Day 32 Lock-Down

Every living organism has a mechanism to protect itself from harm or threat, from the classic fight-or-flight response, to the more subtle: withdrawal, camouflage, external armour, repellent spray, group safety, etc. These days, our dangers are not primarily physical, no sabre-toothed tigers or warring tribes after us. Yet we go through our days with defenses up: game faces on, bluffs at the ready, jokes and pat answers prepared, because the biggest risk is truth. The biggest gamble, intimacy.

We’ll do almost anything to protect ourselves from vulnerability, but the fact is, we all go through periods of failure, humiliation, gross errors of judgement, uncertainty, ridiculousness, grief, crap-your-pants terror, and, the worst of all:

An audience for our shame.

I’ve been thinking about this kind of stuff lately, and apparently that’s not unusual at this stage of a yoga challenge. Some people, I’ve heard, react on an emotional level to this deeper physical work. Opening up, as it were, from bones to skin.

We’re talking tears. I’m a cry-er at the best of times. The worst of times? Watch out. I was dehydrated before the opening credits of PS: I Love You had finished scrolling. I will NEVER watch City of Angels again. I’ve wept my way through books, conversations, therapy sessions, solitary walks, funerals (of course), weddings (not all tears are sad tears). So yeah, I’ve felt a little teary lately.

I find myself craving intimacy, while being too tired or sore, or afraid, to let down my guard enough to seek it out. It’s so hard to trust that the people around us won’t hurt us. It’s easier to pretend we don’t care, that it doesn’t matter, that we never expected more anyway.

So we laugh it off, send back a “joke” in return. We pull up our armour, tighten our masks and tell ourselves we’re tough, we can take it. Only we can’t, not always, and when we pretend, something inside us withers just a little. We go into lock-down.

Trust is hard for good reason. We’re a thoughtless, self-centered, and sometimes mean-spirited species, and yes, we do stuff in our worst moments that we’re ashamed of in our best moments.

But we’re also kind. We can be, at least.

It’s another type of risk, kindness, but it can break the cycle of mistrust, chip away a little bit of the armour that keeps us from seeing each other. Like a warm bath for sore muscles, kindness eases the armour loose, until it drops away and we can face each other in all our warts and wrinkles, our failings and weaknesses.

Free. Honest. Real.