Legacy & A Broken Hallelujah

Please think about your legacy, because you’re writing it every day.

-Gary Vaynerchuck

I have a confession to make.

Despite years of deep south steeping growing up in Mobile, AL,  I have never been a huge fan of country music.  In fact, I always felt like the odd man out during those fragile years of middle school when the cool kids where discovering the likes of Alan Jackson, The Judds, John Michael Montgomery, and most curiously to me, Billy Ray Cyrus.  I was totally stumped, yet went along with it as my awkward stage lasted painfully longer than everyone else’s and I had just switched to a preppy new school.  The part of me that wanted to be liked was much bigger than the part that couldn’t be bothered.

So I succumbed to country music peer pressure and owned all the cds to prove it.  Looking back, I stand by the fact that it didn’t make sense to me then and it still doesn’t now, not even “Old Country.”  There, I said it. Hilariously, I now live in the country music mecca of Nashville,  and am married to a man who works in that industry.  God truly has an impeccable sense of humor.

Storytellers

What I am a fan of are the rich stories those often simple songs have told over time and the legends who did the telling.  You know the stories: about family, hard work, love, tradition, heartache, and a good time.  From what I’ve learned, the largest radio format in the world is that of country music and has been for quite some time.  My uneducated guess as to why is that these songs and stories are more widely accessible for most people.  They tell normal, relatable  stories and in that normalcy, provide a familiar  and welcoming place to visit.  I’m clearly no expert, it’s just a hunch.

A league of their own

My appreciation of this genre hiked up a few notches on Sunday night as I got to tag along with Daniel for an induction ceremony at the Country Music Hall of Fame. Three icons were to be honored: the legendary songwriter, producer, and founder of Monument Records, Fred Foster (think Dolly Parton and Roy Orbison), Charlie Daniels, and Randy Travis.  I felt completely honored to be there and stepped into a totally next level cool kids club upon arrival…way out of my league.   Dolly sang, and in my estimation, definitely still has it.  She could give Adele a run for her money at age 70!  The tiny but mighty Brenda Lee presented as did the likes of Garth Brooks and Vince Gill, (personal crush since forever and the one exception to my apathy for country music).

I mention all of this for one reason: the three icons inducted into the Hall of Fame on Sunday night were honored because of their unique gift and contribution to their fans and the world at large through music.  These three great men were honored for their Legacy.  Merriam-Webster defines legacy this way:

Full Definition of legacy

plural legacies

1:  a gift by will especially of money or other personal property :  bequest

2:  something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor or from the past <the legacy of the ancient philosophers>

Shrink

I define legacy with a vivid memory.  I was sitting in a psychiatrists office around age twenty-four and in the throes of some pretty rocking anxiety and depression to the point where I hated to be alone and had tons of trouble sleeping.  Four hours a night was success.  This psychiatrist was unlike most who focus mainly on medication prescription and maintenance (which greatly helped me at the time).  The touchy feel-y talk stuff typically didn’t show up in these types of offices all that often.  My doctor, however, would always spend the extra time asking insightful open-ended questions and practicing the kind of active listening that would make Oprah squirm.

The Big Question

This particular day I was feeling pretty frail.  Upon my impasse of despair, he looked at me with eyes full of compassion as asked, “Katie, what kind of legacy do you want to leave behind?”  Mic drop.  Are you kidding me? I thought to myself.  I’m in tons of excruciating emotional pain and confusion over here and you are asking me to tell you what I want my grandkids to say about me when I’m gone?  That is just cruel and unusual punishment.

Ansel Adams

He didn’t flinch.  Dammit, I had to dig deep for this one.   As I sat there, something shifted inside.  It was like a massive wide-lens movie camera zoomed out and captured my life in an epic, Ansel Adams kind of way.  I saw vast nuances instead of harsh details and gentle peaks and valleys instead of the unflattering flatlined monotony of my current reality.  It was as if someone took a soft, forgiving filter and appropriated it to my life.  It was that good lighting on a first date kind of luck, you know?  There was a spike of hope that arose in my soul.  My heart perked up like the ears of a bored dog who just heard the garage door open.

