Growing Human(kind)ness by Karly Randolph Pitman

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Why you need to empty to soften compulsive overeating

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Years ago I read a book by Linda Kavelin Popov called A Pace of Grace. In that book, she shared a beautiful phrase and practice – that of emptying our cup. I love this image:  of taking our burdens, cares, hurts, and frustrations and emptying them, pouring them out. This speaks of a deeper truth, as well:  that we must empty before we can be filled.

Why you need to empty

When we don’t empty, our pain, our frustration, our grief, our hurt gets stuck. According to one of my mentors, Dr. Gordon Neufeld, stuck frustration turns foul. Then it comes out sideways, as attack against ourselves or another. Self attack can come in many forms, including self criticism, judgment, or blame. Self attack can also come out as overeating or sugar bingeing.

If you’re highly sensitive, you feel deeply and strongly. You may also feel what others don’t – you may pick up on subtleties and nuances that are under the surface.

According to Dr. Neufeld, simply being sensitive can mean that more things aren’t working – that there’s more you’re already processing or adjusting to or coping with from the get go. (I’m reminded of this when after a long day, an aggravating sock or underwear seam can feel like the end of the world!)

This all points to a great need to empty.

Do you empty your cup?

My friend, how do you empty? Do you give yourself space to empty?

In her audio program, The Language of Emotions, Karla McLaren talks about the benefits of “conscious complaining” – of giving ourselves space to empty and to express what isn’t working. Because we live in a culture that can often look down about complaining or negativity, I find that many of us – especially sensitives – do a lot of self editing. We don’t allow ourselves to empty or to show up “as is.”

So what fills the gap?

Using food to empty

I find that many sensitives turn to food when they need emptying. They may feel reluctant to empty with loved ones – they may carry feelings and beliefs of “I’m too much,” “I’m too intense,” or “I’m too sensitive.” They’re afraid if they showed all of themselves they’d be rejected. So either they put on a smile, suppress their true feelings, try and force themselves to think or feel more positively, or shut down their emotions.

This comes at a cost, as it brings deep feelings of loneliness, of isolation, of feeling as if no one understands or gets them. With no refuge, with no safe place to empty, the emotion remains stuck inside. Until it can’t anymore. Hence the food.

So food is what consoles you in this emotional isolation. It’s also a conduit – how you empty. Food serves as the other, the container:  the one who listens to your pain, who holds it, who holds you, who allows the emotional build up to empty, to pour out. The emotion pours out into ice cream, or french fries, or candy bars.

Why food works – and then doesn’t

The pent up emotion and build up is softened, which is one reason why you initially feel better when you eat:  the tension from carrying a build up of pain has receded. Ah, relief. But this only works for about five minutes. Then you feel a deeper emptiness:  the emptiness of emotional isolation. In addition, you may also feel the shame of turning to food for solace.

Food can never attune to us. It can’t offer empathy or deep listening. It can’t validate our emotions. It can’t soothe our nervous systems in the way a loving other can. And yet in the face of emotional isolation, it may feel as if it’s all we have – the only buffer available.

Emotional isolation is often the deepest layer of pain that drives sensitives to eat. That’s one reason why I believe human relationship is the cure for overeating:  both a warm, connected relationship with our own selves and warm, connected relationships with each other.

Meeting your need for attunement

Emotions are meant to move us. They are also meant to be moved. We allow emotions to move when we empty.

In the case of foul frustration, according to Dr. Neufeld, we move it by moving from mad to sad. We move it by fully registering our feelings of futility, fully accepting that what we’re doing is not working. As we’re moved to sadness, to feel our disappointment and loss, we move through it and to the other side of loss.

So as we empty our cup – as our feelings are heard in a warm embrace – there’s space. Emptiness. But it’s a different kind of emptiness. Rather than the emptiness of emotional isolation, abandonment, or rejection, it’s the emptiness of an unburdened heart.

As we move through this emptiness, we move to the other side of loss, of grief, of despair. We move from “there’s so much that isn’t working” to “look at what is working.” We move from sadness to joy. From despair to hope. From loss to new life.

