A poem about finding friendship, oneself, and God.
Over the years, I became accustomed to a lonely life inside my shell– It had become my second-nature to retreat when all just felt unwell. I felt dejected because like other creatures, I couldn’t run, climb or fly. So much so, in challenging times, I didn’t even give it an honest try. Instead, I crawled back into the confines of my boxed, bosomed shell– choosing to survive day by day, with not a single adventurous tale to tell.
One day in jaded June, I basked under the searing sun. I drifted off for a moment, only to awake next to someone! I peered timidly at the stranger, resting quietly beside me– Her pleasant patterned carapace was quite the sight to see! I wondered if she knew just how perfect and polished she seemed, The sun’s radiant rays made her soft leathery skin glitter and gleam.
Her whimsical webbed-feet were unlike anything else I’d seen before. I pondered silently to myself about what she might use them for. Without a warning, she opened up her glassy, jewel-toned eyes. She dove fearlessly into the opaque pond, much to my surprise! My heart fluttered restlessly, as I feared for her safety below. How could she simply jump in, without letting anyone else know? What if she drowns dismally or gets stuck in murky mudflow?
I shook inside my shell, anxiously waiting for her emerald head to emerge The water’s surface stayed silently still while my panic began to surge. “Please, God,” I prayed passionately, “please let her be alright.” “I’ve waited so long for any sign of Your eternal loving Light.” The sun’s final rays danced daintily across the lulling lake, in the midst of their beams–I finally saw a reflection I couldn’t mistake!
Her intricate shell appeared iridescent just below the serene surface; She gracefully glided to the top, and took a deep breath in with purpose. Following her lead, I remembered to finally let out my stifled exhale. Sighing with relief, I watched in awe, as she fearlessly sailed.
She played peacefully in the welcoming water, confident and headstrong. Oh, how desperately I, too, wished to find somewhere to belong. It became clear to me that the wonderous water was unmistakably her home. I realized that the very shell offering me shelter had also left me feeling secluded & alone.
Feeling ashamed, yet again, I retracted back into my comfortable cage. This time, however, its darkness left me brimming with rage. My mind became a roaring arena full of angry, self-loathing talk. Mindfulness slipped away, and her presence was something I forgot.
Suddenly, I felt a powerful push–followed by a startling splash! I found myself in whirling waters, and began to helplessly thrash. I saw her silhouette near the shore, crawling carefree as could be, “Swim!”, she urged spiritedly, “You are a lot like me!”
ME?!” I thought, restlessly, “she must not be able to see.” “Just focus on your breath”, she said “and you, too, will feel free” “You’re wrong!”, I gasped between plunges, “I can’t do this at all!” She reminded me so sweetly, “but, you’ve already survived the fall.”
I watched the wholesome water warmly wrap itself around me, like it was awaiting my return. It enveloped me into its eager embrace; reminding me I was no unfamiliar extern. The familiar fear I lived with everyday with felt frivolous once I could see– –the dreary decades drifting away simply reflected my faithlessness in its steadfast security.
The comforting current cradled me, for the water had constantly carried me along. Surrendering to its steady support helped me to feel that I was inherently strong. I cried; I laughed—because I hadn’t felt much of anything in so long. But most of all, in that moment, I finally felt what its like to truly belong.
The majestic creature dove back into the water, and helped me swim back to shore. “Look!”, she declared, as we crawled out, pointing towards the lake’s alluring floor. I turned around trying to find what it was she wanted me to look for. Once I finally caught a glimpse of it, it was a sight too spellbinding to ignore.
I peered timidly into the water, marveling at a reflection I did not recognize. I stared at its perfectly patterned-shell, and soft skin with awe and surprise. “Wow”, I whispered, “It’s breathtaking–especially in the water’s blue hue.” “Of course she is,” smiled the truthful turtle, “because that, my friend, is you.”
I had planned for this post to be about foam-rolling, and though that will be coming soon, it will not be coming today. As I sat down to write this blog post, I found that my heart was somewhere else. So, I decided to loosely follow the direction of my heart, as writing about anything that is not my raw, unfiltered experience would be a disservice to both you and I.
