins*

Might’ve also mentioned in a recent post that I’ve been having a little trouble fully getting into yoga teacher mode.

Honestly, it’s been quite confronting for me to step up to the front of the room. The practice classes we did in teacher training were very helpful, and then teaching the volunteer classes has considerably increased my comfort level.

BUT it’s important for me to remember that really, this time last year I was still struggling with depression. I’d rather narrowly overcome to desire to end my own life (this is despite being in yoga teacher training!) and it was only around February 2009 that I’d found a release from the torment of PTSD.

Thing is, that some of those patterns of behaviour stuck around even as I started to feel much better. And they’ve been quite difficult to kick. Because I’ve spent the last five or so years trying to make myself small (tough job when you’re as tall as I am!) and invisible. I’ve grown accustomed to not making eye contact, and avoided drawing attention to myself. It’s how I got through all those years of mind-bendingly awful times. It still feels safe to try to be small and unnoticed, you see.

BUT…

As yoga teacher training progressed, it dawned on me (doh!) that I’d have to stand up at the front of the room, having all eyes on me and talk people through a yoga class. I also realised I’d have to make eye contact and possibly even physical contact with people I didn’t know!

So my very first attempts at leading a yoga class were hilarious (in retrospect). My voice wobbled all over the place. I couldn’t think of what to say to help transition someone from one asana to the next.

I felt like a fraud.

Who did I think I was, trying to be a yoga teacher? Such a Big Scary Idea!

The feeling of being a fraud has stayed with me, even though there’s plenty of evidence to the contrary. Sure, I organised my volunteer classes – and believe me it took a LOT of effort to make ’em happen.

But I found myself skimping on preparation time! It was as if I was scared of what it might mean if I was very organised and well-rehearsed. Kinda like I was setting myself up to fail (allowing me to continue to believe I am indeed a fraud!).

Funny thing happened though – somehow I pulled off those under-prepared classes anyway! I still seemed to know what to do and what to say. Of course, because I hadn’t done proper preparation, I told myself that I was still faking it. Perhaps, I’d whisper to myself, I’d just had beginners luck?

Friday night I was terrified as I prepared my lesson plan for Saturday’s class. I started on it late, procrastinating. Which meant I stayed up late to finesse it, making sure I knew exactly what I was doing.

Why all the preparation this time, huh? I was VERY excited to be teaching at Yoga in Daily Life – which is a traditional-style yoga school, akin to my own training. There’s no issue with adding in chanting, meditation or pranayama… that’s just how the school does things anyway (little skip of joy from me!).

There was a small but respectable turn out of five people – one of whom had seen a tweet I’d sent out about the class and came along based on that (cool, eh?).

And there were a few moments in the class where I noticed something… a change in myself. But was it really even a change? It’s hard to say. However, the second I paid attention to it, I almost panicked and lost the yoga teacher groove it seems I’d entered. So I had to relax and let go again… just let it all unfold and stop thinking too much. Just do. Just like with asana.

What happened as a result was this: Some of my students had conditions or injuries they confided in me about. Another asked me a question about the “popping” noise of the joints, which I fluidly replied to. My instructions for asana were smooth, confident sounding and well… a little inspired at times (where DO some of those words come from, eh?). I timed the class very well, and also added five minutes extra on the end to fit in a little more sitting.

The class went VERY, VERY WELL!

As we finished and I chatted to the students, I was amazed as they thanked me for the class. You see, I’m still at the point in my teaching where I feel like thanking them for turning up! Hehehe!

And as I was packing and locking up (after a little impromptu private practice in the empty studio), I found myself both grinning and leaking tears.

I then spent most of the day feeling all joyous and smiley and just… in the zone. What zone is that, anyway??

Well. I think I’ve worked it out… as I taught, my mind wasn’t in charge of the words I was saying… instead, they were flowing from the heart!

This must be something experienced yoga teachers get used to, but I think it was really the very first time for me today. Or at least, the first time I really noticed it and let the flow just do its thing.

