The bike-riding analogy I used in my last entry got me to thinking about the concept of letting go. I'm not specifically referring to the "Let Go and Let God" slogan that we associate with ceasing from our own efforts and relying on God's strength - although that's a pretty big chunk of it.
In this context, I am referring to letting go of others. In some circles this is called "detachment."
When I was first introduced to this concept by my counselor, I was offended, quite frankly. I was deeply involved in the cares and concerns of my husband, my children, my extended family. How dare he suggest that I let that go? How would they ever know I cared for and loved them? After all, I was protecting them - keeping guard over them.
It was exhausting. And I had lost myself somewhere along the way. Or I had never at all known who I was because I was so busy trying to please other people, trying to live up to their expectations, being their watchdog, their guardian, their ... their rescuer. They either ended up relying too much on me, taking me for granted, or resenting me for my interference.
I recently saw a photo of a dad letting go of his son's bike for the first time as he was learning to ride on his own. The dad had given him the tools he needed to protect himself, and he was with his son. Right beside him. But he knew he had to let go. Detach. Let his son make mistakes, and bear the consequences of those mistakes: skinned knees and elbows, perhaps. Fear of falling. But it was the only way his son would learn how to ride by himself.
The first stance I learned in my recovery from living for other people, rescuing them, manipulating them with guilt, trying to influence their beliefs, behaviors, and attitudes, was this: step back, take my hands off, and assume the "surrender" position (as if someone had pointed a gun and said, "Hands up.") I actually had to do that physically to emphasize in my own mind what I was learning spiritually. When I realized that what I had been trying to do all my life was really God's job, and that I needed to let HIM do it and take my hands off, it was such a revelation! In a very real sense, I was letting go, and letting God - letting God do His job, that is, and not interfering with it.
Before, I wasn't happy (my former definition) unless my children were a carbon copy of me. I felt threatened by anything different; they weren't allowed to think, believe, or speak differently than how I would. I saw life through a very narrow keyhole. But when I started to detach, the door opened. There was so much more to me, so much more to them, so much more to the world around me, than I had ever imagined possible. It was - and is - liberating.
I started to act as if I truly believed in a power greater than myself - whom I choose to call God. I decided to let Him be my Higher Power. Practically. In reality rather than in theory - or theology.
My children could hardly believe it. "What's with Mom?" they would ask their father. "Why isn't she flying off the handle?" At first they thought that this was a trick. That Mom was trying to gain their trust so that she could verbally clobber them. I might have expected that after all the manipulative thrashing around I did over the years. After a while though, they started to relax and believe that their mother had truly changed. Our relationships deepened. They started coming to me when they had a problem rather than hiding it.
It was, and is, amazing.
I'm happy. They're different from me, and I'm happy. Go figure.
Today I read something that I want to share with you, my readers. It's about living this lifestyle ... and learning how to love in a different way.
Detaching in Relationships
When we first become exposed to the concept of detachment, many of us find it objectionable and questionable. We may think that detaching means we don't care. We may believe that by controlling, worrying, and trying to force things to happen, we're showing how much we care.
We may believe that controlling, worrying, and forcing will somehow affect the outcome we desire. Controlling, worrying, and forcing don't work. Even when we're right, controlling doesn't work. In some cases, controlling may prevent the outcome we want from happening.
As we practice the principle of detachment with the people in our life, we slowly begin to learn the truth. Detaching, preferably detaching with love, is a relationship behavior that works.
We learn something else too. Detachment - letting go of our need to control people - enhances all our relationships. It opens the door to the best possible outcome. It reduces our frustration level, and frees us and others to live in peace and harmony.
Detachment means we care, about others and ourselves. It frees us to make the best possible decisions. It enables us to set the boundaries we need to set with people. It allows us to have our feelings, to stop reacting and initiate a positive course of action. It encourages others to do the same.
It allows our Higher Power to step in and work.
Today, I will trust the process of detaching with love. I will understand that I am not just letting go; I am letting go and letting God. I'm loving others, but I'm loving myself too.
