Tag Archives: pain and loss

Emotional Mastery: what it IS and what it is NOT.

The word “mastery” is used in a variety of contexts and some of them do not fit with what I am forwarding as “mastery”, within the context of Emotional Mastery, but they do illuminate some of the most unhelpful misunderstandings about emotions rampant in our culture.

When “mastery” of any kind includes a lesser one, a servant, or has to do with control or manipulation for the one in power’s benefit, to the detriment of the one in less power…this is NOT the kind of Mastery of which I speak.

But often this is what IS done with emotions; they are used to gain power over others, to further agendas without regard for another/others…sometimes even without OWN self.

When emotions are corked, bypassed or denied, the self actively corking, bypassing or denying is the first to suffer (whether or not they are feeling it or aware at the time), and that suffering is passed on to those close; this is inevitable. Even when we exert effort because we wish NOT to pass on hurt, the effect is passed on in some way; as long as emotions are stuck, separation is perpetuated, and old patterns continue. States of low confidence, distance in relationship, dis-ease of all forms remains and worsens.

True Emotional Mastery, which I have been developing in my self, which I practice and share, is a new way of navigating with emotion, through awareness, responsibility, and the intention for none to become newly hurt. Stuck emotions from the past are opened to, cleared, allowed to have their time. Integration of what was separate occurs. Patterns thus change. This change is inevitable, once the emotions can move.

A beautiful analogy comes to mind: that of Martial Arts. A martial arts student may come to his (switch pronouns for female option) training with the intention of winning, having power over, without care about hurting others, seeing them as opponents…he may even come with a purpose to develop the power to hurt, dominate, kill.

But true Mastery in martial arts is about awareness, precision; the use of senses and skill to read the environment and move in time and space just so. The practitioner develops sensitivity, discernment,  strength and flexibility, and puts them to use with the intention of NO ONE becoming unduly hurt. As experience comes, it is used as material by which to gain wisdom, skill, perspective.

Mastery stemming from the self, for peace, harmony and progress which leave no one in a position of lesser power or value, but which promotes a world in which we all thrive, create and live according to our most vital terms, to a ripe ole age…is true Mastery.

This is what I mean when I talk about Emotional Mastery.

 

walking on shards

as i write this today, my life is broken in some critical ways, deep down.

i am walking on the shards these last two weeks.

i have given up my two sweet girls entirely into their father’s care, for i have no money to buy gas to drive to fetch them, for food to feed them, for activities…

i haven’t been able to work since…since…well, i don’t work.  i don’t function.

i have been pretending REALLY WELL that i do.  but i don’t. not in this world.

i told my kids i was sick, i couldn’t see them.  my physical body is alright, it is strong and healthy, by design.  i have cared for it well enough.

it is my emotional body that is a wreck.

it has been cut so many times, by all these shards.

 

one cut isn’t much.  oops, a little cut.

but little cuts have added up.  little cuts like

the shame of letting myself accidentally become pregnant at 20, before i was formally educated, established in a career, and in an excellently secure relationship.

the hurt and shame of words of judgement and withdrawing of connection by family, friends, as they struggled with what had happened to me, or simply got on with their own lives, leaving me to mine.

the noticing that the man i was a parent with was scared, troubled, wanting out.

the hurts of trying to please him so he would stay, and the hurt of him being unpleased, and leaving anyways…three years of tiny cuts all over me.

the hurt of pride as i walked into social services to apply for welfare so i could raise my son, rather than handing him over to the care of others while i worked to net roughly as much pay as welfare would provide.

the hurt of having to prove, month by month, that this little angel boy had a right to a home, food and his mother’s company.

the hurt of learning that i couldn’t be the mother i wanted to be with all the stress of poverty.  each cut when, in a moment, i could not be or give what he needed.

the stabbing blow of my father’s cancer diagnosis, all the little cuts over the next two years of losing him bit by precious bit, not being able to see him, for money’s sake: I was too poor to take the ferry to his hospital with a baby in tow.

the hurt each day ever since of not having him here on earth.

the shame of becoming, in my lonely vulnerability, pregnant again;

and of keeping this secret while I waited for my appointment, booked on the first anniversary of his death.

i couldn’t do it, couldn’t cut out this life from inside me.

more cuts as isolation closed in, no money to pay my way into help, respect, security.

still i stood, gave birth at home again, nursed, gave, gave

and helped others in their times of need.

and was cut

for not getting it right; for not following the rules of a broken way; for feeling, speaking up, challenging the status quo with innocent questions no one else was brave enough to ask; cut as i faced cutting judgements and the distances over which the judgements were passed, for my “choices”; my self-education doubted, dishonoured, discredited though it was true; for feeling, for feeling, for being angry, i was cut down for feeling angry that a mother with two little boys was unsupported, abandoned, left at a loss.

these hurts went unhealed for so long. there was no time between them to heal.

for so long i have walked in and with this cycle of brokenness: our society, me.

i was not broken by motherhood.  i was broken by poverty, lack of support, then broken again by my own brokenness.

now i am 44.  a broken marriage (that was all my fault.  FAULT) and now my girls, my beautiful daughters given over into their father’s care because i am broke.

broken.

faulted.

feeling.

but i am healing.

now i see and feel and nurse each tiny cut, each badly scarred wound.  i cry out the shattered pieces of my soul so they will come together again in the ether and i

breathe

my soul

in.

 

for i am a mother, a healer,

i know the difference between fake and real.

the difference between break and feel

 

and this hurt is real.

feel it with me?  honour it?  nurse it and cry it out so the soul of life can be heard and reassembled as it was created to be, breathed in to each of us and then…

maybe, just maybe, we can find the way to fix this broken world…

so babies can have their mothers and fathers and a world that isn’t broken.