Last night before I fell asleep, I asked to dream about a pressing decision I need to make. I’ve excavated the many levels of analysis en route to paralysis, and landed at the bottom of the well with no more clarity than I had before. So I figured it wouldn’t hurt to make a request for DIVINE INTERVENTION and see what surfaces in sleep.
I usually know which direction to go in a situation. When I say, “I usually know,” I guess I mean, I’m good at listening to the deeper part of me that always knows. She’s a cooler, wiser version of me, a better dresser for sure. If she were anyone else I’d likely be jealous of her, but then I remember SHE’S YOU, YOU IDIOT. The line of communication between us is mostly clear, with the exception of times when I choose self-loathing over self-compassion.
When I make decisions from this place, from the knowing, it makes me feel free and more like a creator of my own life than a person subject to circumstance, even when I am. But it’s not always clear, so I do my best to let the prickly thorns of anxiety and other peoples’ opinions have their moment, and then I do what appears to be, well, nothing.
This moment of resilient pause, whether it be ten minutes or ten months, is where a lot of triggers can surface with our need to control versus our desire to find a peaceful, clear, and compassionate resolution. But I’ve learned not to underestimate the slow graceful moves of examining options and moving from this place, despite the absolute discomfort of it all. We all seem to liken ourselves to frogs in a boiling pot, assuming if we wait too long to decide, we will die.
Most decisions can wait. In-action is a reasonable decision in itself. But if we choose in-action as action, we also have to be honest with ourselves. Are we still in a resilient pause or are we just avoiding our biggest fear? Are we resisting the death of something? Are we afraid to face the inevitable void that comes from release?
I’ve never outright analyzed my decision-making process, but let’s see if I can break it down here.
How I make decisions…
through what is mostly an inadvertent improv exercise
Let’s assume it is as big as the ones I am facing now — fertility preservation, breast cancer treatment, financial stability, oh my.)
To start, I usually let the weight of the dilemma fully enter me. I follow every rabbit hole and possibility, not to worst-case-scenario the whole thing, but to be present with other factors like my relationships, my history, environment, what I am willing to live with, etc. This took a lot of mindful self-compassion practice to do in an anchored sort of way.
Then, I let myself feel the drama of emotions, because my inner child still screams at times, and that is okay. So if there’s a decision rabbit hole that sparks a trigger, I let it happen. I let all the emotions rise and move through me, mostly through crying or dancing. I write. I act it out. I physically express it all like some lopsided interpretive dance, alone in my bedroom. This way any more pain-sourced reactions have their time to shine, be seen, and exit the stage. Ciao!
The important piece here is trusting the emotions won’t last, so I might as well feel them while they are here.
After the explosion, I shift into the vessel, the container, the re-parented mother who tends to the space and boundaries. I recognize my own ability to hold my emotions and not fire-hose them all over the people I love.
I feel into the sealed tornado and breathe. And I move between my inner mother and child until they integrate. Meaning, I find some place where I feel okay with the emotions simply existing.
Lastly, I go quiet. I disappear. I pay attention to what I am paying attention to. I sit in the shower. I listen to the trees, to the wind. I isolate, often to the frustration of people around me. But it’s the way I know how to process. I do my best to survive the sting of my history surfacing and feed it silence. Because somewhere, below the turbulence, is a very quiet and calm voice who always knows what to do.
She is who speaks the truth clearly, with love. She is who I am swimming these deep seas in search of.
It doesn’t always go this way or in this order. Sometimes I start in silence. Sometimes it is all happening at once. On occasion, I’ll enlist a few friends who I know can hold the beautiful line of presence and advice. The timing of their invite is in direct correlation with how far the rip current has taken me. If I’ve been pulled too far away from myself, I call them to rescue me. Not to tell me what to do or which direction to go, but to remind me I am still here.
After all that, if I give it time, a clear internal ping will poke through a shower thought or that precious time between sleep and wake. And in that moment, I’ll feel a very quiet assurance on what to do.
And if all else fails, I pray. I surrender. I choose trust even if I couldn’t reach her. And this was where I was last night. At a loss and yet also at peace.
But sometimes I also start with prayer. Because prayer isn’t just a calling, it is a place we go. It is a guest house where we do not have all the answers, and yet we are okay with that. And in prayer, we can hold both our ability to surrender and to take action. It is an opportunity to cut to the truth of our desire — to be loved, to feel safe, and to be at ease.
It sounds like a rather luxurious way to make decisions, and of course if the moment requires a swift choice, I’ll do it. But I find it helpful to really question the level of urgency actually required for a thing. I like examining if the decision-making process — the journey through the deep sea itself — is a part of the learning. (It often is.)
And in times when it is not urgent, but feels just as big, this is a solid place of practice. And the more we practice, the more our swift decisions can feel peaceful and true to the voice within us.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This morning, I could barely remember the dream, only brief scenes. But it’s never about the dream itself or the message or the lesson, it is about the feeling of it. It is about our ability to feel the feeling. And what I awoke to was calm and clear and supported.
It was a spiritual exhale. I knew what to do.
Ah, but here is the cosmic disclaimer. The decisions we make won’t always be primed with clarity. And there is no real formula to how we make the best one, because often times there is no best choice — there are only the ones we choose and the ones we do not. But if we can become more familiar with that quiet voice within us, the part of us unafraid to say what is true, we can find some peace here with whatever decision we make.
I am wishing you peaceful paths forward, but also ones you feel with full emotions. Because isn’t it amazing we can feel at all.
Be gentle. Go slow. And speak kindly to yourself.
with love,
Breena
P.S. If you are holding a lot of overwhelming emotion these days, check out my episode on The Trees are Green podcast — Deep Pain and the Surrender of Self-Compassion. This episode, and others, include soothing meditations to support your personal practice. ♡