Today, I want to talk about nothingness.
I have a really hard time being still. And no, I promise its not because I have attention deficit disorder. My fear resides in a more philosophical dwelling. The fear of “being” has plagued me for as long as I can remember. As a child, most of my nightmares consisted of not doing anything. And not doing anything consisted of not being “seen”, heard, or noticed. If others did not notice me, would I even exist? Furthermore, if I ceased to exist, what would I be? Would I be nothing?
To this day, my mind responds with silence.
And, I’m fearful of its silence too.
As a result, I have found safety and comfort in “doing.” Whether it’s going to school, maintaining activity at the gym, or simply attempting to keep up with the springing dynamic thoughts in my mind, I am always moving.
I have built a tenuous home in chaotic motion. I suppose, “doing” something all the time grants me some degree of disillusionment from my deepest and darkest fears; mobility serves as a relieving distraction from my ultimate fear of being still. Upon reflection, I suppose that I have equated “being” with nothingness. I am not exactly sure how, when or why that association was made, but somehow my neurons fired enough times to solidify the link between the two concepts.
Is “being” nothingness? If I am still, am I still there?
Stillness.
My mind does not care to respond.
I feel that ever-familiar gulp climbing up my throat; the nervous butterflies in my stomach are beginning to commence their anxious waltz. I am afraid. I don’t want to go there.
As a teenager, I invented drama where there was none. I thrived on intensity. I was never just “unhappy”, I was in painful anguish. I was never simply “satisfied”, I was in exuberant delight! Even ephemeral colds and flu’s seemed like cancer. I lived in great swoops of emotion. Up and down. Down and up. It made me feel something! It was a reminder that I was alive. I fretted that if I were simply “unhappy,” people wouldn’t notice or care. I had to create commotion to attain validation!
Only the stuff of soap operas gains attention, care and concern. Right?
Wrong.
At 19, I met my husband and we began the process of an arranged marriage. Don’t let our current state of contentment fool you. Our first 6 months felt like “misery” to me. In retrospect, I can identify that they were normalized and necessary adjustment points, but, of course, to me, Maham, the soap opera star, they felt like unadulterated agony. For those of you that don’t know, my husband is one of the most stable and satisfied people I have ever met. If I were a leaf blowing around with whichever direction of the wind, my husband was and is a sturdy boulder.
I remember the early parts of our relationship. Oh! I wanted him to love me with urgency and passion. I wanted our relationship to be a fabulous theatrical love story. I wanted all the elements of “The Notebook”, I wanted rage, grief, hope, ecstasy, longing—and I wanted all that every single day, for forever and always. Isn’t that what love is?
Isn’t love chaotic movement? If we are not wanting, longing, fighting and craving, what is left? What is left underneath all of that? Will love still be there? Or will it be nothing?
Do you see a common theme yet?
Once more, my fear of nothingness and stillness peeks its maniacal head out. And to some degree, it always will.
Contentment is unimaginable. Satisfaction is frightening. If our deepest selves are afraid of being still we will find a way to suffer being with another person, regardless of the nobility of their character.
But, here’s a troubling concept to ponder: Have I confused longing with love? Is love characterized by aching, wanting, and craving? Or are those characteristics of fleeting passion?
In terms of fitness, life, and relationships, I find that I, often, long for what I don’t have. I want more. I set goals, and I want to achieve them. After I’ve achieved them, I want to set more goals, and work towards achieving them. Though “wanting” is a necessary motivator for change and growth, is it also the birthplace of dissatisfaction and distress?
There is no rest in “wanting.” Craving does not allow room to foster love and acceptance. It cleverly avoids the existential fear of stillness—of NOT craving, of NOT wanting for things that we don’t have.
So what if we were to step back from our endless cycles of doing and overdoing, and doing again? What if we were to look at all that we do have, and love what we have accomplished thus far? What if we were to look at ourselves as whole beings, without wanting to change a thing—even if its just for a fleeting moment? How would that look like? How would that feel?
Dangerous.
