Here’s a brilliant insight I just learned, simple, direct, pain-lightening.
I’ll begin with the context: I am the most fortunate woman on the planet. I have a heavenly husband who loves and sustains me. I have a wealth of children, grands, and friends ditto.
I love love love my life. Am grateful for every aspect. Cannot believe my good fortune.
However an element I also have acquired along the way is a number of persons who loathe, hate, and despise me.
They are part of the fabric of my life so there’s no working around… They are sweet, uber-intelligent, with a sense of humor.
I do love them.
The reason for their hatred is, naturally, in part my personality. I may have inherited too much of my comedy-writer-father’s acerbity. And my mother’s and grandmother’s devotion to manners. I’m too quick to interrupt in a conversation… I would say I interrupt from enthusiasm, my detractors say I’m just intrusive and rude (that was a shock).
Much to work on at this late stage…and believe me, I’m working on it…
But rock bottom basically and truthfully, my personality only adds salt to their wounds…the genesis of their hatred is born of time and circumstance. Can’t work on that.
Anyway, reasons don’t matter.
For the most part when we are together, I am treated as The Wicked Witch of The West.
My beloved Bill, devout Catholic, has told me from the beginning, “Just offer it up, darling. Give it to Jesus.”
My problem—I am a Jewish Buddhist Catholic—is that I’m not on intimate enough terms with Jesus to burden him. I might give it to Saint Monica, my lovely patron saint—she the name of the city where I was born.
But then yesterday in a conversation with our amazing CrossFit coach Hollis…
Hollis said, “Sylvia, just brush it off.”
Hollis is as helpful with one’s mental/emotional well-being as the fitting/joining of muscle and bone.
I love the image. Brush it off. Don’t have to heft it up to give it to Jesus or a saint.
Just lightly flick away hurt with fingertips.
And what’s great about that is that it’s so casual. No biggie. No worries.
Another great thing is you can do it with love…which is everything there is. Add a dash of humor—frosting on the cake.
And so last night when potential wounding showed up, I just smiled (to myself, nothing visible) and brushed it off. Flick Flick. Gone Gone. Sighed with relief.
Thank you, Hollis.
Maybe it’s a gesture you can use—I hope you don’t need it, but it’ll be there just in case.
And think of Good Old Intrusive Sylvia when you flick…