When we think we’ve passed through the door of initiation, and shed the old patterns that no longer serve us, we may be surprised how they show up again—sometimes in the most unexpected ways. Healing is not a linear process, its form is much more like that of a spiral.

The spiral is often understood as a spiritual symbol exemplifying the idea that one will continuously circle through seemingly similar phases, but experience them differently with each pass. In that way, our cycles are circular, repeating like seasons, but never with the exactness of a mirror’s reflection. This is a concept core to many faith-based traditions. Circumambulation, for instance, is the ritual practice of circling a holy place, person or idol, and is used in most major religions of the world. Jung believed the spiral to be a circumambulative path to different modes of consciousness. We can best chart our progress through our response to these seasons of being, and notice our growth in contrast to how we reacted the last time we were here.

There is no life without death. And yet, if we are to glean any insight from the spiral, nothing really dies. In the previous newsletter I wrote on the subject of initiation, and touched on what is called the “deathing process”, which ends each life cycle (be it a relationship, emotional phase, or life itself), and sees it back to the start again, though it’s never really the beginning.

Over the years I’ve come to terms with the various ways my perfectionism shows up in my life, hoping to convince me of the illusion that it is protecting me. Just when I think, “I’ve finally worked through the pattern of perfectionism”, it pops up in a new way I couldn’t have anticipated. It's a clever method of avoidance, because from the outside it looks like I’m getting a lot done, and I can convince myself I am in control, taking life head on. But what perfectionism creates is an interior freeze, wherein the laundry list of “to-do’s” never shrinks, and in fact, only grows so that my chores are never done and important work doesn’t have to begin.

I’ve planned to start a podcast this year with the intention of hosting dynamic conversations with artists, writers, healers, and others who inspire my work and my life. But before I could even begin, I told myself I had to read everything I could get my hands on that had ever been written by or about each guest, and so thoroughly digest their work that I could make the best, most informative podcast ever recorded. It’s honestly hilarious to write that down and share it with you because it’s so clearly expecting too much of myself. But in keeping it in my head, the need to do this work perfectly felt not only very real, but completely necessary if I was to have any legitimacy in the venture.

There has got to be some middle ground here. Because although the intention of being highly informed, and prepared is a good one, the humanness of the enterprise is choked out by the quest for perfection. I can’t control every aspect of the process. It’s a conversation after all. By controlling the dialogue, I’ve smothered its aliveness, which would be the opposite of entertaining or thoughtful and would make my podcast unlistenable.

My first instinct is to take this inability to control as a reason not to do something. But if I give myself time and space, and open up about my hesitancies, I soon discover that I’m hiding behind a pretty flimsy excuse. I can do the research I am capable of, and let the rest fall into place. In trusting that I have what it takes, I can go with the flow rather than command what’s unfolding. We all have this ability, but for a perfectionist like me, I catch myself time and again clutching and this is my signal to get mindful, and let go.

In opening to trust, letting life live through us, and surrendering control, we position ourselves to be present so we can express ourselves authentically in each moment–this is the way I’d prefer to live. The inverse is waiting for the right moment to spring into being, only to find ourselves waiting the rest of our lives.

This is the purgatory of perfection.

It is a near permanent stall in order to hide in the jungle of lists and prerequisites. But there will always be an authority we perfectionists place above ourselves that we feel compelled to please. We expect rejection from this authority and will voluntarily send ourselves back to find more, do more, rework and rebuild our methodology and reframe our hypotheses, again and again, over and over, ad nauseum.

But what if I let it be easy? What would happen if I just did the thing? What If I used my imagination for good, and asked the opposite question–“what if it works out?” What if I have the authority in me? Or better yet, what if I don’t need any authority at all, and I lent myself as a channel to express what is only trying to move through me? What resistance would have to fall away in order for me to start?

Stepping out from behind our avoidances can feel so incredibly vulnerable, but perfectionism is the avoidance of our own humanity. It is a place of aloneness and separation where we kill the love for ourselves and others. How we change any of our old patterns is to first accept them, and to understand that though they are our instinctual expression, they are not ours and can be unlearned. Acceptance and surrender look a lot alike, and to do either is the inciting incident of the deathing process. Only when I surrender to the truth of my perfectionism can I start to mindfully approach my embrace of the mess, or at least tolerating it.

Even still, I likely won't ever be done.

