When Things Are Unbearable

My horrible year & what it's teaching me

Our dream house - the one that’s hanging by a thread…

I’m a resolutely look-on-the-bright-side person, but it’s been a horrible year.

In February I realised I needed to leave the Buddhist temple community I’ve led and lived in with my spouse Kaspa for a decade - they did not want to go. In May we began a hugely complex and stressful house selling-and-buying process and at the time of writing our dream house is still hanging by a fragile thread. I’m turning fifty in a week and sharp thoughts keep pricking at me: is this all I’ve managed to achieve so far? How many failings? How much longer do I have?

Of course these events pale into insignificance when held against what much of the world is facing. I am not living through a war, or cancer. Some of you are. My loved ones are safe. I have enough to eat. I know that I am supremely fortunate.

Also, because of my particular psychology (a need for some influence over events, a horror of displeasing people, introversion, unrealistically high expectations of myself, pockets of intense self-criticism) this has been the year of my perfect storm. I can’t ever remember feeling as powerless as I do right now. Mostly my day to day life has continued - with lovely bits, and with large swathes of low or middle-grade stress. There have also been times when I have been overwhelmed by pain, terror or rage. In these moments, life has felt unbearable.

Argh! What is the Universe trying to tell me?

🍁

This year I encountered Tosha Silver’s work. She’s not a Buddhist, and she’s very into astrology, which I must admit to having an allergy to. Also, her teachings have kept me from breakdown. She lives in a particular way, and leans into particular beliefs, and articulates all this in a way that makes sense to me. Various things she writes about are helpful to me but the main one is this:

There is something I can take refuge in.

Even typing these words opens a window - just a crack - and brings a breeze of relief through my tight and weary body.

Silver reminds me that we cannot depend on people, places or things - we cannot make these things our refuge. They are unreliable. Relationships. Being able to plan for the future. A dream house. We cannot manipulate these things into existence - they may be in our future, or they may not.

What we can do is rely on the Universe (the Buddha, the divine, dear Earth) to provide for us. We can trust that when we lean in we will be okay, even when things aren’t okay. I am reminded of my years in the 12 step programmes, where I was shown over and over again that my ego had a very limited view of what was best for me. The Universe had much bigger plans for me. I saw this at work in other people’s lives too. I saw miracles happen.

Just maybe, when horrible things happen to us, we are being offered an opportunity to heal parts of us that need healing - parts we wouldn’t get access to in any other way. Just maybe, we are being shown something awful so we can say to another human being: ‘I really get it - I am with you’. Just maybe, even when our most cherished plans shatter and lie at our feet, there is something just as good or even better around the next corner.

I’m not saying that random shit doesn’t happen, or that there isn’t huge injustice in the world. I’m not saying that we are responsible for our diseases or that we can manipulate the divine to give us what we want. I’m not even saying that things will get better. I am saying, what if we withhold our judgement about what’s happening to us - just for now? What if we hand our biggest burdens over? What if we ask for help?

A part of me is skeptical. It says: maybe this is all just wishful thinking - plastering meaning onto a cruel and futile world.

I don’t know. Maybe it is.

I do know that when I live as IF it’s true - that I can take refuge in something reliable - then everything feels easier. I find unexpected meaning. I begin to re-count my blessings. I am consoled. I can carry on.

🍁

Last week, in the grip of a particularly intense bout of distress and despair, I pulled this card from Silver’s pack.

From Tosha Silver’s ‘Wild Offerings’ pack

As I read the card, I experienced being thrown into God’s arms.

It feels good to be held here, cradled by God, and, it doesn’t solve my real life problems. There is still much for us to do over the coming weeks and months. Leaning into the divine doesn’t mean passivity - often the opposite.

It does mean that, when I’m feeling knee-deep in sticky mud and I have no idea whether taking action will make things better or worse, I can hand things over for a while and wait to be guided - by my intuition, by wise friends, by signs. I can remember the serenity prayer. I can remember that I might think I know what’s best for me, but (maybe) I don’t. I can lean into this moment right now.

This moment right now. I glance up from my desk and gaze across the valley, blanketed with a gentle mist. Here I am - living in a warm flat in a beautiful Buddhist temple alongside good friends. I have cupboards full of food (including good chocolate) and bookshelves full of books. I have dogs that boil over with delight at seeing me again after I leave them alone for half an hour. I have lived on this astonishing planet for nearly half a century! Every fresh day is precious. Every fresh day, resting in God’s arms.

Who knows what will happen next? Maybe things in the material world will get even more complicated, even more stressful, worse. Maybe, this time next month, I’ll be writing from our new house. Right now, from this place of safety, either of those options feel survivable. Not just survivable - thrivable. Full of rich opportunities. Brimming with blessings.

There is something I can take refuge in.

I hope you can experiment with taking refuge in it too.

With much love,
Satya <3

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Going Gently is written by Satya Robyn. Her three ‘work hats’ are writer, IFS psychotherapist & Buddhist teacher, but work often smooshes into play and it can be hard to tell which is which (although doing the accounts is definitely work). She lives happily in Malvern, the UK with her spouse Kaspa (they/them) and two little dogs.

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