I will not be bitchy, I will not be bitchy, I will not be bitchy… argh! I can’t stand it anymore! “Can I just bitch for 5 minutes?”
“Sure,” my sweet husband says, so off I go. When I’m done, I notice a subtle change. His energy has slightly withdrawn from mine. It’s not that his love has changed; it’s more that he’s bracing himself for my lower bitch energy. I notice it because since I’ve been nice, we are together a lot more. We hug in the kitchen, smile at each other more often, want to talk and make eye contact more. I seek him out if I haven’t seen him in a while, wonder where he is - it’s like there’s a magnet in between us, pulling us together, and keeping us together. I think when I get bitchy, it’s harder to keep that connection really tight because my energy shifts to a lower place. It’s an interesting thing to notice, and as soon as I did, I had to backpedal and make ANOTHER vow to stay in that higher place of gentleness, optimism, love, compassion, understanding and tenderness.
It’s tougher than it sounds, folks! I thought I was nice, but I can see that I’m probably consistently nice to the outside world, which creates an imbalance with my family. Outside in the world I’m nice nice nice nice - I can’t take it anymore! So I blow at my family, take it out on them. The stupid adage, “You always hurt the ones you love” is just wrong, but I think that is what I’m trying to say to you today. I think we MAY just hurt the ones we love because, well, they’re THERE! They can’t leave us (well, they CAN, but probably won’t), they’re a constant, they cut us a ton of slack, so maybe in that golden opportunity of family we can do the really hard work of 100% kindness, all the way around. Patience, respect, good listening skills, trying new things when the old things don’t work anymore. Maybe that’s the real definition of an enlightened person - someone who’s consistently kind to their family!
I watched Rusty turning circles in the grass this afternoon. I just stood and watched him. Steve walked by. “Have you seen Rusty doing this?” I asked him. “Yes,” he said, “he always does that,” laughing. I don’t want to speak for my sweet husband, who tends to his beloved elderly dog so tenderly and faithfully, but I think his laughter may be to cover his pain. He loves his dog so dearly and will miss him when he dies. He doesn’t want him to die. When I am gentle, when I am kind, I see actions differently. A laugh is not unkind - a laugh is protective, and I know how to answer that energy. I hug my husband and tell him he is a good man. And I mean it.
If I am not kind, there are many things I am unable to see. Because I seek clarity in all that I do, making the commitment to kindness is helping me see those new things, and see them clearly. Yes, it is difficult, but so far it’s been invaluable. I know it’s certainly not a new thing, this being kind, but it’s a worthwhile endeavor, for me, anyway. So far it’s taking a lot of deep breaths, closing my mouth sometimes, opening it at other times, and starting over again every single day.