We don’t have to force this process. We don’t have to rush it. We don’t even have to be in control of it. This is one reason why I try not to force myself to feel a certain way, but rather to ride the ebb and flow of my emotions. I trust that “negative” emotions will move to “positive emotions” on their own, when I offer them the space to do so.

This is the design of nature, of our Nature. It is in us. We are simply the willing participant. (Easily said than done, as it means feeling all our emotions.)

If only we truly trusted the wisdom of our emotions. Then we would know that they are there to carry us from one shore to the other, from fullness to emptiness and fullness again.

The next time you’re feeling the drive or a desire for food, I invite you to ask yourself this question:  how can I empty? What do I need to empty?

How can I empty to carry me to the other shore?

Needing more hands on help?

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How allowing feelings heals suffering

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For many intuitive, sensitive, or empathic people, there’s a link between emotional shame, spiritual shame and overeating. Emotional and spiritual shame dams up emotion or tries to control it. The result is both a painful overindentification with emotion, where we believe we are our emotions, and an emotional compression, where emotions get ‘stuck’ in the body and psyche.

The tension from trying to control emotions, the pain of the shame itself, and the pressure of this ‘stuck emotion’ then seeks an outlet or relief in food.

By contrast, when emotions are embraced and invited, they flow like water, like a river. The shame moves; the emotional energy itself moves.

This is important – for as my mentor in developmental psychology says, “emotions have a job to do…they are the engine of maturation.” When we suppress or control emotions, emotions aren’t able to do their job – to move us towards this yearning, growth and unfolding.

But when we open to our emotional experience and soften our attempts to exert control, we become a ballast for this growing up process, the riverbank for the river. Through these riverbanks, our emotional life moves, and flows. The boat on this river is our deep heart, what guides us through the many waters, into the richness and fullness of our humanity.

Through these currents and ebbs and tides, the heart grows wide, deep, humble, and strong.

Read on to learn more.

Of all the things that we’re asked to befriend as tender human beings, I think befriending feelings is the most challenging. It makes sense:  who wants to feel things like loss, pain, grief, jealousy, devastation? Who wants to feel unloveable, like a failure, ugly, too much, not enough? Ouch.

And yet these feelings arise, in all beings.

How we avoid our feelings

Most of us aren’t taught how to care for painful feelings. We see “negative feelings” as something bad, as something to defend ourselves against. Consequently, we do all kinds of things to avoid feeling them.

In my own life, my 20 years of eating disorders, chronic spiritual seeking, and quest for self perfection all arose from the same root fear:  a fear of my feelings. They were all my strategies to keep myself from feeling painful feelings – feelings of unworthiness, “badness,” shame, or ugliness.

My suffering proliferated from there. Because the more I tamped down my feelings, the more depressed and anxious I felt. Depressed because I was minimizing, editing, and repressing the life that was flowing through me. Depressed, because I made myself “wrong” for feeling whatever I was feeling:  I felt so ashamed, bad and unspiritual because of all my passionate, intense, negative emotions.

Anxious because I was so afraid of what my negative emotions said about me: I thought my negative emotions meant I was ugly, shameful, unworthy – not simply temporary feelings that were flowing through me.

Trying to stop the ocean

Most painfully, no matter how hard I pushed myself to be perfect, or how much spiritual seeking I did, or how much I binged (or how clean I ate or how much weight I lost) I couldn’t make the feelings go away.

They would arise, all on their own. It was like trying to stop the waves of the ocean. It was like trying to stop a river from flowing.

Life flows, and flows as energy. And this energy often comes in the form of emotions:  messy emotions, painful emotions, powerful emotions, intense emotions, tender emotions.

Embracing all kinds of weather

Think of all the variety of weather:  rain, storms, clouds, sunshine, heat, cold, snow, ice, wind, humidity, aridity. Think of all the variety of just one form of weather:  pounding rain, a gentle rain, mist, flooding, a steady drizzle, rain while the sun is shining through the clouds.

In the same way there’s a variety of weather in our outer lives, there’s a variety of weather in our inner lives:  anger, sadness, grief, joy, enthusiasm, boredom….

We don’t call rain “wrong” and sunshine “right.” But why do we label emotions in this way?

Why do we fear the dark?