Though my “ups” and “downs” are not as fierce and agonizing as they once were, I still struggle with the idea of stillness. I wrote this post because tonight, at 6:30 pm EST, I am taking my first yoga class after a dry spell of a few months.
Me doing a modified wheel pose at the beach
I ceased my practice, as I became more and more afraid of what the mat brings out in me. It brings out comfort in being, it brings out acceptance for the present moment; it brings out satisfaction and contentment with simply being. But isn’t that exactly what I want?
Yes, and no.
It is exactly what I need. However, parts of me are still frightened of the concept of simply being. What I have learned is that peace and contentment are states of being that require practice. They don’t just come when you graduate college, get to your goal weight, or finish a workout regimen. They don’t magically appear in your new office, your new car, or your new job. They are feelings that require consistent practice to achieve.
I have come a long way since I was a teenager, and though, I still have heaps of room left for improvement, I want to take the time to truly appreciate how far I’ve come. I am thankful for my health, for my legs that can support me from one adventure to the next. I am thankful for my body and my heart; they adapt so beautifully to all the stressful changes life places on them. I am even thankful for my consistently fretting, and worrying mind; its desire to protect me is indomitable and truly admirable! I am thankful for all the little oddities, and imperfections in my soul and appearance. I know that weaknesses are just strengths in the wrong environment.
And, just like that, I’m a little less scared.
Because what if I’m wrong?
What if, behind all that wanting, doing, craving, longing, fighting, dieting, exercising, studying, analyzing, and criticizing, there issomething. Perhaps, behind the endless “doing”, there is EVERYTHING. Perhaps, underneath stillness, there is a place that is truly ALIVE with peaceful satisfying gratitude.
Perhaps, you and I can find endless freedom there.
❤
PS- I would love it if you commented and let me know that I’m not the only one who feels this way or share your biggest fears with me ;P
Ever walked into the middle of a movie—no clue as to what was happening prior to you seeing it. Why is that guy trying to kill the other one? Who is she, and why is she carrying a baby alligator around? Huh?
Our very existence is like watching a movie from the middle. We woke up in this world one day, with no recollection of where we were before—no recollection of where we came from, how we got here, and why we’re here.
If we’re lucky, we awoke to two “somewhat functioning” adults holding us, and helping us. And perhaps along the way, they decided to bring some other equally confused little aliens into this world. We begin to call these people “family.” Who are they? And why does it seem like they have our whole lives planned before we even can form our first words?
“What am I doing here?” Slowly, we begin to learn how to produce certain sounds that we associate with abstract objects—we call this language. We begin to communicate about things that are happening; in fact, we become so well-versed, that, some of us begin to spin poetic metaphors and literary allusions into masterpieces, which serve to capture the essence of this confounding life. These will be known as our greatest writers.
However, no matter how many literary tactics we employ to mystify and obscure the concept of human existence, we cannot, with full certainty, pinpoint the answer to the ultimate question: why are we here?
Some of us decide to gain some certainty through pulling on teachings of age-old religions, and others simply turn to testaments of our own experiences. Regardless of where we find our illusion of “certainty”, the inherent perplexity of human existence remains glaring.
As a therapist-in-training, I have some awareness of the unfortunate prevalence of addictions in our world. Yes there are the evident ones such as alcoholism, eating disorders, substance abuse, and self-harm. But then, there are also those faint addictions—the addictions that tend to get “normalized”, as they are more accepted by society. These are the addictions to other people, the addiction to things, the addiction to abstract concepts such as success and accomplishment.
I would go as far as saying that, to some degree, every single one of us is an addict. Workaholics, workoutaholics, codependents, hoarders, sex addicts, money addicts. We become addicted to our partners, to our children, to “best friends.” That’s not the end of it. Some of us suffer from addictions that are intangible—we become addicted to attaining fame, beauty, success.
Why is human existence marked with coming in and out of different addictions? I truly and wholeheartedly believe that it is because our very existence has been out of control. All the preceding addictions are mechanisms that we use to deal with the lack of control we had in our very own existence. No entity asked for my permission before I was born. I don’t recall me signing a document instating my birth. Out of the millions of choices, why did that specific sperm have to fertilize that specific egg to create ME?
