“When was the last time you broke the rules?” A friend asked as we sat in the sauna discussing life.
Sweat dripped down my forehead as I struggled to think of a single example.
My friend knew me well enough to know that I had a deeply ingrained need to do good - and more importantly - be good. And sometimes that meant sacrificing fun and joy and risk for doing what I should. He was curious if that had always been the case.
Like many personality traits rooted from childhood, this need to follow the rules stemmed from trauma. Doing good — getting straight A’s, not speaking up, not breaking the rules — meant not further rocking the already shaky family boat.
While friends were dipping their toes into sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll, I was diving feet-first into my homework assignments. Always parenting myself while my parents’ attention was elsewhere.
Since becoming a widow, I learned to carve out a path that is uniquely mine - oftentimes going against the grain of my peers. But only in a way that disrupts the norms, not the rules.
Eventually, I did manage to come up with a few examples of rule-breaking, like the time I climbed the fence of the local pool and carved my initials in the wet cement (and then blamed someone else).1
But I continued to wonder if on my quest for perfectionism (or the perception of perfectionism), I missed out on the important aspects of being a kid —like fucking up.
I felt similarly a couple of years into grieving Brad’s death. I did such a good job of outwardly looking like I was holding myself together, that I missed my window to lose my shit. I should have thrown tantrums and raged to everyone about how utterly unfair it all was, which is what I felt inside. Instead, I told everyone I was fine.
Even worse, was when Brad was still alive. He was dying (although we couldn’t admit it) and seeing a new specialty doctor. He was in so much pain, he told me to park illegally and leave the car. But I was worried about blocking traffic — and more accurately — breaking the rules. Instead of helping my sick husband to the door, I let him fend for himself while I drove around the block looking for a legal parking space. Brad called a few minutes later with a desperate plea for help. He was paralyzed against a post, his pain so awful he couldn’t take another step. I still feel the shame eight years later.
Shortly after my encounter with my friend in the sauna, I attended my friend, Julia’s retreat in Sedona. I wasn’t there as a participant, but as an emotional support human and an extra set of hands. We happily agreed to this role for each other’s retreats.
While the rest of the group was getting tattoos and massages, I met the caterer. When Julia wanted to talk through a plan, I was a sounding board. I loved being there in this capacity because I like being useful. But it also left me wondering if it was possible for me to show up in these spaces and not be “responsible.” Was it possible to let go of the need to be in control?
On my own retreats, when participants are focused on connecting with themselves and each other, my mind is always ping-ponging between engaging in the conversation, thinking about what needs to be prepped for dinner, and wondering what the weather looking like for tomorrow’s hike. I get so much out of running these retreats, but on some level is it a mask that allows me to avoid my own inner work?
The truth is, I have spent 8 years on high alert.
Brad's cancer and death (which still haunt me) set off an explosion in my body where nothing is ever safe.
And instead of taking the time to grieve and process, I started a business that supported other grievers. I dove head-first into other people's nightmares, reconfirming that everyone does, in fact, die. And oftentimes, in horrific ways.
Looking back, it probably wasn't (isn’t?) the healthiest avenue, but it gave (gives) me a purpose — to help others find support as they move through their devastation.
According to the Holmes-Rahe Stress Scale, the most stressful life event an individual can experience is the death of a spouse. This loss is usually accompanied by a decrease in income, an increase in health issues - including your chance of death (hello, widowhood effect), a decrease in emotional support, and an increase in mental illness - among many other things.
This statistic doesn't surprise me.
My body was trying to kill me before Brad was diagnosed and it's only gotten worse since (I've lost count of the number of cancers I'm now high-risk for).
I don't want to be on high alert. I don't want to always be looking around the corner for the next metaphorical killer to jump out and terrify me. I don't want to constantly be waiting for the next shoe to drop.
I don't want to live in never-ending fight or flight mode with a dysregulated nervous system. But when you've spent years living that way, you can't just meditate your way into regulation. You have to fucking heal that trauma first. You have to re-train your brain. And it's a painfully slow process.
Recently I learned from my friend,
, that you can't have a regulated nervous system if you don't have a felt sense of safety. And most of us living with trauma, especially childhood trauma that has shaped how we cope as adults, don't have a felt sense of safety. We used perfectionism and people-pleasing and a deep desire to be good as ways to keep the peace. We refused to ask for help and felt like a burden if we did.How do I create a sense of safety in my body when I have spent a lifetime believing I am only safe when I am responsible or in control? Believing I can research my way out of a problem? Believing if I avoid having any needs that take up space - if I do everything perfectly and quietly - it will all be ok?
I was thinking about all of this on Julia’s retreat, when she generously gifted all of us an Aura reading. On the skeptic to mystic scale, I lean more towards skeptic. But it was Sedona, and I was bathing in the energy of the vortexes, and open to the messages that came.
