I’m Not the Church Lady | Once I master this relationship, I’ll finally be done

||| I’M NOT THE CHURCH LADY by ROSIE KUHN |||

The way to Love is not by trying to become more loving or lovable. It is by noticing all the ways I leave myself in the name of love—and learn to return back to me over and over again.

Welcome to the Flight Simulator
Lucy my cat has been an amazing teacher for me. We are coming up on three years together, and because of her, I have worked through some pretty significant lifelong patterns, especially around abandonment and betrayal.

If you know anything about cats, you know they belong to themselves. They have their own way of being. You can either learn to accept your cat as they are, or you can make yourself completely crazy trying to get them to be something they’re not. I have tried both.

Because of Lucy, I’ve gotten to see just how attached I can become to having things my way. I want her to come home when I want her to come home. I want her to want affection when I want affection. I want her to be where I think she should be, doing what I think she should be doing, feeling whatever I imagine would reassure me that everything is okay. Apparently, Lucy has a different manual.

And over time, I’ve begun to recognize something far more interesting than my inability to control a cat. I now see all the ways I’ve been attached to trying to control people—trying to get them to be the way I want them to be, too. That’s ridiculous! When Lucy goes out on one of her walkabouts, sometimes for days at a time, I get to see all the places in me that can be triggered into feeling abandoned.

And, when I leave home for a few hours to visit friends, I can get triggered into believing I’ve abandoned her. When I want affection and she doesn’t, I get to experience all the operating mechanisms that want to turn her preferences into something about me.

The list goes on. And the bottom line is that none of this is about Lucy. It’s about lifelong patterns of trying to have life show up on my terms.

We human beings have the capacity to turn “So-and-So isn’t texting me back!” into a cockpit containing 4,000 alarms all going off at the same time. For most of my life, I somehow associated drama and emotionality with love. If you love someone, you worry about them. You think about them all the time. They are the focus of your Universe. You feel bad when they feel bad. You try to fix things. You anticipated their needs and monitor their responses, and you adjust yourself accordingly. And if something seems wrong?

4,000 Alarms!

ABANDONMENT DETECTED! DID I DO SOMETHING? SHOULD I CALL HER? MAYBE SHE NEEDS ME! MAYBE SHE DOESN’T NEED ME! QUICK—FIX SOMETHING! PROVE I’M LOVABLE!

Meanwhile, Ground Control is saying: “Rosie, all systems are functioning normally. No text does not imply malfunctions. Please stop declaring emergencies!!”

And this, I think, is where my Flight Simulator comes in. Because I’m discovering that the destination isn’t really Unconditional Acceptance of My Cat Lucy. The destination is Love. And the way there has surprisingly little to do with what Lucy is doing. It’s all about me. JEESH!

Locate. Reorient. Relax.

Lucy just came home after spending seven nights out in nature. Three years ago, an absence like this would have consumed me. Where is she? Is she okay? Does she want to come home? Did I do something wrong? Is she abandoning me? Have I abandoned her? Some of that still arose this time. Old trauma doesn’t necessarily disappear just because I’ve become conscious of it.

But this time, something’s different. I could see it. I could feel it. And I didn’t have to be different. I was able to be in me, as me, with me, while Lucy was out there with God, in God, as God. That is an extraordinary shift for me.

And when she came home today, she wanted me to come outside and spend time with her. I did. And then I wanted to come back inside. So, I did. Lucy stayed outside because she wanted to. Nobody was abandoned. Nobody was betrayed. Nobody had to be wrong. Nobody had to sacrifice what they wanted in order to prove that love existed.

Imagine that!

Less and less, I worry, feel guilty, or believe I should be different. Not because I love Lucy less, but because I’m increasingly able to love her without leaving myself. And perhaps this is the part I’ve misunderstood about love for most of my life:
I can’t abandon myself, manipulate myself, shame myself, frighten myself, or force myself into becoming more loving and somehow expect to arrive at Love.

If the destination is Love, perhaps Love has to be the way I operate, the way I fly, the way I stay open to being love—not just getting to love.