This brings me to the point of this blog: CHOICES.
They are beautiful burdensome trinkets. Regardless of circumstances, everything comes down to choice. They say “10% of what happens to you is life, and 90% is how you choose to deal with it.” I am in complete agreement with that statement. The world could be crumbling outside, but I will possess have a choice in how to react to it. Every single thing comes down to choice. “Not making a choice” is also a choice.
Let me tell you about an interesting experience. 19 years into my life, I realized that I had not yet made the active choice to live. HUH? I had become a passive bystander in my life—just letting life do whatever it wanted. “The greatest choice you will ever make is the one to live. Most people simply just exist.” And that’s exactly what it came down to.
It wasn’t so much that I “gave up” on life, as “giving up”, in itself, is an active choice. It was more like I had, simply, chosen not to choose when it came to matters of my own being. I didn’t wake up and DECIDE to be happy. Instead, I let the day’s events dictate whether or not I would feel happy. It was as if, i was (and still am (to some extent)), a leaf that was just blowing around in the wind—untethered to a stable source. For 19 years, I remained unanchored to the robust, secure tree of personal choice. Circumstances dictated my mood, my self-worth, my ambition, my energy—my life.
For 19 whole years. I didn’t even once affirm “regardless of what this day brings, I choose to act in a manner that increases inner peace and happiness.”
And then, I met my husband.
Needless to say, he found me scattered at my most vulnerable, confused state of being. In a lot ways, I was undergoing an identity crisis. “Which parts of my life are truly “mine”? I questioned “Which parts are the ones that I actually chose?”
I never did find the answers to those questions. I stopped looking for them. Instead, I made the very first choice I consciously remember making.
I chose him. I chose my husband.
It’s ironic because our marriage was arranged in nature. I remember the day I chose as clearly as if it were yesterday. I remember, sitting in my blue summer dress, on the sidewalk, barefooted. My husband and his family had just left my house, after seeing me for the very first time. I was 19. I was frightened, uncertain, unprepared, shaking.
A picture of me in my blue dress FROM that very day
I liked him. It felt right. I think. Maybe? What if it isn’t right? What if he’s not the one? What if this is going to be the biggest mistake of my life? Oh my goodness, it is isn’t it? I will regret this forever. Don’t do it. Do it. Don’t do it. Do it.
My dashing thoughts were rudely interrupted by the chirping of a bird. Annoyed, I snapped back to glare at him. And there he was–eating some seeds off the middle of the road, completely at ease, unaware of his agitating chirps. In the distance, I heard a car approaching–it came closer. Closer. Closer.
My heart jumped into my throat as I fretted fearfully for the bird’s life. “WHY ISN’T IT FLYING AWAY!? Is it DEAF!?” I winced, as the car came within touching distance of the bird, and boom. There he went. He flew towards the sky. A few moments after the car passed, the bird swiftly returned to the ground and began picking at his seeds, completely at ease–completely unaware that his life had just been in danger.
I exhaled loudly and stared with wonder and perplexity at this seemingly “unintelligent” creature. And, as it’s beady black eyes met mine, a bizarre thought crossed my mind. “What if I’M the unintelligent creature?”
As human beings, we spend all day and night fretting about what could go wrong. We approach every scenario as if it is one of life and death. For some of us, it is. Many of us are truly brought to “life or death” circumstances, in which we’re spared right at the nick of time. However, so few of us ever focus on the fact that we were spared. WE ARE ALIVE. Instead, we stay inside, worried, afraid to ever go back out “on the road” because we are afraid of the next car that will drive by.
I remember laughing at my fearful thoughts regarding the encounter, and I clearly recall looking up to the sun gently setting in the sky. “In this moment, I CHOOSE to be with this man!” I declared assertively, hoping to convince any higher power that may have resided up there.
I wasn’t going to let life happen to me. In that moment, I chose my husband, and in choosing him, I took an oath to doing all that I could do to make it work. I took an oath to not giving up when things got hard, and above all, I took an oath to go into the marriage FEARLESSLY.
