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Hadassah Emmerich, With Love From Batik Babe, Installation GEM The Hague, 2005, www.hadassahemmerich.com.
“Mom, let’s first go to the most important thing.” My four-year-old son Alt pulls me by the arm. I secretly want to turn to the right to catch a glimpse of the cute polar bear twins. But Alt tells me to keep walking. He’s right. We’re at the Zoo to see the newborn baby elephant. Not the polar bear twins, so we keep walking.
Alt shows me something very important here: to go to the most important thing first and not try to fit in more through the back door. I recognize my own behavior, situations where I come up with justifications for anything. It kind of goes like this:
“It’s doable. We’re here now anyway….”
At the same time, I know it doesn’t sit well with me. It feels like staying in bed a little longer, while I know that I need to get up in order to show up relaxed at my appointment. Or like procrastinating to create a worksheet, even though I promised to send it out weeks ago.
But wait a minute. Who’s calling the shots here? Who chooses and decides where to go? I notice I’m always pulling the shortest end. An internal struggle has taken over, with quite some turmoil as a result.
It’s time to act. This inner fight needs attention from me. That’s the only way to stop it.
I decide to sit down and observe what exactly is going on. Different parts in me want different things. A part of me finally wants to start working on that long-promised worksheet. Another part of me doesn’t want to lift a finger. Both are parts of me, but they are fighting each other. I focus and give them both my attention.
First, I hear this voice: “Just do it, do it. Start. Come on. Show us what you’ve got.” The image of Rosie the Riveter showing her muscles on the “We Can Do It!” posters flashes in my mind. Rosie, the icon of American women working in munitions factories and shipyards during the World War II, shows her muscles. She tells me that I should just get started. I can feel her in the bottom-left corner of my ribcage. I focus and give my attention to that area. It softens. I feel some relaxation. So far, so good.
Then another part of me makes itself heard: “But I can’t. I don’t know how to do it. What can I create that will make people happy? I want it to be good.” This is a tiny voice. I feel her high on my right side. I want to give it my full attention.
But this isn’t easy. I don’t feel at all like listening to the little voice. That moaning in the right corner. Should I listen openly to it and with compassion? Pardon me? No way. I’ve already made my choice: “Come on, let’s get going. I don’t have time for all this moaning and groaning.” The little voice is left unheard.
And the inner fight continues — more and more rampant now. “Why on earth is the worksheet not done yet? Get to work. Don’t do this to me.” It’s Rosie the Riveter again. And there’s a new voice: “Now it’s too late. You might as well stop, because you missed your chance.” I can feel this voice in my throat. And to make matters worse, the voice of doom also appears: “This isn’t going to amount to anything at all and it never will.” This voice is active on my left side. The chaos is complete.
Then it hits me. As long as I’m not really willing to hear out all parts of me, the fight will continue. So even that little voice that feels insecure and doesn’t know how and is afraid of making mistakes deserves my full and utmost attention. From a neutral position. This is key.
First, I focus on the part of me that identifies with Rosie the Riveter. She, too, needs recognition. She’s doing her very best to get things going. No wonder she doesn’t want to hear that little insecure voice. This is the first step. I focus on this part of me.
Now there’s space in me to be fully present. I place myself in between the two fighting parts and give my full attention to both Rosie the Riveter and the little insecure voice in an open and curious way. Both parts feel recognized now. They don’t need to fight each other anymore. The battle is over.
Will that worksheet happen after all? One almost thinks it will.
What do you do when you know something needs to happen, but you can’t get your act together? I’d love to read your comment.
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