A week before, as I reflected on my own trauma and healing, I scribbled this in my notes as a potential new series for this substack:
“The opposite of trauma is play. Reconnect with my childhood self. Be silly. Find the wonder.”
I was feeling the impact of turning my joy into a business. The impact of making space for everyone else's joy. Teaching and encouraging. Planning and learning. Intellectualizing. But never really allowing myself to feel it. Not anymore.
I was tired of being a “leader,” an “example”, an “inspiration.” I wondered if I needed to walk away from it all. But my desire to be good and do good still tugged at my heart.
As I sat down in the backroom of the crystal shop, where they took my aura photo, “When have you ever broken the rules?” echoed in my head. I sat patiently and nodded at the accuracy of the other readings. Until it was my turn.
My Aura Reading Recording
(transcript in the footnotes at the end of the post if listening isn’t an option)2
Highlights of the reading:
You have a little bit of a childlike wonder, but you can be super serious.
You need a little more of an intellectual challenge. You need a job that causes you to use your mind, you have to be present.
You've parentified your inner child and because of that, you've had to be this very grown-up adult.
The prescription is this: You have visualize going back and getting your little girl and holding her hand. Bring her back and say,” It's okay to be a kid again.”
For you, it's very healing to not have to be put together and responsible all the time.
You need to go home and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and cut the damn crust off. Go to a glamorous restaurant and get the macaroni and cheese - ask for the kid’s menu. Take your shoes off and run through the damn sprinklers. Sit on Mother Earth and ground yourself on the soil. Feet off, shoes off, just walk on the earth. Go on a nature walk. Pick flowers, find little rocks. These are all things as kids that were a childlike wonder.
If you do this stuff, you will find that your inner child gets to come back out and play because at some point you put her away, and she's locked away in there. It's hard for the adult you to heal without them being integrated.
Your intellect adult wants to say, we've got to be responsible - that's how we're safe. But then the little girl, she's just back there somewhere. So we're going to bring her forward and know that you can be a responsible, self-supporting, strong woman, but you can also be very much in your soft inner child.
You're gonna have thicker gold because, my goodness, grief causes stress. Because everything around us is different. But you also have to know that when that little girl comes out and plays again, it will heal you from the soul up.
Ok universe, I’m listening. You have this skeptic’s attention.
Stay tuned for Part 2.
Part 2 Here:
If you’re going to lie and blame another, don’t sign your name at the scene of the crime.
TRANSCRIPT FOR AURA READING
Aura Reader: Okay, there's some, there's some orange. You have an adventurous spirit. So we like this. You have a little bit of a childlike wonder, but you can be super serious. Um, that's interesting to me, because the childlike wonder is kind of the orange, but then this, this, this gold here, a lot of it is stress.
You heard me talk about the thick gold. But you're usually somebody that when I'm doing this, some people I give them one or two tasks at a time. They like to just do that, or they've been in their job for 30 years. They don't have to think outside the box. They can do it in their sleep or on autopilot.
You need a little more of an intellectual challenge. You need a job that is, you know, causing you to have to use your mind, have to be present. So I'm not saying you have to run out, become some kind of engineer, you know, data analyst, but you do have a strong left brain. And so you're good at sequential thinking.
You're very pragmatic. You're very detail-oriented. You're very responsible. And so what I feel like is you've kind of parentified your inner child and because you've had to be this very grown up adult - like I just threw that in there? Those are big words right there. You parentified your inner child. So what I feel like for you -
I'm starting to feel your guys's emotions right now. I'm getting them up in my throat. It took a minute, right? So we're already halfway through. Because I'm feeling yours mostly because my little child was parentified right away. I had to grow up quick.
So anyway She wants back out and I know this sounds a little corny, but for you the prescription is this: You have to do in your meditation a little visualize where you're going back and getting your little girl and holding her hand right? And bringing her back saying it's okay to be a kid again for you.
For you, it's very healing to not have to be put together, responsible all the time. You need to go home and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and cut the damn crust off. What was your favorite childhood food? You guys go to a glamorous restaurant and get the macaroni and cheese. You ask for the kid’s menu.
I know this sounds weird, but I've done workshops, and to get back in the inner child, you literally have to get back into her. For me, I had kids so it was a little easier. Because I could go down the water slide with them. But what I would encourage you to do is to take your shoes off and run through the damn sprinklers.
I would sit on Mother Earth at this house or wherever it is. I'm getting chills. And I would ground yourself on the soil. Okay? Feet off, shoes off, just walk on the earth. Go on a nature walk. Pick flowers, find little rocks. These are all things as kids that were a childlike wonder. Running through the sprinklers, you know.
That as adults we're like, oh I can't do that, that's irresponsible. No, you need to do some things that are total kid-like. Bake a cake when you get home. If you have a niece or nephew or your own children, do something with them. Watch a childhood movie. Up would be perfect.
