Tag Archives: victim

Consent

Last month I posted about our power and ability to say both yes and no to others.  This morning I’m thinking about another level of yes and no; that is the yes and no we say to life.  At this level, the term ‘consent’ is useful.  Consent means to “give permission for something to happen,” according to a 2-second search on Google.

Consent is a huge and complex topic and there’s a great deal of discussion about different aspects of it.  For the purposes of this blog, I’m using consent in the widest sense; the way in which we approach life.

Several interactions this week have made me think about the mysterious difference between people who consent to learn and grow and those who don’t.  When I think about my observations, and people I’ve known, it’s clear to me that the difference between these two kinds of people has nothing to do with age, sex, money, gender, education, employment, intellect or family.  It has nothing to do with the color of your skin or the god(s) you worship, or where on the planet you live, or what kind of horrors you might have endured.

I’m acquainted with a writer who sent me a piece in praise of stubbornness, a quality she admires (as do I) in herself and others because to her it means a determination to survive and do well, regardless of limitations, real and perceived.  (Thank you, A!)  We might mean the same thing by consent and stubbornness, or close to it.  I see the ability to consent to learning and growth, over and over, no matter how many times we’re knocked down and cut off, as a kind of stubbornness—a refusal to give up, to close down, to conform to something that doesn’t work for us.

Without even trying I can identify seven people in my life, past and present, who don’t consent to the experience of life, the flow, the dance, the mystery and uncertainty, the synchronicity and the billions of invitations that arise for exploration, connection, understanding, growing and being.

Photo by Alex Iby on Unsplash

These folks are easy to spot.  They resist.  They argue with what is.  They deny, distract, fall into various addictions.  They don’t communicate effectively.  They care about winning, being right and power over.  They have rigid stories and expectations.  Everything that happens to them is a personal insult or a crisis.  They’re victims.  A good, deep question is a grave threat.  To my eyes, they look miserably unhappy.  They repeat the same patterns, over and over, dying a little more with each fruitless repetition.  They do not consent.  They refuse.

Photo by Cristian Newman on Unsplash

Every single one of the seven people I’m thinking of has had opportunities to learn, to grow, to change, to make different choices.  They all had people in their lives who loved them and had information, tools and skills that might have enriched them.  They all had people in their lives who valued them and wanted their contribution.  They each had at least one person in their life who would have done anything to support them in learning and growing, and that person was me.

Most of those relationships are behind me now, because I have this unforgiveable quality of consent.  You might say it’s my daily crime, in fact.  My life now is based on the why, the what if, the whose rule is that, the help me understand. My life is about teach me, show me, share with me and what do you think?  My life is about doing more of what works and letting the rest go.  People who refuse and people who consent invariably have friction, because their needs are opposite.  There’s just nowhere meaningful to go.

People who consent are not perfect or perfectly happy people.  On the contrary, their lives have been filled with mess and miscalculations, abuse, addictions and other painful experiences, but they’ve learned from everything and everyone.  People who consent don’t look at their lives with bitterness or frame things as mistakes.  They see teachers, opportunities and fascinating things learned and yet to learn.  People who consent are endlessly curious.  They’re always thinking about what they don’t know and questioning what they think they do know.  They’re always seeking the hidden thing.  They’re more likely to ask questions than proselytize or lay down the law.  They’re not interested in power games or being right or winning.  They seek to understand, to explore, to exercise choice, to manage their own power.  They can laugh at themselves.  They can and do say no, but they say it to protect their integrity and needs, not to shut out or control life.

People who consent choose happiness.  That’s the most important one for me.  I’m still reaching for that.  I’ve always been a person who consents, but I’ve also chosen to stay limited in many important ways.  As I’ve learned to discern between refusal and consent, I see that living life from a state of consent results in joy.  Again, it’s got nothing to do with age, beauty, money, status or any of the things that the culture says we’re defined by.  Joy, at the end of the day, is a simple thing, arising out of being at peace with this wild ride we call life.  Joy is consenting to surrender, consenting to feel and experience, consenting to feeling fear and doing it anyway, consenting to give up trying to control all the things we can’t control.  Joy is composed of tears, blood, loss and disappointment, pain and growth.  We already have it.  It’s here, sitting on your shoulder as you read this and mine as I write.

