Do you love from fear or belief?

Happy Sunday, Soothers. Some dear friends recently moved from Washington, D.C. to the Pacific Northwest (sniff, sometimes I feel like the last one standing in this city, anybody else?). This had been a long-cherished dream and it was really exciting they were pulling it off, but there was a lot to be done, of course. They had a household of stuff to move, a young child to take care of, numerous logistical details, and the stress of making such a big life shift.

In my online friend group where we were all chatting about the move, this friend was talking about the logistics of planning a cross-country move, wherein you pay strangers a giant amount of money, load all your earthly possessions in a truck or two, wave goodbye, and kind of cross your fingers and hope that all of it shows up at your new home at some point.

Then it started. The well-meaning, loving, but cautionary statements of fear.

"Cross country moves are nearly impossible. You may as well just plan for your stuff to get lost or take way longer than you planned to arrive."

"I hope you didn't give them anything meaningful! Last time I moved half the stuff showed up broken."

"Whatever they told you about arrival, don't believe them. It's going to take weeks longer than they said."

"You better be ready to sleep on an air mattress for weeks if not months!"

What I saw happening is something I've often observed from the people who love us, who want the best for us, who want to help us:

Loving us from fear and protection and caution, instead of belief and inspiration and encouragement.

My friend who was doing the move is a Navy brat. She and her parents had done numerous cross-country moves. She and her husband are incredibly capable and had a lot of resources and support for this move. So though our friends wanted to signal support and care and love, the messages instead felt frustrating, or as if she couldn't possibly pull this all off.

I've seen this a lot in situations; I've been the one loving from fear, and received it, too. I see this happen when friends go in to give birth, especially if there are any complications. "Oh, this is going to be so hard and painful, I hope you prepared for X, Y and Z, because they're all definitely going to happen!"

I remember getting a root canal a few years ago and everybody telling me how painful and expensive it was going to be, and me being in my head, "I mean... I know? Why is this the message?"

Or me starting my business. Most of the messages I received were well-meaning, but ultimately about how difficult this process was, how I needed to prepare for all these inevitabilities, or was I *really* sure I wanted to and was ready to do this? Did I *really* know how hard it truly was?

In The Artist's Way, Julia Cameron calls the people who give us these kind of messages "wet blankets;" well-meaning, well-intentioned loved ones who are fearful for us going off in what seems like a wild, crazy direction, or doing something that yes, of course, will be challenging (as if the goal of life were to only do easy things. To never feel frustrated. To never encounter difficulties).

I've also come to see these people more compassionately (and myself compassionately, when I indulge in this sort of messaging, which I still do from time to time out of conditioning and habit and fear), and understand that these messages come from a deep place of care and love.

They want to love us. They want to support us. They want to prepare us. They want, ultimately, to protect us.

But they've been taught to love from a place of fear. Fear as love. Protection as love. Worry as love. Caution as love. Logic as love. Being practical as love.

What, instead, if we shifted into loving from fear, into loving from belief?

What if, instead of cautioning others about the hard things they are so bravely about to embark on, the wild dreams, the creative pursuits, the cross-country moves, the new businesses, the parenthood, the adventure, instead of saying something like, "Well, have you thought of this or that, and are you REALLY ready to try this, you know, it's quite difficult..."

We instead said something like, "This is so exciting. I am so proud of you. I believe you can do this. You were made for this. And if it gets challenging at any point along the path, I will be here to support you in whatever way I can."

Take a moment to notice where you are being loved from fear by others; where you are loving others from a place of fear; and, I think most importantly, where you might be trying to convince yourself that you're taking care of yourself, or trying to love yourself, by protection or caution or fear, instead of belief and encouragement in your ability to do hard things.

I believe you can start that creative project.

I believe you can make that move.

I believe you can ask for that need to be met, to set that boundary, to have that hard conversation.

I believe you can climb that mountain, walk that path, swim that ocean.

You can do this.

You were made for this.

I believe in you and your capacity to do the thing.

Now let's get going.