I feel so very blessed.

And today I’m going to visit my sweet little nieces. Have a fabulous day everyone!

~Svasti xo

Freshwater

Tags

Anxiety, Broken heart, Fear, Freshwater beach, Harbord beach, Healing, Heart, Love, Love story, Manly beach, mermaids, Northern beaches, Recovery, sandstone, Sydney, Truth

I am awash. Deeply, soulfully and to the bone. I’m surrounded, but not attacked. I am sinking, yet rising too. Opening painfully, my heart speaks a thousand stories at once, most importantly it tells me – Thanks.

Not that I really did anything. Although, I didn’t realise just what sort of load the ol’ ticker had been carrying. As usual.

Yet somehow, the pressure’s been undone.

What remains surrounds me like a warm bath, with ever-so-gentle caresses, asking no questions, and breathing so much easier.

Kinda like this one endless summer day, when, living on the northern beaches of Sydney (paradise, and hardly anyone heads further north than Manly, the least stunning of the beaches on that peninsula)… I strolled the fifteen minute walk to my local – technically, Harbord beach, but colloquially known as Freshwater.

Not very large, as beaches go. A smallish but perfect cove dwarfed by rugged sandstone cliffs, tucked around the corner from north Manly’s shores. Crescent shaped, regardless of high or low tides. And, for a stretch of sand and water not far from the big ol’ city, incredibly beautiful and clear.

That day was one of many lazy Sundays I joyfully wasted inhaling the glory of the world.

It was soooo warm, but not too hot or humid. Just incredibly pleasantly warm. And Freshwater on that day (but also many others), lived up to its name: fresh and clear. Not too salty. And perfectly bath-water warm.

Even better though, since this bathwater never gets cold, doesn’t leave you shivering with a sudden need to get out. And the sun is pleasantly shining. There’s no wind. A perfect beach day burned into my hard drive, filed under “utter perfection”.

Ahhhhh…

I tarried, swimming lazy laps the length of the beach, floating and doing back flips. Strolling the edges, spying on fish schools and lying across the smaller cliff flats, soaking up the radiating warmth, easing tension from my shoulders.

Stone, sky and water and I was blissfully happy, wanting nothing else. Perfectly content just to be.

And while it’s not quite like that now, there’s an evocation of that particular day going on. Not that I’m trying to get back there, just, remembering the comfort it gave my heart, broken as it was at the time.

Actually, I’m convinced my heart’s been broken for years and years on end now, never really healing as I plunged headlong from one inappropriate romance to another… and reaching the end of that line with a violent punch in the face.

My heart, while it’s still managed to break since then (but not over romance), hasn’t been available for the past few years either – and to this day it wears its ‘Closed for Business’ sign, truth be told.

But finally, its telling me stories, many stories, and I’ve pulled up a comfy chair, cat on my lap, having grabbed the largest pot of tea I can muster, to sit there and listen…

~Svasti

Lil’ update…

Tags

Anger, Fury, Healing, Heart, Memory loss, Post-traumatic stress, PTSD, Rage, Reocvery, Therapy

So this is tricky…

There’s plenty I’d like to be writing and telling you about but for now I’m just not up to it.

A certain friend (who shall remain entirely nameless) has been engaging me in discussions about things which… well, I really want to post about. Perhaps to distract or amuse me, but really they’re things we’ve been debating for a while now. However I need to be a little less exhausted, a little more back in one piece first.

So, there’s plenty more coming. The post topics, they’re backing up people! Sometime soon, this blog will return to normal programming.

Last night I made it to my therapy session, ten minutes late, thanks to the train choosing to sit motionless just outside of the station for some time. Good thing I had my push bike with me!

It was such a necessary and helpful session. I’m glad I went, and in retrospect I’m kind of amazed I was even contemplating – should I try to get an appointment or not?

