Seems like everyone is an introvert now. But maybe that's not so healthy...

Suddenly it’s cool to be an introvert. Susan Cain’s 2013 TED talk about the power of introversion has racked up more than 14 million views, her book on the same theme is a New York Times bestseller, and now memes and even T-shirts about detesting other people are popping up everywhere. Who knew that declaring an aversion to human company could be such a popular statement? 

I’ve talked a lot on this blog about being an introvert, and why I jealously guard my private time. I’ve explained how small talk leaves me tongue-tied and how parties feel confronting for me (that post here). I’ve theorised that my introversion is linked to my deep sensitivity – which, of course, is part and parcel of being a healer and intuitive. But a few weeks ago I read a New York Times article asserting that some people are now using introversion – which seems to have become a badge of honour – as an excuse to be anti-social. That’s not a social condition, it’s laziness. 

I’ve realised I tend to do this too. 

I have a theory that, for some, claiming to be an introvert – is simply the desire for a bit of time out. We’re being slammed with a barrage of information 24/7 , and have less time to ourselves than ever before, so saying we don’t like socialising might be one way of trying to validate our intrinsic need for more quiet time. That has nothing to do with shyness and everything to do with feeling like we have to justify relaxation time (as if it were an indulgence). So it’s not a case of: ‘I don’t want to go to that engagement party because being around other people is draining and provoking for me’, it’s more: ‘I don’t want to go because I’ve had no time to myself this week and Saturday night is my only chance to get it’. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But for me, I’ve realised I need to be careful to make sure that preferring my own company doesn’t become the norm. Because in limiting my interactions with people, I limit my ability to grow, learn and give.

Actively avoiding gatherings where there will be a large crowd, or where I will be expected to network, has become a habit for me. I know such events will make me uncomfortable, so I try to dodge them. Of course it’s smart to protect my physical energy and to be discerning about how I spent what little downtime I have. But here’s the problem, summarised so brilliantly in the NY Times article: if we are constantly retreating into our shells, we aren’t connecting with each other. That’s a problem because, as Hugh Mackay asserts in his book Beyond Belief – How We Find Meaning, With Or Without Religion, human beings are hardwired for connection. We crave human contact and a sense of belonging, which help bring meaning to our existence. It’s also a problem because, from a spiritual perspective, we are here to help each other (which also brings meaning to our existence, BTW). In refusing to sit in company with other people, we are swatting away the gentle beckoning finger of the Universe inviting us to offer support to another. We also cut ourselves off from support from others (because even when everything in your life is going swimmingly, you still need to feel supported). Being a hermit holds a certain appeal, but the alone zone is a space to rest, not to reside.

When the New York Times journo asked Susan Cain (of the aforementioned TED talk and book) if, by choosing to read a book in the car while their kids are at a school function, self-indulgent introverts were actually just being rude – she laughingly agreed, saying sometimes “you have to consider the other person’s point of view instead of getting wrapped up in your own discomfort”.

Standing around in a bar talking about the weather (or in New Zealand, where I grew up, rugby – which, bafflingly, seems to hold endless fascination for almost everyone) isn’t exactly beneficial to anyone in a larger sense. But those awkward small conversations can be the gateway to slightly larger interactions where people do have an opportunity to express themselves. You may not necessarily be able to offer practical assistance to someone complaining about the sleep deprivation their seven-month-old son is inadvertently causing, but in listening to their struggle you are offering emotional support. I believe that the greatest desire of every person is to be seen, heard and understood. We facilitate this by bearing witness to each other’s experiences and struggles, without judgement or unsought advice. This is the simplest way we can show up for each other. As the saying goes, the greatest problem with our communications is that we listen to reply instead of listening to understand. 

Even the act of simply smiling at someone is immensely powerful on an energetic level. Mother Teresa said: “Every time you smile at someone it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing.” All the love-heart eye-emojis in the world sent from your living room won’t make someone feel as good as a RL smile does. (OK, I’ve just re-read that it sounds reeeeally cheesy... but you know what I mean, right?) The point is, we shine our brightest when we are around other people. Not when we are on the couch alone, sucking up our tea through a Tim-Tam straw (soz!). I want to continue to allow myself me time but I’m going to be tougher on myself when my urge to evade social occasions comes up. 

Much like Netflix, introversion in large doses is not necessarily good for me. Or anyone else, for that matter. 

