Mapping A Moment

A couple of years ago a colleague of mine proposed we host a series of workshops for mums with postnatal depression and asked if I would consider being the facilitator. This was such a tremendous opportunity, and it meant so much that my colleague recognised something in me that could contribute to this.
So, naturally – I said ‘NO’.

We all have that one story that gets in the way of us achieving our fullest selves, in our relationships, our careers, you name it. And if you don’t, well teach me your ways because I have lost many an opportunity to that one story.

It’s the relentless story about what I am, or am not capable of, that disrupts every cell in my body and impacts the choices I make in how I will proceed or more commonly say ‘No’ to an opportunity that arises.
Intensely aware of this habit to eject myself from situations where I perceive myself as ‘not good enough’, I wanted to know:

What happens between the moment an opportunity is proposed to me, and the moment this relentless story steals it from me?

So I mapped the moment to get an idea of what my process is, to see where I stumble, what the byproduct of this behaviour is and what I could do differently next time. This was initially a 2000+ word assignment with a more complex map! But here’s a simplified breakdown.

Here’s a closer look:

Do you have a story that gets in your way?

Something Seeking Our Protection

When we rush to ‘block’, ‘not feel’, ‘shut down’ the strong emotions that rise up within us, we extinguish the chance of being shown something. Something worthy of our love. Something seeking our protection.

It disturbs the possibility of finding the parts of us that are asking to be seen.
A hurt. A strength. A tenderness. A guiding value.

“So my anger isn’t something that needs to be ‘fixed’… Because the root of it is me being passionate about justice, healing and fairness” a participant mentioned during our time together. They recognised the root of their anger as a strength that they could work with and transform, rather than feeling shamed and gaslit by the label of ‘angry’ and feeling the need to be ‘quiet, calm and positive’ all the time.

At times when we bypass our [sensitivity / anger / fear / sadness / jealousy / … ] we might also bypass recognising our strengths and gifts. This isn’t to say that we over-attend to, or be crushed by the weight of the emotion. But - if safe - to allow it to take a seat and be intentional with it.

Chances are, it’s pointing us towards something worth loving and protecting.

Handing Dogma Over to Questioning

Dogma wraps us safely in our stories of certainty. But it restricts us from the critical reflections we need - and are responsible for - to evolve ourselves and our interactions with the world.

When we sculpt a story that we’ve assigned ourselves, and held onto so tightly, out into the visual we create the opportunity to interact with it as its own living, breathing, complex organism, rather than an abstract set of concepts locked up away from sight.

As we face it, fiddle with it, speak to it, taste it, we allow for a dialogue that is open for meaningful deconstruction and construction. 

We hand dogma over to questioning.

Not only can this unraveling profoundly destabilise the story’s grip and credibility, but it invites possibility into what could be released and nurtured in its place.

What dogmatic story of yours needs handing over to questioning?

It Hurts to Be Present

‘It hurts to be present.’ - Marie Howe

Here's the thing..

The self-inquiry process is not always a pretty one.
Questioning our stories is a weighty task. It is no 'happy pill' and nor should we always burden the process, and ourselves, with that expectation.

Not everything we create and communicate will be beautiful, because not everything we experience is beautiful. If anything, I find the art therapy process to be expansive in how it acknowledges our complexities, our nuances, our gaps, our multitudes, and how it holds space for those parts of us to breathe.

With expansiveness and growth, however, comes a grinding of edges and an unsettling of our ideas of who we think we are.
It can happen in the gentle whispers of willow charcoal against the paper, it can happen in the kneading of clay, it can happen in the wide shoulder swings of splashing ink, it can happen in your breathing to endure, it can happen after you've left the room.

The therapeutic process won't dissolve your struggles and challenges. But my hope is that it helps bring language to the mess, the tough, the hurt and the falling apart.

At times, to simply utter our truth can be the start to healing.