Caretaking, anticipatory grief and how to stop living in the future

[Patty Cakes]

Sometimes it takes an outside perspective to help us see things we couldn’t see for ourselves. And once you see it, you can’t unsee it. It can be difficult to recognise these patterns when you’re in the middle of them, especially when you’ve spent so long questioning yourself. But this awareness can be a springboard to finding your voice again, trusting your own instincts and reclaiming your autonomy.

Thank you so much for your insight and understanding.

 

[Patty Cakes]

I'm finding the pain worse when I get up in the morning. Like this morning, my whole left side is just in a huge flare-up and I can't stop my dreams. Is there something else I can do to calm this down when it hits this bad? I didn't think I was doing any difficult emotional work yesterday but perhaps I did. My dreams do tend to be about the emotional work or themes I'm working through. I"m almost afraid to continue this work because, at times, the pain is worse than it normally would be. I feel at times I'm going one step forward and two steps back.

 

[Cactusflower]

"I feel at times I'm going one step forward and two steps back."

Such can be the nature of TMS healing. We actually teach ourselves the most on the days we feel we are struggling, because it's about how you approach the struggle.
My best work is done on those days when I can say "today is just a DAY" and do my best to get through it without fighting the symptoms, without resisting the difficulties, and having some self-compassion. Tomorrow is another day. This is the most calming thing you can do, and over time you'll train your mind not to freak out on rough days: you may have symptoms but you won't have so much emotional suffering: anxiety, worry, fear, fixing, focus etc. over them. This is actually a very large part of the work. Trying to "calm" yourself is another method of fixing - and although I haven't read the book you are reading, I don't think it's a method the author would suggest because forcing yourself to calm is using willpower.

There is often more to the occurrence of symptoms than a simple association of emotion. Sometimes the brain simply expects pain because pain or symptoms become the brain's habit. When you are in the thick of it, there isn't anything to "do" - it simply just is. That can be hard to experience, and hard to understand because we've learned to associate the symptoms with something is "wrong" or a "problem" but some days are just hard and we don't need to figure out why, or even worry about if it's the work or isn't the work or worry about any cause/effect because the simple answer is Who Knows?!

It's like your dreams. Dreams are just dreams, and it sounds like your mind might be sensing you clinging to the idea that there is something "wrong" with your dreams and you've had some fear of them. Dreams are dreams. You can't control them (which is the beauty of them), and they can't hurt you. Just let it go.

Things I "do" on days that are challenging: Recognize that "doing" won't solve a single thing. Reminding myself that healing has phases and this too will pass (which is hard, but it does pass). Finding things I can do regularly to help my nervous system (not everyone likes to do his, or even recommends it - this is a choice) and not just on "hard" days but on many days: meditation, walking and looking at nature, sitting quietly, listening to music, getting up to walk or move every hour or so, engaging in any kind of hobby or enjoyable busy work, (even if it's not enjoyable in the moment or hasn't been for a while) Sometimes it's even hard to enjoy the things we used to do - it will come back over time.

 

[Patty Cakes]

"I feel at times I'm going one step forward and two steps back."

Such can be the nature of TMS healing. We actually teach ourselves the most on the days we feel we are struggling, because it's about how you approach the struggle.
My best work is done on those days when I can say "today is just a DAY" and do my best to get through it without fighting the symptoms, without resisting the difficulties, and having some self-compassion. Tomorrow is another day. This is the most calming thing you can do, and over time you'll train your mind not to freak out on rough days: you may have symptoms but you won't have so much emotional suffering: anxiety, worry, fear, fixing, focus etc. over them. This is actually a very large part of the work. Trying to "calm" yourself is another method of fixing - and although I haven't read the book you are reading, I don't think it's a method the author would suggest because forcing yourself to calm is using willpower.

There is often more to the occurrence of symptoms than a simple association of emotion. Sometimes the brain simply expects pain because pain or symptoms become the brain's habit. When you are in the thick of it, there isn't anything to "do" - it simply just is. That can be hard to experience, and hard to understand because we've learned to associate the symptoms with something is "wrong" or a "problem" but some days are just hard and we don't need to figure out why, or even worry about if it's the work or isn't the work or worry about any cause/effect because the simple answer is Who Knows?!