In many spiritual circles and Law of Attraction teachings, “negative emotions” are something to transcend. Some people even state that “negative” emotions have the power to create “bad” things in our lives. So we’re told to elevate above these emotions, to think the higher thought, and to be more positive.

Positivity has its place – absolutely. So does forgiveness – holding onto painful emotions like anger or resentment can also cause suffering.

But why are we so afraid of darkness?

Spiritual shame

Law of Attraction teachings never sat right with my heart, because I feel they cause spiritual shame and insecurity about our very humanity. I find this to be especially true for empathic, intuitive, or highly sensitive people who feel deeply, passionately, and subtly. Because we have a sensitive nature, this means we feel the “negative” emotions as intensely as we feel the “positive” ones.

So if we believe we have to think/feel positively – and yet are feeling lots of intense negative emotions – it can lead to suffering and self blame. We make ourselves wrong for feeling what we’re feeling. This becomes the spiritual shame of, “there’s something wrong with me because I’m feeling so negatively!”

In judging our emotions, we separate from our wholeness and become a smaller self. There’s so much life we have to then make “wrong” because it’s not “positive.” And we shut down, and we close off, and we armor ourselves against life so that it’s only “right.”

We exhaust ourselves, spending so much energy trying to defend ourselves against life – to defend against the feelings that flow through us – because we see these feelings as somehow, bad, wrong. An indictment.

And in doing so, we cut ourselves off from the very aliveness that is our nature.

Include everything

There’s a fundamental rule in improv comedy:  you work with whatever is given. No matter what your fellow actors say or do – no matter how far fetched or ridiculous – you run with it, you work with it. You include it.

I invite you to approach feelings in the same way. Dear one, no matter what you’re given, no matter what you’re feeling, include it.

Rilke said it this way:  “Let everything happen to you.”

Who would you be if you allowed all your feelings?

So this begs a powerful question:  What if you no longer feared your feelings? What if all feelings were allowed in your experience? What if you let everything happen to you?

I know it sounds counter-intuitive, but how much more peaceful, relaxed, less anxious might you feel?

To allow life – to allow all of life – to flow through us is to rest in peace. It’s how we find the deepest rest because we know that whatever we’re feeling, we can include it. We can handle it. We can love this, too.

We can drop all the energy we expend trying to control life, our eating, or ourselves so we don’t feel what we don’t want to feel. Instead, we can be present in our actual lives.

This is the ground of love.

Let everything happen to you

We can drop our armor and let it all in. We can allow ourselves to feel whatever we’re feeling in the moment. We can simply let it be – knowing that feelings are not what we are. Feelings become something that come and go, and not something that define us.

(Oh, we are so much deeper, so much bigger.)

Let go of the story that you’re a small, separate self that has to make life go a certain way so that you feel a certain way. Let go, and allow yourself to be carried in the river of life. Rest in this mercy.

Photo credit: Silvia Sala / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND

4 ways to soothe a reactive brain

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With self acceptance and self compassion, our reactive brains "come down" and come to rest.
With self acceptance and self compassion, our reactive brains “come down” to rest.

One of the most powerful tools for healing is self acceptance. When we understand and know ourselves deeply, we find that we can respond to our habitual tendencies from a deeper well of wisdom – and with greater mercy. We can care for ourselves as we are – and not how we wish we were.

This acceptance is a gift to ourselves:  a gentle nod that says, “This is how it is right now.” We make space for all parts of ourselves, and for all our human messiness.

In particular, I’ve found self acceptance to be very helpful in caring for ourselves when we’re caught in our lower, reptilian brain. This is the part of us that can overreact, freak out, and see everything as, “danger.” We all have this lower brain. But some of us have more reactive brains – and more reactive lower brains – than others.

Are you highly reactive?

In Susan Cain’s thoughtful book Quiet, she describes the research of Jerome Kagan. Dr. Kagan and others have found that some people have more reactive brains than others. In those who are high reactive, there’s higher activity in the amygdala (a part of the lower brain) when confronted with a new stimulus. (I would use the words “highly sensitive” interchangeably with “highly reactive” here, because both point to a highly sensitive nervous system.)

In everyday language, what this means is that if you have a highly reactive brain, your brain perceives new things as more stimulating or even more threatening than those with low reactive brains.

