Opening Your Heart through the Sacred Practice of Story Stewardship
Do not try to open your heart.
That would be a subtle movement of aggression toward your immediate embodied experience. Never tell a closed heart to open; it will shut more tightly to protect itself, feeling your resistance and disapproval. A heart unfurls only when conditions are right; your demand for openness invites closure. This is the supreme intelligence of the heart.
Instead, bow to the heart in its current state. If it’s closed, let it be closed; sanctify the closure. Make it safe; safe even to feel unsafe.
Trust that when the heart is ready, and not a moment before, it will open, like a flower in the warmth of the sun. There is no rush for the heart.
Trust the opening and the closing, too, the expansion and contraction; this is the heart’s way of breathing: safe, unsafe, safe, unsafe; the beautiful fragility of being human, and all held in the most perfect love. - Jeff Foster
Opening and Closing
With summer approaching, I’m thinking back on some of my favorite memories of home as a child, which often includes my dog, KC. I remember my dog’s excitement when I joined him in the backyard and remember how comforting it was to snuggle with KC lying on my back, looking at the clouds on my trampoline. I spent my summer days jumping on the trampoline, riding my bike, and shooting baskets in my driveway. My grandmother lived a few houses away across the back alley. I loved walking over in the morning to eat breakfast, drink tea with her, and talk with my granddad. My grandad would greet me with a smile as he walked into the kitchen to show me his homegrown tomatoes. I felt like I belonged. I felt loved and comforted. I felt the days pass with lovely slowness and ease. My story had different parts to it as well. Parts that didn’t bring the same ease. These parts of my story required more constriction, protection, and guardedness. My body was wise and knew when it could open to the snuggles of my dog and close to the situations that needed more vigilance. The opening and closing are the rhythms of the body. The “yes” and “no” the “approach” and “avoid.” My body navigated my story and learned the “safe” and “unsafe.” Throughout adulthood, I’ve inclined myself with curiosity to my own story and how my story continually unfolds to shape my present reality moment by moment.
Our Sacred Stories
Our stories are sacred. They communicate so much about who we are and how we act. Our backstory informs why we might tense up or relax, cry or embrace. For me, a tomato is more than a tomato. It’s a memory of being loved at the breakfast table. A tomato is more than what meets the eye because our present moment is rich with backstory and nuanced ways of experiencing life. In Brene Brown’s new book, The Atlas of the Heart, she looks at how our emotions are the storytellers that help guide us through the uncertainties of life. As a therapist, when someone entrusts me with their story, it feels sacred. When I listen, I try to stay curious about what they experienced and affirm how their body wisely navigated them through nuanced experiences. I believe their emotions that surface and hide. Sharing and receiving stories is how we show up deeply with another. The act of being open to hear, see, and believe is called Story Stewardship. Story stewardship is honoring the deeply sacred nature of our own story and the stories of those who share.
Tapping Out
Brene Brown shares some ways we can promote safety in story stewardship along with some ways we can threaten it. She describes two “near enemies” of story stewardship: narrative tap-out and narrative takeover. Both of these “near enemies” disconnect and distance us from the experience of knowing and seeing one another. Narrative tap-out is when we shut people down because we are experiencing discomfort. The shutting down can look like minimizing, dismissing, toxic positivity, or disinterest, and it doesn't feel nice to receive. A narrative takeover is when we make their story about us or our perception of what happened. Narrative takeover and narrative tap-out disconnect us from the sharer of a story. It communicates that we’re too uncomfortable to listen and be present with another person’s story. It distances us from the safe and compassionate experience we long to receive and show to others.
Feeling Safe
Sitting in the company of someone who can practice healthy stewardship provides our body with a sense of safety that allows us to show up just as we are. To be “at home” in our body and our experience. Maya Angelou said, “The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” We long for feelings of “home” and experiences where we belong, where “all of me” belongs.
Distancing from Pain
Pregnant and parenting women who struggle with substance misuse have a backstory that includes feelings of “home” and feelings of pain. Substances often are used to distance us from the pain of our story. However, just showing up for treatment communicates that they care about changing the narrative of their children’s story.
National Children’s Day
On National Children’s Day, we remember the importance of giving children safe “home” experiences that allow them to show up just as they are in safety and loving-kindness. Children need their parents. Parents need enough safety and compassionate story stewardship to heal and bring their children into that safe presence. What that requires from us is guarding against narrative tap-out and narrative takeover and listening to the real, raw, and vulnerable stories of parents navigating the uncertainties of life with an addiction. Being present as a listener of the story is an intentional practice.
The Four Mantras of Thich Nhat Hanh
Thich Nhat Hanh provided us with four mantras to practice safe connection when we choose to engage in the vulnerable act of story stewardship.
The first mantra is, “Darling, I am here for you.” Think about the feelings that arise in your body if someone you love speaks this phrase to you. “I’m here for you. I’m present with you in your story. You matter enough to me for me to be present in your pain.” So powerful.
The second mantra is, “I know you are there, and I am very happy.” This one communicates that I see you. I see you, and it brings a smile to my face. This one is the feeling I felt when my grandad walked into the room, and his eyes lit up for me. Do we let our eyes light up for others? Does their presence bring a loving smile to our faces?
The third mantra is, “Darling, I know you suffer.” This one communicates that we’re not afraid of seeing their pain. Instead of blaming, dismissing, fixing, or looking away, we can comfort ourselves as we open to their story, which includes pain and suffering. We sit with and walk alongside. Life brings suffering, and authentic connection means we see the suffering and bring comfort in the midst of suffering from our compassionate presence.
The final mantra is, “Darling, I suffer. Please help.” This one is tough. This one requires something from us that we are often scared of. To acknowledge our own pain and suffering and reach out. To embody this mantra means we do our own work. We feel our own feelings, and we receive the loving-kindness of a trusted story steward. So often, we miss this part in our helping. The part of us that dares to walk into the vulnerability and pain of our own stories and share with those who we trust in our life. How many times I have tapped out of my own narrative to avoid the emotions that feel painful. How often I’ve taken over my own pain story to say, “I'm fine" and "It’s no big deal.” Trusting the pain of our story and believing in ourselves is no small feat. Letting others into our pain is an incredible act of honesty and self-compassion.
We need each other. We all feel pain and long for feelings of “home.” Loving on struggling parents builds their capacity, which directly builds the emotional capacity of their children. But first, we must all embark on our own work and journey. We are all so intimately connected. So, as you enjoy the warmth of the summer, may we all brave the work of Story Stewardship.