Desire

I didn’t have a grand, clever answer for him.  I actually can’t even remember what I said.  I do, however remember the gravity of that perspective shift.  The truth was, all I could see and feel in that moment was the intense barrage of my current emotions.  I was landlocked in that sense, but I wanted so much more.

I wanted the freedom of an ocean so I could look back 10 years from then and see a gift I gave along the way to others who may have felt a similar sadness.  I wanted to give so much, do so much, be so much! I wanted to write songs, write books, have a family, love wildly, throw dinner parties, travel the world, run for public office (it was just a phase), own at least one pair of Jimmy Choo’s, you know…the important stuff!  In that moment, I got angry at my sadness.  That anger felt really good.

This highly annoying legacy question gave me the nudge I needed to start making future-based decisions that didn’t always reflect the way I felt in the moment.  

Serendipity

What I later discovered in our work together was that my psychiatrist went to med school at the University of South Alabama and did his cardiac rotation under the instruction of my Grandfather, a talented and respected heart surgeon in Mobile at the time.  All those years later in Nashville, I held in my needy hands the gift of hope and tangled proof of a beautiful legacy.  My own Grandfather paid it forward for me in that moment, unbeknownst to him.  If that isn’t serendipity, I don’t know what is.  I’m reminded of that story every time I want to give up.

I guarantee if Fred Foster, Charlie Daniels, and Randy Travis would have listened to the discouragement and naysayers along the way, caving into popular demands instead of following their heart as crazy as it seemed against the great odds of their humble beginnings,  there would not have been a big ceremony on Sunday night.  Well, I suppose there would, yet faces and stories belonging to a different cast of characters.

Amazing Grace

The night ended as it should, with a song.  Not just any song though: an imperfect and a capella Amazing Grace, led by Randy Travis. His words were barely understood due to a severely paralyzing stroke he suffered in 2013.  His velvety baritone still shone through the cracks though.  A tear soaked audience sang along, humbly, lovingly.  A man who had made his mark with that undeniably iconic voice stood at the helm of the night  inviting us to something greater.  He lost control of the masterful, tangible gift we know so well, however, legacy runs deeper than just a pretty voice and a knock out career.  His legacy is the gift of a life well-lived, full of peaks and valleys:  the character of oak and heart of gold that inspires us to keep showing up, one broken hallelujah at a time.  So, my friends, you knew I’d ask:

What will your legacy be?

Love,

katie

Dinner Parties & The Hospitality of Emotion

Hospitality means primarily the creation of free space where the stranger can enter and become a friend instead of an enemy. Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place.

-Henri Nouwen

I love food: the planning, shopping, prepping, pairing, cooking, eating, hell, I don’t even mind the cleaning up so much.  My most domestic moments happen in the kitchen.  Laundry?  Not my gig, much to my husband’s chagrin.  Cooking has always been a creative outlet as well as a therapeutic one for me.   For a hot minute in my mid-twenties I toyed with the idea of culinary school yet found in my short-lived career as a sous chef at a local wine bar/cafe that cooking on someone else’s watch for people I couldn’t actually connect with was a deal breaker; it hijacked the joy of it.

Slow down

I eventually discovered two real driving passions behind my love for all things culinary: the connection that happens around it and the creativity had in the process, ( oh, and there is that eating thing as well).  As a result, one of my favorite pastimes has become throwing dinner parties.  I get a buzz just thinking about it.  We live in a world on crack; a world jacked up and in a constant crazed state of busy, exhausted, immediacy, devices, and traffic, all set to repeat.  Hospitality has become a lost art.  It forces us to slow down and do things that can be automated and/or bypassed by hitting the nearest Chipotle and inhaling it in front of our current Netflix series of choice.  As a result, we lose out on a beautiful process that facilitates good old-fashioned real-time connection, intimacy, and laughter.