On the surface, this high reactivity/high sensitivity can look like:

  • anxiety
  • feeling easily frustrated
  • having challenges with change and transitions
  • imagining worst case scenarios or focusing on the negative
  • feeling easily overwhelmed or overstimulated
  • and feeling threatened by change or newness

What high reactivity can look like

I’ll give you some concrete examples of how this can play out. One of my dear children – who is high reactive (um, I don’t know where he got it!) – approaches anything new with, “No.” This could be something he really, really, really enjoys – like an art class, a playdate with a friend, gymnastics, or swimming. But if the idea doesn’t come from his brain – which feels safe to him, as he’s prepared himself for it – he reacts to it as a threat and says, “No.”

Fortunately, I understand what’s going on. So I don’t take his no personally – I know it’s just his sweet brain trying to protect him from what it perceives as danger. I know a part of him does want to try what I’m suggesting – it’s just his lower brain talking to him and saying no.

Here’s another example. A few weeks ago, my family and I were going out to see Despicable Me 2. I’m not sure how I managed this, but somehow I got the wrong theater and(!) the wrong time for our outing. If we wanted to see the movie, we’d have to wait until nearly 10 p.m. – super late for our 6 year old, and find something to do for the next 90 minutes. My brain started going into the worst case scenario – what I call “The sky is falling, the sky is falling!” – about how we wouldn’t be able to see the movie after all. Exhibit A of my reactive brain talking.

But it ended up working out fine – we got a snack at Whole Foods and spent some time at REI. We ended up buying a frisbee in REI and playing frisbee in the parking lot, as the lot was empty, and felt silly and connected. What my brain imagined as a terrible night turned out to be just fine – pretty fun, in fact.

How do you relate to your high reactive brain?

So, yes, in my own life, I certainly see all of these tendencies of the highly reactive, and they can be challenging to live with! (And I’m just talking about myself here – not to mention how this may be challenging for those who live with me!)

For many, many years I despised these tendencies in myself. I felt embarrassed and ashamed about what I saw as “character flaws” that felt out of my control. But no matter what I did to change, at some point – usually when I was under chronic stress, tired, overhungry, or in pain – my reactive brain would take over. I’d be overly reactive, anxious, or overly emotional – and then ashamed of my intensity.

Healing the shame of reactivity

When I studied the work of Dr. Gordon Neufeld, I found peace. He taught me that when you have a sensitive nervous system, your brain goes into self protection mode more easily. It is more reactive, and more likely to see new things as threatening or scary. Because a highly sensitive brain processes more sensory information than a non-sensitive brain, it is more easily overwhelmed.

This was incredibly healing for me. It was this huge a ha for me – I’m not a terrible person, I’m simply highly sensitive, and highly reactive!

With this knowledge, I began befriending my dear brain. I accepted:  this is how I’m wired. Instead of fighting against my brain’s tendencies, I accepted them. With this acceptance, I found a space:  a space to work with my brain as a co-partner, as a loving friend, and not as my enemy.

When I deeply understood that my sensitivity is not something I can change, I discovered love – and forgiveness – for myself. I changed because my relationship to my sensitivity changed.

Here’s how that befriending played out.

4 steps to soothe your reactive brain:

1. Name it. When you notice yourself feeling overwhelmed, reactive or threatened, simply notice and name it. I know this may sound silly, but this is how I talk to myself:  “Oh, sweet brain. I hear you. I hear you talking to me.” I’ve found that this tender, light touch creates spaciousness, nurturing, and levity about how I relate to my reactivity.

2. Practice acceptance. Drop any judgment about how you’re feeling. Simply accept your reactivity:  this is how it is right now.

3. Validate and accept the feelings underneath your reactivity. You don’t have to stuff, transmute, ignore your feelings or make them wrong. Instead, validate them. It sounds counterintuitive, but validating your feelings – even those from the reactive brain, like fear, worry, doubt, or anxiety – soothes them.

I like to gently say to myself, “I see you anxiety. I see you fear. It’s okay.” I don’t fight them – I just let them be. This creates a space for them to soften and move.

