a peace accord

The biggest battles I ever wage are with myself. If I'm Freudian in my leanings at times, it's because I know quite acutely -- as I suspect many of us do -- just how powerfully internalized belief systems and biological drives can conflict.

And by that, I also mean internalized belief systems can conflict with other internalized belief systems and biological drives can conflict with one another.

Some pretty powerful stuff has been engrained in this here fleshy vessel, my friends. But most of you know that already.

One of the battles I've been waging recently is that of being able to accept that I am a person with needs. I have been so incredibly conditioned, as have many of us, to believe that I am supposed to be a rugged individualist and to categorize *all* of my yearnings as "wants" rather than "needs."

In the world where I was raised, anyone who expresses needs is a failure. It means you can't take care of everything by yourself. Of all mistakes you might make, the worst is relying on another person.

Growing up, both of my parents made it abundantly clear that it was a sign of failure to ask for help, to offer an olive branch or to admit that you ever needed *anything* in relationship to anyone else. I come from very stubborn and foolish stock.

I know this. I realized some time ago that my life would not be more fully mine as long as I kept with the credo. And I have taken pretty bold steps, in my opinion, by way of breaking the pattern. I've been learning to ask for things and to admit to some needs.

But those actions come with a price: the old beliefs go on attack. Each time I force myself to seek help, I am dogged by them. They are why it feels like I'm "forcing" myself in the first place.

It's classic inner conflict.

The first stage to dealing with it has been to become aware of it. I used to do two things: Just not ask for help or ask for help and feel really bad without knowing why.

Now I can see the conflict for what it is -- or at least, what I know of what it is, because Freud would say there's even more to it of which I am not conscious. I will be digging around in some bit of this muck for the rest of my life one way or another.

But hopefully, not to the point which it's been consuming me lately. I have been engaged in a hearty Socratic dialogue with that faulty set of beliefs for a while now. I assume I'm winning, but there is such a deeply embedded emotional response to all of this that it's like being in trench warfare.

Two sides, dug deeply in, tossing psychological grenades at one another: There! Take that, you dirty little bastard! ... No, there, I'm tossing it back at you! Your reasoning is insufficient. Your argument has no feet!

And so it continues. Obviously, it's not working all that well.

It strikes me that what ends all wars is a surrender, otherwise known in these politically correct days as a peace accord.

The part of me that has learned to admit I have needs is not willing to surrender. But perhaps, in lieu of victory by way of vanquishing of my enemies, I will find a way to make peace with myself.

This is where the compassion comes in, I think. It is the part I have struggled with most because learning compassion for myself is the complete opposite of learning to deem myself a failure.

How do I do that? What form does compassion take when directed inward rather than outward? Is it all in the message I tell myself?

Rather that being annoyed that I am struggling so, would the compassionate voice say: Of course you are struggling! Why wouldn't you be?

When I hear that message -- ask not lest ye appear weak (and thus, despicable) -- what would be the compassionate response? How sad that you remind yourself of this so often as well. It must hurt to keep doing that.

Maybe I'll eventually be able to say to those savage voices: Perhaps I'll always hear you, but I'm not listening anymore.

Wouldn't that be sweet? If it were so, I mean.

If I could simply nod my head in acknowledgement of the sound. But then also: Just. Stop. Listening.