Catching Arrows…

I have been thinking… reflecting… wondering.

A few weeks ago we had our virtual meet up for the Ebb & Haven community. As usual, Sara and I had met and prepared a foundation for the session, something drawn from our emerging thoughts, stories and musings from previous conversations, the Ebb & Haven intent, our clients and our own lives.

We brought a story into the room. It aimed to lead us into the idea of the second arrow. In a nutshell, the concept is: it’s not the pain itself that causes suffering. The suffering is created by our stories about the pain. One arrow hurts. Two, three arrows… that’s where the suffering grows.

As I listened to the conversation unfold, I noticed something. An element of Sara’s story was about boundary setting. Saying yes without looking at the details and feeling overwhelmed as a result of inadvertently taking on more than anticipated. This experience felt shared and resonated with many on the call. We talked about saying no, about creating and maintaining boundaries. Important. Valuable. Not uncommon, particularly for many women.

And yet… I found myself wondering: Is this what is most important here?

Because the essence of the story, as we had intended it, was about catching the second and third arrow. At one level, we did talk about this, the guilt we feel as a result of saying no. The self-blame:
“I should have…”
“I should be able to…”

Comparison to others. Comparison to our imagined “better” self. A quiet turning inwards. But as I sat with it more deeply, I became curious about something underneath that. For many women I work with, and in myself, those second and third arrows are not just about reflection. They move quickly into self-blame and self-criticism (or perhaps, as Brené Brown might say, self-shaming).

Which leads me to wonder: How do we be kinder to ourselves?

And from there… self-compassion. On the surface, I wondered whether the group just didn’t find this sticky. Maybe boundaries is the work of the day, practical, tangible, discussable. But then something shifted…

In response to a question about how I support clients with this, I spontaneously invited the group into a self-compassion practice. What followed felt familiar. A feeling of resistance first, spoken out loud. And then at the same time…  a quiet power of being in the experience.

This is not uncommon in my work. The resonance, the importance, even the essential nature of self-compassion, is often acknowledged. And yet the resistance, the reluctance, the preference to avoid it… remains. Many of my clients have literally said, with a sheepish smile, “You had to go there, didn’t you…”

What stayed with me afterwards was less about what we spoke about… and more about where the conversation seemed to settle. We spent time with boundaries, saying no, holding the line, navigating the consequences. Important and very real, and I found myself wondering if this was also what felt most accessible.

Because alongside the resonance in the room, there was also something else present. A kind of hesitation. Almost as if we were circling something just beneath the surface. Touching it and then returning to what felt more familiar. I don’t see this as a problem to solve. If anything, it feels like a signal.

So what is actually going on here for us? Is setting and maintaining boundaries really the issue? Or is it an easier focus, one that leans toward strategies and skills, rather than the more confronting, heart-based practice of self-compassion?

When I look at how self-compassion is described in theory and research, a few things stand out: It is being a friend to yourself. It is noticing suffering and responding to it with care. It is offering support and gentleness when things don’t go to plan.

Which leads me to sit with two questions:

What does it look like to witness our own suffering?
And where does the motivation to help ourselves come from?

Because if self-compassion is, at its core, a sensitivity to suffering coupled with a desire to alleviate it, then something here feels important. How sensitive are we to our own suffering, compared to the care we extend to others? And how committed are we to alleviating it?

When I sit with that… I start to understand why boundaries can feel like the more accessible conversation. They are hard, yes. But they are external. Behavioural. Strategic.

Sitting in the discomfort of my own reality, noticing where I may be preferring others over myself, or responding to my own pain with critique rather than care, that feels different.

More personal. More confronting. And perhaps that’s where the real work sits. I also find myself wondering about this in the context of the world we are living in. At a time where global suffering feels ever-present, there is a part of me that asks: Is it a privilege to turn toward our own suffering? To sit with our discomfort, our self-criticism, our inner experience, when there is so much happening around us? And yet…

When I stay with that question, something else emerges.

If compassion is a sensitivity to suffering and a motivation to respond, then what happens if we are unable to stay connected to suffering in ourselves? Do we become more open to others, or do we, quietly and often unconsciously, begin to close down?

Because what I notice, in myself and in the women I work with, is that without some capacity for self-compassion, the world can become overwhelming. Empathy becomes heavy. Awareness becomes exhausting. And the subtle response is not always more care, but sometimes withdrawal, numbing, or over-functioning.

So perhaps this is not an either/or. Not self or others, but both. A capacity to witness our own suffering and a capacity to stay open to the suffering of others. Not perfectly, but with enough steadiness to remain present.

Which brings me back to where we started… Perhaps the work is not in eliminating the arrows, but in noticing when we reach for the second… and the third. In recognising the shoulds. The quiet self-critique. And experimenting, gently, with something else…

A pause.
A breath.
A turning toward, rather than away.

Because perhaps the real work is not choosing between compassion for ourselves or others…

rather quietly building the capacity to hold both.

- Written with deep thanks for the E & H community, for their ongoing commitment to cultivating a space that enables learning alongside deep connection.