Friends who cook together

My dearest friend Anna Watson Carl, author of The Yellow Table cookbook and dinner party partner in crime since high school, has been in town from Brooklyn for the last couple of weeks.  As a result, we have gotten some sacred, much-needed girl time together hiking (read: getting lost) at Percy Warner park as well as sharing a few meals.  She inspires me to dream big; to dive in heart first, with little personal regard for certainty and all the “why nots”.  She leads her life openly, with curiosity.  As a result, incredible opportunities present.  Her childlike sense of wonder lands her in all kinds of juicy and fabulous predicaments.  I’ve had the distinct pleasure of tagging along for some of them.

This past Saturday Anna and I threw a dinner party.  It was delicious and lovely complete with clinking glasses, a stained table runner,  and hours of clean up the next morning.  Perhaps my favorite part of the evening was the interesting mix of friends who came.  Stories were shared and wild connections made, which blows my mind often in this small town of Nashville.  As I sat back contentedly and observed conversations happening around the table, glasses being filled, and fall flavors offering up their glory, something occurred to me; something big.

Set a new table

Why can’t we learn to practice hospitality internally, with our own full cast of emotions? What if, we welcomed them openly, leaning in to the complex story they are trying to tell instead of running from their  grey state of purgatory?  I’ve been intrigued by this idea ever since, playing around with it in my head and heart…and I like it.

The hidden gift

Emotions are a gift if you can believe it.  I sure didn’t for long stretches of my existence.  I always thought emotions had all the power, dictating the success of any given day from the moment my eyeballs popped open in the morning.  I used to feel totally powerless over my emotions, especially anxiety, she was a loud and clumsy beast.  What I have come to learn and embrace with open arms and a big fat sigh of relief is that my emotions are not who I am.  I am not my anxiety, sadness, hurt, anger, etc.

They are also not against me.  Of course, there are more enjoyable ones we feel such as glad and excited; we tend to coddle them like spoiled children.  Then there are negative ones such as guilt and anger we avoid at all costs like that annoying, messy roommate. However, the truth is, each unique emotion invites us to the greater wisdom of our needs and desires and ultimately propel us forward.  Our emotions are a gift nudging us towards colorful truth and authentic experience.

Conversation starter

Just as the generous practice of hospitality beckons deeper connection and understanding of our unique perspectives and experiences across a dinner table, our chatty interior friends long for a space to be heard.  How will we host these voices, facilitating a curious exchange, an open conversation?  Here are a couple of questions to ask them when they chime in, with their often abrasive tone.

• What am I feeling?  Sad, hurt, fear, anger, lonely, guilt, glad?  Naming it identifies and externalizes it.
• What is the story you are trying to tell me?  i.e “I am afraid I don’t have what it takes to succeed, i’m not enough”.  “I am guilty because I spoke harshly to my co-worker”.
• What is the need attached to the emotion? i.e. “I need some encouragement and affirmation”, or “I need to apologize for reacting at work, I was pretty fried and took it out on Sarah”
• How will I meet that need?  i.e. Reach out to a trusted friend or have a conversation to set the record straight, etc…

Emotional hospitality removes unnecessary shame from our internal experience by letting light and air into dingy, dusty corners of our beings.  It swings wide open the door of our heart and places a mix of fresh flowers to claim the space, welcoming deeper connection and cohesion.  It nourishes our beings to live with presence and generosity.  This week, I invite you to set this strange new interior table and play around with the role of host.   Get into it, wear it, engage it.  I’d love to hear all about your discoveries along the way…

Love,

katie

xoxo

Finding Family: The Broken Road Home

You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you. 

-Frederick Buechner

I’m not sure if it’s the fall weather encroaching or the fact that I’m becoming more nostalgic with age, but something has been at the forefront of my heart and mind as of late and I can’t seem to shake it.  I don’t want to shake it.  It’s beautiful, complex, frustrating, exhilarating, heartbreaking, fun, weird, grounding, dangerous, and safe all at once.

 Everyone has it on some level and have been seriously impacted by it, undoubtedly.  I believe we must somehow, either literally or figuratively, leave it at some point in order to honestly choose to love and enjoy it in the end.  This thing is called family.

