Soft Opening
Lessons from therapy, zebra blankets, and sandwich board signs
Soft Opening
“And what about you, Abby,” she said, turning from my husband to me. “What do you want to take away from our session today?”
It was one of those days in therapy where I didn’t feel like I had expressed myself very well. I’d felt clear before I started talking, but each time I tried to explain what I was feeling or thinking, I became self-conscious and stumbled over my words. Writing about my feelings comes easier - but talking about them, especially in real time, to the people who matter most to me, has always been difficult for me.
In college, my roommates and I had a method of communicating called the “Zebra Blanket.” Whenever we had something particularly vulnerable or embarrassing to share, we would announce that we had something to say, then quickly cover ourselves in the fleece, zebra-print blanket that lived in our common room before saying it. It made the sharing easier - plus, it always made us laugh.
Nearly twenty years later, I still find it difficult to look someone in the eye when I have something vulnerable to say. Quite often, I will close my eyes and put one hand on my heart before I start talking. I have done this many times in therapy, and on this day, I had done it more than usual.
“I think,” I began, bringing a hand to my heart and looking at the plants behind our therapist’s head, “I just want to stay soft.”
“Mmm,” she and my husband both said at the same time. It was all the affirmation I needed to look them both in the eyes; first my counselor, then my husband.
I continued, a little more confidently: “I want to recognize when I’m tightening, or when I’m deflecting, and to try to soften. I don’t want to be rigid.”
A few hours later, I was leaving the yoga studio after teaching my noon class. It had been the smallest class I’d taught in years, and also, one of the most nourishing. I’d felt grounded, patient, and able to connect with each of the three students in the studio - something I don’t necessarily get to do when the class is twenty-plus.
As I walked toward my car, I saw a sandwich board sign that I’d seen dozens of times before:
Hungry Dumpling
Soft
Opening
The name of the restaurant, Hungry Dumpling, always makes me smile. That’s like what my pregnant belly feels like, I think, a hungry little dumpling. But it was the bottom two words that hit me this time. I paused to reread them several times.
Soft
Opening
That is exactly what I want, I thought.
Soft
Opening
In my yoga class, just moments before, I had shared a morsel that one of my improv teachers once shared:
Be changed by what you hear.
“When your scene partner says something,” the teacher had said, “really take a moment to take it in. Let yourself feel it, be changed by it.”
I have thought of this so many times since. I thought of it as I stood, staring at this sign.
For me, staying soft starts with staying present. It starts with pausing and letting myself feel what is going on beyond my bones and in my heart. Sometimes, there is so much to feel that I have to close my eyes, or cover myself with a zebra blanket.
I used to feel embarrassed about how sensitive I am. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me when I had to shroud myself or look away or close my eyes - especially when I knew, intellectually, that the people I was talking to loved me. But I’ve learned in recent years that this is entirely normal, that at some point, everyone becomes overstimulated by being looked at.
In Gabor Mate’s book, Scattered Minds, he notes that when a parent and baby hold each other’s gaze, the baby will inevitably look away once they have reached their threshold of stimulation; it is not rude, it is simply self-soothing. The same thing happens with dogs, and probably in other species, too. We look until we can’t; then we look away. We connect with others until we can’t; then we have to reconnect with ourselves. We need both, and each feeds the other.
I have spent so much of my life trying to get stronger, more resilient, trying to face my fears, head on. And as a self-employed person, I have dedicated so much energy to creating structure, order, and organization. Sometimes, though, I get carried away. I confuse strength and structure with rigidity; I confuse limits and boundaries with walls. In those times, I want to invite in the soft. I want to invite in the opening. I also want to remember that it’s okay to be closed sometimes. The Hungry Dumpling isn’t open 24-hours, and I don’t have to be either. Even flowers close at night.
Now, when I feel myself hardening, retreating, or preparing to defend, I am trying to pause. I am trying to ask myself if hardening would help. Occasionally, the answer is yes, but most of the time, it’s a resounding no - especially when I’m with someone I love, and who I know loves me. And so I take my hand to my heart, and close my eyes if I have to. Sometimes I even request a moment of quiet so I can feel, or journal, or hold my dog, or take a walk.
I am trying to remember that softening is a choice I can make, and that this choice does not need to be rushed.
Thank you, as always, for reading, and for sharing these letters with your friends & loved ones. Extra thank you to those who reply (some of you, every time!); your responses remind me why I write: To feel more connected - to myself, and to all of you. Please know that even if I don’t respond right away (or ever!), I read and cherish them all.
In yoga news, there are a few more spots open for my Fall Equinox Retreat, and I’d love to have you there. Registration will close on Sept 9, so sign up before then if you’re thinking of coming! Below is a brief description of what you can expect; more detailed info available here.
This year’s Fall Equinox Retreat will be held at Buckhorn Springs: a magical, 124-acre space in the mountains of Ashland, OR. The weekend will include: lodging from Friday - Sunday; all meals from Friday dinner - Sunday lunch; 4 group yoga classes incorporating asana, mindfulness meditation, and reflective journaling; time to connect with your fellow students through communal meals and group activities; time to connect with nature through forest walks, hikes, or cold-river plunges.
Whatever your goals for the weekend, you are sure to leave feeling more grounded, more connected, and better equipped to cope with the stressors of everyday life.
Take good care of yourselves, and I’ll hope to see you soon,
Abby
Upcoming events w/ Abby
