8 Things I've Learnt About Going Gently

My recipe for a softer life in a harsh world

Apr 24, 2023

Me + furry blanket + Aiko dog = going gently

I first sat down to write this piece on Sunday. I was tired and grouchy but the urge to list my experience of gentleness had arisen and I was determined to follow it through. I was aware that my dad had died less than a week ago, that I’d already had a full morning of admin and cleaning, and that it was Sunday. The parts of me that drive me were unmoved. ‘You could write if you put your mind to it’, they said. ‘Just push harder.’

These driving parts of me were right. For much of my life I have just ‘pushed harder’. I have pushed myself to write a dozen books whilst working full time, to juggle running a Buddhist temple and eco-activism, and to persevere in difficult relationships that I probably should have exited. More than anything, I have had voices inside me that chide me, judge me, pressure me and criticise me. This striving meant that I got lots done, but at what cost? How much of life’s beauty was I missing?

Going more gently has been a balm for my weary and aching soul. I am still a work in progress, and I will always have tendencies towards busyness and striving. That’s okay - I like these parts of me and I don’t want to retire them completely. I am softer with myself these days, though, and therefore softer with others. I rest more. I forgive myself more. I enjoy more of the blessings that are raining upon me all the time.

I would love to pass some of this softness on to you, and so here I am. I am happy to present to you (drumroll……) 8 Things I’ve Learnt About Going Gently. Before you proceed I’ll invite you to pause, have a wriggle, take a slow breath, and allow a little tension to trickle into the floor. I’m doing the same right now.

There is always hope. I’m putting this one right at the start, because sometimes it doesn’t seem that way. I know through working with my own system and with those of my psychotherapy clients that some of our unhealthy patterns are entrenched. The generations-back, life-or-death, everything-else-depends-on-this-being-true variety of entrenched. Sometimes progress seems either non-existent or glacially slow.

The good news is that often during these periods of apparent stasis, roots are going down into the earth and branching their fingers out into the good soil. I’ve often seen a sudden surge of growth and blossoming after a period of suffering. I have also witnessed enough miracles to know that they are real. Yes, sometimes we and our loved ones suffer for long periods - that sucks and I hate it. Also, we never really know what will happen next, and change is always possible.
Teensy changes are the key. An example. I have a long and antagonistic relationship with exercise and I fought for many years to insert a yoga routine or some other form of exercise into my week. What’s been working recently is doing five minutes of stretches every morning. I call it stretching, not yoga, and if there are days when I don’t do it that is also okay. I am also experimenting with dancing like a happy crazy woman to Body Groove between clients. If you feel any overwhelm at all when contemplating a change, my advice is to scale it down. And down. And down. Teensy changes work partly because they help us to avoid push back from other parts of our system, because…
Polarising is never helpful. Since discovering Internal Family Systems I have noticed more and more how tempting it is to polarise with pushing parts. I do it with others, e.g. when I tell a friend who is worrying about a relationship that they don’t need to worry. I also do it with myself, e.g. by countering my urge to get everything done with advice that I should do absolutely nothing instead.

It makes sense that we want to offer balance to someone who is about to fall over, but you can guarantee that their systems are already trying to do this (and failing), and your piling on is unlikely to help. Instead, you can affirm the good intentions of the troublesome parts (see below), offer help, and wait to be asked. I could say something to my friend like, ‘I understand why you’d be worrying, as this stuff is important and it’s also especially difficult for you because of what happened last year. I really hate that it’s hard for you. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’

The same technique works in our own polarisations. Instead of getting caught in opposing the part of me that is pushing, I could say: ‘I get that you feel the urge to work really hard today, especially as you’re stressed and maybe also avoiding feeling sad. Thanks for working so hard to try and keep me steady. Go ahead and do what you need to do, and if something else would help you later, like writing in my journal or eating chocolate or calling a friend, let me know.’