Why criticism stings so badly, and why we can't afford to hide from it

*Trigger warning: contains bullying themes*

What is the worst thing someone has ever said to you, or about you? The thing that stung so badly you can feel yourself plunging into a barbed-wire pit at the memory?

Maybe you had to think about it. Maybe a dossier of vitriolic words sprung into your mind immediately. Maybe you simply don’t care what people think of you (if you fall into this category, I’m assuming you’re either a cat or Lena Dunham).

I’ve written a lot about my difficulty in accepting compliments and praise, but it wasn’t until last week at a talk by prominent vulnerability researcher and TED Talk star Brené Brown that I started thinking about the ways criticism, and the fear of it, have shaped my choices and behaviours.

Brené, who was in Sydney to open The School Of Life, described the eye-wateringly savage comments made about her 2010 TED Talk (which, incidentally, remains one of the top five talks of all time). These included nasty remarks about her appearance and her weight, and expressions of “pity” for her husband and children. Because if you really want to wound a woman, and you are protected by the anonymity of the world wide web, you go straight for the jugular – her looks (which is how society measures her value) and her worthiness to be loved by others (which is how she measures her value).

For me, the most devastating criticisms were made in my adolescence. Unlike the other kids at my small religious school, I was not from a rich family. I did not wear surf labels, I wore clothes handed down from my older cousins. My dad was in the building trade, not a lawyer or accountant. I had zero interest in watching, or participating in, sport (this was a cardinal sin in provincial New Zealand). I was a sharp, eager learner, and I knew big words that other kids did not. In essence, this is the (unrequested) feedback I got: you’re different, you don’t belong, no one wants to be your friend, and, most stingingly, no one will ever marry you. These junior emotional assassins managed to cut through to the core desires of me and every human being: to be loved and to belong.

While I was reflecting upon this ugly chapter of my life, I came undone under the weight of one very heavy memory. I remember going to a school disco and being so ridiculed for what I was wearing that I ran into the cloakroom, climbed to the top of the locker cube and spent the entire night lying against the wall so no one could see me, counting down the hours until Dad arrived in his ute to pick me up. This happened more than 25 years ago, but in many ways I am still that little girl in the pink corduroy skirt making herself as small as possible. I am still searching for acceptance. I am forever mourning for the cool, popular, enviable person I will never be. 

That’s the thing about the most hurtful criticisms, the ones we never forget – they maim us because they appear to confirm a belief we secretly held about ourselves: that we are not good enough. Yes, bullying is an extreme example, but the intensity of the criticism is not the point. When you are criticised, either for what you’ve done or for who you are, it will make you want to retreat and protect yourself. It will make you sorry you tried to do that brave thing, and highly unlikely to do so ever again. It will make you want to hurt other people. It will make you paint yourself as flawed, inadequate and unworthy; you will be wrong on all three counts.

Bestselling author Liz Gilbert does not read reviews, an experience she describes as biting into a sandwich of broken glass. Brené carries around a one inch by one inch piece of paper on which she’s listed the names of the few people whose opinions she cares about. If your name is not on the list, she will disregard your feedback. Because if you are sitting in the cheap seats passing judgement on others instead of standing up, baring your soul, living a life you are proud of and risking getting your arse kicked, Brené has no time for your opinion. 

Brené absolutely 100 per cent cannot let fear of criticism stop her from making herself vulnerable in her work, her relationships and her life choices. Because she knows from her research that being vulnerable is how we grow and connect. Vulnerability, she says, is showing up and being seen when you don’t know what the outcome will be. Courage is risking people judging you. It is unwise to stop caring what people think of you, she notes – because then you stop connecting. Human beings are wired for connection – and (in my opinion) those connections are what gives life meaning. For many years I held back from connecting with people because I was not willing to risk being truly seen. I was safe, but one-dimensional. One of the ways I have made myself vulnerable is by being open about my ability to communicate with angels, and risking being labelled a weirdo.

If we want to live full, satisfying, meaningful lives and experience deep relationships, we must risk criticism, judgement and negative feedback. We must dare to stand out even though we may be mowed down by the people who are playing safe. If we do not, we will never know all that we can be and all that we are capable of.

As one of my favourite quotes (the one on my Facebook page cover picture) declares: “Our tragedy isn’t in the failing, it’s in the not trying. We are here to risk our hearts.”

RELATED POSTS: With compliments. Just own it, darling

I love getting great feedback, but struggle to accept it (this struggle IS real)

One of the really great things about having a spiritual business is that you receive wonderful feedback from people. One of the challenging things about having a spiritual business is that you receive wonderful feedback from people.

