Just do it.

One of the main reasons people come to do this work is because they feel stuck, unhappy with reality as it is, and they’re wishing for change. So we start by sifting through what’s here and sorting out what needs addressing and in what order of priority, based on several different modalities. But curiously, once we get to the actual work of trying to usher in change, we more often than not run into resistance. In Hakomi, resistance is referred to as intelligence. We learn to respect it, honor it, befriend it, and get to know what it’s doing there in the first place. I mean, someone set foot through my door asking for change, that’s clear. And yet, even as we’re  contemplating change and what’s needed to get there, another part is resisting — a part that’s not on board with the program. 

Why do people resist the very change they desire? In The Mindset terminology, resistance comes from the mind (the heart holds the big emotions like sadness, joy or anger, a well as desires and wishes. The center is the knowing adult, and the mind is sometimes the young one who had to grow up fast and put on a mask to protect us from pain and often holds fear underneath the surface). The Internal Family Systems (IFS) model posits that resistance  often comes from one of two internal protector types, the managers (who generally run our daily strategies and coping mechanisms) or the firefighters (who swoop in when the managers seem to fail). Each type has good intentions, doing its best to prevent the part that is carrying the pain (in IFS speak, the exile) from ever showing its face, because the memory of the original pain is just too great. Childhood memories are usually stored, and therefore unavailable to the conscious mind, in a body that keeps the score, if I may borrow from Dr. Bessel van der Kolk’s book title.

Back in the fifties, sixties, and even seventies, articles would be published from time to time about Japanese soldiers who were found hiding in the jungles of Pacific Theater islands, still thinking the Second World War was being waged. These parts inside of us are a bit like those soldiers, thinking the wars of childhood are still being waged, and still operating based on their survival command set. They never got the word, the order, to lay down their arms and become veterans who can get treatment for their PTSD. 

One such example is Clint, a wonderful man whose staunch mind has a few key tactics for preventing change — even though that's the same change he’s  pursuing because he really doesn’t like where he is at right now. Byron Katie always asks in Question 4 of The Work, “Who would you be without the thought?” Who would you be without your story about yourself? The answer to that question is unknown, and the mind, our protectors, don’t like unknowns. There is a story about Papaji, Gangaji’s teacher, once coming to France to give a talk and finding all hotels were booked. One of his disciples offered to let him stay on her enclosed terrace, but under one condition. When Papaji asked what condition that was, she answered “Don’t take my suffering away from me, I am too familiar with it.” And therein lies the rub. The mind will apply every tactic in the book to prevent moving in the direction of change, mostly out of fear of the unknown or even just the mere fear of failure and shame.

One tactic of covert resistance is analysis paralysis. Say, for example, with Clint: we both know what needs to be done, what action needs to be taken, what discipline needs to be applied. But Clint’s mind has questions. Why? What? How? Where? Which? In fact, though, no answer to these questions will  allay the mind’s concerns, because when you give an answer the mind will immediately produce another question. The mind’s chief concern isn’t knowledge, it’s preventing forward motion at all costs. 

Once a client came to me with a list of questions his wife had given him to ask me before starting the work. The last question was the best one. “What if the change this work causes is permanent?” We looked at each other and then he realized the humor in the situation. Are you here for temporary session-long change, or do you want permanent change?

Take walking, for example. If our minds (our survival-oriented, thinking ego) was in charge of walking, it would look something like this: When should I rise from the chair? What foot should I set my weight on first? Are you sure it shouldn’t be the other one? What about the next step? Should we not think about that first? The mind is incessant like that. To break free from this paralysis, we can first ascertain that there is no imminent threat, no real life-threatening situation that prevents us from trying a new practice or from introducing a bit of change to our set routines.  Then, once we’ve gotten permission from the internal protectors — from the mind — to try something different (after all, why are you here again?), the choice is yours. Do you want to think about it, or do you want to just get up and walk? 

Yes, at times these choices might feel like an ice bath plunge. You really don’t want to do it, you know how cold it will get, but —  it’s not going to kill you even if your mind screams bloody murder, because that old war from childhood is over, you’re no longer at risk of survival, and you can just do it. Take the ice bath plunge each and every time, and eventually you will learn that the mind has a lot of false alarms for you based on those old wartime instructions. The war is over, you’re safe. Just do it.

Share