The Alchemy of Helplessness

Helplessness lives in me like a splinter in my foot that I hope will go away if I avoid it. My coach I worked with for three years pointed this out to me. I can go to the depth of my grief and the top of my rage. I can face my shame in the mirror and rock and cry until my emotions have moved through me.

But helplessness is the emotion that gets stuck. It’s the the no go zone in my body.

I am action-oriented, empowered person who believes that there is always something I can do. But the problem with not feeling my helplessness, is that I make myself responsible for everyone and everything. Which is exhausting and makes it hard to get help when I most need it.

Right now I am dealing with a situation in which I have no control. No power to change it.

It’s the pain of when someone you love wrestles with invisible forces that shift their way of being. I worry they are losing touch with reality, when the truth is that I am out of touch with their reality and what they are feeling.

To release the helplessness held hostage in my body, I have to relinquish control. I have to give my power over to others, over to faith.

I’m trying to sit with my helplessness, but my brain is just flooding me with shoulds, all the things I should do, and then guilt for not doing those things. But guilt is my most accompanied companion. Guilt is my guard dog emotion protecting me from feeling the helplessness. It’s like a puppy with frenetic energy keeping me from the stillness I seek.

I write to feel into my helplessness.

I attended a writing group where the prompt was to take an oppressive situation and “queer it up.” The facilitator drew inspiration from his queer community, a group that fights for their joy amongst their oppression.

As I listened to the prompt explanation, I thought, no way can I “queer up” what I am dealing with. But as our timer started, my fingers moved across the keyboard not knowing what I would say.

I had been so focused on everything that was wrong, that even asking myself the question, “What do I want? If I could sprinkle magic dust and change this situation immediately, what would happen?” was confronting.

I realized that life is mostly playing defense. What would it be like to imagine an oppressive situation from a space of offense, envisioning what we want rather than fighting against what we don’t want.

After experiencing the worst interaction with the medical system, I responded to the prompt like this:

Imaging a Radical Doctor Call

This is a personal concierge wellness call from Dr. Ramirez. We are calling to update you on Teo’s progress. He is transmuting and shedding pain as he moves through worlds that we are not in touch with. He is accessing multiple dimensions and communing with departed souls and those that have not yet been birthed. It’s not an easy path, nor a dangerous path. But he is safe on this uncomfortable journey.

Right now he is in a heat-inducing state. His energy is rising to the heavens, where passion and inspiration run red. That is allowing him to feel all he needs to feel. Feeling is the beginning of healing. Once his body processes the heat-state, he will move to the cooling-state. His energy will be low but that is what will allow him to regenerate. This process is natural. There is nothing to shame. Nothing to do. He just needs to be witnessed with love, grace, and compassion.

I have set aside this time to be a conduit for your family’s healing. Please share with me your thoughts, questions and concerns. I am here for as much time as you need. My job is to help you understand and be with this process without fear.

I realized in writing this that I was projecting onto the doctor what I need right now. Not to fix, but to witness. To be with what is—which is what helplessness is. The same grace the doctor was giving me, I can give to myself. Being gentle with myself and allowing myself to be witnessed as I am right now.

The problem isn’t the helplessness itself, but my resistance to it.

Writing doesn't eliminate my helplessness—it gives it somewhere to breathe. In the space between words, I move through states of being like weather patterns: the sharp pain of witnessing suffering I cannot fix, moments of surprising peace when I surrender what I cannot control, the undertow of grief, and beneath it all, love.