It's like your dreams. Dreams are just dreams, and it sounds like your mind might be sensing you clinging to the idea that there is something "wrong" with your dreams and you've had some fear of them. Dreams are dreams. You can't control them (which is the beauty of them), and they can't hurt you. Just let it go.

Things I "do" on days that are challenging: Recognize that "doing" won't solve a single thing. Reminding myself that healing has phases and this too will pass (which is hard, but it does pass). Finding things I can do regularly to help my nervous system (not everyone likes to do his, or even recommends it - this is a choice) and not just on "hard" days but on many days: meditation, walking and looking at nature, sitting quietly, listening to music, getting up to walk or move every hour or so, engaging in any kind of hobby or enjoyable busy work, (even if it's not enjoyable in the moment or hasn't been for a while) Sometimes it's even hard to enjoy the things we used to do - it will come back over time.

Thanks for putting that in perspective for me. I've had the pain for so long, that I've always searched for an "answer". LIke today, the pain was so bad and I began thinking "did I do a lot more emotional work than I have done other days?" I guess it's hard to get out of that mindset. So tomorrow I will try to listen to some music, go outside, etc and remind myself that today is just a day. Thanks again for the reminders.

 

[Margot!!]

@Patty Cakes Great work! Ive found that most of the things that increase pain for me are related to childhood and unacknowledged feelings of shame. When I experience a situation that arouses my childhood wounds, Ive realized that the related emotions are almost always anxiety fear and shame. Fear of being judged and embarrassed, the shame of being worried about being judged and embarrassed. Now I know that and when the pain increases, I have a place to start. @Adam Coloretti (coach) thank you for sharing your triggers, I find that my body also reacts to shame and guilt, very validating

 

[Patty Cakes]

@Patty Cakes Great work! Ive found that most of the things that increase pain for me are related to childhood and unacknowledged feelings of shame. When I experience a situation that arouses my childhood wounds, Ive realized that the related emotions are almost always anxiety fear and shame. Fear of being judged and embarrassed, the shame of being worried about being judged and embarrassed. Now I know that and when the pain increases, I have a place to start. @Adam Coloretti (coach) thank you for sharing your triggers, I find that my body also reacts to shame and guilt, very validating

Thank you for sharing this, Margot. It is so validating to read. I've spent so long trying to hunt down physical 'answers' for every ache, and realizing how deeply unacknowledged emotions and old wounds tie right into physical tension makes so much sense. It really gives us a better place to start instead of just panicking when the pain flares up. I can set up a cozy, safe space at home, but I find it so hard to actually know how to give myself true self-compassion underneath it all. Reading your words helps more than you know. Thank you for putting that into words.

 

[Patty Cakes]

I was digging through an old book of favorite sayings I put together decades ago, and this one jumped out at me today. It has always meant so much to me, and it feels especially true for the work we are all doing here: "When nothing seems to help, I go and look at a stone cutter hammering away at his rock, perhaps a hundred times without as much as a crack showing in it. Yet at the hundred and first blow, it will split in two, and I know it was not that blow that did it, but all that had gone before." Some days it feels like we are just hammering away with no visible change, but all these quiet moments of trying to understand our bodies and let go of the old pathways are adding up. Thought I would share in case it speaks to anyone else today.

 

[Adam Coloretti (coach)]

I was digging through an old book of favorite sayings I put together decades ago, and this one jumped out at me today. It has always meant so much to me, and it feels especially true for the work we are all doing here: "When nothing seems to help, I go and look at a stone cutter hammering away at his rock, perhaps a hundred times without as much as a crack showing in it. Yet at the hundred and first blow, it will split in two, and I know it was not that blow that did it, but all that had gone before." Some days it feels like we are just hammering away with no visible change, but all these quiet moments of trying to understand our bodies and let go of the old pathways are adding up. Thought I would share in case it speaks to anyone else today.