To go back to the example of my son and the art class, I told him, “It sounds like you’re feeling scared you won’t like it, or you’re feeling nervous about drawing in front of the other kids.” I didn’t make him wrong for feeling scared or try to talk him out of it – “There’s nothing to be scared about.” In validating his feelings, he felt calmed, and ironically, empowered.

4. Practice “and.” This is where we find our realm of power, choice and action. I learned about the power of “and” from Dr. Gordon Neufeld. He calls “and” integrative functioning. This is when you’re able to take all your feelings – your fear, anxiety, doubt – and – move forward into action.

In the case of my son, I told him, “I hear that you’re feeling scared. And I also know that you’re often really excited – and glad you did it! – after trying new things. So let’s just try it and see what happens. You may end up really liking it!”

This is an example of and – honoring our reactivity and finding the deeper pull of our yes – the yes that wants to try something new. I talk more about integrative functioning in The 30 Day Lift, my compassion based audio coaching program on how to eat less sugar.

Thich Nhat Hanh says that “understanding is the foundation of love.” When we understand our reactive brains, we can view ourselves – and our behavior – with softer, gentler eyes. We stop making ourselves – our reactivity, our personality, our humanity itself – wrong. We open our hearts to this part of ourselves, and from this space, we grow:  not only our integrative functioning or our resilience, but also our capacity to love ourselves, unconditionally.

Thriving as a sensitive being

If you’re wanting more support to thrive as a sensitive being, my dear friend Fiona Moore, spiritual teacher and healer, and I are hosting a call in September. The call is free, but you’ll need to register for the call here.

Wanting more hands on help?

Photo credit: *Zephyrance – don’t wake me up. / Foter / CC BY-ND

 

 

How to free yourself from self blame (especially if you’re an HSP)

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In this human life, we all hurt at times. This is part of our shared, common humanity.

And yet some of us take this pain “on” at a very deep level, blaming ourselves for it. Instead of viewing pain as something we share as human beings, we take our pain personally, as if it’s our fault.

This belief can appear in our lives in several ways:

  • Feeling ashamed of our wounds.
  • Judging our pain.
  • Blaming ourselves for being “too sensitive,” for getting hurt in the first place.
  • Turning our spiritual ideals into weapons – where we tell ourselves if only we were more spiritual we’d be detached, impenetrable to hurt.
  • Feeling ashamed about how we coped with our pain. I particularly see this in those who loathe their overweight bodies. They hate the fact that they coped with their pain with food. This implies a “should” that they should’ve been able to handle their pain differently. And so their dear bodies become the scapegoat for their dislike of their vulnerability – and sensitivity – itself.
  • Blaming ourselves for our conditioning, for the early experiences that shaped us.
  • Judging ourselves for not doing better in the present – for the fact that our wounds still effect us.

To counter this, we can develop all sorts of coping strategies. We may try to control the pain we carry inside and “white knuckle” it. We may try to armor ourselves so that we never get hurt again. We may stuff and suppress our feelings and numb ourselves so that we don’t feel, period. We may bury our sensitivity.

Of course, these coping strategies hurt our tender hearts, and aren’t effective. So we may reach a point in our lives where we want to shift out of them. (If you’re reading this article, I’m guessing you’re in this place.) And yet to change these habits we must change how we relate to our pain. One way we do this is by healing our pattern of self blame.

The origins of self blame

The belief that it’s my fault, that I’m bad, and that’s the reason that bad things happen to me are the beliefs of a small child – a tender child who just wants to be loved. When the child gets hurt, when bad things happen, the child thinks, “I must’ve caused this somehow.” And sadly, sometimes that message is conveyed by our culture, families, or loved ones.

A highly sensitive person is much more porous with these messages – they sense and perceive them more easily than others, and can pick them up and take them as their “own.” An HSP is also highly conscientious. So they may internalize these messages more strongly than someone who isn’t so sensitive.

As we grow, we may carry these beliefs with us and internalize them. They run underground and become a part of the air we breathe. They’re unconscious – we may not even see their workings. But we feel their effects. We look at our lives through these wounded, young child eyes. In that child’s world, pain = I’m doing it wrong. Pain = I’m bad. Pain = I’m unlovable. Pain = I’m responsible.