Longing for Camelot

What comes up for you with the mention of family?  Is it sadness?  Regret? Longing? Love? For me, this slow and heavy wave of gratitude washes over. It wasn’t always like this as my journey of self-exploration and wholeness have taken me through some dark stretches of distance from my family.  Of course there were disappointments due to impossible expectations, yet what I am learning is that many of those expectations are really for myself, not my family.  Camelot was always an illusive grasp away.  This post is a personal one; one I hope you don’t mind me sharing.  It is one of stark honesty and yearning.  This post is for anyone who longs for family- for home; anyone who may sit in a place of loss and loneliness.

This past weekend my husband and I had a marriage celebration for close family and friends in our hometown of Nashville.  We both come from large families and were unable to invite everyone to our teeny tiny wedding ceremony in California.  For this reason, we decided to have a small reception back home for those who couldn’t make the trip.  I saw relatives I hadn’t seen in years and met several new ones I had just gained.  It was truly special.

Late Bloomer

I waited until age 36 to get married.  Though this wasn’tnecessarily on purpose, it was absolutely perfect timing. God knew that all along.  I say this because I have never quite experienced anything like a wedding or shower where I felt the love of lifetime relationships joined together and funneled in my direction until the past several months.  It is humbling, beautiful, and a bit awkward as I always just feel I make things a little bit awkward with my pointed strangeness in the center of an outpouring of goodwill.  Receiving just for the sake of receiving doesn’t come naturally, I like to earn it.

The power of choice

I realize I am blessed.  I realize something deep and glaring and worth its weight in gold: Relationships are the most important thing and should be intentionally nurtured over time.  Sometimes this comes in the form of a family of origin; often times this comes in a family of choice, one we build.

I love how Elizabeth Gilbert puts it: “We must take care of our families wherever we find them.”  The truth is, for many of us, the word family brings up immeasurable pain and anxiety as safety and protection were needs that went missing in our family of origin.  In therapy, we spend a great deal of time unpacking that pain and trauma in order to rewire a narrative of value, love, acceptance, and possibility.  Needs such as provision, encouragement, affection, play, and structure were denied and as a result, had to be met elsewhere.  Survival became twisted resulting in unhealthy relationships, denial of our needs altogether, parenting aloof parents, acting out behavior, and on and on.

Bloodlines

I have been watching, no bingeing on the Netflix series, Bloodlines, recently.  Wow… Talk about some serious family dysfunction.  They (the Rayburn’s) make The Sopranos look like a squeaky non-animated version of the Flintstones.  It seems there is a dominant thread touching every piece of brokenness: dishonesty.  As a result, everyone is operating out of their own best version of who they are and what might be happening.

More of my story

In Falling Upward, Richard Rohr aptly concludes, “When you get your, ‘Who am I?’, question right, all of your,’What should I do?’ questions tend to take care of themselves”.  The first half of life is often spent grappling with identity, or at least mine was.  Hell, some days I feel the ballot is still out.  Our first mirror of identity dwells in the home and is largely held up by our families.  This is the natural flow of life and development, however not always accurate and/or affirming for many.  I have wonderfully loving, encouraging parents who instilled their values and beliefs into us five kids.  This infrastructure is necessary for ultimately receiving, learning,  doubting, questioning, and forming a collective of tested individual convictions from which we grow and live.

The Rub

This was somewhat of a brutal process for me as I had to lay down that inherited set of values from my parents in order to refine and embody a set that brought peace and congruence into my daily experience.  Anxiety, depression, and bouts of seemingly unending insomnia peppered that process.  As of late, I am seeing more parallels with that of my family, however, in the underbelly of that journey of self-discovery, perspective is dim.  This really sucks sometimes.  Mostly because it is a scary thing to leave familiar tight places in order to risk finding something more spacious and free…something that fits and sounds like the truth of our voice and calling.  After all, love looks an awful lot like letting go, so I am learning.  Control in relationships is always fear-based.  

