Gabor Maté Gave Me a Fifteen Minute lesson During a Workshop and Made me Sob in the Most Compassionate Way
A lesson in Self-Compassion and Choosing the Authentic Self
The Price of Admission to be Seen
I felt invisible most of my life. It was safer. The price of admission to be seen was expensive. It was unpredictable when I was a child. The outcomes varied based upon what the emotional climate dictated. It was a gamble of choice, deciding if the experience was worth it. I internalized the message being seen wasn’t safe. The cost was too great when it resulted in rejection or abandonment from my parents.
I had to bank enough accomplishments to afford my existence. When I received external praise or validation, it wasn’t solely mine since my parents fed on my achievements, meeting their own unresolved childhood needs.
My child brain formulated being seen required pain to prove my worth to exist. It made me work harder to prove myself to receive any external validation and praise. My worth came at a huge cost, the loss of my authenticity. It was safer to be a chameleon, adapting to blend in and suppressing the parts that were shamed.
Many adults struggle in being seen. It’s difficult and laced with a history we either understand or have yet to unearth. When the attention is fully upon us, we become triggered. Safety is threatened. Fight or flight kicks in, throwing us into survival mode. Eye contact can feel too direct. Speaking feels intense. We mask to look unaffected, all while our body tells a story within us; the squirming of discomfort, the unease racking the body with tension, heart thumping and feeling jittery like we drank five espressos, clammy skin, the jump in our blood pressure. I felt like a small child, frozen to the spot, with no escape. I can’t move. Be still. It’s the only way to be safe.
“….and next up we have, Maria, to ask a question.”
I was attending a virtual workshop with Gabor Maté, when I heard the words, “and next up we have, Maria, to ask a question.” Fear whipped itself into a frenzy while I sat frozen. Triggered. I visualized Usain Bolting myself to flee the discomfort trapped inside of me. Maybe it’s another Maria… Mid-thought, I saw my face pop up in front of hundreds in the workshop. Oh Fuck. That’s me.
I felt myself shrink in my adult body. I was a small child again, fearful of being seen with the unpredictable outcome. The little girl didn’t believe she deserved the right to speak, let alone believe she was worthy to be chosen. My heart thumped like a single pedal strike against a base drum, the beat a deep sound resonating throughout me.
I Diminished my Value
Gabor Maté was a human tuning fork to the nervous system. He listened with a full-body intensity. I identified I was a therapist. I have worth. Please see that in me. In one swift blow, I had diminished my intrinsic value needing to identify as something other than Maria.
My old, familiar, judgmental friends were back with a vengeance. I lacked inherent value. I was nothing. I had to have something to bring to the table. I felt compelled to provide verbal refreshments. I needed a qualifying identifier; I’m a therapist. I had to protect myself from being vulnerable in front of someone with power. My past collided with my present. The small child within was disoriented.
His compassion dismantled my protective shield. He saw beyond the veil of words and presentation in my interaction with him. I felt him intently listening with his eyes on me. I was three years old, struggling to make eye contact with a parent, afraid of what reaction I’d get. Am I safe or will it hurt?I could taste my heartbeat.
Self-Compassion Fled the Scene
“I feel like my question is paltry compared to the global questions that were just being asked,” the words falling out of my mouth with no speed bump from my brain to my mouth. Why does my mouth betray me at the most inopportune times?
“I’m going to stop you, Maria. Before we continue, or you speak more, I want you to answer me this; Do you feel those who shared personal questions were paltry?” He was direct without an ounce of judgement. I immediately responded, “Absolutely not!”
“Ok. Do you feel you are a different kind of human in sharing your question?”
“No. Definitely… not,” my voice trailing off into a murmer.
My inner child wanted to put a blanket over her head. Why was he being so kind? She was waiting for the fallout.
“I am not criticizing you, Maria.” His deep compassion radiated out of him. It was disconcerting.“I know,” thickly swallowing my tearful words.
“What I noticed, Maria, is before you could even ask your question, you completely invalidated yourself. You had no compassion for yourself.” His compassion was a wrecking ball to my wall of vigilance.
My inner child wanted to curl in on herself to be as small as possible, clutching her teddy bear. She was being fully seen and held in such deep compassion. She didn’t know how to orient to it.
Say it Only if You Can Believe It
He looked at me intently. “Before we go any further, Maria, I want you to say something, but only if you can believe it. Can you do that?”
I was a small child, wide eyed, quietly taking stock. Fearful. Everything faded into the background. It was just me and him, his eye contact my lifeline. I took a deep breath, swallowed the sobs that threatened to come out, “Yes. Yes, I can repeat after you.”
He paused, giving space for me to center myself. “I am Maria, and I have every right to ask for time and help.”
My insides rattled in an ancient battle cry, pain warring within. The small child vehemently shaking her head no, scared to lose something she desperately wanted to cling to, the disintegrating threads of attachment.
The other was my truth. The part knowing I had the right to own those primal words. I wanted to be courageous. I wanted to believe this was true for me. I took a deep breath and tried.