Foul frustration and self attack

This is where self blame really kicks in.

According to one of my mentors, developmental psychologist Dr. Gordon Neufeld, when too many things aren’t working in our lives, the frustration and pain can build inside our bodies and become “foul.” Because foul frustration has a lot of energy and intensity to it, and because it has to move, unprocessed foul frustration will seek two outlets:  either we attack others, or we attack ourselves.

In my experience, most HSPs attack themselves.

This is what self attack looks like:

  • Self blame – At some unconscious level, we think that we must be so bad, terrible, unlovable, wrong. We blame ourselves when anything goes wrong – even when other people are the ones acting out their pain.
  • Bingeing or overeating can be a form of self attack. When you’re in this space, you’re bingeing almost as punishment. You may be telling yourself things like, “I’m such a screwed up mess.”
  • Any punishing addictive behavior.
  • Cutting, hitting yourself, or calling yourself names.
  • Feeling like you don’t want to be here anymore or telling yourself things like, “I wish I was never born!”

Because self attack can feel scary and intense, learning about foul frustration is soothing and normalizing. We can find a bit of space when we’re feeling this way and recognize – oh, I’m attacking myself. Oh, right, this is foul frustration. Ah, deep, deep breath. We can recognize self attack for what it is:  a sign that too many things are not working.

Not that there’s something so terribly wrong with us.

Healing self blame

We heal this pattern of self blame in two ways:

1. By setting an emotional boundary around what is ours and what is not ours.

Most people who are highly sensitive tend to be overresponsible. They tend to take responsibility for things that aren’t theirs – like the fact that they were hurt, the feelings and experiences of others, or even for life’s very imperfection!

This feeling of guilt, shame, of “it’s all my fault” is an illusion. It’s a veil and is not true. I know at a feeling level, it feels true. It lives in our emotions, in our thoughts, in our beliefs, and carries over into our experiences. But what if it’s not true?

The path to healing is a shedding of what is not ours – all the beliefs about the many things that we felt should’ve been in our control – and therefore, our responsibility. As we release the illusion of control and responsibility, we feel more grounded, centered, and less burdened.

2. By grieving our pain.

The path out of foul frustration is counterintuitive:  when we bump up against something we can’t change, we need to grieve. Grieving is what metabolizes foul frustration. This deep acceptance is how we soften the habit of blaming ourselves, or blaming others.

Your pain is not your fault. The fact that you were hurt is not your fault. A Sufi teaching put it this way:

Overcome any bitterness that may have come
because you were not up to the magnitude of the pain
that was entrusted to you.
Like the Mother of the World,
Who carries the pain of the world in her heart,
Each one of us is part of her heart,
And therefore endowed
With a certain measure of cosmic pain.  

My heart weeps when I tell myself, “precious child, it’s okay – you didn’t do anything wrong. You were simply ‘not up to the magnitude of the pain that was entrusted to you.'” I feel a release of all the “shoulds” and how I shouldn’t have gotten hurt.

When I simply accept that it did hurt – and stop the endless quest for how I should’ve been or done differently  – I find this very pure form of grief. The way out of self blame is this tender, acceptance, this openhearted allowing. To grieve what we wish were different. Dr. Neufeld describes it this way:  “we become changed by what we cannot change.”

Sometimes life is painful, and we cry “uncle.”

Sometimes we just get through and survive.

And sometimes the way we get through brings some scar tissue….

Beloved, do not make war against your own heart. Do not judge yourself for bearing scars.

Forgive your wounds.

Have mercy.

Release the guilt and shame that says it’s all your fault.

Release the belief that you’re the only one who’s been hurt.

Love yourself fully – even with your wounds, even with your broken heart, even with the patterns and habits and conditioning that arose from those wounds.

Thriving as a sensitive being

If you’re wanting more support to thrive as a sensitive being, my dear friend Fiona Moore, spiritual teacher and healer, and I are hosting a call in September.

In the call, you’ll learn:

  • how to set energetic boundaries (separate what is “yours” from what is someone else’s)
  • how to modulate your sensitivity
  • how to utilize the strengths of your sensitivity
  • how to thrive as an HSP (highly sensitive person) or empath

The call is free, but you’ll need to register for the call here.

