Skip to main content

Rumbling with Brené Brown


Trust.

I am rumbling with trust.  

Rumbling is my new verb.  Brené  Brown uses it in her new book Rising Strong and it has taken me a good week to be able to "get" the word.

For a good seven days she might have well have written the word "syeblkehoi" for all the sense it made to me.

Please pass the syeblkehoi.
Just connect the syeblkehoi and it will turn on.
Bob syeblkhoi to school.

At first, I couldn't get my head around it.  

I was reading sentences over and over to try to capture the intent --- to infer meaning from the surrounding text.

"Syeblkehoi," said Paul.
Whatever you do, don't foget the syeblkehoi.

It kept slipping through my fingers. Sentence after sentence, like a bubble of mercury...bloop...bloop...it evaded me.

To rumble with someone --a verb maybe---like in West Side story, where rival gangs fight in the streets---switchblades gracefully lunging and parrying in tight choreography?

Or maybe she means it like a noun.... the echoing, tumble that vibrates thoughout your body before a big storm ---is that the rumble?

It's not a very common word.  In fact, when I hear it I automatically think of rumble seat.  You know the one--- in old cars that flips open beyond the comfort of the roof---leaving passengers open to the elements.  Hmmm which is also likely loud and violent.

Ok I am a pretty smart person.  So why couldn't I grasp this?

Brené was talking about rumbling with feelings and so maybe rumbling, like the noun OR verb, WAS loud and violent and feel like it might be dangerous. Suddenly I wanted to close the book and walk away.

My instict was so much faster than my logic.

Ok---sounds like rumble---feels like thunder and conflict--and has to do with emotions.  DANGER, DANGER!!! Complete SHUT DOWN ENABLED.  RUMBLE is no longer acknowledged as a word.   Immediately replace R*****e with seblkehoi.

it felt horrible--the thought of sitting with some uncomfortable feelings and letting them flow over and through you and toss you about a bit and rough you up.  Maybe there would be tears, or yelling or not.  But rumbling sounded more and more like something that happens TO you and you have to let go.

In my experience--all 48 years--losing control of something like emotions is exhausting.  In my mind, it looks like getting side swiped off a surf board (no I don't surf, and yes I am terrified of sharks, THIS adds to the terror of it all), becoming a flailing ragdoll pin ball, bounced off so many rocks while holding your breath. Why would anyone want to DO THAT!!!!???

But maybe, what Brené is suggesting is that by choosing the time and place and measure by which to rumble, you then DON'T get sideswiped, and you don't feel like a helpless victim.  When you make the conscious decision to jump, fall, cannonball or dive in the churning water yourself, you can be a but more prepared.  

Don't kid yourself though, once you are IN IT it is still going to be turbulent and rough and you may end up just as bruised, but I think, just maybe, that if you make the decision to start the rumble, you will also remember that it has an end.  

Right now, when I get sideswiped by emotional crap I am not dealing with, I mostly just stuff it away somewhere because it truly does feel like if it corners me in that rumble, I might not come out.  It feels like a one way trip to ---well I don't know.  That's the problem.  Dissolve some relationships, quit my job---all hard, hard things that frankly, I am not sure my mental state would survive.

Or, is my mental state so delicate because I am refusing to rumble with anything.  It's like a brittle shield and I am deflecting so much all the time just to keep it up there to protect me.  So the cost of my illusionary "peace" is a wicked defense that actually sucks all my energy, creating the need for more defence?

Ugh.  So I will rumble with that thought.  Just that one.  Rumble with the pre-rumbling I am doing to avoid the real rumbles that would actually mean diving into the water and dealing with whatever comes, releasing control.

For now, that is the best I can do.  I guess I am really rumbling with trusting myself.  How can I trust myself to put down the shield and allow the waves to wash over.  I will have to read on.  I will commit to that much at least.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Shame is A Full-Contact Emotion (Brené Brown)

It is a cool outside this morning and I have on my fluffy red robe as I sit outside and watch the birds flit back and forth from the fence to the feeder----arrogantly tossing aside imperfect sunflower seeds to get to the good ones.   The discarded seeds, some empty, some full, punctuate my deck, waiting for the squirrels, who will later claim this easy buffet. I am still reading Brené and The Gifts of Imperfection. Feels a bit like learning a new language ---I see the words---I hear the words---but the meaning is so diffuse...I need to read and reread and sometimes, even read out loud to make the words stick It is hard work.    And while the smooth cover of her book lies balanced on my palm, seemingly weightless, many of the concepts have a density that knocks me flat on my ass ---like a large medicine ball. CATCH THIS ONE!   Oooooooof!   I am down.    Eyes wide, trying to catch my breath, wrestling with the weight of hefty concepts like shame, authenticity, wholeh

Dr. Dr.

When we moved to Brampton I needed to find a family doctor---at 37--not married--two weeks into a new job in a different city--sleeping on an air mattress on the floor while my partner and son were wrapping things up in our London condo where they were still living---I found myself pregant . I went online and found a website that provided the names of doctors in various parts of Ontario who were accepting patients.  Of the few names listed I was immediately attracted to one.  Dr. Patricia Francis--a woman --who had studied in Ireland.  This to me was a sign. I am of Irish background and if you know Brampton at all you will know that finding her seems like a bit of the luck o' the Irish.  I was escorted into a room where a lovely coffee skinned, well dressed woman with a gorgeous South African accent I couldn't place asked the reason for my visit.  I told her I needed to speak to the doctor about a bit of a crisis.  Her eyes popped open as she sat down putting one hand on m

Asking for Help

My oldest son walked into the kitchen last night while I was drying the pot I had just used to make marshmallow squares.  He leaned against the wall, eyes downcast, unfocused and spoke in a soft voice: "Mom.  Tomorrow.  Just so you know.  Something has happened and I cannot remember a SINGLE thing about ANY of the stuff that will be on the exam.  So.  Just so you aren't expecting anything.  I am going to fail the exam.  Probably need summer school.  Will have to quit my job.  Will get my university offer rescinded. But it is probably too late for summer school so.  It is just all over." I put down the pot and gave him a hug.  (no hug back) I told him it was fine. He was fine. He remembered stuff--he had an 87 going into the exam! You can't have marks like that if you don't remember stuff?! Right? I could see the tears forming in his eyes.  He still wouldn't look at me. "Ok.  Get your jacket we are going for a walk.  Your brain is in overload a