It's an analogy I use also! I'd also stress the importance of acknowledging progress - you told me that the upper levels of pain are largely gone, that's massive progress (so you have already cracked the stone so to speak). If people are too narrow in their view of progress, such as just looking at how often the symptoms are there (which is often not the first thing to change), then they can get discouraged and quit when there actually are really good signs of progress. The first signs of progress for me were to do with flares, specifically the intensity of them and their duration. My pain was largely the same, but flare ups went from like a week to 4 days. That's something that's easily missed (and brushed off as insignificant), but that's actually massive progress and led to the more traditional views of progress for me later on

 

[Patty Cakes]

It's an analogy I use also! I'd also stress the importance of acknowledging progress - you told me that the upper levels of pain are largely gone, that's massive progress (so you have already cracked the stone so to speak). If people are too narrow in their view of progress, such as just looking at how often the symptoms are there (which is often not the first thing to change), then they can get discouraged and quit when there actually are really good signs of progress. The first signs of progress for me were to do with flares, specifically the intensity of them and their duration. My pain was largely the same, but flare ups went from like a week to 4 days. That's something that's easily missed (and brushed off as insignificant), but that's actually massive progress and led to the more traditional views of progress for me later on

I’ve been noticing something fascinating about how my body reacts. Even just thinking about a frustrating past task—like struggling with a messed up BJ's account (happened earlier today)—can instantly trigger a mild right-sided flare-up. The difference now is that instead of spiraling into a massive level-10 reaction, I can catch it and keep the flare down to a manageable level by recognizing it as just a nervous system habit. I"ve noticed it with other things that caused me pain in the past and even thinking about it can instantly cause me pain. It's amazing to me that just your thoughts of previous pain can cause myself to feel the pain again. I never realized that thoughts were so powerful.

 

[Adam Coloretti (coach)]

I’ve been noticing something fascinating about how my body reacts. Even just thinking about a frustrating past task—like struggling with a messed up BJ's account (happened earlier today)—can instantly trigger a mild right-sided flare-up. The difference now is that instead of spiraling into a massive level-10 reaction, I can catch it and keep the flare down to a manageable level by recognizing it as just a nervous system habit. I"ve noticed it with other things that caused me pain in the past and even thinking about it can instantly cause me pain. It's amazing to me that just your thoughts of previous pain can cause myself to feel the pain again. I never realized that thoughts were so powerful.

Yes! The brain pathways and wiring for emotional and physical pain heavily cross over.

 

[Patty Cakes]

I was reading through some of Claire Weekes' books, and she often talks about the idea of "floating" through anxiety and symptoms. But honestly, floating has a connotation of water and drowning, since I am not a swimmer.

I was trying to picture another word instead of floating, and it made me think of the Tanya Tucker song "Strong Enough to Bend," which has always spoken straight to my heart. It’s that analogy of a tree that didn’t break down—a tree that stands firm, right in the middle of the storm.

To this day, I've always loved trees and that image of deep roots. When everything around me is swirling and loud, a tree doesn't need to fight, float, or make a fuss. It just stands quietly, letting its entire history, strength, and resilience be written right into its branches and its deep, unshakeable roots.

Is that a good image to use, instead of floating past your thoughts, anxiety, etc.? That you are strong, like that tree, and the thoughts, pain, and childhood memories can blow through, but you remain standing?

 

[Patty Cakes]

I’ve been doing a lot of deep work lately, and there’s something I’ve realized I’ve been keeping a total secret from everyone—even the people closest to me.

I have developed a profound, terrifying fear of sitting in unfamiliar chairs, especially hard wooden chairs or stools where my feet don't sit flat on the floor. It sounds crazy to say out loud, but it stems back to a time when I sat on a high wooden stool, let my legs dangle, and woke up the next morning feeling very dizzy and in pain. Ever since then, my brain locked onto that experience, and I've avoided strange chairs at all costs. I can sit in my recliner and my car, but an unknown chair feels like a danger zone.

During important meetings—like recent ones at my husband's rehab—I’ve had to make up excuses about my back hurting just so I could stand the whole time, terrified of what would happen if I sat down. I've hidden this because I figured people would think I'm crazy or I've lost my mind for being so scared of sitting in a chair.