I managed to get quite a bit of the rage I’m feeling to surface (poor H!). But there’s more work to do. I’m still choking on the energy that wants to come out. H has suggested to try and visualise this mass of fury – break it down, reduce the size so its not so hard to expel. As a highly visual person that works for me, so I’m giving that one a go.

She talked about alot of other stuff too, but I’m just not ready to write about it yet.

My heart feels a little bit returned… especially with all the brisk walking and cycling I’ve been doing. Causing my heart to pound at least proves its still there, even though the sensation of absence persists. Each day more pieces seem to come back, but it still doesn’t feel particularly normal yet!

And – this has manifested as physical pain too. If I touch the area above my heart it actually feels bruised… the body and mind are just fascinating like that aren’t they?

Intense physical pain is what finally brought me to get some serious therapy earlier this year, actually. Depression masquerading as pain. But this time I think its a side effect of the intense rage spewing forth from the depths of my being.

My memory is shot to pieces. My brain matter, scatty. Its exceptionally difficult to focus on anything for long periods of time right now. Which isn’t so great given I’m in a new job and a position of responsibility. I’m just doing what I can and trying not to suffer anxiety about that too!

But I smiled today. Quite a bit, and it wasn’t so forced.

More soon folks – and many thanks to those of you who’ve been visiting and offering support.

~Svasti

Still broken

Tags

Broken, Cognitive behavioural therapy, Frida Kahlo, Gaping wound, Heart, Hugs, Inertia, Meditation, Pain is good, Post, PTSD, Therapy, Walking, Yoga

Each moment I keep moving, writing, talking and don’t shut down… is a victory right now. Its something miraculous because I could oh, so very easily just stop everything. Turn to stone. Close down. Lie in bed and not get up.

A war against inertia is on ladies and gents… I’m winning, just.

The gaping wound in my chest is still there. The sensations keep changing. Expanded. Contracted. Heavy, moving through quicksand, then light as a feather. I ache, I bleed thick dark blood, my bruises on display once more. Weakness and strength. Then a little peace. I’m numb and sad. I’m as insanely furious as Kali’s avenging dakinis. I’m still, not moving. I’m very tired yet I can’t sleep. I can’t cook for myself either. Mostly I feel weak and sick.

I need more hugs than its reasonable to ask for.

The pain – caught between my heart and my throat – bounces back and forth, trying for release every now and then. As it hits my throat I start to cough and choke, my voice grows deeper and more controlled. There’s fear there, too.

I was so sure this stuff was over. I went to Thailand in July, having worked my ass off in therapy for several months. Then, during sublime weeks spent in the wilds of Issan, hit rock bottom (more on this another time). I thought I’d burned the remaining pain away completely. But perhaps I just paved the way to open further? Reach deeper?

Certainly feels that way.

As hurt and messed up as I feel right now, as incapable as I am of doing much more than keeping life support functions operational, I’m glad of it all.

I grew up in a family that believes in taking painkillers for everything – just to take the edge off – so the refrain goes. As I got older, I refused. Personally I like my kidneys and liver. But also, as a sports person, as a martial artist, and then as a yogini, I like knowing what my body is doing. I rely on the feedback so I know when its okay to push and when I really need rest.

Pain is information, not something to be feared (so says my wise Self). Sure, its incredibly uncomfortable but pain tells you what you need to know – if you’ll only listen.

I have tonight and tomorrow to get through before I see my therapist, H. We work well together, H and I. She talks, I reflect. She helps me locate the loose thread on the spool so I can start unwinding that which binds.

I don’t expect though, that as of tomorrow night all will be well again. But it is all systems go – I’m throwing everything I’ve got at this attempted re-invasion.

I have numerous yoga and meditation practices. I’m walking everywhere (feeling my heart pulsing as I wander a-pace!). I have fire puja (ceremony) and the miracle vibrational qualities of mantra. I have self-awareness and knowledge that allows me to see the bigger picture.

I’m exhausted but this time I refuse to lie down and hide.

Instead, I say – bring it on!

~Svasti