The only constant is change is a statement worn to meaninglessness by repetition. It can seem simplistic and trite. And yet, the ways in which we avoid change are anything but.
We’re all capable of being clever and sophisticated when it comes to avoiding seeing how things are, the truth of what is. We may believe that our routines are useful as opposed to stultifying, that we are honouring life by remaining the same, that it is better to disappoint ourselves than anyone else. We can tie ourselves in conceptual knots to avoid the way things are, can drink or scroll our way to a numbness that makes the disconnect between who we are and where we are less jarring.
A decade ago, I made changes to my marriage slowly because, well, I was married. I had small children. Slow was the only way to go. And it’s partly because of this that I have a great relationship with my ex-husband now and why we are still a strong family. But, at the same time, I resisted change in other relationships by avoiding difficult conversations, by not expressing my needs and feelings clearly and by avoiding or dismissing the other person’s confusion and pain. I regret those choices, and a big part of my commitment to myself during my two years of being intentionally solo was to never do these things again.
More recently, I didn’t avoid change so much as suffer during it, because I failed to focus on the positives that were ahead. I accepted less than I was due, because I couldn’t see that on the other side of walking away was something even better than I had been able to imagine.
Treading water might feel safe for now but it will eventually exhaust you. The depths are best explored by taking a deep breath and diving down.
One of the common reasons that we avoid change is because it asks us to start over, to be a learner again. As I navigate the current shifts in my life, I realise that many experiences and feelings are brand new. I’m a beginner here. I feel less sure of myself, am literally less competent. Being with the not knowing and the mistakes can be hard, really hard.
Altering our behaviour in relationships can also be challenging. It takes emotional energy to speak up, to formulate needs from feelings in the moment and to communicate them as neutrally and directly as possible. It all takes effort, feels unfamiliar; it can feel, to be honest, unsafe.
Avoiding change – denial – is, it seems, very much part of the process. We have to be angry and upset, must deny and decry. As with all evolutions, the process is not linear, and it’s certainly not pain-free. What often helps is to spend enough time doing the things that I feel sure of, competent in – my strengths, my comfort zone. A dynamic balance is needed between growth and comfort: too much time doing one or the other can be exhausting and lead to burnout or to a stasis akin to death.
I’ve also found it helpful to consider past change and the many experiences I’ve had because I’ve allowed others to end relationships or chosen to end them. The more I reflect upon past experiences of change, the more I recognise the power and joy that has always followed changes that I’ve often avoided or delayed. It hurts to experience loss, pain and sadness: physically hurts. And yet, on the other side of the pain is always something new: a brighter self, a fresh opportunity to play and be with life. On the other side of that pain is freedom.
One of my favourite pieces of zen/Sufi wisdom is this: joy in sudden disappointment. Who knows what’s on the other side of things not going how we hoped? Life is in the right, always (thank you, Rainer Maria Rilke). The not knowing is scary and yet, really, it’s all we ever have.
So now, when I begin to doubt and question, I also know to get excited: something new, some new understanding and awareness, a life lived more closely aligned with the now, with what is, sparkles on the other side of these dark uncertainties. And the deeper I can go into these fears and doubts, the more curious about and the more accepting of them I am, the brighter life is on the other side.
Change is life asking you to wake up to what’s next. Life is a series of rooms, and change is the doorway to the next room. Pain is the key that turns the lock. Seeing life clearly, living it fully, is about recognising when it’s time to move on to the next room.
How and where are you avoiding change in your life?
What small steps can you take to begin the change you know you need?
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