“I am Maria, and I have the…. the…. I’m messing up the words … the something … something … to ask for time and help,” I was flustered. I felt an infant crying in acute distress within. She needed comfort. Eye contact. Held. She needed her parents to stop screaming at each other and notice her fear from their loud voices and aggressive tones. I’m not safe. I knew this sensation. I felt something break wide open within me, finally unveiling its truth.
“I’m butchering the most important words!” I was stuck inside myself, watching the walls erected from long ago crumble at being fully seen. I leapt and spun through the giant pieces falling, scrambling over the rubble of sadness, anger, grief and betrayal. I didn’t want to be trapped inside the agony of raw pain. I was emotionally bleeding out from the wreckage, wanting to bury me. I wanted to climb my way to the present. I cried out for help. I needed to find a foothold to get out. His voice cut through my internal hellscape, full of kindness, “every right.”
“I can do this,” tears streaked my face. No one knew what I was living out inside my body. I was crawling, tripping, falling over shards and boulders of debris fighting for myself. My grit mixed with his compassion gave me the purchase needed to pull myself out while I reached for the infant and cradled her to me. I got you. You’re safe.
I raised my head, determination laced with courage, I owned my right as a person.
“I am Maria, and I have every right to ask for time and help.”
Just Notice
“Maria, how you invalidated yourself before you could even ask your question, shows me your childhood. You weren’t allowed to have rights. If you needed help, felt alone, were frightened or stressed, you didn’t have anyone to comfort you. You weren’t allowed to express or have those needs.”
My grief was visceral and broke through. My vulnerability was splayed wide open showing the deep attachment wounds seared inside me, scorched and raw. He witnessed what it cost me, the suppression of my authenticity.
“There is still a child in you who believes she doesn’t deserve to exist.”
It was my first thought I remembered having in life. I remembered once bravely sharing this with my parents when I was little. How dare you say that. That’s so selfish. No daughter of ours says that. Look at all we do for you. What I needed was reassurance I was wanted and loved, not shamed. I learnd to live with this belief in silence. It took up permanent residence by the age of seven. I was drowning in it as a child, alone. The intrusive thought was a wound that echoed within, taunting me.
Be Present with It
When there is extensive childhood trauma, intrusive thoughts persist into adulthood, as well as a variety of addictions that take up residence to quell the raw wounds inside. We use addiction to suspend intrusive thoughts, pain, and emotions, regardless of risk and outcome. It’s a way to soothe our nervous system. It offers a seductive escape from the present. It lets us avoid an internal landscape riddled with emotions and wounds locked in the body wanting liberation from the burdens they’ve carried.
A workaholic might be noble in theory and touted in a capitalistic and patriarchal society; it’s still an addiction to avoid the belief, I am worthless.
If we could be present and listen to our addictions and intrusive thoughts, they’re forthright in their desire; I don’t know any other way to escape this pain that feels bigger than my body. It hurts too much. I don’t want to exist like this. I want to live. I want to matter.
Now, here I was in a workshop, in front of someone not shaming me for the inner child adhering to a belief, I don’t deserve to exist, and holding it gently, to be noticed without judgment. He saw the remnants of an insidiously painful childhood. The sobs escaped and wracked my body.
He was present with my pain. The gift of deep unequivocal compassion felt sacred and pure. My child parts were rendered speechless, while the infant nestled in slumber feeling safe. I experienced what it felt like to have someone be unconditionally present, feeling soothed, without the price of admission to be seen in childhood.
Self-Compassion
“Maria, I’m not asking you to change anything. All I ask is for you to be present with it. And notice. Notice the child who didn’t believe she deserved to exist. Noticing is an act of compassion and something that child didn’t receive. She doesn’t need to change. She deserves to be noticed. Can you do that, Maria?”
Everything went quiet within. I could feel the eyes of a little girl peering at me from a corner where she was curled in a ball, holding tightly to a teddy bear. Waiting to see what I’d do. I wanted to give her this. She deserved to be seen. To know she was heard. I didn’t want her to change or feel different. She didn’t need to prove her value. I wanted to be present and give her gentle unwavering kindness she didn’t get all those years ago.
Clarity cast itself in a golden hue around me. “I can do that.” A little girl walked gently towards me, teddy bear in hand and climbed onto my lap, feeling the compassion I had for her. Strong. Steady. Gentle. My heartbeat thrummed in melody to hers. “Thank you,” I tearfully whispered in gratitude to him.
He nodded his head. “Now,” he said matter of fact, “I believe you have a question.”
Holy crap. What just happened. What was the question? I felt the record scratch in my brain. It quickly changed tracks. “Yes. I have a question.”
The Question that Took the Scenic Route
My inner child took over and highjacked the conversation, taking the scenic route. The compulsion to take him on a tour was fear of being judged, shamed or criticized. The building of evidence before I could ask the question. Sometimes when I am in the middle of noticing a pattern, like I was in that moment, I mentally facepalmed myself. He doesn’t need the grand tour. I’d like to take the direct path at least once this lifetime.
