Recently I threw a surprise birthday/chemo-finito party for my sister. After years of Covid lockdowns and diagnosis after diagnosis, a bigger-than-average celebration felt necessary. But an evening of good food, good friends, and family didn’t only do her good, it did me good as well. I remember leaving that night feeling refreshed and lighter. Not just because the party had gone well, or that she was completely shocked, or that the weight of planning had lifted – but because I’d felt connected to people and to fun. Both of which I’d been missing for quite some time.
As a post-Covid-era, work-from-home, introvert, loneliness is a near-constant companion of mine. So even though the people sitting around my sister’s birthday table weren’t my friends but hers, a longing in me was fulfilled.
Soon after that night, these words written by Sharon Hodde Miller in Free of Me jumped off of the page:
“God doesn’t ask us to love others simply because it’s the right thing to do. God asks us to love others because it glorifies him and it heals something deep inside of us. In the same way that loving and praising God is a path to joy, there is a second way to joy, which is loving people. If you can get to that place of turning your pain into love, God will pull you out of yourself and heal you in a way that self-care cannot.”
In the same chapter, Miller explains her own feelings of loneliness, and how it was in helping others to feel included, that she found her own healing.
Reaching outside of ourselves for self-care? A revolutionary concept.
Respite or repair
So much of the world’s advice on self-care involves doing something luxurious for ourselves: pouring a glass of wine, getting a pedicure, going on a shopping trip, or drawing a hot bubble bath. Some of my favorite things, mind you! And they’re excellent sources of temporary stress relief. But our deepest aches call for something far more substantial. And there’s a clear difference between respite and repair.
While worldly examples point to some version of alone time, Kingdom policy has us living outwardly even in the midst of our own pain. Our Jesus loves the upside-down way.
Blessed are poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven, blessed are they that mourn for they shall be comforted, blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth.
Matthew 5:3-5
But for most of us, myself included — this an exceedingly difficult way to live. Reaching out when we feel stuck feels like lifting the weight that’s been on our chest and walking down the road with it, looking for someone who might be sitting around with the same weight.
Why would I want to do that? Anesthetizing (respite) is far more attractive. I decided to throw a party for my sister and was “accidentally” blessed by it. But living this way on purpose? It seems like a bigger ask.
With-ness in the unseen
A party didn’t heal my sister of cancer, a walk on the beach will not end your best friend’s marital issues, and a crossword puzzle won’t cure your grandmother’s dementia, but our compassion, or our with-ness, can be a powerful balm for the soul especially when we can acutely identify with one (or more) of the painful emotions associated with those hardships. Our willingness to meet an emotional need, even if we can’t always do so, can help chip away at unseen pain.
Repairing the dents and scars that life inflicts can’t be accomplished through isolation – which is what a secular view of self-care often points to. It’s in moving toward others going through similar pain and generously offering them what we wish would be provided to us, that we’re healed.
Self-care versus self-compassion
We’re quicker to choose respite even if it’s temporary, because repairing anything is a process. And the word “process,” is indicative of time. Which none of us is a fan of when we’re in pain. And choosing to view our pain as an arrow pointing to those we might be well-suited to serve takes intentionality.
But wouldn’t it be a beautiful Kingdom-type of lifestyle to live this way on purpose?
It would take a willingness to recognize our own pain and instead of seeking respite, seek deeper, more transformative change: repair. Followed by a curiosity about who else, either in our own circle or perhaps a specific people group might also be experiencing that pain for different reasons. And finally to move towards them with the intention of meeting that need.
Self-care is a good thing. But perhaps what we’re talking about here would be more aptly described as self-compassion: healing ourselves by recognizing common suffering and choosing to bless someone else.
Our God wastes nothing. He uses every piece of our story for our good. And our with-ness both in suffering and in joy is healing and restorative. What a wonderful God to let us participate in making all things new.
Is there someone in your life who’s experiencing a hardship that might come with emotions you’ve experienced before?
Our little corner of work
I’ve seen this quote shared over and over again on Instagram, and tried tagging the original writer of these words, but was unable to find the account. I’d love to credit them here if possible. Tell me what you know. :)
I hope you enjoyed this month’s installment of Curious Compassion.
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"Our willingness to meet an emotional need, even if we can’t always do so, can help chip away at unseen pain." Your words really resonated with me, Brandy. Especially the whole self-compassion/self-care component. Moving towards others in whatever way we can in the midst of of our pain, instead of pulling away. Man, so not what I naturally want to do. And it's not a forgetting ourselves to the point of neglect, but rather a shift towards others, even if just a glance, that helps us process our pain. I've definitely experienced that, and am learning to wrestle through that more intentionally. Thanks again for these words!