Finding the Balance of Compassion by Karen Gilmore

While meeting with my therapist one day she asked a question and in response I blurted, “That’s not for me”. It surprised us both and we began to explore its roots.

A little history. My father died suddenly of a heart attack when I was seven years old. My mother was pregnant with child number six. We went from having needs met to living with daily struggles. Everyday conversations at school became uncomfortable. Fellow students talked about family activities, getting presents, new toys and going on trips I wouldn’t get to go on. Situations became awkward and sometimes I felt embarrassment and shame. Once, I was told by a teacher in front of the class after she gave the assignment to write about our dads that I needed to write about somebody other than my father because he was “dead”.

With Jesus in my heart, over time I began to focus on finding a way to be happy for others rather than envious, non-forgiving or hurt. I couldn’t have understood the well-meaning parts of myself that were trying to be protective back then. Unbeknownst to me I adopted the narrative, “that’s not for me”, in an attempt to soothe and reconcile, and it became a core belief under the surface that drove me to suppress my own needs and emotions. Other kids can have a dad, but that’s not for me. I silently accepted what seemed to be chosen for me. It felt better than wondering if I didn’t deserve to have a dad.

When I was a sophomore in high school my mother went to a social gathering for single parents and soon was marrying a man she met there. We kids were confused when we moved to his dilapidated and isolated farm. A few months later we had family and friends attempting to help us leave. We were all in the yard with the intent of bringing our possessions outside. I was just a few feet away from my mother as she was hugging one of this man’s young daughters who was crying and saying she didn’t want my mother to leave.

As this man angrily went into the house, my uncle said we should leave so I turned to get into his van then turned back around when I heard someone say, “He’s got a gun”. I felt helpless as I watched him shoot my mother. I was unaware people were scattering as I gazed at her on the ground. My mother was not able to survive her wounds, but I miraculously survived mine when I too was shot. I later learned this man was in a custody battle and needed someone to care for his kids while he worked on the farm, so he had targeted my mother.

Once again life changed drastically as those of us underage moved in with our grandparents and shifted toward a new family situation. I continued the expected pattern of quietly suppressing my needs and emotions while trying to focus on being grateful for what I had. The hidden belief, “that’s not for me” grew even stronger and I accepted my position and place in life. Others can have a mother, but that’s not for me.

Well-meaning Christians told me I must be very strong, or God wouldn’t have given me such a burden to carry. I felt like I was failing them and God any time I struggled so I mustered courage and pretended to be brave and always doing well. This and other similar messages melded into my narrative and flowed through my brain; others don’t have to carry such a burden, but that’s not for me.

My love for God continued to grow as I served others and had my own family. Bible verses like 2 Corinthians 1:3-4, NIV, “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God”, contributed to the belief that God alone would comfort me and that it was my responsibility to focus my care toward others. It felt uncomfortable to receive comfort and care from anyone but God because I was supposed to be strong and the one giving, not the one receiving from others.

Verses like Matthew 20:28, NIV, “just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many”, and Philippians 2:4, NIV, “not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others”, reinforced my responsibility of focusing on the needs of others while feeling uncomfortable if I inadvertently recognized my own unmet needs.

By suppressing my needs, I believed I was coming from a positive place, but it meant I didn’t experience more than brief happiness and contentment. It also meant I didn’t build skills and confidence to go after personal pursuits. I believed it was somehow wrong or not allowed. “That’s not for me” became a routine soother and suppression system but it also became a lie I fell into.

The belief, “that’s not for me”, had turned into an all or nothing way of thinking. I was giving away all of my compassion, care and energy because I wasn’t supposed to have. Functioning in this way meant I was vulnerable for manipulation and criticism if I wasn’t serving or performing in a way someone preferred. Of course, when that happened, I worked harder than ever because I dared not have anyone upset with me. The narrative turned into, “that’s not for me to say no”. Sometimes I felt overwhelmed, over-extended, resentful and then I shut down and disconnected because I had no energy left.

I didn’t understand until working with a therapist many years later that I was functioning out of survival. Even though it felt somehow wrong to focus on myself, it hadn’t occurred to me that I could be the recipient of my own compassion. I was so focused on the idea of serving others that I didn’t notice how my compassion was functioning. How could I?

I was frequently exhausted as I unknowingly functioned as if compassion only exists in all or nothing terms. Even though I thought of myself as compassionate, the truth is I wasn’t truly compassionate toward the one person who needed my compassion every day. Me. If I did happen to compassionately witness my struggle or do something for myself, I suppressed experiencing it as compassionate because “that’s not for me” to experience.