Yep, you read that right.

As much as I love hearing from people whose lives have been fundamentally altered by a card reading, who’ve felt uplifted after reading a blog post I’ve penned, or who’ve been moved by an Oracle Card Of The Day, sometimes that feedback makes me feel uncomfortable.

I’ve been asking myself some probing questions about why I have such an uneasy response to what is, for all intents and purposes, a thing to celebrate. Why it is that I sometimes have to put the phone down and take several deep, slow breaths before I respond thanking that person. Why I might change the subject when a client thanks me for the healing session I’ve given them. It’s because, when I’m communicating with spirit then relaying those messages or transferring that energy to others, I am making myself very vulnerable. Equally, when I share my deepest thoughts and emotions on this blog. And when people respond to that vulnerability, it amplifies how exposed I feel. And that can be terrifying.

I want to make it clear that I do really love your feedback – it’s incredibly helpful for me to be shown how the positive energy I’m giving out is being received (and then returned to me in spades). But I still feel uncomfortable when it comes to receiving such feedback.  

Recently I read a fascinating article on Psychology Today (yes, I’m a nerd… but I doubt that’s a surprise to you) about the fear of acceptance. I’m familiar with the fear of rejection, but the idea of someone avoiding acceptance was new to me. Except that it wasn’t that new to me, actually, because it’s something I’ve been acting out throughout my life in many ways – I just didn’t know there was a name for it.

This is the statement in the article that resonated most with me: “When you are with someone whose demeanour, smile or kind words suggest that they respect, like or accept you, how do you feel inside? Do you notice some inner squirming or discomfort?” Yes I do. Lots of it.

Here’s what fear of acceptance means: in a bid to protect ourselves from being rejected, we take measures (both consciously and unconsciously) to avoid being accepted. We sabotage friendships and relationships. We stay on the outer fringes of social circles and events, to avoid being noticed. We get hung up on what people might think of us instead of focusing on how we feel in their company. Basically, we like to hide.

But having a spiritual business means I don’t get to hide. I have to show up wholeheartedly. I have to be vulnerable and human.I have to be ALL IN.  I cannot keep people at a distance. I cannot play safe. I cannot mirror the attitudes or behaviours of other people – I have to honour my own truth. I can no longer run away from connection.

Coming up against internal resistance is usually a pretty good sign that there’s something underlying I need to address. It’s an opportunity for growth. So following the article’s advice, this is my new strategy. When I receive a heart-felt compliment or a comment on something I’ve done that has made an impact on someone, I’m going to lean into the discomfort. I’m not going to brush it off. I will not attempt to transform into a person who loves getting attention and who embraces compliments like a boss – because that is not how I’m wired. Instead, it’s about accepting that this makes me uncomfortable, and being OK with that. Choosing to lean in anyway. And realising – eventually – that I’m completely safe to do that.

RELATED LINKS: With compliments. Just own it, darling

Staying connected to the Universe, but still being grounded: all about the crown chakra

This is the final post in my series about each of the seven chakras, or energy centres, of the body. I’ve posted links to the previous six chakras at the bottom of this article if you want a refresher, but first let’s delve into the crown chakra, which is all about your connection with the Universe.

The crown chakra is located at the top of your head (well, obviously!) and is associated with your thought patterns, how well you sleep (or not) and how connected you are with your spirituality.

The best way I can explain the crown chakra is that when it is in balance, life just flows. You have an innate wisdom about how events are unfolding and about the direction in which you should move. The third-eye chakra is about having clear intuition, but the crown chakra is more intensive – it’s concerned with whether you trust the Universe enough to follow those messages (or whether your brain gets in the way). But even though this is about the ethereal stuff, a balanced crown chakra also means you are grounded (i.e. anchored to the real world) – because if you’re not grounded, you can’t integrate messages from your intuition.

(Image: The crown chakra symbol)

One type of people likely to have a crown chakra block are, ironically, those working in the spiritual community - think about the spiritual gurus online who spout a whole lot of convoluted wisdom which has no real-world basis.

Remember how I talked about how each chakra has an adversary? The heart chakra, which is all about love, has ‘grief’ as its adversary. And the sacral chakra, which is about pleasure, has ‘guilt’ as its primary challenger. In the crown chakra that adversary is ‘attachment’. That’s attachment to anything from possessions to an unhealthy relationship to a need to be right all the time. Because when we are attached to any object, or any set outcome, we’re not open to what the Universe is guiding us towards (that which is for our highest good).