The Human Condition

I can remember like it was yesterday sitting in my spiritual director, Gail’s office.  She had this big old winged-back chair with robin’s egg blue patterned fabric and a worn-in seat.  Her office felt like a dreamy English cottage or something; full of love, tears, books, a host of mismatched story-ridden antiques, and the occasional whip of tired laughter.  During stretches in my twenties I would sit with her and shed stories of disappointment and loneliness as if she had an “all better” pill to give me in the end.  Well, she didn’tand I miraculously was still okay.  I remember her gentle response to my wounded, longing soul, “You know Katie, loneliness is really the human condition and stillness is not the worst teacher.” I know, I know, I would reply with a deflated sigh.

Surrender

Coming to embrace this as truth has been a peaceful rendering for me.  Because we are relational beings who long for and are made for connection, we all ebb and flow on that spectrum of connection, energetically.  It is impossible to stay in a static place of fullness at all times. We are not machines.  I know this when I ask my friends how they are doing that appear bulletproof and fabulous on Instagram only to find out in conversation that they are really struggling with a deep sense of disconnection and sadness.    The rat race of keeping social media appearances may be a glossy and temporarily successful campaign, however it does not satiate the desires that well up beneath the surface after all those hearts and likes cease to flow.

Embracing Longing

There is simply no substitute for family: the one we’ve been given or the ones we have chosen.  “Feelings of worth can flourish only in an atmosphere where individual differences are appreciated, mistakes are tolerated, communication is open, and rules are flexible — the kind of atmosphere that is found in a nurturing family.” Virginia Satir, family therapy innovator and guru, had it right.  I take that a step further and add this: the flourishing of self-worth and acceptance can also be re-created in families we cultivate along the way; those safe people who have earned the right to hear and bear witness to our stories.

This, like so many things in life, starts with intention and openness.  On your unique journey of cultivating family, community, and home, I hope and pray that you will not abandon ship when the space feels too big and the silence, too loud.  Listen to that constant longing and echo it to the world, though your voice may crack and your heart falls flat.  And then do it again, and again, and again.  You’re on your way to a place called home and that journey starts within.  You are worthy of connection.

Love,

katie

Strong Series Part III: The Persecutor Plummet

That old saying, how you always hurt the one you love, well it works both ways.

-The Narrator ‘Fight Club’

Here we are, back with our third and final role this week: the persecutor.  Quickly, I want to recap our entire journey through the Victim Triangle with a little visualization exercise.  It’s easy and will put some skin around this big dysfunctional yet powerful dynamic we have examined for the past three weeks. Driving not recommended while doing this exercise.

Visualize

Picture if you will an upside down triangle.  The pointy part is at the bottom bolstering the base at the top.  It’s a big V with a lid on it.  At each corner you see a letter.  The top right corner is P, the top left is R, and the bottom corner is V.  You guessed it: the V stands for victim, the R stands for rescuer, and the P stands for persecutor.  In any relationship, two people are likely to jockey between these three roles. Whatever the variation, there is always a “one up” and “one down” position in the triangle. Remember, these are roles we play, not the people we are.

Rhett & Scarlett

We talked last week about the classic Victim-Rescuer dynamic.  Often times relationships start out in this way.  There is a weaker needy partner who feels overwhelmed and incapable and a stronger “good guy” who swoops in for the rescue as this is typically familiar territory for him. He learned damage control early on by being helpful, heroic.  Think Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’hara in Gone with the Wind.  I mean, that iconic picture of him carrying her through the fiery Civil War-torn Atlanta wreckage dials it right in for us.

The Shift

Fast forward two years for this couple: the good guy is tired of being good and a feeling of grumbling resentment grows inside towards his helpless partner as she has gotten very comfortable in her childlike, messy ways.  After all, the victim has it made, never having to take responsibility for her actions and always having her capable rescuer clean up the aftermath of unruly spending, depressive dips and self harm,  or overall numb and helpless behavior.

Now the roles shift and the rescuer scoots into persecutor corner, top right; victim hunkering down to prepare for the hurricane of rage about to ensue.  The persecutor learned early on to control situations by getting tough.  If fearful situations presented, the persecutor pushed back with strength as vulnerability and need were not allowed.