My dogs do this & it also happens inside my brain… (photo by Meritt Thomas)

Our parts are always trying to help us. I know, this one can be a hard sell. And yet I have found it to be true of even the worst, most destructive of parts of us. Parts always feel that they are protecting us from something worse. Critical parts may be protecting us from messing up. Pushing parts may be distracting us from our anger or despair. Violent parts may be protecting us from our own shame or other’s shaming us. Even our suicidal parts are offering the only solution they have left to overwhelming pain (there is always another solution, but it can be impossible for these parts to see this from their perspective - see ‘hope’).

When I apply this to going gently, I find that I have a new tenderness towards the pushing parts that have made my life difficult for decades. I am more likely to want to understand them, rather than obliterate them (trying to get rid of parts never works). I might even see their weariness and their suffering. In turn, my pushing parts are pleased to be seen and understood. They don’t feel so alone. They begin to melt under the soft gaze of compassion.
Our societal systems are often anti-gentleness. If you live in the Global North then you are likely soaked in a capitalist, growth-crazy, individualistic soup which will have penetrated you in ways you will hardly be aware of. When ‘success’ is framed in such a specific way, and our place in the social order relies on us doing certain things, then it’s not easy to opt out. I’m not just talking about money (although that’s a big one) but various kinds of competition, our looks, how many friends we have, how many extra-curriculum activities we partake in, how busy we are, how much good work we do for others… All of this will double the pressure on the parts of us inside that already have these agendas.

What can we do about this? We can notice it. We can form connections with people and communities who hold alternative views (I’ve found that Chris La Tray plays that role for me here on Substack!). We can go gently on ourselves when we get lost. We can rebel! We can work to gently influence these systems from inside. We can go on retreat. We can keep on noticing the layers and layers of cultural and legacy burdens inside us, and let go of them when we can. We can stay curious and connect back in with what we already know.

Gentleness is infectious. I remember reading a book by Danny Wallace about how rudeness is catching - if someone is mean to you, you’re much more likely to be mean to someone else. This is also true when we are harsh to ourselves - we’re more likely to pass this on to those around us.

The flip of this is that gentleness is also catching. This means that becoming kinder to ourselves is actually a service to all beings - hurray! It also means that it helps if we surround ourselves (when possible) with people who are kind to themselves. This can include the books we read, the media we consume and the landscapes we choose to spend time in. As well as infecting other humans, our softness will also spread to our beloved animals, the plant and animal kingdoms, and to our dear Earth. She needs all the softness she can get right now.
Sometimes we can’t change things. I am sorry to have to include this one. What a bummer. It took me a very long time to realise that I couldn’t stop my alcoholic ex-partner from drinking. It’s taken me even longer to realise that sometimes my own system isn’t under my control - sometimes when I need chocolate, I need chocolate!

That’s the bad news, and it can take some getting used to. The good news is that, in my experience, truly seeing my powerlessness brings a great sense of relief. I don’t have to fight the things I can’t change any more - I just need to do what I can to make it easier to live with things as they are. I love the serenity prayer as a reminder that we should always practice discernment and then either do the thing we have control over or work on letting it go. Clue: we generally can’t control people, places or things. Or, as I said, our chocolate-eating parts. Or maybe that’s just me.
The Serenity Prayer - beloved of 12 steppers everywhere
We’re not alone. This is true in so many ways. We are not the only ones who struggle to go gently - I’m hoping you’ll find evidence of that in my comments section , and from recognising yourself in some of the things I write about here. We have those around us who care about us - or who have cared about us - or who will care about us in the future. We are supported in every moment by the ground underneath us, by the air in our lungs right now, by the food we eat and the shelters we live in and the un-earnt beauty all around us. In my experience, I am also cared about by something ineffable that permeates everything. I tend to call this Buddha or God or Great Love - you might have different words or different ways of conceptualising it. It is there. You are loved, and you are accepted just as you are.

I would love for you to share your own experience of going (or not going) gently with us all - one thing that has made it easier for you to be gentle with yourself or others, or your current struggles with gentleness. It’s so helpful to know that we’re not alone - you’ll be making an offering.

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