We’re expecting a major snowstorm as I write these words. Outside, the wind is strangely calm, and the sky is a steely gray. I can feel the tension that comes with an impending storm. It’s much like the wind—restless and uneasy. A worrisome thought passes through my mind: Will my husband and I be safe as we travel down the length of the Pennsylvania turnpike later in the day? Fortunately, this little mountain home of ours is a warm and cozy place from which to view the danger outside, so I reassure myself about the capacity of our road crews to manage the icy accumulation; I grow quiet inside and continue to write.
Storms also blow through our psyches. Triggered by trouble in the outside world, perhaps a crash in the stock market or the loss of a loved one, inner turmoil can rage as harshly as any blizzard. And the damage done to us, though of a different sort, can be as great as that of any weather disaster. We suffer less if we have a way of sheltering ourselves, a grounding from which to watch the storms.
The motivation to write Emotional Healing through Mindfulness Meditation comes from a lifelong effort to grapple with these internal storms, both in my own life and in those I encounter in my work as a psychotherapist. And the central question has always been, How do we shelter ourselves so that the very protection we need doesn’t imprison us within our own defenses, perhaps in the form of a chronic withdrawal or a scowl that threatens harm? Is it possible to feel safe in a way that allows for engaged, open, and loving responses to life?
The wonder is that, at this point in my life, I can answer these questions with a deeply felt “Yes!” It has taken many years to find that answer, though even now I can lose sight of it for periods of time. But I do know a path that can help me find that yes again. I call it a path toward wholeness, and it makes use of both psychotherapy and meditation to heal the emotions.
Like most of us, I’ve tried many ways to shelter myself from tumultuous emotions. My first attempt was to find shelter outside, in the world, through the approval of others and the accumulation of achievements. Both of these felt good—when I got them. But neither one protected me from the storms of uncertainty and loneliness that blew through periodically. Not that I want to negate the effort; approval and achievement brought the esteem of others. It’s just that the outcome was ultimately disappointing. The storms still came with almost the same intensity.
I tried to find shelter inside, in my own psyche. My first conscious effort to do this was when I tried to read the writings of Sigmund Freud. They piqued my interest, maybe because I was an adolescent and thought they had something to do with sex; however, only the rudiments of his work made any sense at all. Nevertheless, in the years following, I went to school and learned how to think “psychologically.” And so I grounded myself in an understanding of emotions—my own and those of others. Even being able to name a personal emotion such as anxiety or sadness helped. Now there was some space between me and my inner turmoil, especially after the emotion faded enough for me to reflect on it.
And I became a psychotherapist, which meant learning more about troublesome emotions right in my own office. I am immensely grateful to those I have worked with over the years; in the best of therapy sessions, both of us gained insight and took steps in our own development.
All the while, life itself taught me to find the shelter that comes with knowing one’s way around trouble. Suffering through the emotional turmoil of marital arguments, the loss of parents, and children’s illnesses, I learned to expect trouble, and I learned that it held both pain and opportunity. Even in the midst of a raging internal storm, it became important to stay exposed long enough to identify that opportunity.
Then I began to meditate. Now my search for shelter took another leap. Because I could more carefully watch the thoughts and feelings that were part of my emotions, I was able to hear myself think, I’m lonely, or I’m angry, and I understood that the verb I am was a problem. Using that verb, I was so fully identified with my turbulent emotions that there was no space between them and me. I was the loneliness. I was the anger. Consciously examining emotions helped me to be separate from them—even when in the midst of painful feelings. Meditation was another, more in-the-moment shelter. It gave me the opportunity to try on other emotions and behaviors. And I used what I learned to help others.
Over years of practice, I also came to understand that meditation was more than a method; it was a way of living very close to all experience. With that understanding came great insights. I watched the way my thoughts and feelings arose, revealed themselves, and then disappeared. I saw both their power and their ever changing, ephemeral nature. Even the boundary between myself and others began to thin as I sensed that we are all experiencing that flow. Sometimes, even in the midst of great turmoil, my mind grew quiet, and I rode the storms much like a great sea bird, high up on top of the winds. Here was the more complete, meditative approach to knowing my troublesome emotions—by being in the midst of the raging storm and outside of it at the same time. As it turned out, when trouble blew in, I needed to find not a storm-resistant shelter but, rather, the stillness that is in the eye of the storm. That stillness was my gateway to a path toward wholeness.
While I’ve practiced psychotherapy for close to forty years, my practice of meditation dates back fifteen years. By the standards of the latter tradition, I’m very much a beginner. So particularly when it comes to meditation, please think of this book as an introduction, and read more about the practice. Also know that, ultimately, it is only through direct experience that true learning can take place.
With this preface as a beginning, I invite you into the world of Emotional Healing through Mindfulness Meditation. If you’re intrigued, get to know the women whose stories are told here, and watch how they explored the psychological and spiritual dimensions of their lives. You’ll see that the women discovered ways to be safe in the midst of their emotional turmoil without deadening themselves in the process. They also learned how to be present and excited by life, even as trouble roared.
There are specific, well-trodden steps you can take to explore emotional healing through Mindfulness Meditation; these steps can be followed by anyone who has the determination to do so. Add to this the use of psychological thinking and psychotherapy, and the storms of life hold great opportunities for well-being. I invite you to try the meditations at the end of each chapter to explore your own mind/body process. The effort helps—not as a magical pill that dissolves all trouble, but as a means of discovering the path toward wholeness. On this path, the self becomes more vibrant, peaceful, and loving.
Even so, the world remains a stormy place. Outside, children shoot each other, criminals steal from us, and terrorists blow up our buildings. Inside, emotions such as fear, anger, and despair often swirl. If we watch closely, we also see that inside and outside profoundly influence each other. For example, when terrorists blow up our buildings, we become angry inside. It’s also true that when we rage our way through the day, we’re likely to create fear and anger outside, in others. If we want peace, we eventually realize that both the outside and inside worlds present us with the same challenge: to discover the stillness within, and from that stillness, to feel compassion for ourselves and all other beings. Acting from the inside to shape the outside, we might very well change our small part of the earth.