The most important thing I teach people as a sex and intimacy coach is how to surrender. Surrendering is the cornerstone to good sex, indeed to good relationships, and most of us are afraid to do it. We feel so much more secure in giving and doing, than receiving, being done to, or surrendering to the moment and the muse. It’s the missing skill required for great sex and intimate bonding. Surrender is the juice — the deepest part of lovemaking and connection. Letting go is the transparent, elusive moment of ecstasy when the veil between the worlds lifts and we glimpse our immortality.
In my work I preach surrender big time — and yet here I am in my own life, remaining unyielding, resisting and stubborn. Is the same type of surrender necessary in our family relationships, as we flounder between being right and staying connected? This insistence on being the victor, being in the right, can make the juices run dry and take the intimacy and safety out of a relationship. I wonder if surrendering my story, my “rightness,” will bring the same transformative benefits in my strained relationship with my sister?
This insistence on being the victor, being in the right, can make the juices run dry and take the intimacy and safety out of a relationship.
Right now my sister is whopping mad at me: For the past three months she hasn’t returned phone calls or emails; not even my letter of apology has budged her. It makes me feel sad and silly, like a couple of 60-year-olds acting like children. It’s cumbersome too, especially since our aging parents need so much more attention and will soon be moving into a retirement home. I could use her help … and her friendship. Our rift ripples through the family, and, embarrassingly enough, even Mom and Dad have heard. Shouldn’t you get a break from sibling squabbles at age 90?
After our big fight, I gloated for several heady days over how wrong she was — and how right I was. I fortified myself with all sorts of reasons why I had every right to do what I did. I dug out ammunition from her past injustices to glorify my position — she was not only this way with me, but the whole world. I was doing everyone a favor by setting her straight and “standing up” to a tyrant.
Within a week or so, my Tower of Righteousness began to wobble, and I had fleeting moments where I realized what I did and said in a different light.
As brave as I sounded, I felt awful. Within a week or so, my Tower of Righteousness began to wobble, and I had fleeting moments where I realized what I did and said in a different light. Interspersed with my self-aggrandizing were moments in which I knew I had reacted in a rigid, knee-jerk way and caused unnecessary damage. Was I too fast in delivering an ultimatum, or an “ole tomato” as a boyfriend and I once joked? Could I have stood up for myself in another way … and created better results for both her and me? Hmm.
These lucid moments made me feel as if I were standing on shifting, shaky ground. Was I losing myself and my resolve … was I giving up? Giving up my story felt scary, felt like I had to give up me — and what would happen then? What would I say and how would I act with this new information?
Anais Nin once wrote, “And the day came when the risk to remain in the bud was more painful than the risk to blossom.”
That Day Had Come
“Being right” felt so lonely and was such hard work. We all spend so much time and energy promoting and preserving our high ground, and the more right we need to be the more exhausted we become. Mustering all my maturity, I was ready to own my part in the Dance of the Angry Sisters and face my fear of giving in, my fear of letting go (of my story) and my fear of surrender.
It Was Time to Blossom
I write Sis a handwritten letter of apology, followed by a phone message and an email. I tell her I am sorry for my harsh actions, that I regret my behavior, and I deeply value our relationship. My body immediately breathes a sigh of relief. I know I did the real right thing. She did not warm to me as fast as I hoped; but perhaps the hand of time may still work its magic. In any case, I dropped my armor, stepped outside of my lonely box, forgave her and myself, and gave her the space to follow her own process of forgiveness and return. Truly, forgiveness is the lubricant of our relationships, intimate and otherwise, and defines our potential as loving human beings.
Good relationships, like good sex, take practice. Do the work, and you just may see some surprising results.
Forgiveness Exercise
Each night before you go to sleep, take a few minutes to review your day and your interactions with people. Is there someone you need to forgive? Picture that person, shrink them down to a size that will fit in your heart, and place them there. From this heart place, forgive them with a smile in one swift and sweet gesture. Are you remembering to forgive yourself?