It’s amazing how the nervous system can latch onto something so specific to keep us on high alert. Admitting it out loud feels like dragging a dark secret out into the light, but I'm hoping that by finally voicing it, and continuing my story here, I can start taking away its power. It's caused me so much distress and excuse making, over nothing but sitting on an unfamiliar chair. IT's utterly embarrassing to admit, but I want to begin to get over that intense fear. That fear has been crippling for me, for far too long.

 

[Adam Coloretti (coach)]

I’ve been doing a lot of deep work lately, and there’s something I’ve realized I’ve been keeping a total secret from everyone—even the people closest to me.

I have developed a profound, terrifying fear of sitting in unfamiliar chairs, especially hard wooden chairs or stools where my feet don't sit flat on the floor. It sounds crazy to say out loud, but it stems back to a time when I sat on a high wooden stool, let my legs dangle, and woke up the next morning feeling very dizzy and in pain. Ever since then, my brain locked onto that experience, and I've avoided strange chairs at all costs. I can sit in my recliner and my car, but an unknown chair feels like a danger zone.

During important meetings—like recent ones at my husband's rehab—I’ve had to make up excuses about my back hurting just so I could stand the whole time, terrified of what would happen if I sat down. I've hidden this because I figured people would think I'm crazy or I've lost my mind for being so scared of sitting in a chair.

It’s amazing how the nervous system can latch onto something so specific to keep us on high alert. Admitting it out loud feels like dragging a dark secret out into the light, but I'm hoping that by finally voicing it, and continuing my story here, I can start taking away its power. It's caused me so much distress and excuse making, over nothing but sitting on an unfamiliar chair. IT's utterly embarrassing to admit, but I want to begin to get over that intense fear. That fear has been crippling for me, for far too long.

I was definitely with you there as it hurt every time I used to sit, so I was on high alert as to the chair situation and what I was sitting on, now I don't even think about it!

 

[BloodMoon]

I was reading through some of Claire Weekes' books, and she often talks about the idea of "floating" through anxiety and symptoms. But honestly, floating has a connotation of water and drowning, since I am not a swimmer.

I was trying to picture another word instead of floating, and it made me think of the Tanya Tucker song "Strong Enough to Bend," which has always spoken straight to my heart. It’s that analogy of a tree that didn’t break down—a tree that stands firm, right in the middle of the storm.

To this day, I've always loved trees and that image of deep roots. When everything around me is swirling and loud, a tree doesn't need to fight, float, or make a fuss. It just stands quietly, letting its entire history, strength, and resilience be written right into its branches and its deep, unshakeable roots.

Is that a good image to use, instead of floating past your thoughts, anxiety, etc.? That you are strong, like that tree, and the thoughts, pain, and childhood memories can blow through, but you remain standing?

My advice would be choose the right kind of tree if you want to equate it to what Claire Weekes advises...

Imagine a massive oak tree and a willow tree during a violent windstorm. Some of the wind will go between the branches of the oak, but the essential nature of that tree is that it stands rigid, resisting the wind with brute strength. If the wind is strong enough, the oak cracks and snaps. The willow tree, however, completely gives in to the wind. It bends, sweeps the ground, and lets the gale blow right through its branches.

So, when anxiety strikes, don't be the oak—don't stiffen your muscles or grit your teeth to fight it. Be the willow. Bow to the feelings, let the adrenaline shake you, and bend completely with the wave of panic until the wind naturally dies down

I've hidden this because I figured people would think I'm crazy or I've lost my mind for being so scared of sitting in a chair.

Like @Adam Coloretti (coach) I too had sitting and chair issues. You're not, as we say over here in the UK, a "fruit and nut case". I even had a tilt-in-space/zero gravity wheelchair I used for long NHS hospital waits because my sitting pain was so unbearable.