This brings us back to the familiar concept of fear. So many of you may question things that I have questioned before Should I even “fight” for my life? Am I worth fighting for? Do I want to take charge of my life? “Um. Maham. Duh. Shut up. OF course.” These may be answers that seem simple and easy on the surface, but how many of us can honestly say “yes” to them in a manner that is as fierce as a racehorse running, full throttle, out of the starting gate?
Oh honey! Courage is not the absence of fear. It is simply the presence of something MORE powerful than fear. So, the horse passionately runs. It does what it would naturally do, no knowledge of what comes next; he courageously gallops out of the gate, no preoccupation with what’s ahead. He does what he loves to do.
My sweet friend, this is about life being ahead of you, and you making the choice to run towards it courageously! Will you do something for me?
I want for you to figure out what you desire—it could be anything, big or small. Figure it out. Verbalize it. Write it out, and declare your intention to the universe, as I did 4 beautiful years ago.
And now, think of the racehorse. There is no going back. You can only move forwards. Just RUN towards what you want fearlessly—no doubts, no preoccupation with what could go wrong, no energy wasted in thinking about “how hard it’s going to be” or “how long its going to take.” Nobody ever accomplished anything by fretting about how “impossible” it was going to be. You’ve done harder things, and the time will pass anyway. Just run. Run towards it, with arms wide open, and a heart brimming with excitement! Get ready to catch your dream, because, the entire universe and it’s cosmos is running back, towards YOU—the world is so excited for you two to finally meet. Your dream is not a separate entity from you. It was yours. It is yours. It has always been yours.
Yeah. Yeah. We hear it all the time. A part of us may even register that when we get down to the literal aspect of things, we really are all we have. We are the ones who inhale the oxygen, break down food into usable energy, and use water to sustain our literal lives.
Let’s change one word in the above mentioned statement.
How about “you’re all you NEED”?
Like me, some of you may agree with that statement. I mean, I KNOW that it’s true. I think most of us do. But, how many of us can say that we truly, without a doubt, BELIEVE that we are all we need?– that we possess all the resources, connections, and tools we need to, not just, survive but to create a fulfilling and meaningful life?
Do you believe it? Would you like to believe it?
How ironic is it that in the most significant moments of our lives, we are alone? When we come out of our mothers womb, we are alone. When we are faced with death, we are alone. We came into this world with no one, and we will leave with no one.
What if we truly are strong enough to deal with life? And not just deal with it–but really mold a colorful, and beautiful one?
I think that if we truly believed that we are all we really need—that we are enough, there would be much less fear in the world. Violence, hatred, envy, harm—these are all sons and daughters of fear.
On a global level, fear has been masked as tyranny and terrorism. We only feel the need to oppress other beings because we feel threatened. We “need” to create a hierarchy so that we can establish that “I am stronger/higher/smarter/better than you.” But, why would we need to assert our control over others if we believed that we were enough, by ourselves?
On a more individual level, fear has refracted into countless rays: addictions, abuse, depression, self-harm, eating disorders. You name it. Why would we need to turn to alcohol, drugs, food, other people, and other things if we, 100%, believed that we were enough—that everything we needed to create a meaningful and satisfying life was already within us?
I really want us to think about that statement. What if all the things we have ever wanted and have been within us this since the day we were born? Entertain this thought with me, for a second.
If that was truly the case, the first change we would see within individuals, within families, and consequently, within the world would be a reduction in fear. There would be markedly less frantic, fearful, hasty energy demolishing Mother Earth.
Imagine how it would feel to really believe that… to believe that you are all you need. You are enough.
In fact, I want all of you to do something silly with me.
I want all of you to scream “hello”, loud inside your head. Let it ring inside of you.
“H-E-L-L-O-!”
Notice, that there are two different presences inside of you. There is a voice that bellowed “hello”, and there was a different presence that, simultaneously, heard the “hello.”
There was a voice that spoke, and there was a voice that listened.
