The Therapist Takes Her Own Advice: Reframing Failure

I feel an unusually deep well of sadness in my belly this morning.  It began as I dropped off my 2 year old at daycare, and started walking back to my car.

It’s a beautiful blue sky summer morning that will likely grow into one of those oppressive New York days that make the air viscous with heat and humidity and make people move through their lives in slow motion.

It’s a morning to be savored because the afternoon may be miserable.  But I want to go home and crawl back into bed.  Instead, I will write.

My initial reaction is to try and figure out what’s bothering me, but I know that is what meditation expert Tara Brach would call a false refuge.  It’s a way of avoiding the emotion by trying think my way out rather than really feel it.

Maybe my sadness stems from the fact that my children are growing up so fast.  Or maybe it’s that today I have to return to work now that my much-anticipated vacation is over.

Knowing the source doesn’t take away the discomfort of the feeling.  The only way through is to experience it.

So this brings me to a confession.  I haven’t been meditating regularly for a few months now.  I lost the habit somewhere.  I don’t know how it happened, but it did.  I’ve been feeling like a fraud, and I have been avoiding writing because I didn’t know how to say that I failed.

Then someone reminded me that this was not failure.  It was a stumbling block.  I don’t have to be perfect–I just have to be honest.

It’s funny, I’ve said this to clients again and again…you can always start again.  There is always tomorrow.

Funny, too, during this time I’ve kept up with my healthy eating habits, and finally lost almost all of my baby weight after eight years of struggle.

Still, my focus has been on what wasn’t going well.  So I’ve decided to forgive myself.

I started writing again today, and I will start meditating again tomorrow (or the next day).  Either way, it’s okay.  I’m going to forgive myself and start again.  And, as I come to the end of this page, I realize the sadness has abated enough to allow me to go on with my day.