“There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
Anais Nin
This is a great metaphor for the start of therapy, or of any difficult journey.
There is a phrase I think of sometimes that I picked up in some therapy book…I don’t remember which one: “when the problem doesn’t hurt badly enough.”
I think of that whenever someone seeks my advice about someone else who is suffering. Let’s say a spouse is concerned their husband or wife. The one who supposedly needs the help is not in the room, and the one who wants help wants the help for someone else. Neither party is seeking help, although they are communicating this in very different ways (one by being absent, and the other by talking about someone else). Essentially, both are pointing the finger in a direction away from themselves. Sometimes this is easy to explain to the one who is listening, other times, not so easy.
This is my view anyways, that I cannot help someone who isn’t present, directly. The only way is to change the one I’m working with, and often that change will trickle down to their loved ones.
But at a certain point, sometimes the one who is absent will show up, will make contact. Or the one who has shown up will shift internally and decide that there are changes that he/she could make that would help his/her family. This is the moment when the pain of blossoming has been surpassed by the pain of being in the bud.
The pain of being in the bud is the pain of the status quo. The pain of powerlessness, of ineffectiveness, of using outdated behaviors and strategies of life, with diminishing returns. Of being smaller than one’s potential should allow, just like a cramped seed that is struggling to burst out of it’s exterior.
The pain of blossoming is the pain of growth, of encountering new challenges and discomforts, of stretch marks and growing pains, of blinding light and harsh winds that we didn’t have to face in the seed. It’s similar to an unborn child being born, or an infant learning to crawl, or a child going off to the first day of school, or a teenager starting their first day on the job. Meeting the challenge that leads to blossoming is usually uncomfortable and even scary.
Therapy or coaching is similar, and that (along with the cost) is why many avoid it for so long, often by satirizing it. Why would sitting in a cushy office and talking to someone who mostly listens be so uncomfortable? Well, because in therapy we are generally asked to confront our own defenses – the lifelong habits we’ve used to ward off all things painful, as best as we could. We’re admitting that the pain of using our defenses is too great, that our defenses are keeping too much distance between ourselves and our life.
For example, someone is lonely and dissatisfied in relationships, which they consistently find shallow. The defense is holding back, not going deep, not being vulnerable. The pain is not having genuine depth or intimacy. They know the “safe” seed of distance with others is also rather lifeless, and that they want to blossom. But that entails a risk, the risk of being hurt, so it’s less “safe” to blossom, in that the seed provides short term comfort. Blossoming entails short term fear and stress, but often leads to joy in the long term.
Another example, with depression. The depression is safe, albeit lifeless, like being contained in a dark seed, trapped underground. What most depressed people don’t realize is that the depression is sparing them from the battle of growth, and also robbing them of the fruits of their own potential. We want to have our safety and our growth too. But safety and stagnation are a package deal (the seed), as are growth and uncertainty (blossoming).
It’s a choice, and it’s not an easy one. Sometimes we need to remain in the seed longer. Seeds serve a function after all. It might be even more harmful to emerge into the light and wind before we’ve become solid enough in the seed, than it is to remain in the seed too long. To decide when to blossom is an art of wisdom.