Back then, I did not yet know how to be compassionately present with myself in order to give and receive my own compassion. It was a hard moment when I realized I had distorted what it means to serve and to offer compassion.

As I began to see the importance and functionality of self-compassion my perspective about scriptures changed. I gained better understanding as I read the gospels through this lens and saw differently how Jesus cared for his own needs alongside his care for others. I saw for the first time how his healthy boundaries worked in tandem with his well-balanced compassion. He knew how to be present with himself in his own discomfort.

There have been many times in the past when I would have benefitted from my own compassion, so I am grateful for gaining this understanding about shared compassion. It has allowed me to make changes. I am not as hard on myself as I used to be and I make attempts to take a more compassionate, gentle, kind approach in my self-care.

A strategy I like to use as I’ve introduced my entire system to the idea of acceptance of my own kindness and compassion is to have some creative fun by noticing times when I am both the giver and the receiver. It happens throughout our day but if our radar is turned off for whatever reason, we will not be noticing. So now I try to notice.

For instance, find some drinkable water right now. As the water fills the glass, or if a container is already filled and you reach for it, notice what if feels like preparing to offer yourself something. As the liquid flows inside your mouth and you swallow, allow yourself to connect with the idea that you just gave yourself something helpful as you received the refreshment that you offered you – giver and receiver. If you are a natural caregiver, the giver inside you will be very happy to give. However, the receiving parts of you may need a moment to enjoy the connection. It may feel uncomfortable to notice in this way at first, but I promise you it will get better. This strategy has helped me learn that it’s ok to accept my own compassion, kind acts and empathy.

My boundaries have also tightened up and make much more sense now. I check in and ask myself if I might need something from me as I go through my day, even coming up with ways to boost positive experiences instead of just letting them happen and waiting for them to end. I set up internal boundaries to make sure I’m connecting with the parts of me that still want to function in all or nothing ways. I check in with myself when hard memories consume my whole system and cause me to struggle.

I frequently create nurturing and soothing strategies alongside situations instead of pushing, white knuckling, bootstrapping or functioning on autopilot then collapsing, which is very all or nothing. We can’t work on what we don’t notice, so noticing when “that’s not for me” shows up has changed my overall energy and my experience with triggers from trauma. Physical and emotional pain and brain fog that used to sideline me does not last as long. The intensity and duration of my discomfort is less. That’s how we know we are healing. It doesn't fully go away because that's not how the brain and body connection works, but the duration and intensity of discomfort changes as neuropathways make new connections.

Most importantly, I’ve learned it's ok to negotiate with the parts of me that feel the need to do something I know will stress my system or cause me to over-extend in some way. I can create a plan that includes pre-event soothing and nurturing, during event awareness of needs and negative impact – a checking in process – and thirdly, a recovery plan as I make choices in how I want to proceed. I remind myself that I will kindly and compassionately notice if the plan might need an adjustment at any point. I also remind myself that it’s important to negotiate. If I choose to over-extend, I have that recovery plan in place, which in essence is a negotiation by itself. That doesn’t mean I can take advantage of it because if I do, recovery could become twice as long as my system flares up then shuts down.

As long as I stay within my own emotional and physical energy boundaries, the parts of me that tend to flare up and want to increase the discomfort I feel, or even shut down, might go along with the decision not to say no. I can also create a plan to check in on myself while being honest about my limits or my desires. I can give myself permission to pursue interests rather than expending all my energy on someone else’s needs I believed I had no choice but to over-extend for, especially if I am taking away an opportunity for their own self growth. It makes much more sense for my system when I compassionately check in and witness my own needs and desires while offering compassion and kindness toward others within my limits. That’s boundaries at work.

It used to be very difficult to attempt to negotiate with others because I would give in. Understanding self-compassion in this way has given me confidence to negotiate with both me and others out of respect for my own energy, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual. In the past I would have felt it was impossible to say no. Even though it still gets triggered occasionally, the “that’s not for me” narrative doesn’t quite make the same sense anymore.

Think about your own life. As you’ve read through this, I imagine you thought about your own narratives related to interacting with and caring for others. Take some time to think about these questions.

Þ   What scriptures do you hold tightly to that may have become distorted based on your experience or interactions with others?

Þ   Are there any narratives you tell yourself that cause you to over-extend and keep you from enjoying balance in your life? Are they rooted in lies?

Þ   Make a plan to check in on your compassion several times a day. What is it doing? Is it balanced?

Þ   What are some ways you can implement noticing your own needs alongside your care of others?

Þ   How might you implement a plan to notice when you are both the giver and the receiver?

My prayer for you is that you will become your own compassionate witness and gain more understanding that even compassion can become distorted.