Returning to Me
Every time I notice I’ve left myself and return without judgment—Love. Every time I allow Lucy to have an interior world that belongs entirely to her—Love. Every time I let myself long for affection without making Lucy responsible for satisfying that longing—Love.

Every time I allow her freedom without translating it into my abandonment—Love. Every time I tell the truth about my experience without requiring someone else to do anything with it—Love. Every time I remain in relationship without picking up an old pattern of doing something in order to get something—Love.

And when I stray of course? No catastrophe. No spiritual demerits. No emergency landing. No 4,000 Alarms going off!
Just…Check the instrument panel: YOU ARE HERE.

Reorient toward Love. Keep flying. Relax.

A Return to Clyde and His Flight Simulator
I had another session with Clyde this week. Man! He’s a great client. Just sayin’. He and his partner had gone to see their therapist, who told them they both still reside in their abandonment issues. And that until they “fix” those issues, their relationship won’t be able to move forward.

What became apparent to me as Clyde and I talked, was that his Flight Simulator isn’t actually about learning to accept his partner. It’s about learning to remain with himself.

Like many people who experienced trauma as a child, Clyde has lived much of his life from an underlying expectation: I will not be protected. And because he expects not to be protected, he continually abandons himself in order to take care of someone else. He does what was done to him!

I find that to be a fascinating paradox. And it is so much more common than you can imagine!

Terrified of abandonment, we abandon ourselves. Terrified that someone won’t love us, we leave ourselves to become someone we hope they’ll love. Terrified that someone will leave, we enter their cockpit and start flying their plane—attempting to steer their airplane in our direction. And we’re so enmeshed in our original story that we may not even notice we’re doing it.

Clyde’s circumstances and mine are completely different. Yet, our flight simulators are teaching us the same thing:
The way to Love is not by trying to become more loving. It is by noticing all the ways we leave ourselves in the name of love—learning to return to ourselves, over and over again.

Yes, There Will Be a Pop Quiz
You, Clyde, me, we are all developing various capacities within one relationship that makes us more available for whatever life introduces next. Different person. Different circumstances. Different attachment. Different script.

Same question: Can I remain in me, as me, with me, while allowing you to be in you, as you, with you? I think that’s what my cat Lucy is asking of me. Perhaps that’s what love actually asks of us. Not merging. Not managing. Not monitoring. Not making another person’s freedom mean we’ve been abandoned. Not contracting ourselves in order to protect ourselves.

Connection without possession. Bonding with boundary.

Whether its my cat, my sister’s, my friends…. Can I say, “Because of who I am, this is true for me. I want you to know it. I don’t require you to do anything with it.” Can I say, “I can want you to know me without requiring you to respond in a particular way.” “I’m growing my capacity to love you without entering your cockpit. I can remain myself while you remain yourself.”

I don’t have to keep asking, Am I working on my abandonment issues? Am I getting this right? Am I improving enough? Because, life will present old circumstance over and over again—as pop quizzes until we get the lesson.

Lucy disappears into the woods for two nights. I’m chill!

Someone doesn’t text. I’m chill!

Someone is disappointed. I’m chill—mostly!

Someone chooses something I wouldn’t choose. I’m chill!

And suddenly I notice: “Oh. Look at that. I’m not doing what I used to do. Not because I’m forcing myself not to. Something in me has actually changed. I’ve arrived! Well…Sort of.

Because right about then, another light starts blinking on the instrument panel. Another pop quiz. Different scenery. Same curriculum. And perhaps that’s the great cosmic joke:

We keep thinking we’re being taught a thousand different subjects—abandonment, betrayal, boundaries, relationships, cats, children, partners, control, guilt, fear, only to discover we’ve been enrolled in Love 101 the entire time.

Lucy goes into the woods. I don’t know exactly where she is. I don’t know when she’ll return. She belongs to herself. And I belong to myself. The bond between us doesn’t have to be continually demonstrated in order to exist. There can be distance. There can be uncertainty. There can even be longing. And Love is still be here.

So, I check the instruments panel. No word from Ground Control. Locate my position. Reorient. Relax! Sparky the Co-Pilot has it covered!

And I keep flying in love.