These are things that get you back in your inner child. If you do this stuff for four weekends out of a month, say, you will find that your inner child gets to come back out and play because at some point you put her away, and she's locked away in there. It's hard for the adult you to heal without them being integrated.
Another thing is you get a coloring book. Coloring is meditative. We used to do it in college during finals. You get a coloring book just at Walgreens, you go home and just color. First you're like, “Okay, this is so stupid” because your intellect adult wants to say, we've got to be responsible - that's how we're safe. But then the little girl, she's just back there somewhere. So we're going to bring her forward and know that you can be a responsible, self-supporting, strong woman, but you can also be very much in your soft inner child.
And you've got one, two, three, four, five spirit guides up there that are just waiting for you to kind of embrace yourself again, the little girl you.
And lastly, I had a therapist once that had me find a picture of my little self. I was six years old with those bangs, you know, the bowl in the head thing. So my six-year-old, five-year-old — something where you're not a baby, but you're like that little age where we're kind of quiet and we're watching everything going on around us. And that six-year-old picture - do you know I had to keep that on my nightstand? I left it there. It's still there. Because when I look at her, I'm like, “Why are you so tough? You're like a mean adult. You're not giving yourself grace. You're holding yourself to such a little perfection. Why are you doing that?”
You wouldn't do that to this little girl. If she fell down, you'd help her get back up. So it taught me to be more gentle with myself and to embrace all ages of me.
I had chills through your whole reading. I don't know why. I think we have similar issues. You are healing. Rest assured, the green is there. You are healing.
You're gonna have thicker gold because, my goodness, grief causes stress. Because everything around us is different. But you also have to know that when that little girl comes out and plays again, it will heal you from the soul up. What's your job?
Dana: I’m in the grief space. Retreats - a lot of different things.
Aura Reader: So you hold the space for everyone to do it. So when are you a participant?
Group: She's supposed to be participating right now.
Aura Reader: It's hard when you're in the driver's seat. I'm in the driver's seat. Do you see what I mean? And then this is the next piece. You'll be teaching, because you'll get clients that you'll recognize, Oh, it's an inner child thing.
She’s hiding back there. They buried her basically, right? And so then you'll have a whole new aspect of what you bring to others.
So it says right here, orange, adventurous spirit, childlike wonder. I was just at the trampoline park with my 10-year-old and I got out there and I was jumping.
Dana: Can I say something that's really wild?
Aura Reader: Sure
Dana: So within the last month, I was at my mom's house. I'm a writer too and so I found all these photos when I was a kid. Because I was like, this is what I want to write about - is how do I get back to that? Like literally with my dog and like ice cream all over my face. This was within the last 4 weeks.
Aura Reader: Girl, I've had chills through your whole reading. Literal chills, up through the base of my head. And it's because of my same thing. And it's a very similar issue. If you can write this, and write it to help other people do this, write it as kind of a workbook, your journey, but then it turns into taking other people through it, that can be an integral piece of your workshops and then they can go home with this workbook and work on this stuff at home to continue their healing aside from the retreat. Because sometimes we're so safe in a retreat and we have a lot of healing 'cause we’re away from all our distractions. But we go home and then there's all our triggers again and we kind of go back.
So a workbook is how I write so that people can continue the journey.
I echo everything Marina said. I was getting teary reading your words, they nailed so much of how I felt growing up AND definitely how I felt when Oscar passed and I also didn't take those early days to "lose it".
I felt sad that while you are always here for all of us, that is keeping you from being available to heal and feel supported by all of us.
I too would rather be helpful and behind the scenes in a retreat setting, even as an attendee I would want to help, be trying to anticipate what someone or the group may want or need.
I struggled when my boys were little with imaginative play with them, well honestly playing with them was hard. I felt I should be doing something like cleaning, straightening, being an efficient housewife while they were occupied. Something I regret to this day.
I broke rules as a kid/teenager/young adult, learned some lessons the very hard way. But I always aware of maintaining an upstanding image to the outside world.
Thank you for making me think hard about your words.
XO
Breaking societal rules requires a lot of practise - and sometimes life doesn't give you enough time for it.
I can really relate to the controlled idea of living your life, being the good girl (my interpretation of your message). As always you word so eloquently a complexed world in a way that makes sense.
I was brought up pretty much like this, always considering others opinions and experiences, holding back my own, shuffling the bad under the carpet. And yet, strangely enough, I was expected to deal with most things on my own.
So yes, I walked out into the world as young woman in the 80's with everything planned and boxed in.
I quickly realised that being young during that decade opened up opportunities to break societal rules and expectation in so many different ways. And I could still do it pretty secretely, long before the digital platforms that really no longer hide anything.
But despite a lot of broken rules and wild years, the good girl in me was always taking over.
When D died, I did at first what everyone was expecting of me. Keeping my shit together and expressing gratitude for the promises of support that very quickly faded out. When I started speaking the truth of what life as a widow really meant for me, I broke lots of societal rules.
Too many for some!