Some people approach overcoming this by being all 'gung ho' - throwing away their cushions if they use them and sitting for long stretches at a time to show their brain that there's nothing to fear. However, that didn't work for me. I had to do it in baby steps. I started off sitting on one of my upright wooden dining table chairs with cushions on it for a few minutes a day and built up from there, just adding a few minutes or so at a time, ad hoc... and then doing the same thing to ween myself off using the cushions. I found it can help if you're actually doing something while you sit there... adding a few pieces to a jig saw puzzle, reading an article or watching a bit of TV because it can help show the brain that you can't be in any danger if you're doing such benign activities. Sometimes though I'd just sit there and meditate, watch my thoughts pass by like clouds in the sky. I also found it helpful to visualize sitting with ease on different types of chairs; it acts kind of like a 'dress rehearsal' and gets your brain used to the idea.

 

[Patty Cakes]

My advice would be choose the right kind of tree if you want to equate it to what Claire Weekes advises...

Imagine a massive oak tree and a willow tree during a violent windstorm. Some of the wind will go between the branches of the oak, but the essential nature of that tree is that it stands rigid, resisting the wind with brute strength. If the wind is strong enough, the oak cracks and snaps. The willow tree, however, completely gives in to the wind. It bends, sweeps the ground, and lets the gale blow right through its branches.

So, when anxiety strikes, don't be the oak—don't stiffen your muscles or grit your teeth to fight it. Be the willow. Bow to the feelings, let the adrenaline shake you, and bend completely with the wave of panic until the wind naturally dies down


Like @Adam Coloretti (coach) I too had sitting and chair issues. You're not, as we say over here in the UK, a "fruit and nut case". I even had a tilt-in-space/zero gravity wheelchair I used for long NHS hospital waits because my sitting pain was so unbearable.

Some people approach overcoming this by being all 'gung ho' - throwing away their cushions if they use them and sitting for long stretches at a time to show their brain that there's nothing to fear. However, that didn't work for me. I had to do it in baby steps. I started off sitting on one of my upright wooden dining table chairs with cushions on it for a few minutes a day and built up from there, just adding a few minutes or so at a time, ad hoc... and then doing the same thing to ween myself off using the cushions. I found it can help if you're actually doing something while you sit there... adding a few pieces to a jig saw puzzle, reading an article or watching a bit of TV because it can help show the brain that you can't be in any danger if you're doing such benign activities. Sometimes though I'd just sit there and meditate, watch my thoughts pass by like clouds in the sky. I also found it helpful to visualize sitting with ease on different types of chairs; it acts kind of like a 'dress rehearsal' and gets your brain used to the idea.

The song I referenced was about a couple whom, when times got tough, were both strong enough to bend and not be so rigid. So yes, I was thinking of a tree, like a willow, that could bend and sway and still remain standing, despite the severe winds and storms of life that blew through it. I"m beginning to see that some of my thinking was very rigid and may have led me to clenching, tightening up and thus experiencing all this pain. I never really thought of myself as rigid but perhaps I am or have been. I guess I need to explore that a little more. .

I want to thank you both so much for your honesty and sharing your experiences with me. It was so validating for me, to know that I'm not alone with that fear and one can get over it. I was so afraid to voice it but I'm so glad I did. It is such a huge fear for me and just to voice it, admit it on this forum, was scary but at the same time, so freeing for me. You both have helped me, more than you know.

 

[Patty Cakes]

When I first encountered the word "rigidity," it felt almost insulting to apply it to myself. I've always associated being rigid with being closed-minded—someone who is stuck in their ways, unable to see the gray areas, and viewing everything strictly in black and white, much like my husband. I pride myself on being able to see nuance and understand different perspectives. To think there is any part of me that is "rigid" felt like the complete opposite of who I am.

But as I've been sitting with it, and watching how my body reacts when I'm under stress—like managing caregiving, worrying about things, or anticipating pain—I'm starting to realize this isn't my personality. Maybe it's my unconscious mind, trying to protect me from something that it deems dangerous or will cause me more pain. I hate even the word rigid. It's a word that describes someone like my husband and never myself. I'm an INFJ personality, so I do know or thought I know what drives me, what motivates me, what makes me feel safe. I guess untangling what's in my unconscious brain, might be completely different. It's really confusing, just making sense of it all. I'd welcome any and all thoughts.