Wanting more hands on help?

If you liked this post, you may also like these articles:

Which program is right for me?

If you’d like help in loving yourself unconditionally – finding forgiveness, releasing shame, and healing beliefs that say, “It’s all my fault,” you may like Heal Overeating:  Untangled. This 12 session audio program can help you heal the roots of binge eating, overeating and emotional eating. Our most popular program, women say it’s a “sacred healing space” that they listen to over and over……

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How to lighten our hearts, and keep our secrets

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Welcome to podcast three of the “Growing Human Kindness” podcast. Today’s is inspired by a story that I was reading with my two youngest children, my boys, the other night.

This book is called “The Secret Keeper,” and it’s by Kate Coombs, and the paintings are by Heather M. Solomon. I love children’s books, and I love that I still have kiddos who are still little enough that they like to be read to. I like the deeper meanings and messages that are often in these children’s stories.

This particular story is about a woman named Kalli. Kalli is the secret keeper of her village. What that means is that people come to her and share their secrets with her. These are often secrets that they feel ashamed about. So the baker comes and tells her that he’d sell loaves for less than their full weight. Or someone might come and share something that they did that they were feeling shamed or saddened about.

Kalli listens to their secrets, and the villagers feel better and feel unburdened as the weight of their secret is shared with Kalli. In return, Kalli has this house filled with all these little boxes. After they tell her their secret, she’s left with a little token. Something that represents their secret. It might be a little pebble. It might be a little coal. Over time, as Kalli is keeping and storing all of these secrets in these little boxes, and the villagers keep leaving her home in the woods feeling lighter and lighter. But she is feeling heavier in her heart.

During the winter, Kalli actually becomes sick. She becomes sick, and doesn’t get out of bed. The villagers don’t notice until one goes to visit. They find Kalli very, very sick and in bed. They’re all concerned, so the villagers hurry to see what is hurting their secret keeper. The different people in the village have different ideas about what might be wrong with her. Then the blacksmith has an idea. He says, “Maybe we should tell her our secrets, but happy ones.”

So they all begin telling her their happy secrets. One young villager says that she’s expecting a baby. One young girl says that her mother and she like to dance in the meadow. And in the same way that when they told Kalli their secrets, that as she told them their secrets, and they left feeling lighter, and they would leave Kalli with a token, here too when they share their happy secrets they also find tokens. But these are things like butterflies, and robin eggs.

As they are sharing their happy secrets, Kalli starts feeling lighter, and starts feeling better. The villagers are feeling happy and feeling better. Then one last young man, the potter’s son, whose name is Taln, he comes, and he says, “I have a secret. I love the secret keeper.”

So the story ends with a wedding and a celebration. At the end of the story it talks about how Kalli is still the village’s secret keeper. She still has all these tiny drawers with their secrets, but every spring there’s a ritual. All the villagers come in the meadow, and they share their happy secrets.

I love this story for several reasons, and I think there’s a lot of layers of meaning that we can take from it. But a couple things that just really come alive for me when I listen to this story. The first thing was, of course, when I listen to Kalli’s story I thought, oh, she’s an empath. She’s highly sensitive and intuitive. She’s feeling and listening to all these people’s pain and secrets. Over time, that has worn down her soul.

In the winter in the dark, a time when she actually in the book talked about how she felt restored, instead she becomes sick. I think the same can be true for us. That when those secrets start to weigh heavily on us, when we start to feel like we are carrying other people’s burdens, it can weigh down on us. It can start to make us feel sick.

I think whether or not we have an official title as a secret keeper, as intuitive and sensitive beings, we are the people who tend to pick up on things that perhaps others don’t. We sense what isn’t said aloud, and we sense what people would like to keep secret. This can create some dissonance between what we are sensing and perceiving, and what people are saying. It’s like we’re living in two different worlds. Like Kalli, these secrets that we carry, they can start to feel like a burden.

So the healing that comes about for Kalli is when, first of all, they all start talking together. The secrets aren’t whispered in shame, one-on-one to Kalli, but their joy is shared. They lessen Kalli’s burdens by sharing all the good things and the joys of their life. So that she is just not carrying the dark and the secrets.

