Giving-Receiving Loop
In April I attended a personal growth weekend in Maryland. On Sunday morning, each of the facilitators spoke out in turn to kick off our final day. As each leader claimed a few moments, the participants sat with eyes closed, breathing deeply, allowing the words to wash over us. Some of it was "nice" and some I couldn't relate to at all. Then, one woman said, "Until today, I have sucked at receiving." I felt an internal GONG ringing throughout my entire being, realizing that I, too, was sitting on that step. Whew!
"They say," and I'll include myself in that "they," recognizing you have a problem, or as I would put it, noticing what you're contributing, is the first step to changing a pattern. Well, last spring, I took a first step down a path that I previously hadn't been willing to acknowledge existed for me. Admitting a blind spot, especially as someone who is paid to shed light in the dark corners of others blind spots, humbles me greatly. I feel grateful for the on-going confrontations with my own, perfectly imperfect humanity.
Here's what I've been learning these last months. While I am extraordinarily fortunate to be surrounded by generous people who have offered me help of all kinds when I've needed it, and even when they've simply wanted to extend themselves to me (whether I needed it or not) rarely have I accepted these hands with willing grace. My knee jerk response ruled the day.
Rather than, "thank you, I truly appreciate it" the language has been, "no, thank you," "what can I offer you in return," or worse still, an argument ensuing at the restaurant table over who will pay the bill. And God forbid a compliment is offered, then my auto-pilot of dismissal comes forward, effectively negating that any words were even spoken. What's up with that? Truly, I have sucked at receiving!
So, why the hard line on allowing goodness and generosity to come to me? I've been sitting with this question. And I may not have it all worked out yet, but I'm clear that it provides a strong protection. At a time in my life when I didn't know how to set boundaries, this defense attempted to keep the world and potential disappointment at bay - giving me the illusion of safety.
My talented defenses have known no bounds. In case an out-right refusal doesn't do the trick, I take it a step further. If you offer me X, I will do my best to find a way to give you double that back. Lunacy, I know! And yet, with great self-compassion, I witness how little I learned about the giving - receiving loop.
This sort of "pay back" represents a kind of caretaking. Caretaking always means trying to protect myself from something, even if it looks like I'm doing something nice for you (and, in fact, I may genuinely do something nice for you, but not with my full integrity in tact). In this case, attempting to do at least as much as you've done for me, if not more, protects me from feeling vulnerable. I don't owe you anything. I am not subject to your whims. Geesh, what did they teach me growing up? Well, exactly this: "you will pay." And so I have.
By not allowing the natural flow of giving and receiving to be fully integrated into my life, I have suffered periods of great financial scarcity. I have attempted to "buy" friendships through good deeds. I have dismissed any positive feedback, and even kept myself in a state that does not encourage accolades. Despite these valiant protective efforts, none of it truly works. I am still vulnerable, and only now am I beginning a practice of learning to gracefully receive.
I believe the way through the muck (mine or an other's) consists of gentleness, self-compassion, and a willingness to learn how to do it differently. Learning the true meaning of karma and being at peace with the fact that what I once learned is now a limiting belief. Gay Hendricks would call it an "Upper Limit Problem."
I'd love to tell you that I've got it all worked out, and while I can feel the growing edges, I am, as ever, a work in progress. If you're sitting on this step with me, I see you, and I appreciate the mirrored humanity of our journeys.
With appreciation,
Joanne Lutz