When I let myself contract

Sometimes I just want to get small. Really small. So small I might disappear. Why do I need to get bigger, expand, grow, take up space? Why can’t I just stay where I am? There are so many sides to everything so I’ll start with the obvious contradiction. Culturally we say “get bigger,” “put yourself out there,” “reach for the stars,” because so many of us want to retract, sidestep our purpose, not face our own reality. I get it and feel that way. So I have aimed to get bigger and honestly, it didn’t worked out so well. I find that I bump into walls, collapse under the weight, or clumsily have to make amends later. So, I’m here to say (mostly to myself, though I’m also here to say it to you if you need to hear this, too), it’s okay to get smaller.

One of my best things I’ve ever heard, that I will repeat again and again, came from my amazing therapist. She said to me at our first meeting: after an expansion there will be a contraction. It has been such a helpful reminder because we ebb and flow through life, never in a constant state anywhere, and I realized as a bodyworker I tell my clients the same thing, in a different way. I let them know: we get comfortable with discomfort, we get comfortable with gnarly tangled up positions are body/emotions put us in and that becomes our home. When I do bodywork on someone there is a change in how their bodies function, sometimes great, sometimes mild, and it takes a while for the circuitry to catch up. Our brains get wired to an orientation of “normal,” so that even if our posture technically gets “better,” we are still operating from what once felt secure. I emphasize the importance of bringing in conscious awareness to the places of change because that helps quicken the process from sameness to newness. Expansion and contraction.

The contraction is a valuable part of the process, emotionally or physically, because sometimes it takes a while to get comfortable with a new normal. Change is hard. But the caveat here is that I try to pay attention to when the smallness is rooted to fear, or when it is rooted in restoration. Sometimes its the same thing, but fear alone can keep me stuck in a feedback loop—I’m afraid so I curl up in a ball, but now the ball is comfortable, and now it hurts to try something new, so I’ll stay small because I’m afraid of what else is out there. This is not the smallness I am talking about and that is an important distinction. Smallness that doesn’t grow is just called stuck-ness.

So often I have major breakthroughs and I feel like “I’ve arrived! At last!” I’ve finally gotten through some obstacle, and now I believe life will forever be different on the other side. While its true change has occurred, I usually find contraction is at the heels of growth. If I’m not aware of this, I feel disappointed and scared like I haven’t made progress, and even worse, I believe I have to force and push and change myself. Change happens without me. Or despite me. And I’ve found rather then going “backwards,” there is just a time of acclimating. It goes like this: I have a huge awareness and suddenly there is a big change, then I gradually fall back into old patterns, and then I slowly begin to change my thoughts and act in new ways, in small ways. It’s all about those small moments that build to bigger growth. Otherwise I am trying to take on too much at once and it feel like making New Years resolutions when I was 20 where I would say, “I want to change the world!” and have no idea what I was even really going after.

For me small is also about transition. When I stay small I can keep a better grasp on the in-between moments that make such a big difference. For instance, when I end one task I can pause, maybe take a breath, have a moment to reflect, give thanks, as opposed to when I was younger where I would just bulldoze from once activity to the next, never really absorbing what in the world was happening. When I get small I can get quiet, and when I get quiet I can breath, and when I breath I become present to what is. I find these moment invaluable these days, even if sometimes I still fomo my way through life, especially during Carnival.

Small is also the time to process and reflect on the experiences that came through me. Often I wish I could be loud and out there all the time, but that just isn’t me. Today I say that confidently, other times that statement is twinged with longing or self-pity, but ultimately I might as well accept it because there is no amount of pushing that will turn me into Lady Gaga or Madonna or the coolest kid on the block. I will never be that imposing on space. So instead my smallness brings me inward to the realm of the ghosts. I have to admit, I do like it here, though sometimes I become invisible myself. Nonetheless, I get to hear things I might not otherwise and I take it as a gift and an honor to learn how to listen so deeply.

Throughout my adult life my bed has been my ultimate sanctuary, my shrine to the living, my happy place, the one place in my day that I get to really recuperate. I can spend many hours lost in the quiet, dark refuge of eyes-shut, blanket-drawn, phone-go-away. I mean this can happen at anytime of day, not just your normal-sleeping-hours. In this space I get so small I worry I might drift away or be forgotten by all. It has its pros and cons, but I have little control over it. It is something I need, something I crave. Certainly not everyday, or even once a week. There are definitely times I don’t crawl back into bed at 3 in the afternoon, but when I need it, it is only this that will provide. And this is not to say I don’t find myself staring at the great ocean or starry skies feeling the immensity of life beyond me. That kind of smallness is something totally different. My bed is more like finding my way back to the place before I was born. It’s more like being in the womb. It’s more like being swaddled as a child. I share all this because I’m curious if others have deep places of smallness that nourish their soul.

And to wrap this all up, the irony is that when I get small I actually get much, much bigger. I contract so that I can expand. I get to fill in all the cracks so my foundation is solid. When I get small I have a chance for my nervous system to relax and for my tiny, itty, bitty inner child to decide that it’s okay to come out and play. And play we shall when in the past we just pushed everything away. When I get small I can see myself much better and tend to whatever is coming up much easier. I’m a profoundly sensitive person—thank, God—and I often need to go slow to catch all the bits and bobs life throws my way. When I get small I can breath, restore, and feel safe in a much bigger way. In short, when I let myself contract I grow.

Thanks for reading. Would love to hear about your thoughts on this or anything else!