By Melanie Balint Gray.
I heard a statement in my thought stream the other day: “Give up on me…” Immediately there was agreement. “Yes!!!!!” Give up on me, on that ‘little me’ that I believe myself to be.
Give up on all the aspiring, correcting, developing, revising, accomplishing, should-ing, shouldn’t-ing, fixing, scheming, resolving, the building up, and the breaking down. Give up on all those attempts to improve or heal or remediate me and my life; meddle in or manipulate the lives of others. Give up on trying to: win affection, get a nod of agreement or approval, receive a pat on the back, or hear kudos.
Give up on triceps exercise reps, daily journaling, regular meditation, three-mile walks, handwritten thank you cards, handmade holiday cards, made-from-scratch Indian curry dinners, handmade gifts for everyone, eight glasses of water daily, only eating pure, whole food and managing finances to the penny.
Give up on vision boards, heart-centered marketing, feminine power, dream analysis, tapping, and heart-focused breathing. Even give up on seeing through belief constructs, transforming, or transmuting this into that.
Give up on convincing, cajoling, coaxing, brute-forcing, pushing, pulling, and arguing with all those fragments that seem to make up me. And give up on the same strategies toward the outside world.
Give up, give up, give up…
This felt triumphant. For a bit…
And then I heard another phrase, delivered in a soft whisper.
Goosebumps, a frequent measure of resonance in my body these days, arose. Head to toe.
Everything got quiet. I sat motionless for a time. The words seemed to hold a silence that flowed into and through me.
Nothing felt in need of correction or of healing. Nothing felt at risk of being kicked out, evicted or abandoned. Nothing felt denied or disapproved of or defective.
It made sense. The directive to “give up on me” was just that—another “must do”, another commandment; simply better disguised by a sly, tempting promise of relief and release. After all, it would feel great to stop trying, to stop fixing and figuring and analyzing. But, the instruction had the cleverly-camouflaged feel of “Cut it out!” or “Just quit it!” The hidden trap was that the veiled intent of the give-up-on-me agenda was to dismiss, to demolish, or to get rid of.
Wasn’t that more fixing? It began to feel like it to me.
With the swapping of one word—the word up swapped with the word in—the feel of life changed; went from feeling like a chronic, festering need for something to be different, better or altered, to no need at all. Life went from feeling like a subtle, cunning plot to fix the fixing, which cleverly perpetuated the whole shebang, to an authentic halt. This held no promise of a glorious future moment. No offer of relief or release and yet, by setting down all the effort, my body breathed out in a long, deep, full exhale. Muscles relaxed; standing down from their habitual bracing mode.
What was left as all the old strategies and mechanisms ground to a halt? The simple answer is, whatever was showing up in the moment.
There was a stillness for quite a while. Lovely. Some tears.
Then I noticed a movement toward converting give in… from a softly-whispered, undemanding invitation into yet another demanding rule. But, I smiled, more tears welled up, and I felt the demanding energy come and go and come and go. Give in to that, too.
At times energy of “Give up” manages to affix itself to give in… and then I can be off to the rat race of self-improvement. There remains this echo of give in…. however.
I so appreciate hearing that echo. It points me inward, not upward or outward, but inward.
Give in. Give my attention to whatever’s in here, in me.
To read more about Melanie Balint Gray, click here.