All we have to do is consent.

Photo by Evan Kirby on Unsplash

All content on this site ©2016
Jennifer Rose
except where otherwise noted

Ready For a Change?

A year and a half ago I left everything I knew and traveled halfway across the continent in a U-Haul to start a new life in Maine.  I’d never even bought a plane ticket for myself before.  I’d never taken a road trip.  I’d never lived anywhere but Colorado.  I’d never been to Maine.  I rented my little house, which I’d never intended to leave, and I’d never been a landlady before.  I had very little money, and in fact had to borrow money to accomplish the transition (which I’ve since paid back).

I was 51 years old.

As you can probably imagine, this decision was not met with enthusiastic support from all sides.

How this impacted my relationships will be a subject for future blogs.  Today I want to answer the question no one quite asked, but everyone wanted to.

WTF?

Photo by SHTTEFAN on Unsplash

It’s complicated, of course.  It always is.  The short version is that I slowly realized I was living a life that didn’t feel like my own.  Nothing fit right.  It was as though I’d been wearing clothes and shoes from someone else’s closet.  My life was a tiny room that got a centimeter smaller every day.  I lost a relationship, the neighborhood diner and my dearest companion.  I woke every morning knowing I would fail, no matter how hard I worked at…everything.  I felt like a character in a play someone else had written and I began to drop my lines.

The most remarkable thing about that time wasn’t that I was having an unusual experience.  I’m certain many of you reading this blog can relate to my experience.  No, what’s remarkable is that few people knew how it really was with me, which was exactly how I wanted it.

Photo by Hailey Kean on Unsplash

I had a beautiful little house that everyone loved.  I had friends.  I had a garden.  I lived in a lovely place that had been home for nearly twenty years.  I was financially independent—as long as nothing unexpected happened.  I had my music, my movies, my books, my early morning walks, my comfortable bed, my dance group, my small luxuries.  I had a good life, and I wasn’t happy.  I was deeply ashamed.  I was also unbelievably, unbearably, terminally lonely.

I began to write more, not with any plan or hope, but because I had to.  Because it was the only thing I really enjoyed.  It was the only time I felt real.  For various reasons I felt unable to seek support for my writing locally, so I went online and connected with other writers.  One of the writers I connected with was a life coach who teaches emotional intelligence.

I decided to work with him, and that’s when it all began to change.

I’m not going to try to sell you on life coaching.  You’re online right now—research for yourself.  There are lots of articles and sites to look at.  I’ll let the coaches sell themselves.  What I want to do is give you reasons not to do it, because if you hire a well-trained, certified, experienced coach and you’re serious about the work your life is going to transform, and an exhausting, bloody, terrifying experience it is.  Creating new life is damned hard work.  Ask any mother.

So here we go.  Don’t do life coaching if:

  • You don’t want things to change, both internally and externally (good luck with not wanting things to change, by the way!).
  • You’re not really willing to invest time and money in yourself.
  • You’re looking for a therapist or prescription medications, or you’re struggling with serious mental illness.
  • You don’t want to take responsibility for your power, life and choices.
  • You don’t want to deal with your feelings.
  • You’re perfectly happy with your current role of victim, martyr, addict, people pleaser, passive aggressive, etc.  (But in that case you might recommend life coaching to someone you’re in relationship with.  Perhaps they could use it!)
  • You don’t want your creative life to blossom.
  • You don’t want to be honest.
  • You don’t want to learn new language, strategies, coping mechanisms and communication skills.
  • You don’t want your relationships at work, in your family and with your friends to become healthier, more honest and more effective.
  • You don’t want to become a more effective and loving parent.
  • You don’t want to cut out of your life the habits, relationships, behaviors and beliefs that are holding you back.

And so how, you ask, has it worked out so far?  The coaching, the move, the new life?

Guess what?  It’s not perfect.  I miss parts of my old life.  But I live with meaning, learning, creativity, humor, curiosity, joy, love and companionship.  I recognize myself.  I like myself.  I feel useful and successful.  I’m learning to be more honest.

The coaching, the move, the new life?

Best thing I ever did.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

All content on this site ©2016
Jennifer Rose
except where otherwise noted