I don’t know how to receive
Two weeks ago we welcomed friends to our little corner of the Sierras in honor of Nic’s birthday. As guests arrived, they marveled at how much Nic and I have been able to grow in the two large gardens in front of our house—one for food and medicinal herbs, the other for local plants and pollinators of all kinds.
I watched in mild distress as their faces lit up with amazement, taking in the beauty of the blooming goldenrod, the buzzing honey bees, and our sweet little pear tree. Several friends approached me over the course of the party, wow, your gardens are incredible! The smell of the sage alone is so earthy and invigorating. I could spend hours just sitting in these gardens. I can’t believe what you and Nic have been able to cultivate alongside your growing family!
I forced a smile. Any flickers of pride were quickly put out when a familiar voice took over explaining how much remains unfinished. I still need to prune the sage, re-mulch the ground, and move the elderberry to the other side of the garden… I responded throughout the party, uncomfortable with their praise and wholly unable to receive their admiration.
It’s always been easiest for me to operate from a What's Wrong Attention1. Easiest to focus on the things that remain unfinished, continually try to fix whatever needs fixing. When it comes to the gardens especially, I keep reminding myself—this is a 20 year project—but that doesn't satisfy the What’s Wrong Attention. No, this attention just wants to rush to the end already, forsaking the parts of myself that want to slow down and receive.
It’s not only the gardens I struggle to take in.
When I hug my children I feel the love, but it’s muted. Dampened somehow. When our family dances on the deck in the moonlight, our monthly full moon ritual, a lump forms in my throat. I clench my teeth, holding back the tears. I am afraid if I let them out they might not ever stop. When a stranger emails to let me know that one of my essays helped them look more deeply at themselves, I can’t fully accept their gratitude. It stops just outside of my body. I brush it off and keep going about my day. When a friend calls to say they are thinking of me, it’s like I can’t let it in, even though I want to.
Yesterday a counselor came to our house to set up special services for our foster daughter. She is the same counselor that provided in-home services to our son Zen as an infant when he needed a great deal of support. She walked through our front door with a welcoming smile, which only brightened as she took in Zen bouncing all over the living room.
Witnessing her receive Zen’s aliveness gave my body a tiny space to exhale. There is something really vulnerable about allowing yourself to take in another person’s aliveness. About meeting them right where they are. About matching their energy. About receiving their spirit. In that moment I experienced a sense of tenderness. A sense of thawing between my shoulder blades. I clung to those feelings for as long as I could. Within a minute or two they vanished.
For years I focused on building capacity, namely the capacity to hold pain, grief, sorrow, disappointment, even rage, and disassociation. It’s only been more recently that I’ve been wondering if there is more to this capacity thing than just navigating the hard stuff.
Sitting by the fire with Nic under the stars, after all of our guests went home and our children were asleep, a missing piece came through: what about my capacity to receive?
In that moment I knew I touched into something important. Immediately I saw how all the distance I felt, all the ways I managed myself and rushed through my life were symptoms of this lack of capacity to receive. All the focusing on what’s wrong, deflecting compliments, staying busy, overworking (not just at work), over-parenting, not asking for help, apologizing when it isn’t necessary, wishing I was someplace else, feeling like I am the only one who is doing X right, back pain, jaw tension, feeling disconnected and depleted… I suddenly felt that maybe it could all shift if only I could allow myself to receive what’s in front of me, like our counselor had with Zen.
This morning while training with my coach, he encouraged me to open to the resistance I experienced while in plank position. By round two, tears formed in the corners of my eyes as sweat pooled in my armpits.
You can keep meeting the resistance to further ingrain that pattern, or you could open to the resistance and let something new emerge, he offered.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. I am too scared, a small voice cried out from inside.
I can’t do this.
After a ten second hold I crumbled on the floor. Sweaty. Shaking.
You don’t have to work so hard, he suggested.
If you’re willing to open even a little bit, you will gain energy. I know it sounds strange but let’s try it in the next round. You’ll see.
As I took in his words, my chin trembled. I sensed we were onto something. In that next round I stretched my chest a bit more, just enough to slowly lift myself up into another plank.
Stay open, stay open, stay open, I repeated to myself.
I held that plank for twelve seconds. A new record met not from overworking, not from pushing myself, but from opening into something new. Opening into receiving.
I have been running for much of my life.
Running from fear. Running from other people’s expectations. Running from pain. Running from discomfort. Running from feeling too much.
These days I am learning that I have also been running from joy. From love. From peace. From ease. From intimacy. From receiving.
The thing is, receiving scares the shit out of me. If I receive, I have to practice opening and that is vulnerable (scary). If I receive, I have to practice valuing myself, not for what I produce or know or offer the world, but for just being myself (scarier). If I receive, I have to practice trusting myself to a deeper degree and build more intimacy with others (scariest).
Even if I can navigate these fears, I worry that I simply don’t know how to stay open. I don’t know how to stop running and rushing.
What I do know is that I long to feel more of the good.
More connected to my kids.
More in tune with my partner.
More pleasure tending to our gardens.
More awe looking at a sky filled with stars.
More joy taking in the beauty all around me: our foster daughters laugh, Solomon’s curiosity, Zen’s aliveness, Nic’s care. The softness of Elsa’s fur. The rosemary blooming for the second time this year.
More than anything right now, I know I want to experience more of my life flowing through me. I want to cultivate the capacity to take in the good. To receive more than I ever have from this life.
More than anything right now, I want to sit with these questions: what if there could be more and it doesn’t have to be so hard? What if I don't need to know how to stay open, I just have to be willing?
As I continue to explore the topic of receiving, I am especially drawn to how this work can point us to our deepest wants and the collective nature of receiving. In upcoming essays, I'll be holding questions around these subtopics and more. I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments, and I hope you'll subscribe if you haven't already. x
What's Wrong Attention, a definition from Steve Hoskinson: The tendency of the brain to focus on what’s wrong due to negativity bias. The unconscious way our brain is captured by what's wrong.
So beautifully put Ashley. Softening, opening and receiving. Some of the simplest healing medicine, and some of the most challenging. This is an ongoing work in progress for me too. Thanks for naming it.
This deeply, deeply resonated with me, particularly the part about muted love. I've often wondered whether my struggle receive (and frustration with this struggle) is itself a manifestation of What's Wrong Attention -- gosh, I can't even receive correctly! How can I open myself to receive without pushing and rushing it? Thank you for sharing this today.