We crouched down hushed, sure not to disrupt the peace of our surroundings offered by the forest. The air still, the trees lush. Taking turns the animals graciously presented themselves to our view. As each one appeared we called its name, and it answered by retreating back to the safety of the woods. I got up, took the hand of my two year old son, and strolled away from the crowd to a pocket in the trees. A bear appeared. It approached us grudgingly and we cautiously backed to a corner of the clearing, opposite to the crowd but within line of sight. The bear lowered its head, shook it threateningly and grunted. I called for help from the crowd (which consisted of a combination of strangers and people I knew well) but they either ignored my pleas or gestured that I was on my own and continued about their leisure. Still holding my son's hand, I positioned him behind me, feeling assured that he would not be hurt under my protection. Each time the bear approached I swung my one free fist with a force just enough to make it back off but only for a moment. Each time I hollered for help, I got no response, and felt frustrated by the lack of attention. Giving in to the notion that I was on my own, I turned my focus inward to an informative voice that affirmed my ability to take on this bear. In that moment I stumbled, falling to one knee and the bear stood on hind legs towering over me, but I swiftly recovered and continued a strong fight in my defence. The bear never bared its teeth, only threatened its dominance to intimidate. Despite the threats, I maintained a sense that I was okay, I was going to be okay, feeling calm and grounded. Persevering, I eventually knocked the bear out, and the large animal visually became smaller as he surrendered to unconsciousness. I thought to myself, "This bear may wake up eventually, but for now I've won this match." Then I woke up.
Last year was an emotionally difficult year for me. In the changes I've taken on and the barriers I've faced I've spent a lot of time navigating unfamiliar places. I don't think I would have gotten through it safely without the surmountable support of my close friends. I was extremely lucky to have the people around me that I did. I relied heavily on their availability particularly in my most anxious moments of uncertainty and doubt. They helped carry my load, and talking it through helped me sort so much of it out. I'll be forever grateful for the love and encouragement from others when I couldn't find it within myself. All along, however, I knew this level of dependency wasn't something that could be maintained forever and at some point I would need to become more self-reliant in my emotional coping. I recognized the unconditional treatment I received as something I wanted to find in myself, for myself, and this love offered by others became a model for my vision - and eventually my practice.
In recent months my support network has shifted its shape and the support I had is not as readily available. I find myself attempting to grip the frayed strings of what's left to find my way back to the security of the place I once knew. But that's not what this transformation is about. Change is hard. Uncertain. As someone who has always struggled to embrace the reality of change, I am coming to realize that most of the struggle comes from resistance. As these changes take form I find myself in a position away from the crowd, where my only option is to become more self-reliant. As a consequence I'm learning how to be a greater source of comfort for myself in the face of my emotional challenges. Albeit difficult (not unlike being cornered by a bear at times) and probably not what I would choose if I still had the security of last year's supports, I'm beginning to see this as a new phase in my journey. Phase two. My energy is divided between life's constant responsibilities (in the dream, protecting Archer) and tending to my mental health (battling the bear). It feels overwhelming, even threatening at times, but I'm able to hold on to this nurtured notion that I am capable, discovering a fresh confidence in my own strength.
As the crowd stood back and watched me sweat through my one-handed battle with this bear I momentarily assumed a victim's role, but just as quickly chose to let it go and focus on my battle. Had I held onto that victim identity I probably wouldn't have had the energy to take out the bear. In reflection, perhaps the crowd's reaction was not an act of neglect, but rather an alternative (more informed) form of support. Perhaps their confidence in me preceded mine. And by waiting on standby, they were gifting me the opportunity to discover my own strength, ready to jump in if the bear were to ever bare its teeth.