All the Rage

The persecutor gets angry and reacts out of resentment towards the victim, bursting at the seams over something typically really stupid: a perceived tone of voice, clothes left on the bathroom floor, missing previews at the movies due to traffic (I totally get that one), etc…  The persecutor flies off the handle.  In line with our volatile love story, Gone with the Wind, this would be the infamous scene where Scarlett tumbles down the grand staircase of their antebellum mansion and nearly dies during a fight with Rhett based on longstanding resentment in their marriage.  For any of you millennials out there who missed this piece of iconic film history, do yourself a favor!

The Cycle

You ready for this?   When the angry partner is tweaked and acts out (insert behavior of choice: affair, bender, abuse, new Range Rover) with a brick ton of resulting shame, the victim moves into full on rescuer role to console the guilty partner.  BAM!  Persecutor now sits in a puddle of victimhood, with his dynamic partner ready to do the victim-rescuer dance.  

Am I the only one with light bulbs flashing and a steady stream of ah-ha’s going off inside?  This cyclical game is epidemic in relationship.  There are subtle variances as well. Whereas you may not be in a full on abusive lockdown of victim-persecutor, you might drift into the “bad guy” one-up role or the comfortable if not messy chaos of victim by default.  When I first learned about this dynamic and the unnecessary drama contained in this hot mess of a triangle, it put research and language to so many painful experiences in relationships I had been in.  What was once a futile and defeated prophecy now felt like a science experiment! Well, sort of.

The Payoff

Quite simply, the payoffs for the persecutor are:

• A sense of righteousness as they deem the victim “bad”
• A feeling of “good” or “right”
• Avoid taking responsibility for anger and other actions
• Justify irritability, discontentedness, and resentment

Adulting

Let’s give the triangle a rest and imagine two capital “A’s” side by side with a line drawn between them.   The A stands for adult.  This is the visual to keep in mind as we imagine the way out of all this drama.  We have talked a lot about early childhood experiences and relationships that taught us, play by play, exactly how to embody victim, rescuer, and persecutor roles.  They were survival mechanisms for some, soft nuances for others; and, according to the payoff’s,  they really worked!  Well, until they didn’t anymore.

Level Ground

When we challenge these manipulative roles and step into our adult selves, we become proactive instead of reactive as well as responsible instead of blaming.  There is no “one up” and “one down” anymore; the A’s are side by side.  Whereas the persecutor uses strength to communicate control over the victim, he/she can now simply challenge in a loving and open way.  Adults are responsible for what they say and feel.  If I’m adulting, I will communicate to you if something bothers me; I’ll hopefully own it!  If there is something you can do to help, I’ll ask instead of holding a ridiculous expectation that you can read my mind.  It’s not sexy, but it makes relationships run a hell of a lot smoother.

Oh, Hollywood

Rhett Butler stepped outside the triangle in that last scene.  His adult looked like this: “Frankly, my Dear, I don’t give a damn”.  I’m not saying we take relationship advice from Hollywood, (case and point, Brangelina). I am also not encouraging anyone to up and leave with a toothy grin and a packed suitcase in hand.  That would be a premature train wreck.   I am saying, we must learn to step into our adult selves, take responsibility for our thoughts and feelings, and ask for help often along the way.  There is no virtue in the grin and bear it method, unless you like dramatics I suppose.  Relationships are lifelines; they color days in a gorgeous, vibrant green when the winter of isolation and insecurity becomes too cold.  They strengthen us to live our best days and inspire us to our highest self.

What is your story?

Hopefully, this Strong Series can be a reminder for us to fight for those relationships we hold dear as well as a nudge to let go of the toxic ones that no longer serve us.  I’d love to hear your stories of resilience in relationship: how you are showing up or even struggling in current circumstances.  Email me that feedback if you’d like!  In the meantime, Gone with the Wind is a worthy first step. 