 

[BloodMoon]

When I first encountered the word "rigidity," it felt almost insulting to apply it to myself. I've always associated being rigid with being closed-minded—someone who is stuck in their ways, unable to see the gray areas, and viewing everything strictly in black and white, much like my husband. I pride myself on being able to see nuance and understand different perspectives. To think there is any part of me that is "rigid" felt like the complete opposite of who I am.

But as I've been sitting with it, and watching how my body reacts when I'm under stress—like managing caregiving, worrying about things, or anticipating pain—I'm starting to realize this isn't my personality. Maybe it's my unconscious mind, trying to protect me from something that it deems dangerous or will cause me more pain. I hate even the word rigid. It's a word that describes someone like my husband and never myself. I'm an INFJ personality, so I do know or thought I know what drives me, what motivates me, what makes me feel safe. I guess untangling what's in my unconscious brain, might be completely different. It's really confusing, just making sense of it all. I'd welcome any and all thoughts.

@Patty Cakes I don’t know you well enough to say this for certain, but from what you’ve written on the forums, I wonder whether your version of “rigidity” might not be closed-mindedness at all. It could be the rigidity that can come with a strong sense of fair play—holding tightly to what feels right, responsible, or fair, especially when you’re under stress or in a situation where you can’t make things fair.

And that can be especially painful because life is not always fair. Caregiving, illness, pain, and worry often bring situations where effort is not rewarded, needs are not met, and there is no tidy or just outcome. When your sense of fairness collides with that reality, a part of you may brace against it—not because you are inflexible, but because the unfairness feels unbearable.

That would be very different from the kind of rigidity you associate with your husband. For you, this may be about caring deeply and trying to protect yourself, others, or your values from being let down. In a mind-body sense, that can show up as tension, vigilance, or symptoms when life feels unjust, unpredictable, or beyond your control.

So perhaps it is less “I am rigid” and more “a protective part of me becomes rigid when something feels unfair, unsafe, or painful”. One thing that might help is noticing when your body starts to brace, and gently giving it a little more ease rather than fighting the feeling. Practices like slowing the breath, grounding in the present through your senses, and naming what is there—“this is unfair,” “I feel powerless,” “I’m scared”—can help the nervous system feel less under threat, even when there is nothing practical you can do to remedy the situation.

 

[Patty Cakes]

@Patty Cakes I don’t know you well enough to say this for certain, but from what you’ve written on the forums, I wonder whether your version of “rigidity” might not be closed-mindedness at all. It could be the rigidity that can come with a strong sense of fair play—holding tightly to what feels right, responsible, or fair, especially when you’re under stress or in a situation where you can’t make things fair.

And that can be especially painful because life is not always fair. Caregiving, illness, pain, and worry often bring situations where effort is not rewarded, needs are not met, and there is no tidy or just outcome. When your sense of fairness collides with that reality, a part of you may brace against it—not because you are inflexible, but because the unfairness feels unbearable.

That would be very different from the kind of rigidity you associate with your husband. For you, this may be about caring deeply and trying to protect yourself, others, or your values from being let down. In a mind-body sense, that can show up as tension, vigilance, or symptoms when life feels unjust, unpredictable, or beyond your control.

So perhaps it is less “I am rigid” and more “a protective part of me becomes rigid when something feels unfair, unsafe, or painful”. One thing that might help is noticing when your body starts to brace, and gently giving it a little more ease rather than fighting the feeling. Practices like slowing the breath, grounding in the present through your senses, and naming what is there—“this is unfair,” “I feel powerless,” “I’m scared”—can help the nervous system feel less under threat, even when there is nothing practical you can do to remedy the situation.

Thank you so much for this, Blood Moon. You really hit the nail on the head.

Reading what you wrote about 'rigidity' not being closed-mindedness, but rather a strong sense of fair play colliding with reality, made me tear up. It is so true. When I look at something as simple as having to pump gas—something I’ve never had to do in my life because it was one of the few things Jeff always handled—I realize my resistance isn't about being stubborn or inflexible. It’s pure resentment.

For my entire married life, Jeff has caused me so much frustration and anger. There were times I didn't even really like him, and now I'm left holding the wreckage of a life and a partnership with a man I didn't even truly like.

