A mentor of mine, Yvette, says that there is only one kind of relationship that's purely unconditional: the one between parent and child. Since these are the people giving us life force, they are also the places where we seek out nourishment, long after our childhoods.

Life force might be literal, physical energy that feeds the development of new life. But it’s also subtle: as young humans, we long to be fed both in food and in attention. A few lucky of us receive enough of both. And many end up malnourished, hungry ghosts searching for a place to slow down and be fully taken in. 

I'm embarrassed to admit I’ve got a hungry, hungry ghost in me. 

Of course, you know what that looks like. The experience of someone who just wants something from you. Depending on who you are, it might inspire either aversion or attraction. Maybe you look at your own response and go “oh hey, that’s my version of the malnourished kid.” 

I’m compassionate that most of us growing up in modernity have our own version of deep attachment wounding. How could we not? Our very human parents were raised by their own very human, imperfect parents, often in conditions of scarcity and upheaval. We’re all impacted by imperialism and patriarchy. 

Martin Prechtel says that if we struggle to let ourselves grieve, it might be because in our lineage we didn’t have the chance to grieve someone. That someone - our parents, or their parents, etc. - hasn't been fully recognized for their gifts, and for their loss. 

Grief is praise, he'd say, and vice versa. We grieve because we have loved something deeply. and by letting ourselves feel the loss, we get to deeply honor the love. 

It is in my grief towards my dad that I have learned just how much I love him. 

In much the same way, other "sticky" emotions, ones we've taught to fear or suppress, are also expressions of joy and love. 

Anger is a boundary that helps us touch into the ways we've been hurt, or values we find important. If we can meet our anger with grace, we can love ourselves through the hurt. 

Disappointment is the sensation of knowing we didn't get what we wanted. Loving our disappointment helps us discover what we long for.

Sadness and melancholy slow us down to more deeply honor what is real, without facing away. They open a portal into radical acceptance of what is. 

When we are raised to suppress these feelings, we lose our ability to feel the full range of life. Our wholeness is stripped away from us. 

Of course, I'm writing from my own experience, too. As a child, if I expressed joy, gratitude, happiness, playfulness, then I’d receive attention and nourishment. If I expressed disappointment, anger, frustration, irritation, withdrawal, I would be met with rejection.

So, inevitably I learned to win people over with my humor, my friendliness, and my enthusiasm. And I learned that expressing a “negative” emotion was dangerous. 

But you might know me well enough to have seen my recent explorations into the shadows. I let myself be seen as violent, needy, and demanding at times. I’ve given myself to letting the monster come out. 

That's because I think it's up to us, in this part of the lineage, to rematriate the flow of grief and all the other un-loved emotions.

Sincerely, I will feel most connected to you when we're speaking the truth to one another, even if that means you're expressing a boundary. Don't worry about letting me down, because sometimes that's exactly the medicine I need. 

Good intimacy emerges not when both of us just feel joy, but instead when we can each come into greater connection with ourselves while keeping our regard for one another. 

I want more good intimacy. With my mom, with friends, even with people I’m just getting to know. 

I want more of it with you. Will you join me?

P.S. I was on a podcast that released this week. We are also talking about grief there, and about disruption. Please lemme know what you think if you listen.