Tonight, in our Anxiety & Depression Group, we talked about trust. Again. What issue is more important when we think about our place in the world, or when we think about our interpersonal relationships, or even when we think about who we are—to ourselves?

We talked about the inherent trust we are born with. What else can helpless infants do but trust that they've arrived at a safe place? We are predisposed to be vulnerable to our caretakers and our surroundings to implicitly trust that this family, community, city, country, and indeed this world, is a place where our physical, mental, and emotional needs will be met. What happens next, whether we've arrived in a safe, supportive environment, or in a chaotic, confusing, or dangerous one, helps determine how we will see the world and its occupants for the rest of our lives. This trust versus fear continuum is called attachment. And our attachment versus detachment is a key component in our personalities.

Some of us, who have had bad things happen to us as children, become adults who cannot trust at all. We store those hurts not only consciously, but also unconsciously, and even physically; embedded in our nervous systems. Even if we find ourselves in objectively safe surroundings, we cannot feel safe. Our worldview has been tragically conditioned to protect us from danger that isn't there. This is where symptoms can come from, this conflict between what is real and the false reality created by our unfair history. Deep down we know that it doesn't make sense, and to counteract the stress we feel from this nonsensical worldview, we develop counterproductive coping mechanisms: eating disorders, mood disorders, personality disorders, addictions, self-destructive behaviors, relationship problems, and self-hatred.

Others of us trust too much. We become codependent and seek out people and situations that allow us to repeatedly test our worldview in attempt, unconsciously, to prove it wrong. It's as if we think that the more we expose ourselves, the more we give, the more we reach out, then somehow, we can prove that worldview wrong and discover that we live in a safe place after all. But our perceptions of safety, our boundaries, are skewed by our wish for a different world. So we expose ourselves inappropriately, we give too much, we reach out to the wrong people.

This meeting gave us all a chance to be real with each other; to courageously talk about the childhood injuries that contributed to who we are so far. We've been brought together and given an opportunity to be vulnerable again, to draw appropriate boundaries again, to tell our stories, to hear from each other's stories that we are not so different. Sitting together like this, open, honest, empathic and compassionate, is not as comfortable as our old habits feel. But we are wise enough to know that healing isn't easy.

Some of us don’t remember long stretches of our childhoods. But we can infer from the subsequent damage we have endured, that though we have forgotten those times out of self-protection, that damage leaves us ultimately unprotected against repeated, similar harm. The idea of recalling those troubled times brings up even more fear, as we contemplate facing the unthinkable. But that's why we are together. We draw strength and encouragement from positive, nurturing group of people like this, moving together toward a safer future.

Finally, we looked at trust from the inside looking farther inward. Guilt and shame are the insidious remnants of the abusive, neglectful, and tragic histories we carry with us. It is important to know that our childhood was not our fault. No matter what we believe, or what we've been taught, it was not our fault. It can never be our fault. And as soon as we set that burden down, as soon as we decide—despite our habitual self-doubt and self-disdain—we can once again begin to trust ourselves. And when we can trust ourselves, we can see the world in a whole new way.

Most of us, while struggling to accept ourselves and become somehow better or more genuine, or at least different, know what's like to live in this world in this life we find ourselves in. We may not like a lot of things about it, but through experience and habit, we know pretty much how to struggle with the status quo. Yet, when we hear someone else's story, what has befallen them, what they've done, where they are on their journey, where they want to go, and how they cope with it all, we invariably have to ask ourselves, "Would I trade places?"

This separation gives us an opportunity to truly empathize while gaining a new appreciation for our own lot in life. Where we were resentful before, we can become grateful; where we were tempted toward self-pity, we can find resolve; and where we felt alone with our personal demons, there is a new togetherness.

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that the world is big and we are small. We are ultimately alone, but we are predisposed to come together. This is an old survival behavior and there is comfort in togetherness. Together we are stronger, together we can do more, together there is hope.

Here's to the joining of the old and the new, and the balance that is always seeking to adapt, grow, and thrive. Next week, maybe we'll talk about flow; what it is, and how to jump into it.

Tonight we wrestled with paradoxes. How can I accept myself the way I am, yet still want to change? How can I surrender yet win? (Damn you, Zen!) Why does disappointment lead to enlightenment? We considered the quote by Chögyam Trungpa: “Enlightenment is ego's ultimate disappointment.”

Huh? Why isn’t our ego on “our” side? Does it have a different agenda? Does our ego just want to win, seek revenge, demand fairness, administer justice, retaliate, acquire, be right, hold on to resentment and fear, and push us toward other things we have gone after in the past (distraction, avoidance, and habit)?

What is our ego missing? What’s wrong with this thing we’ve depended on so long to run our lives? Oh. Maybe it’s suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. We know what Shakespeare meant by taking “arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them.” He meant that "ending our troubles" means death. Maybe not suicide, but death of a different sort: death of our desires for what we “want.”If we could stay on that paradoxical, and intimidating thing called death for a moment. There's another way to look at it. When Hamlet says, "To be, or not to be," I wonder if he could be talking about another idea we touched on tonight. The idea of "doing" versus "being." To "not be" is perhaps denying who we really are at our deepest, most genuine level. Not being the real us is easier in the short term, but deadly over time. Our psyche will only put up with it for so long; then, here come the symptoms. Being, not doing. It's a decision we make every day; whether to just go around living, or to live. There is a difference, right? "Doing" is something out ego does, "being" is the soul's realm.

So, knowing all that, is enlightenment really what we need? Well, we have to consider the price. And that’s what we did in our Wednesday discussion. By embracing the paradoxes of our existence; by challenging our identities as sufferers of maladies and instead considering ourselves spiritual beings on an arduous journey toward Selfhood, we need courage. And together, we can feel a lot braver.

Next week: "Flow!"

We took an upside-down look at our deficits during this get-together. How can losses be seen as gains? That’s not the way we’re taught to look at our finances, so what gives with this seemingly backwards approach?!

When we spend more than we take in, that’s deficit spending. Likewise, when we don’t replenish the psychological resources we expend, we’re in a deficit situation. Those of us still hearing the echoes of our traumatic childhoods or with a history of attachment difficulties or other psychic wounds, need to find nurturance, either internally or externally, to balance those mental debits.

Tonight’s group discussion explored several ways to do this. One is to hear others’ stories and know that we all face this balancing act as we move forward with our lives. Another is to see our deficits as the source of our surpluses. Yes, with every loss there is gain, just as the opposite is true. What do we give up when we compromise? And what strength do we derive from our defeats?

One example tonight is how one member is able to work with a very difficult—yet very deserving—population of social services recipients. Would he have the empathy, patience, and maturity to work with these damaged individuals had he not felt that same damage in his own life?

We are all encouraged to see what we have gained from our losses and our apparent deficits, and to look at our challenges as ways to exercise the incredible, unlimited resilience we carry inside us.