This is how I used to do it:
When I was in pain, I would pitch a tent, build a campfire and invite people (actually anyone willing to hear all the gory details at length) to sit with me.
I was a great story fondler, going over + over the details of how I was wronged. This was exhausting, but I thought I was doing it right. I believed I was being authentic.
Here’s what was really happening:
- I was so wrapped up in my stories I did not realize the people around the campfire with me were exhausted and desperately wanted to leave.
- I trapped them, until the next person came to the campfire. And then the cycle started again.
- I had built this campfire in the Swampland of Shame.
- I was hoping these people would help me move out of it and I believed story fondling was going to set me free. But really it created more stuckness in my life.
- Nothing changed. I was sitting at the campfire. I was living in the swampland. I was not moving forward.
Are you in the Swampland of Shame? Have you pitched a tent and built a campfire?
Is it time to get the hell out?
smiling,
