We Came To Believe

I’ve never liked positive affirmations. They aren’t true. They are pretty little fortune cookie chirps of wishful thinking. The people who say affirmations work have never met my inner critic, and my inner critic knows me better than anyone. She knows we can’t rely on divine intervention because God is fickle – creating beauty in the cosmos and nature and other people’s lives, but only in mine on sporadic, unpredictable occasions or when I suffer enough. If I am strong enough – if I prove my loyalty through enough sacrifice or endurance; if I stop all my frivolous distractions and get really clear about my gifts and share them boldly and tirelessly then maybe, just maybe, I will be gifted with blissful joy. But as long as I am doubting, indulging, and biding my time, it’s no one’s fault but mine that I don’t attract divine intervention.

Are you mad yet? Are you wanting to kick my inner critic’s ass? Are you wanting to gather me in your arms and whisper, “Oh, sweetheart! No wonder you are so exhausted and hopeless!” Are you frustrated at how I can keep believing this despite all the love and blessings and goodness in me and in my life? Good. So am I, and I’m glad you care. Discovering this heart-breaking belief leaves me angry and frustrated, but I also feel a tremendous amount of compassion for myself because this isn’t just my belief. Every addict I’ve met has it. It’s why we eat and drink too much. It’s why we don’t set boundaries and why we resent. It’s why we manipulate and steal; feel entitled and justify it all. If we have any concept of God, he/she/it certainly isn’t interested in us or active in our daily lives except to criticize or condemn.

Step Two of the AA 12-steps: “We came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.”

• To believe. “An acceptance that a statement is true or that something exists, especially without proof.”

Our beliefs seem true because they are based in evidence from our experience, but our experience is shaped by what we believe. This can lead to deeply held convictions that endure despite being unhelpful and often downright false. We can spend years in therapy, go on adventures, engage in spiritual practices, receive unconditional love, and even find our life purpose, but if what we are accepting as true in the core of our being doesn’t resonate with a fundamental sense of being loved and belonging despite all these outer circumstances, we are forever restless, insecure, empty, and searching.

When my sponsor asked me to write about what I really believe about god – not what I feel, know to be true, say I believe, or think I should believe – I discovered my narrative about a harsh and withdrawn god. I talk all the time about my spiritual experiences and philosophy, but underneath it all is a core belief in deprivation and unworthiness that shows up in the way I eat, and how I justify all my compulsive behaviors. It has been making my life unmanageable for a long time, but because I had accepted it as true, I didn’t realize it was a story. And if I can find out where it came from and who’s telling it, I should be able to choose another version.

When I was very small, I experienced God as the people around me. They taught me that love was inconsistent and had to be earned, that silent endurance and sentimental loyalty were the way to gain favor, and that it was up to me to ensnare whatever goodness I could through diligence, sacrifice, deprivation, stealing, and hording. I could choose all sorts of other ways to tell this story, focusing on how my parents were also wounded and doing the best they could, or on all the love and affection I did receive. The problem is that for whatever reason those stories simply don’t feel as true.

The idea that we can simply choose a new story after years of finding evidence for an existing belief makes the logical realist in me squirm. It reminds me of those bogus affirmations. You don’t manifest a dream house just by looking at a picture of it, so why would telling a story about an all-loving, all-powerful God that’s actively interested in helping me with my compulsions, relationships, financial insecurity, and existential angst bring that entity into being? And you don’t suddenly embody qualities of serenity and compassion just by thinking that you do. Even though there are plenty of testimonials about how the beliefs we hold can change, and radically alter our outer lives, the process isn’t as simple as choosing a different outfit or flavor of ice cream.

I recently spent an afternoon with a neuroscientist who visibly recoiled when I shared my awe and delight in a vast sea of mystery beyond my understanding. He believes mystery is only that which science has not yet explained and he was concerned that I was limiting myself with practices that struck him as superstitious. Discovering the rational explanations for why these techniques work would make them far more effective. He told me about his frustrated efforts to help others see this “truth” and I kept asking him how he knew it was true. The existence of Mystery simply feels right to me, and Science’s unlimited ability to explain everything given enough time and diligence is simply indisputable to him. But he can no more prove that mystery is finite than I can prove it is infinite.

What I am coming to realize is that what we believe matters far more than what is true. Our beliefs explain what lies beyond the realm of objective observation and reasoning, and help orient us to what is unknown, so they hold tremendous power both to destroy and to resurrect. My beliefs, whether in unfathomable Mystery or in a harsh and inconsistent God, feel sacred. When I see them as stories, they are open to re-examination, and this shakes the foundation of my reality. This process can be even more unsettling than losing a job, home, or relationship, and I won’t risk it without a genuine sense of urgency.

The conversation with my friend took me to my core belief in Mystery and I defended it. When I lost the will to live last year, I was able to re-engage because I believe lessons will just keep coming back until we master them. There is no ultimate escape. I feel solid on my new path of living with auto-immunity because I choose to believe that there is wisdom it is here to teach me. I have no solid evidence to support either of these beliefs, but I accept them because they enable me to face challenges that would otherwise be insurmountable.

My journey with addiction, in contrast, has led to a core belief about God that has the power to kill me. My sense of powerlessness, deprivation, and insignificance fuels self-destructive thoughts and behaviors. Even though this belief is deep, even though it feels true, it has to change. I need to believe in a power that is endlessly compassionate, tirelessly faithful, powerfully fearless, playful, and head-over-heals in love with me exactly as I am. Trying to embrace this belief feels like a snake struggling out of its skin – writhing, resting, pushing, breathing – its new body formed by something divine and beyond its understanding. But as I become willing to not only think, but to act as though this belief is true, I am beginning to find evidence that it is.

Nancy

 Michael Meade believes that the greatest crisis of our time is a crisis of meaning. If we solve that within ourselves, and increasingly within our communities, all the other crises we face – political, environmental, social, economic – can be solved from that foundation.