I've been reading Dr. Sarno's books, and he always talks about how anger is at the root of so much of this. For a long time, I questioned myself and thought, 'I'm not really an angry person.' But reading your response made me realize I never truly understood just how much rage and anger I was carrying underneath all of this unfairness.

It feels completely unfair that I am suddenly thrust into doing all of this, right on top of everything else I'm carrying. I’m the one managing the household, dealing with his moods, worrying about protecting my home and assets, and facing a future I never envisioned for myself. Pumping gas feels like the glaring, physical symbol of a contract that was broken. It’s like a neon sign flashing, 'You are entirely on your own, and it's not fair.'

I wake up with my body aching because I’m carrying all this anger and resentment. I find myself wondering what on earth I did to deserve a hand like this. But recognizing that my body's bracing and tension is just a protective part of me rebelling against the injustice of it all—rather than some personal flaw—helps take some of the self-judgment away.

Thank you for helping me untangle that. It means a lot. I could have never figured this out on my own.

 

[Cactusflower]

@BloodMoon - this is the exact type of rigidity I developed. My husband desperately wants everything to be "us", and in some ways him before us - as a way to prove to himself (and myself) he can be responsible and take care. It drives me BATTY! It's a form of controlling, and lording over me. He is trying to break this habit in some ways. On the other hand, I love being independent but loathe having to be solely responsible for the many things laid at my feet (things he just doesn't like to do) because if things don't go as planned I blame myself.
This is all just a bunch of learned behavior, and with that, it takes the weight off. The SEP really helps you see how the things we hold so dearly might not need to hold so much meaning or be grasped so tightly.
However, there are times and people we deal with that might lead us to keep a firm grip because without it, we'll be hurdled and encapsulated into their lives. I think this is mainly people who can't deal with their own emotions so they grab onto those people who will take on that role.
@Patty Cakes says it well "anger and resentment" end up looming large in our lives, but then there's guilt and shame for letting go of the anger and resentment - and the people who "need" us (those folks who need us to manage their emotions for them). It's tough to let go but it will help you free your spirit. When you feel a little bit free-er, you realize you aren't alone. You are simply more free to be with yourself.

 

[BloodMoon]

@BloodMoon - this is the exact type of rigidity I developed. My husband desperately wants everything to be "us", and in some ways him before us - as a way to prove to himself (and myself) he can be responsible and take care. It drives me BATTY! It's a form of controlling, and lording over me. He is trying to break this habit in some ways. On the other hand, I love being independent but loathe having to be solely responsible for the many things laid at my feet (things he just doesn't like to do) because if things don't go as planned I blame myself.
This is all just a bunch of learned behavior, and with that, it takes the weight off. The SEP really helps you see how the things we hold so dearly might not need to hold so much meaning or be grasped so tightly.
However, there are times and people we deal with that might lead us to keep a firm grip because without it, we'll be hurdled and encapsulated into their lives. I think this is mainly people who can't deal with their own emotions so they grab onto those people who will take on that role.
@Patty Cakes says it well "anger and resentment" end up looming large in our lives, but then there's guilt and shame for letting go of the anger and resentment - and the people who "need" us (those folks who need us to manage their emotions for them). It's tough to let go but it will help you free your spirit. When you feel a little bit free-er, you realize you aren't alone. You are simply more free to be with yourself.

I think there's something really important in what you're saying about recognising the patterns we've learned and how much meaning and responsibility we attach to them.

I can relate to what you're saying, particularly how responsibility can somehow end up on our shoulders, even when we never asked for it. My husband, for instance, is always wanting to get things done to the house that, quite honestly, don't bother me in the slightest. But then, when the tradesmen we've hired inevitably cock something up, guess who ends up getting involved in putting it right? It drives me nuts, especially when it was something I wasn't particularly bothered about in the first place!

Perhaps sometimes we become so caught up in the roles we play in our relationships that we lose sight of where our own needs and feelings fit in. And maybe letting go isn't about caring any less, but about releasing some of the guilt and responsibility we carry, and finding a way to care without losing ourselves in the process.
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