A personal reflection on withdrawal and losing connection
Sometimes I can feel a bit disconnected from people and myself. It can feel lonely. It’s not as ass-whooping as it used to be: a tyrannical judge celebrating his ruthless reign over all territories of my reality. Still, I have this tendency to go up in my mind. Maybe this sounds somehow familiar to you or you can really relate to this. It’s a very common movement our attention tends to make in our busy daily lives with all the expectations — from the inside and outside — we experience. Sometimes all of this is just a bit too much really. When this happens we shift from presence and connection, towards being on ourselves within our inner-space. This inner-space can be a lighthearted and peaceful one. At other times this inner-space can be a mere blankness, a hollow vacuum of desolation and longing to belong.
Yes, we, sometimes gracefully, sometimes abruptly and unanticipatedly, withdraw from the world around us. From the people around us. “You can see me but I’m not here.” “I really don’t want to be here at this moment.” Or, “I wish I could be here but it’s all just a bit much for me.” We can do this for many reasons. Sometimes we don’t even realise this is actually happening. Or we might choose to do it on purpose. We might be looking for safety to protect ourselves. In the case of overwhelm or trauma, this might just be the only way to go. We might not want to be vulnerable at all with that presenting itself. No wish for the emotions to stir within us. Whatever way or reason, it happens to a lot of us many times a day.
In popular culture, including spiritual environments, I notice that this withdrawal, this going inwards, this disconnection, is regularly frowned upon. But there is more to this movement which is easily overlooked. This movement is one of contraction and release. In and out. One omnipresent in nature. Notice your breath for a moment and maybe you can feel the natural rhythm. Open and closed. Giving and receiving. Yin and Yang. So it is everywhere in and around us. The beating of our hearts. The flowers opening up and closing at night. The changing of seasons. A hedgehog protecting itself from a predator. Everything in nature you can find this rhythmic pulsation. In the stars, your ingestions, your cells. In and out. Inhala, exhala. When we close, we are safe. We can regenerate, process, integrate and practice self-care and preservation. We hibernate for better days. When we open, we explore. We connect, we create, we take in and we express. In, and out. All of it is life.
Sounds very natural, right? However — living in a culture with more of these extravert norms — we often have a judgment about the inward movement: we don’t like it / don’t want it / why now?! / this is not me / I want it differently / I want or need to be social / why am I not healed yet, etc.. Our inner voice and narrative can be very demanding for things to be different. “Why can’t I stay in connection now?!” Or, “My partner wants me to show myself more.” We all have our own.
For me, it is key to practice acceptance of my own inner dialogue. Compassion towards our own tendencies and survival and coping mechanisms. However, due to self-critique and us being harsh on ourselves, we reject our current state and ourselves as we are now. We often don’t like how we are. This can be a really painful experience, if conscious about it, sometimes on top of the pain already felt in the first place. A rejection of ourselves. When this happens, us rejecting us, we get fenced off. Disconnected from the present, ourselves and others. Another layer deeper of being cut off, instead of treating it with kindness and compassion. In these moments, I accompany the witnessing and space holding with self-talk to make myself feel seen and understood. Words like: “Ah, there you are again. It’s okay. You’re welcome now. I am taking care of you. It’s okay for me to take a walk inwardly now,” still help me a great lot to return — for it is really making this U-turn — to a healthier and more sustainable equilibrium within myself.
And when I start whooping my own ass again, I try to postpone this judgment for a moment. I try to find a pause (or pull the emergency brake if all wreak havoc again). When I notice I am moving inwardly, I invite myself to witness. Maybe I am able to see the treasure within. The truth, other than the one I already am familiar with. What is it trying to tell me today? How does it feel in my body? Can I stay with it? What happens when I do stay with it? Am I actually taking care of myself now? Is there a message waiting to be heard? I try to meet myself with all the love I can spare. Nurturing it. Drawing on resources from the inside and outside. Just witnessing what is happening. How things are evolving. Postponing the judgment. Being kind to myself. And when I notice that I touch upon something fragile or traumatic which doesn’t feel right, I don’t push.
I never push.
I nurture even more,
and hold it in love.
