Leaving Parts of Self in the Car

My clients this week reminded me of an egregious reality happening in our society. We depart for work and by the time we arrive at the office, we've made the unconscious choice to leave parts of ourselves in the car. We crack the window slightly for air and keep the parts we've deemed unacceptable or inappropriate for the workplace waiting to be reunited at the close of business.

I used the word part very intentionally because it's as if we're fragmented into disparate pieces of self. A young boy gets the message early in life that it's not okay to show emotions, so he creates an overly brawny part of himself. The role of this new part is to manufacture a repertoire of coping mechanisms that will ensure he stays clear of any emotionally uncomfortable circumstances. By the time this young boy is an adult and gainfully employed, it's the strong and overly masculine new part that gets to ride in the front seat and join him at the office with all the behavioral diversions meant to keep him safe. The more compassionate and authentic part gets to wait at the park-n-ride.

I was on an airplane yesterday when I wondered about the part of me that finds writing difficult. Are my behavioral diversions really just coping mechanisms? Because hell, I'd rather strap on a car and walk through the desert than put my fingers to the keyboard these days. And for some reason, this new blog adventure has exacerbated the problem. Writing used to be incredibly easy, so what's changed?

As we started the bumpy decent into Vegas - trays in locked position - I decided a parts integration was necessary. My goal was to determine what the resistant writer really wants, because there is always a positive intention behind all misaligned behavior. And I'm happy to report that in the short window of time it took to connect this the tarmac, I was absolutely clear about my inability to write.

Here's the headline: my unconscious mind feels it is dangerous to write about my work. With that awareness, I am reminded of a time in my childhood where I had written on a seemingly unorthodox topic. While most of the people in my conservative east coast public school were still writing about U.S. presidents or the Industrial Revolution, I picked the seemingly controversial topic of persecuted lesbians in concentration camps. At the time, I was chastised by my peers and certainly felt a little alienated. So, you see, this new part was trying to protect me from being judged again. As a result, the part of me that wanted to write about non-mainstream topics was told to stay small and out of sight.

Once I connected with the part that wanted to protect me, however misguided in its strategy, I moved to reintegrate the part by identifying its highest positive intention and purpose. It's a lovely process, but always a negotiation of sorts.

By the time I heard the flight attendant's words "Welcome to Vegas. The local time is 4:10 pm. Please remain seated with your seat belt fastened." the part that writes with ease and grace made her way from the back of the plane to join me in seat 8A. It appears we had been separated for some time, which might explain the already deployed oxygen mask. Of course... there aren't windows to crack on an Airbus 320.

And now that the resistant part is reunited with the whole, I am happy to share that my writing is flowing this morning. Who would guess change can be this easy.