Of course, this happens in the spring. A season of new life, when darkness turns to light and new things grow and come alive. It’s a season of rebirth and hope. So of course, how fitting that when the villagers come to share their joys it is at the springtime. After the season of winter, after the season of loss and sorrow.

We can think of this story speaking to us on several different levels. Speaking to us as the secret keeper, and reminding us that it can be a burden when we’re carrying too much inside. Particularly when we feel that we’re carrying other people’s secrets. As well, I think the story we can also put ourselves in the place of the villagers, to remind ourselves that there is something powerful about sharing our joy.

I know it’s human nature, and certainly for me as passionate, and sensitive, and as intense as I am, I can really easily focus on what isn’t working. That’s what’s most noticeable for me, and it’s what I see and what I perceive. I actually have to make an effort to focus on what is working. I have to make an effort to share the joys. The happy secrets.

Like Kalli , if I’m only focused on the heartache, the sorrows, the things that are kept in the dark in these boxes, I can start to feel sick. My spirit can feel weary. For me that usually shows up as feelings of depression, feelings of anxiety, and feelings of self blame. But when I take the time to remember, and honor the new birth, the new life, what is working, the joys, like Kalli and the villagers I feel lighter.

It doesn’t mean that I’ll never be that secret keeper. That empathy, and sensitivity, and intuition is part of my nature, but I can bring it into greater balance. One way I can bring it into greater balance is by remembering and choosing to honor the good.

I invite you to reflect on that this week, and to even take a moment. Actually pause and think about what are the things that you can honor, that you can consecrate. It doesn’t have to be a big thing at all. For me, it often just takes a small moment of slowing down. When I step out of that urgent mind frame that I can spend a lot of my life in, where I’m always just trying to get things done, and move from one thing to another.

If I just stop, and pause, and really look into one of my children’s eyes. Or see the tumble of their shoes by the front door, and instead of being irritated at it, just see the length of all their little feet. My older kids, whose feet are as big as mine now, so they’re not little anymore, just in wonderment at these beings that I live with.

Really look into someone’s eyes, and just see the light and the humanity that’s there. Or to look up in gratitude for the moon. These things lighten our hearts and remind us that so much is working. Yes, the secrets are there. The heartache is there. And this joy is here, too.

Soothe your sensitivity instead of emotional eating

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Cradle your sensitivity

One of the ironies of healing our emotional eating is that consciously trying to eat differently – like not eating sugar or eating more mindfully – is overarousing. It’s stimulating and can cause anxiety.

We have all this pent up energy from trying to be “good” while feeling terrified of slipping. It’s like walking a tightrope. It can then lead to overeating because we’re trying to soothe ourselves from all this pent up, excess energy and anxiety.

To compound the challenge, many of us who struggle with food are also sensitive – we’re hypersensitive to energy and feelings, period. (Get indepth help with sensitivity and food in session 7 of Untangled.)

It’s important to soothe and care for ourselves. Soothing gives us an inner sanctuary, a place of refuge and strength whereby we don’t have to seek external sanctuary in food. It’s what enables us to unplug from emotional or overeating. It also helps us trust in our ability to care for ourselves.

Many of us who overeat never learned how to give ourselves this deep, inner soothing (and it’s not exactly taught in our culture, either!) It’s why we keep seeking food – it’s what works and gives us the soothing we desire, even if we pay a high price for it. Soothing ourselves with food is not a character flaw; just a coping mechanism.

Instead, try letting the energy move, shift and ebb. Not with cookies or a plate of food but with true solace. I call this movement flowing, one of the 6 practices of growing human(kind)ness.

Frankly, when it’s super intense for me, I cry. What a fabulous release! I also go for bike rides, walks, swing on a swing (nice for summer months on a porch swing), rock in a rocking chair, listen to music, go for a drive, take a shower, dance, do yoga, sit by the river – anything that connotes movement. Meditation – sitting with my heart and offering myself solace – is also incredibly soothing.

We rock babies. We swaddle and soothe and rock a fussy child. We sing a child to sleep. Imagine a tree, blowing in the wind. This is the metaphor to use in your life – blowing, flowing, moving with the energy.

Photo credit: Lif… / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND

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