Hopelessly Insecure

What if insecurity isn’t a problem or sign of neurosis?  What if instead, it is a doorway, rather than an impediment?

Many years ago, I was in a breathwork course.  Partners would take turns holding space for each other’s one-hour breathing journey.  The journey entailed consciously increasing one’s oxygen input with connected breathing, and was often quite cathartic and emotional. The leader of the course asked each of us to write down an inspirational sentence or two that our partner could read to us when we were at the peak of our breakdown/breakthrough breath journey.  People wrote sentences to be read out loud, such as “You are Divine,” “You are a goddess,” “You are the light without shadow,” or “You are on the right path.”  Even back then, I was a little different. I wrote:

“You are hopelessly insecure.”

My turn at the breathing arrived, and sure enough, in the middle of the session, I started crying and shaking and making big sounds.  My partner leaned down and whispered my sentence in my ear several times: “You are hopelessly insecure. You are hopelessly insecure.”

Hearing these words inspired me to break down even more.  The leader came over to offer support, read the words that my partner was reading to me, and said “Oh no! This won’t work.” She proceeded to whisper “you are secure, you are secure. You are goodness itself.”

I paused as best as I could in my process, gently opened an eye, and asked her to please have my partner read the original sentence, and that I would explain later when the session was over.

After the session, when I could put some sentences together, I explained to the leader that insecurity is part of what it means to be human. Fear and doubt and uncertainty are written into our contracts for our whole lives. They are woven into the fabric of being human. To make up an affirmation during the breathwork that denies this would create a dissonance in my body, where I would be trying to become something I am not.  Better to tell the truth, as that would be the most liberating thing.

And even more compelling was the word “hopeless.”  Because I am hopelessly insecure, there is no hope.  There is no magic pill or mantra or breath technique that will sandpaper out my inherent insecurity. I don’t have to try or worry or strive or compare.  I can simply surrender to the gift of my humanity, as I am, perfect in my apparent imperfection, with nothing to change or fix. What a relief!

Rather than being a problem, insecurity is thus a doorway, a solution.  As we embrace our humanness, and all the apparent frailties, we discover a solidity and a Grace.  We have nowhere to fall. We are already on the bottom.  The wind of experience can’t knock us off our feet.

My breath session, as it turned out, was wonderful.  Each time my partner read my sentence to me, I was able to let go even deeper into a wholeness that included my insecurity and self-doubt. I didn’t have to strive to try to attain a state beyond.

What I keep discovering, over and over, in so many ways, is that I am hopelessly, irrevocably, and in my better moments, gratefully, human.