So often, the only voice we hear is the loud one–the one that speaks, barks, criticizes, ridicules, judges. What about the other voice? The one that isn’t as charged? The one that resides in the deepest part of us, and simply observes.
I want to share something with you, girls. I wrote a letter for you. From you to you. From me to me.
I want for the wise voice within you that listens to say these words to the frightened, panicked voice that, so often, speaks.
I know. I hear you. I know it feels like the world is going to crumble sometimes. I’m hearing your panic. I’m hearing your voice. No one is ignoring you. I’m here. It is going to be okay. I know that a part of you is petrified. And, I so, wholeheartedly appreciate and honor that part. Look at how brilliantly resilient you are! Look at you throwing these resourceful solutions to me about turning to alcohol, or drugs, or food, or other addictions. I don’t hate you for saying those things. I don’t think you’re bad for saying them.
Instead, I want to thank you. I want to thank you for trying to protect me. I want to thank you for sensing that I’m scared, and I want to thank you for trying to resolve the fear in ways that we’ve previously dealt with it. But angel, I need you to hear me when I say that it’s safe. You are okay. You are going to be loved and accepted. You already are. You deserve to be cared for, to be loved, and valued. And I am here to take care of you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you. Nothing you can/will do is going to make me turn away from you this time.
I realize that its going to take you a little bit of time to realize that I am here to stay. But I am no longer going to ignore you, or push you into the dark. I am not going to beat your bones till they are broken, or mentally annihilate you. You are and never were bad, wrong, or not enough. Deep down, I know that all you’ve ever wanted was to feel okay—to feel loved, accepted and cared for.
You want to feel like you have a home. You want to be accepted, understood, and valued for just being you, at this moment in time—no expectations, no strings attached. There will be no more: “I love you when’s…” You are enough, now. And no matter how scary that is, I want you to know that I am working on accepting and loving you the way you desire.
I am making the choice to take care of you, and to honor you. You may not have received that essential love, approval, and value when you were only a child. But you grew up. I grew up. A part of me is capable of helping you now—for giving you all that you have ever wanted.
I’ll need your help. Will you help me, sweetheart?
I’m not asking for you to discard your fears, or your concerns about being alone. Being isolated, alone, and abandoned are really scary things. I am not asking you to throw away your apprehensions, because I know that this situation is unfamiliar. For so long, I have pushed you away; this fearful relationship between us is what has kept us functioning. This is how you survived. This is how WE survived. But I am imploring with you to allow me to reach out to you now. I’m asking your permission to let me in.
I am not your best friend who betrayed you. I am not your mother who abused you. I am not the boyfriend who cheated on you. I am none of those people that hurt you in the past. I know that I may have pushed you away, but I want you to know that it was NEVER because I wanted to hurt you. It was never because I thought not you were bad, unworthy or unlovable. It was and has always been about me being scared too. I pushed you away because the intensity with which you need me scares me.
I don’t know how to handle the loneliness you feel. I am afraid that I won’t be able to be enough for you—that I’ll fail you.
I know it’s a risk. It’s a really scary thought to think that, together, we can make it. But if you give me a chance, I am willing to understand and try to be what you need. I will not let you down. I will fight for you.
I’m here now, telling you that you deserve to be happy. You deserve to live wholly and fully. I realize that you’re scared to hope, because a lot has been taken away from you. It’s been really hard. You’ve had to shut off so many parts of yourself to make it this far.
I’m so thankful to you for allowing me to feel your pain. I honor your apprehension but I see the immense courage that you already have. I’m so amazed at your strength. Your will to survive, and to be heard is incomparably astounding. You never gave up. You may have tried to feel loved, accepted, and cared for in really bizarre and maladaptive ways, but you never gave up. I am so thankful to you for not giving up despite what other people said, or what circumstances brought.
I am most thankful, however, that you did not give up on being heard, despite how cruel I was to you. I know that I am not perfect, but I am willing to try. I am here to tell you that I am willing to try to accept you, to love you, and to show you, that together, we are enough. We are all we’ve got, and we are all we need.
abidmaham 