“Maria,” he nudged me with his words, “I know everything I need to know about your childhood. What is your question?” He knew from my word dump, my inner child was attempting to take the long-winded scenic route. She lacked navigation skills and found GPS hilarious since she ended up taking the wrong turn anyway.
I felt my adult part finally show up and take over, letting that inner child know, I got this. I cut to the chase. “I cut off from my mom a year ago. Then my dad because he refused to listen. And in turn lost my sibling relationships. I know I caused them a lot of pain and hurt them in my choice to save myself. How is it compassion when I have cut off from a life-force?
His words were a beacon of light in dark waters, gently guiding me into the harbor of truth. “Maria, they were never a life force. They were a source of pain to you. That is not life force.”
I persisted, “How is that self-compassion when I have hurt them with my choice?”
He paused. “Are you asking permission to have self-compassion?”
Well, shit. Was I? After a few moments, I realized what I was seeking. “No. I’m not. A part of me was looking for you to shame and criticize me for what I did. But I know I had to do it.” Well, that was brutal honesty, authentic self.
“Let me ask you. If they all were to be on a cruise in the Caribbean and, God forbid, they suddenly died, would you miss them?”
In the pause, I flashed upon what I’d feel. Relief knowing I’d never have to feel dread and pretending to be someone I wasn’t. Immense sadness at the thought of them losing life. Grief in the loss of potential and possibilities for the future, eclipsed in a moment. Then a huge part realized, I’m already living this death of connection. I’m experiencing the kaleidoscope of emotions and ambiguous grief. I’m … okay.
I responded, “No.”
“Then they were never a life-force for you.”
He recommended a book, Glimmer, by Kimberly Shannon Murphy. It’s about her having to make a similar choice and what she gained and lost.
Yes, I bought it. Yes, I consumed it in a day. And yes, it resonated.
The Pain of Choice
“This is about the choice of pain for yourself. And we all must face this pain. When you are little, you are faced with the choice of attachment or authenticity. We choose the pain of attachment when there is no other option.
As adults, we choose our pain. Do we choose the pain of attachment, knowing we will never be our most authentic self? Or do we choose the pain of being authentic and losing attachments that caused us to suppress ourselves?
You are faced with the pain of choice. You decide the pain you can live with in the present. What do you choose, Maria?”
It didn’t even take a heartbeat to answer, “I choose the pain of authenticity. I have fought too hard to be authentic. I can’t go back to the way I was. I won’t EVER let that be taken from me again.”
He continued in his rhythmic cadence, “You have chosen the pain of being authentic than the pain of attachment. You have liberated yourself from something painful, because you choose to be fully you. Once you are liberated, it’s difficult to go back. To go back means you’d have to suppress. You’ve spent years in the pain of suppression to have attachment.”
“I think the greatest act of self-compassion is that I chose myself. For once, I. Chose. Me.” I felt lighter in my truth.
“This is about the present and your own self compassion in choosing yourself. I can hear the self-compassion wanting to shine all the way through. You are almost there. Keep going.”
His last words were glowing embers, “The truth is always inside us. It’s right there.”
I’m not alone
I was emotionally wrung out. I felt like I had just been on the spin cycle at warp speed. Once it slowed to a stop, it hit me, People just saw this! I forced myself to look up to the land of the present in the Zoom workshop. I saw people wiping their eyes, some crying. I didn’t feel shame. I felt connection. I wasn’t alone in this journey. We’re all in it together with our own experiences, wanting to learn a better way. I was filled with the lightness of hope and cocooned in the collective energy of compassion.
What I learned in Fifteen Minutes and Thirty-eight seconds
It was one of the most powerful experiences of my life. Uniquely special, fragile in it’s newness and strong in foundation.
In the throes of my boomerang experience of five hundred emotions, I forgot this was recorded for its on-demand access. What fresh hell is this?
Initially, I started to beat myself up. Then I paused and noticed what came up with compassion. I was a child being seen. Only this time, I was there for her.
My authentic self? She full out belly laughed and had me own it. My vulnerability is my superpower. Ok, fine. She’s wise.
The universe was letting me know it’s time to stop being invisible. This was about me having the right to take up space and be seen. Message received.
We all possess the healing energy within us.
Compassion doesn’t make us weak when we are gentle with ourselves.
Self-Compassion doesn’t demand perfection, only a willingness to be present.
Those who are brave are the ones who will go inward and explore their truths.
When a choice has to be made, we get to choose what holds the most value to us, attachment or authenticity.
I made my choice. Whether they accept it or not is their decision.
I freely gave compassion to others while I made myself grind and suffer in pain before I gave it to myself.
I no longer need to earn the right for self-compassion.
I can hold compassion for people who hurt me while having self-compassion for myself. Both can exist at once.
My authentic self is worth every tear I shed when I grieve my liberation from the pain of attachment.
My greatest act of self-compassion was choosing me.