Love,

katie

Strong Series Part II: The Righteous Rescuer

I, I will be king
And you, you will be queen
Though nothing will drive them away
We can be heroes, just for one day

-“Heroes” by David Bowie

Just as victim hurts so good like three too many helpings of apple a la mode, rescuer soars on wings of eagles complete with the cape and mask of a superhero.  Ahh, the Righteous Rescuer, a role I have often worn proudly, like a pair of killer Louboutins or something.  This role is a double threat in that it temporarily feels loving on both sides of the table; from where the rescued sits as well as the rescuer.  However, Strong Series part II zeros in on the rest of the story: how this role temporarily flies high, yet falls short…really fast.

The Enneagram Two

If you know me in this life you are most likely familiar with the Enneagram because I’ve been a huge fan, no, evangelist of it for a while.  Clients, friends, family, husband, stranger in the starbucks line alike: I most likely pointed you to the online indicator at my first opportunity in order share its wisdom and selfishly know if I was correct in my personal hunch as to what your number (or type) was.  Yeah, sorry if it was over the top.  I’m working on that.

Why Righteous?

I mention this because I firmly believe the rescuer looks very much like the quintessential Enneagram type Two in its point of stress or disintegration, finding inherent motivation in life rooted in the need to be needed, especially in relationships.  “Help me!” is the mating call of the two and rescuer alike.  A savior is a worthy thing to be after all, yes?  Hmm, look again.  The business of saving people is fragile if not futile work.   Rescuers and victims are like two peas in a pod and in a blissfully ignorant world they make dynamic partners. That is, until one or both wakes up to the truth of their essential selves, using Enneagram rhetoric, and can no longer do that dysfunctional, enabling dance.  What was once a slow and sexy samba now feels like four left feet.

The Look

Rescuers are the folks in your neighborhood with a constant overflow of foster pets oozing out the front yard.  They are the people you call when you need to feel the sugary saccharine of sweet consolation that says, “Honey, it’s not your fault.  I can’t believe she would say that to you” or, “You were the best possible candidate for that job, it will all come back around and bite them in the ass.  Come over; we’ll get toasty and talk smack about the whole situation” when you don’t get the promotion you were hoping for.   Perhaps, instead of rescuing, the gift to give is a listening ear and a tall glass of empathy.

Interestingly, the rescuer needs that heroic role more than the object of her rescuing. It is the dysfunctional umbilical cord sustaining his/her existence.

Early on, the rescuer encountered great helplessness around them, maybe from parents or siblings, hearing a steady drip of “I can’t” that ushered forth those initial glimpses into their powerful and purposeful “I can” destiny.  This is the learned way of connection with others; a cycle that repeats over and over again throughout life even subconsciously.

The Payoff

There are blatant payoffs for the rescuer as you can imagine.  They are perhaps the most glaring of all, seeming helpful at first glance.  Here we go:

• As our title suggests, rescuers get to be “self-righteous” forcing the persecutor into the doghouse.
• Temporary boost in self-esteem, distracting from deep existing pain
• Receive attention for being “right”
• Feel useful
• Get to be the “good guy”

The Way Out

The rescuer has absolutely no awareness of personal needs as identity was gradually built on meeting the needs of others.  Most likely, therapy or recovery starts when he/she finally acknowledges that anger and resentment that’s been stuffed for so long now wreaks havoc on overall health, functioning, and relationships.  Or, a loved one gives the old ultimatum.   Real healing starts when the rescuer a) sets some boundaries and b) becomes aware and accepting of their needs.  The way out for the rescuer is simple yet initially very wobbly: self-rescue.  All of those heroic, well-meaning attempts to save another must now point back to them.  Discovering true identity and voice unlocks a whole new world for the rescuer; one of vibrancy and presence.

We are two-thirds through our Strong Series and I know this stuff can be heavy.  Thanks for hanging in with me.  My hope is that you will use this in your awareness this week as an experiment, observing the possible ruts you may fall into that look like rescuer.  Ask yourself this: What boundaries do I need to have in place to love honestly and fully in this moment? Man, I can think of several in my life right now.  Perhaps I’m not alone.  We will be back next week with a sneak peak into the persecutor.  I know the suspense must be killing you…. 

Love,

katie

xoxo