Last week I gave a presentation titled: Becoming Conscious and Aware. During the presentation I talked about Wordlessness, which is when you drop out of language and enter a state of being. The participants and I did a number of exercises together and I thought the evening went well.
When I got home that night, I was upbeat and happy, thinking that everyone had enjoyed the evening and I had given people information that would be helpful in the coming days. I went to bed feeling the same way.
I woke suddenly at 3 AM experiencing waves of shame. My thoughts were these:
- Why (why? why?) had I told that personal story?
- Why had I done improv with people? Those games are so silly. (As an aside, play is a time-honored way of dropping out of thought and into wordlessness, even when playing with words.)
- Why had I told everyone I could bend a spoon with my mind?
…and many more in a similar vein. I lay in bed, trying to relax, wondering why these thoughts were so strong—I couldn’t seem to let them go.
I finally told myself I couldn’t go back and change anything and all I could do was learn from what I’d done right and what (I thought) I’d done wrong. I made a mental list of what I might do differently next time and then I used a yoga nidra technique to fall back to sleep.
For the next few days I continued to feel a vague sense of uneasiness. I knew the feeling stemmed from my thoughts, but I couldn’t quite grasp the thought that was causing the feeling.
It finally became clear. I had shared my authentic self with my participants, including some of the “woo-woo” stuff that I’ve learned and used over the years. Normally, I couch any mention of something that sounds the least bit “far out” with scientific language. I talk about the right brain vs. the left brain, the physiology of the brain and the scientific basis of wordlessness (when we drop into wordlessness, the brain goes into a synchronous alpha pattern, etc.)
In my excitement over the techniques I was teaching my participants, and my wish to share as many exercises as possible, I skimmed over most of the scientific proof of these techniques and moved right into sharing them and talking about how I and my clients had used them over the years.
I realized I was feeling vulnerable because I’d stopped hiding behind the logical, clinical mindset I usually adopt while teaching. These thoughts came up over and over:
- What if they think I’m a flake?
- What if they think I’m making this stuff up?
- What if they think I’m an idiot?
Finally bringing the thoughts to my consciousness helped me see that I was fearful of being judged for being who I am.
But I am someone who believes in woo-woo stuff. I’ve used it to good effect in my own life and I’ve taught it to many others who have used it for their own benefit.
I’m also someone who loves to play. Playing simple improv games is one of the most fun things I do these days. I play with my son, I play with my siblings, and just last week, I played with a group of people who met me at the library to talk about being conscious and aware.
So the feeling of vulnerability has (mostly) faded: Because the thought of the alternative—continuing to hide my true self—feels much worse.
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Diane MacKinnon, MD, writes about and speaks on life coaching topics. You can contact her at diane@dianemackinnon.com or check out her website at www.dianemackinnon.com.
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