Basic instinct
MINDFUL MOMENTS # 149
I used to joke that my instincts were so bad, I would do whatever the opposite was of what I felt. Now, that feels like such an intense betrayal to the deepest, most basic part of myself. I say ‘basic’ not as in simple, but as in most base: the most innate, primal, ready part of us; the first layer around ourselves that we build.
Do you trust your instincts?
Perhaps day-to-day we are not aware of our instincts being in action, but they are always there, keeping us safe, like simple background code that keeps us ticking over.
Our senses extended beyond ourselves: we have an awareness of our body in space; we can sense when someone is standing directly behind us (don’t look now). We feel our clothes going on, but we forget about that sensation unless we call it to mind. Some of this awareness exists as part of mindfulness: bringing our attention to our senses helps to stabilise us into the present moment. Our bodies are constantly relaying information and deciding what needs to be brought to our attention.
When I was away in Costa Rica, I learnt to trust my instincts - in a way that felt new and surprising. Like I said, I had previously dismissed my instinct as coming purely from a place of fear and anxiety and therefore not something that could be relied upon. I chastised it for being ineffective and unreliable; I tutted at it and rolled my eyes at its inaccuracy and misplaced emotion. Now, it makes me sad to think I did that.
We all have a deep intelligence within us. That intelligence exists to keep us safe and - crucially - at one point, it did just that. By chastising that part of myself as being over-dramatic and simply over-reacting, I was chastising my younger self, a part of me that holds a deep intelligence and a deep knowing about how to keep me safe. I dismissed it with the wave of a seemingly adult hand, as something lesser or unnecessary to me.
The important thing to know about these parts - or any parts - of ourselves, though, is that they will never go if we push them away (much like if I told you not to think about a pink elephant…what are you thinking about?). They only become reabsorbed into the whole if we invite them in and show them deep compassion and acceptance.
So, naturally, when I was travelling and in new situations with new people, there she was, keeping me safe. And perhaps for the first time, I listened to her. There have been times, since returning, that I have reprimanded myself for being overly afraid on my trip; we spoke about this fear and anxiety last week and the freedom that exists on the other side. The voice of one particular (man) mocking me for being “afraid of my own shadow” has stayed with me, his words impactful at a time when I was feeling vulnerable.
I can see now that my instinct wasn’t an over-reaction or an over-exaggeration based purely on fear or anxiety, but rather a valid and appropriate response to situations which were unknown. Yes, she is strong in her pull; determined in her mission to keep me safe - but she wasn’t wrong.
Sometimes, if I’m somewhere dark (or maybe just haven’t turned on the lights to go to the toilet in the night), I close my eyes. By doing so, I find it easier to tune into the sensations of touch and sound and seek our where I’m going. Our senses exist in this equilibrium; they co-exist and find balance. My point, then, is that when I was removed from the comfort of familiar landscapes, people and situations, my instinct rose up and became heightened in its sensitivity, just as our hearing does in the dark.
I don’t know if you, like me, have previously reprimanded your instincts for being too strong, or for feeling “overly” fearful or “disproportionately” anxious. Our instincts rely on worst case scenario and at one point, this earliest part of ourselves did keep us safe. We have to choose to honour this intelligence. Yes, now we can rationalise and weigh up situations and reassure ourselves of all the reasons we are safe. But, concurrently, we accept that our instinct isn’t wrong to sense danger. For example, I often felt seemingly disproportionate fear around certain men that I encountered - it felt disproportionate because nothing in reality had happened, but my instinct was right to keep me safe in unknown situations with unknown people.
Mindful moment: It is easy to reject the parts of ourselves that we wish didn’t exist. We might even go so far as to belittle them, mock them and shun them. But if we approach that part instead with compassion - if we acknowledge what it has to say and the value that has - then we make peace with that part of ourselves. We thank it for keeping us safe. If we no longer need it, we thank it for everything it did for us in the past, and welcome it back into the fold.
YOGA
Mindful Movement
I’m so looking forward to getting back into the routine of our Saturday classes! See you tomorrow.
Join us every Saturday from 11am-12.15 at the Cornerstone Community Centre in Hove for an all-levels vinyasa yoga flow class, meditation and mindfulness (mats provided or bring your own).
£6 per class or £24 for 5.
Upcoming classes for your diary until August 2024:
April 6th, 13th, 20th.
May 11th, 18th, 25th;
June 1st, 8th, 15th, 22nd, 29th;
July 6th, 13th, 27th.
(or, if it’s easier (!) no classes: April 27th, May 4th, July 20th)
“All this stuff about longevity bores me to death; I just don’t care.
What really matters is what can this moment bring us, or what can we bring to this moment?
Let the future take care of itself.”
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I'm Laura, a yoga teacher and NHS doctor. With this weekly newsletter I aim to help you incorporate mindful moments into your week. I want you to feel inspired, empowered and creative. I promise to always be authentic; to only include content that speaks to me and which, therefore, I hope will do the same for you.
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