My crown chakra is what I use to channel energy from the Universe through when I’m giving someone a reiki treatment. It’s also my pathway for receiving messages from the angels. But you don’t have to be working in the healing field to benefit from having a balanced crown chakra. 

Melatonin, the hormone that regulates healthy sleep patterns, is associated with the crown chakra. When there’s a block in the crown chakra, that interferes with melatonin production, which in turn adversely affects our sleep quantity and quality. It’s no coincidence that this year, the year that I started reiki and giving angel card readings professionally, my incidences of insomnia (which I have suffered from all my life) have decreased significantly. 

When the energy in our crown chakra is deficient we might display these characteristics:

* Very rigid belief systems (closed-mindedness regarding religion and spirituality)

* Dependence on material items to make us feel good

* A tendency to daydream and be away with the fairies

(Image: The seven chakras in the body.)

When the energy in the crown chakra is excessive, we might be:

* Prone to overanalysing

* Likely to over-intellectualise situations

* Constantly struggling to switch off our brains

* Prone to insomnia

To balance out the energy in this chakra, meditation is the best course of action. In yoga, the headstand is effective (for obvious reasons). Also, taking a break from electronics can be hugely beneficial because it forces you to come back to the real world. Being around nature is also a great way to ground yourself.

***

If you want to know more about the other chakras, here are the links:

The base chakra – associated with our material needs (i.e. money) and security

The sacral chakra – our emotional health, our creativity and sexual energy

The solar plexus chakra – associated with empowerment and control

The heart chakra – the place from which we give and receive love (to others, and to ourselves)

The throat chakra – associated with communication and self-expression

The third-eye chakra – all about our intuition and perception of the world

If you’d like to work with me to heal any of the issues in this article, you can book energy healing sessions here. More information about how I work is available here.  

Why being lonely is so dangerous

There’s a fairly well-to-do woman in her early 60s living underneath me, who keeps ‘accidentally running into me’ when I exit the lift. Her favourite thing to do when she pounces is to run through an ever-changing litany of complaints, which may include: the way the man living on the level above me waters his plants (too overflowy!), the jazz music the pub down the street plays on Sunday afternoons (too jazzy!), a water pipe between my unit and hers (God knows what her issue is with that – it’s not even leaking). Eventually I figured out her complaints are not borne of dissatisfaction but a more powerful and very dangerous emotion – loneliness.

Research shows that loneliness is as ruinous to your health as smoking. It raises your blood pressure and cholesterol, suppresses your immunity (making you vulnerable to disease) and increases your risk of heart disease, because your body is under constant stress. 

It’s estimated that more than 40 per cent of us will feel the pang of loneliness at some point. And being in a long-term relationship is no protection – research shows that more than 60 per cent of lonely people are married. I can’t imagine the misery of being in a relationship with someone you feel disconnected from.

The common thread that underpins loneliness is a lack of connection. That might be geographic – moving to a city far away from your loved ones, for example – or it might be emotion driven – feeling like your friends don’t understand you, or that everyone around you is having different experiences to you (such as having children when you’re unable to). 

For me personally, the threat of loneliness has always been far more damaging than the emotion itself. Being an introvert, I’m actually pretty content with solitude. But the idea that having only myself for company could be enforced rather than a choice has, at times, gripped me with terror. This has resulted in some poor choices – going out on dates with men who bore me, remaining friends with people who I have nothing in common with, to name two.

This fear is not as strong for me now because as I’ve grown older I’ve come to understand that being alone does not equate to being lonely. And at an age where most people’s social networks are reducing as they focus more on their family units, I’ve made a conscious effort to expand my circles of friends, because I’ve realised how much these connections add to my life. This includes volunteer work at retirement homes, joining a social club and, yes, this blog – which has made me realise I have a great deal in common with a great deal of people. I think, too, that becoming more comfortable with being myself has helped me connect with people on a deeper level while also developing an awareness that isolation is really an illusion. 

For all these reasons I don’t give my whingeing neighbour the brush-off, although I can’t say spending time with her is a joy. And I’m not sure that me feigning interest in her chatter out of a sense of obligation is beneficial to her. But I try to keep in mind that loneliness is a miserable emotion and it can make us do unhealthy and unhelpful things – like complain (which tends to repel people). I can only hope that having some understanding of the mechanics of loneliness will help me to be more proactive about taking steps to prevent it when I get to her age and beyond.