(from The Language of Letting Go, by Melody Beattie, ©1990 Hazelden Foundation)
In this context, I am referring to letting go of others. In some circles this is called "detachment."
When I was first introduced to this concept by my counselor, I was offended, quite frankly. I was deeply involved in the cares and concerns of my husband, my children, my extended family. How dare he suggest that I let that go? How would they ever know I cared for and loved them? After all, I was protecting them - keeping guard over them.
It was exhausting. And I had lost myself somewhere along the way. Or I had never at all known who I was because I was so busy trying to please other people, trying to live up to their expectations, being their watchdog, their guardian, their ... their rescuer. They either ended up relying too much on me, taking me for granted, or resenting me for my interference.
I recently saw a photo of a dad letting go of his son's bike for the first time as he was learning to ride on his own. The dad had given him the tools he needed to protect himself, and he was with his son. Right beside him. But he knew he had to let go. Detach. Let his son make mistakes, and bear the consequences of those mistakes: skinned knees and elbows, perhaps. Fear of falling. But it was the only way his son would learn how to ride by himself.
The first stance I learned in my recovery from living for other people, rescuing them, manipulating them with guilt, trying to influence their beliefs, behaviors, and attitudes, was this: step back, take my hands off, and assume the "surrender" position (as if someone had pointed a gun and said, "Hands up.") I actually had to do that physically to emphasize in my own mind what I was learning spiritually. When I realized that what I had been trying to do all my life was really God's job, and that I needed to let HIM do it and take my hands off, it was such a revelation! In a very real sense, I was letting go, and letting God - letting God do His job, that is, and not interfering with it.
Before, I wasn't happy (my former definition) unless my children were a carbon copy of me. I felt threatened by anything different; they weren't allowed to think, believe, or speak differently than how I would. I saw life through a very narrow keyhole. But when I started to detach, the door opened. There was so much more to me, so much more to them, so much more to the world around me, than I had ever imagined possible. It was - and is - liberating.
I started to act as if I truly believed in a power greater than myself - whom I choose to call God. I decided to let Him be my Higher Power. Practically. In reality rather than in theory - or theology.
My children could hardly believe it. "What's with Mom?" they would ask their father. "Why isn't she flying off the handle?" At first they thought that this was a trick. That Mom was trying to gain their trust so that she could verbally clobber them. I might have expected that after all the manipulative thrashing around I did over the years. After a while though, they started to relax and believe that their mother had truly changed. Our relationships deepened. They started coming to me when they had a problem rather than hiding it.
It was, and is, amazing.
I'm happy. They're different from me, and I'm happy. Go figure.
Today I read something that I want to share with you, my readers. It's about living this lifestyle ... and learning how to love in a different way.
Detaching in Relationships
When we first become exposed to the concept of detachment, many of us find it objectionable and questionable. We may think that detaching means we don't care. We may believe that by controlling, worrying, and trying to force things to happen, we're showing how much we care.
We may believe that controlling, worrying, and forcing will somehow affect the outcome we desire. Controlling, worrying, and forcing don't work. Even when we're right, controlling doesn't work. In some cases, controlling may prevent the outcome we want from happening.
As we practice the principle of detachment with the people in our life, we slowly begin to learn the truth. Detaching, preferably detaching with love, is a relationship behavior that works.
We learn something else too. Detachment - letting go of our need to control people - enhances all our relationships. It opens the door to the best possible outcome. It reduces our frustration level, and frees us and others to live in peace and harmony.
Detachment means we care, about others and ourselves. It frees us to make the best possible decisions. It enables us to set the boundaries we need to set with people. It allows us to have our feelings, to stop reacting and initiate a positive course of action. It encourages others to do the same.
It allows our Higher Power to step in and work.
Today, I will trust the process of detaching with love. I will understand that I am not just letting go; I am letting go and letting God. I'm loving others, but I'm loving myself too.
(from The Language of Letting Go, by Melody Beattie, ©1990 Hazelden Foundation)
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