I'm Included

I had my first epiphany when I was 11. That was when I found out I was a child, not a parent, and it was a Very Big Shock indeed. Here's how it happened.

The whole family was in the kitchen. Dad, mum, me, Julie, Polly, Maria, Angie. In that order. We were getting ready for our usual Sunday family picnic. It must have been winter because mum was filling the big green thermos with steaming Wattie’s tomato soup. Dad was leaning against the bench, finished buttering the white Sunday bread, probably thinking about the racehorse he’d put a bet on. I think he liked to spend his winnings in his head a few times before he actually won them.

Mum and dad were having a conversation, probably something ordinary like what time to leave, or which beach or bush to go to given the weather. I was standing by, as I did, watching and waiting for instructions. My four sisters were playing about in a girly tangle, as they did, giggling probably, and being told to behave themselves by mum. Or dad. Whoever got irritated with them first. Then mum said it to dad, or he said said it to her... I don't remember the details, but it was something about ‘the girls’ that clearly included me. First it puzzled me, then concerned me deeply, and then caused me to look at them both and ask “Am I one of the girls?”

If you knew my father, you’d know how deep and meaningful his laugh was when he heard something ridiculous. He laughed a particularly good one that time. Mum said something, but I wasn’t listening, because dad’s laugh said it all. And all I could think as my world view crashed around me was “What an idiot! I don’t even know who I am.”

I honestly didn’t know, until that day, that I was one of the girls. I am the oldest, and they started coming thick and fast from when I was three until I was ten. In practically every childhood photo after age three, I have a baby under my arm. The communication between my parents and me was mostly like this: “Are the girls ready?” “Where are the girls?” “Can you call the girls for dinner?” “Can you put the girls in the bath?” “Time to read the girls a story... get the girls in the car... put the girls’ coats on...” It never occurred to me that I was one of them. I was part of the mum+dad+me girl herding unit. Those four giggling tangled up creatures were the girls.

Anyway, dad eventually stopped laughing, mum finished filling the thermos, the girls got themselves untangled long enough to get into the car and tangled back up again, and we took off on the Sunday picnic. Life quickly got back to normal -- or so I thought.

I don’t tell this story for sympathy. Not at all. I loved that job. I loved those girls. I watched them grow from babies, to toddlers, take their first steps, speak their first words, suffer their childhood illnesses. I doubled them to school on my bike. I dressed them, and wiped their cute little noses, and sang to them in the car when they were wailing with boredom or car sickness. That was my job, I was really good at it, and I loved it.

I tell this story, because I've recently had another epiphany, equal and opposite to that one.

I've been listening to Tara Brach's teachings about self compassion; she's the reason I even thought about that situation when I was 11. During one of her meditations, I realised I've been still stuck in that "What an idiot, I don't even know who I am" story, all these years later. It's an intensely anxious feeling, and I've spent a lifetime numbing and zoning out and desperately trying to disprove it.

It's played out as hanging about on the fringes, shrinking, second-guessing, isolating and not trusting myself. I've quietly thought the good things in life apply to other people, not me -- things like the law of attraction and book deals,  for example!  I expect to be whacked from behind, when I least expect it, and I've spent a good deal of energy making sure I'm ready to counter-attack when this happens (which it never does, by the way.) I am very shy of strangers, terrified of mingling and networking events. I think other people will find me crashingly boring. I could go on, but you get the picture.

I've been living scared. I don't even know of what. Scared and anxious. Believing I'm not OK and not acceptable, not safe, and accepting the resulting low-level background anxiety as a normal part of life. This is crippling and limiting. And totally exhausting.

So. How cool is it to stare that one in the face and watch it back down? Very cool indeed.

Tara Brach explains the limbic brain, or reptilian brain, which humans share with other animals. It's in the back of the head, and it has very useful powers and lightning speed responses to keep us safe, alerting us to dangers and kicking in automatic reactions like fight, flight or freeze mode. It's responsible for basic survival. Useful stuff for sure.

We've also evolved another brain in the front of our heads which gives us other powers like compassion, empathy, discernment, kindness, creativity, love. Don't you just feel relaxed and gorgeous thinking about it?

The epiphany for me was: I get to choose which brain is running my show. And I choose the evolved one at the front.

I know I'm grossly oversimplifying, but lots of us live with the limbic brain turned to full-on automatic mode. When that's happening, life feels dangerous, we creep around, tense and afraid, believing there's something wrong with us, that something bad's going to happen. That's the limbic brain's job. It's not wrong. We need it at times, for sure. It just doesn't need to be running the show all the time.

Our other brain, the front one, is wired for a totally different experience of life. It appreciates the beauty in the world and the vastness of the universe. It feels the pain and joy of others. It brings wonder and enjoyment into the picture. I've been watching very carefully what brain is in charge, and seeing the incredible difference in my experience of living, when I switch from back brain to front brain, from survive mode to thrive mode. It's amazing.

At the moment, it's affecting how I'm experiencing myself. It's healing to remind myself that everyone in the world feels their own version of not being included, not good enough, not worthy. It's normal, and I'm included in that too. It's incredibly good to treat myself to kind, compassionate thoughts. It's empowering to give myself time and space to just sit and feel what I'm feeling, not fight it or numb it, just watch it and feel safe.

Over the past few weeks, as I've experimented with functioning more from the loving compassionate front brain, I'm noticing a huge dial down in anxiety. I just don't feel anxious any more. This has opened up a massive expanse of potential. Do you know how much energy gets sucked up by constant anxiety? A shit load!

At 11, I realised I’d made a huge mistake—a case of mistaken identity, of myself. It went down as just another hilarious event in our family’s hilarious history. But something shocked and froze in me that day, and stayed frozen -- protecting and preserving all these year. Realising this was a source of anxiety, taking steps to explore it and thaw it out, relaxing with it and accepting it for what it is -- is just wow. I feel like I'm under the protection of an infinitely kind, loving, warm, understanding custodian. It's just me, operating from a different brain space. A space where everyone's included, there's nothing to be afraid of, and, well, all is well.