How it typically plays out for me is that I get an idea, say, to speak my truth in a public way, like on social media or in a newsletter like this one. The idea, I think, is pretty good. But soon, I might contract out of fear: will it be rejected? Will I be judged in some way that wounds me? This is when the old narrative kicks in to say “yes, absolutely it will wound you.” So I resist. I talk myself out of it, or put it off in some way, burying it under the pile of responsibilities I purposefully (though, unconsciously) keep mounted at all times. The longer I resist, the more I ache, and the longer I suffer because this is what wants to come out, and the pain comes from my keeping it in. The illusion of control has got me so fooled that I believe I can actually contain the spirit, even though it’s wrenching me from the inside.

Soon the suffering is too great, and I fold under the internal pressure, and come to accept, which is to say, surrender, that this isn’t for me to decide. I open the floodgates and it all comes rushing out. Regardless of the external validation, I feel a sublime acceptance when I reach the point of release. It’s like a well digested meal. It’s that embodied, “Ah-ha!” feeling, the full inner resonance that advances the growing edge, and lights the shadow. How this little cycle concludes for me is a vow of change, where I tell myself “I won’t resist like that again! There’s no need to contract!” and then I swiftly turn the next corner and repeat it all over, convinced that this time it’s different. And it will be, though only in the way the spiral allows, with its lateral way.

The aspect of that little play we need to focus on is surrender. It’s the acknowledgement that we are not in control, in any sense, and that the great tide will overpower us eventually. These cycles are greater than us. We cannot outsmart them, out maneuver them, or outlast them. Either we go when we are called, or we will be dragged through great difficulties to learn what waits for us. In that way, surrender is our best teacher. And though she only has the one lesson, we still can’t seem to master it. But what’s more human than having to be bopped on the head repeatedly before we understand?

“Letting go gives us freedom, and freedom is the only condition for happiness. If, in our heart, we still cling to anything–anger, anxiety, or possessions–we cannot be free.”

— Thich Nhat Hahn

Even entering this profession was an act of surrender for me. My ego wanted nothing more than to continue working as a photographer. And although I still do photo work, I felt initiated and called to the work of healing. I’m still very much in the process of surrendering. It doesn’t really end. We just find new ways of integrating along the spiraling path. This is only the start of my journey with therapy and coaching, and my job isn’t to rush it or force my way through, but to listen and make space for what wants to be created.

I haven’t entirely shed my perfectionism either. I suppose that would be an unfitting conclusion for the perfectionist. These things take a lot of patience. They require daily practice, no different than any other part of our daily routine. Healing and growth are built around the incremental expansion of our awareness. Much of the time these habits happen right under our noses as unconscious reactions to life, and our goal is to grow the gap between trigger and reaction, so in time we can take conscious action. Then, in time, we just might shed the old egoic fears that kept us hidden altogether.

We fear nothing like we fear death. Yet, interestingly enough, we do not fear pre-birth. That state before the ego, which is as equally unimaginable as an afterlife, and yet seems to bring us no trepidation whatsoever. Perhaps this is because we’ve already been? The instinct for survival is what keeps us in the grooves of our patterns. I know for me that sometimes I so struggle to imagine security outside of my comfort zone that when I’ve been jostled out of it, I come back to the conclusion that my only option is to recommit to behaviors that were the very source of my pain. Often the instinct of survival is illusory, it’s an impulse that is responding to unconscious limiting beliefs. Doubling down shows a lack of humility, illustrated by my need, and deep held belief, that I can control the outcome. That old inner-argument, that if we only try harder, if we only give that much more, we can escape despair and be happy, is so convincing because it plays on our fears and rejects any and all alternatives out of hand.

Humility is so important, because without it we may never surrender. To endure what our mind tells us is unendurable is a high point of humanity, even if the lead up is the lowest of lows. Surrendering to, or accepting the truth, the fact, the reality, that everything has its season and nothing lasts, is simultaneously the source of our deepest suffering and our most fruitful growth. But true surrender requires authentic humility.

The root of the word “humility” comes by way of the latin “humus”, which translates as soil. Specifically, it is the part of the soil actively decomposing. To be “humble” is to be quite literally broken down, churned into useful, organic material that will spur new growth. It’s a cliché as old as time, and yet it hasn’t lost its deep set power: death and birth are inextricably linked; they beget each other, life feeding death, death feeding life. To be reborn, to learn our lessons and advance into the light of their awe, we must put a part of ourselves to rest. And in putting those passing aspects to rest, we not only fertilize our future development, we make room for our healthier habits to grow.

This is the deathing process. And just in time for Spring, what we put into the soil blooms into the next consciousness.

Initiation Journal Prompts

What do you want to build your awareness around?

How does avoidance show up for you?

How do you practice surrender, acceptance and humility?

How could you feel the fear and do it anyway?

Sending you all the best in your journey,

Katie & the Inner Vision team

003: Initiation

Initiation Journal Prompts

006: Fear

002: The Inner Child