Who knew that meeting with Reina’s friend at an Indian restaurant off the freeway in Fremont, CA could open up Pandora’s, or I should say, my box, Robert Christian’s box. Over saag paneer and samosas I was asked to share my aspirations for the New Year. With naan in hand, lassi in the other, chutney in another, and…oh wait that’s a Hindu god, I just had naan in one hand. Okay, with naan in hand, I begin my spontaneous utterance of my aspirations, which boil down to sharing myself with others more, getting vulnerable and communicating honestly. This is something I’ve feared for decades, and I feel ready to release this fear. One week later, I find myself attempting to follow through with this aspiration and birthed the following (which is a big concept to me – noticing that I’m feeling some fear to be sharing this with you all):
“I am feeling a lot of resistance in this moment. Feel like I don’t want to be doing this. Feel moody like a little 5-year old. Sitting here trying to write about conscious relationships with Reina and feeling the farthest thing from conscious I can be right now.
I’m not feeling met.
I’m not feeling understood. I’m feeling misunderstood.
I have felt like this my whole life, that I can recall anyway. I don’t have a lot of memories about how my life was, but I know I’ve felt this way.
The moody 5 year-old kid is crying, making a lot of noise, doesn’t calm down, can’t talk…in the middle of the street, in the middle of a public place. He won’t listen and doesn’t care about the social ramifications of his outbursts. He’s moody because he’s not feeling loved, heard, or acknowledged…seen…primarily by his parents. His parents don’t see him because they don’t take the time. They’re too busy with their own stuff. They think they get it and they go with what they think instead of tuning into the situation in the moment.
So they pick him up, throw him in his stroller, and yell at him and tell him he’s grounded and that he’s not going to get his supper. They tell him if he behaves like this, he’s not going to get taken out again. The boy feels misunderstood like nobody loves him. He is locked up in his room. He feels isolated.
He wants to run and hide. He doesn’t feel like there’s anybody to call upon.
This is the story of my life…
Or so how I’ve felt…”
This isn’t the most eloquent “blog” if you can even call it that, but it is the most open and honest I have been with others. I invite you to share honestly as well, and let’s walk on this journey together.
[Feeling Raw(bert)] Christian