Trust

Two whole weeks of not writing; there was nothing to write. An almost imperceptible whale lumbered about in the dark of my subconscious. It’s weight and girth felt, but it’s contours and details eluding me, hidden just below the surface.

More than half a year ago in early September of 2019, I made the long eight hour drive with my closest friend and colleague from Bozeman, Montana to Calgary, Alberta. That far north, color already encroached on the leaves as Fall set in. We went for a conference on healing attachment problems with Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR). This all sounds way more woo woo than it is. People typically establish trust for the environment through early interactions or “attachment” in relationships. Most people struggle in some way with trust and therefore respond distrustfully. Such behavior generates distrust in others and thus, trust is universally undermined. This pattern leaves us perpetually on the defensive. EMDR can be an effective way to help us learn to let go of pain and confusion from past events to trust people and our environments appropriately in accordance with the facts in any present situation.

Hiking after a day of this training, my friend and I discussed the ideas of trust, attachment, relationships and life meaning (oh, the conversations between therapists–never a light moment!) We came across a spider’s web. This one was small, maybe six inches in diameter and completely symmetrical. What kind of trust, force, or instinct guides a spider to know exactly where to change the direction of his spinner? If he can do what he does with such art and certainty, why am I always so confused? Casting around, I find myself unsure of where to weave or wait. For eight months, I have contemplated this dilemma.

Last night, staring at the ceiling, not sleeping, the whale burst from the depths in my mind. For me, the web-skewing culprit is over-expectation, a deftly developed defense against an untrustworthy world. Because, like many people, I am hesitant to trust the world, other people, a process, even myself; I second guess and hope for more than there is. Simply put, expecting more gives me a shield of hope to provide comfort in an environment where I fear painful events. Unfortunately, my protective layer has an unwanted side effect. Under the lens of high expectation, I never really know if I should pursue an endeavor or let it go. I suspect that the spider, unburdened by over-expectation is able to trust his experience and his environment completely, accurately responding to any situation. His web unfolds, while mine angles off in uncharted directions, choking in fits and starts.

Trusting that whatever is happening is happening, relaxing into what is, being at home in the mess, I’ve thought about this idea at least a hundred different ways, hypothetically, therapeutically. In order to let my defenses down, to see what is, will take a leap of trust. The difference now is not considering, but actually doing. Actually trusting, actually changing, actually seeing myself and my environment clearly seems a tall order during the pandemic. It also might be the best time to start. To make this change, I will have to feel trusting, act as if I trust and pay attention to what currently is, instead of what I think ought to or might be.

I don’t know if I can do this; I don’t know if I can be like the spider, but I’m going to try.