Untamed - Glennon Doyle Page 0,78

childhood: Resting is laziness, and laziness is disrespect. Worthiness and goodness are earned with hustle.

When Abby rested right in front of me—outside family-designated and approved resting times—she was challenging that root belief. She was activating it, unearthing it, bringing it into the light where I could see it. But unlike my root belief about honesty and fidelity, I didn’t like this one. It didn’t feel true to me. Because when I looked at Abby relaxing, my anger was almost a bitter yearning.

Must be nice.

Must be nice to rest in the middle of the damn day.

Must be nice to feel worthy of the space you take up on the earth without hustling to earn it every minute.

Must be nice to rest and still feel worthy.

I want to be able to rest and still feel worthy, too.

I didn’t want to change Abby. I wanted to change my belief about worthiness.

Anger rings our bell and delivers one of our root beliefs. This is good information, but the next part is more than informative, it’s transformational: All of the beliefs that anger delivers come with a return label.

There is a sticker on the package that says, “Here is one of your root beliefs! Would you like to keep, return, or exchange this one?”

I looked hard at the root belief about worthiness that my anger at Abby had delivered to me. I thought: No. I don’t want to keep this one. It was inherited by me, not created by me. I have outgrown it. It is no longer my truest, most beautiful belief about worthiness. I know better than this belief. It’s harsh, and it’s hurting me and my marriage. I don’t want to pass this one down to my kids. But I don’t want to return it, either. I want to exchange it for this amended one:

Hard work is important. So are play and nonproductivity. My worth is tied not to my productivity but to my existence. I am worthy of rest.

Changing my root belief about worthiness has changed my life. I sleep a little bit later. I schedule in time for reading and walks and yoga, and sometimes (on the weekend), I even watch a TV show in the middle of the day. It’s heavenly. It’s also an ongoing process: Still, when I see Abby relaxing, my knee-jerk reaction is annoyance. But then I check myself. I think: Why am I activated here? Oh, yes, that old belief. Oh, wait, never mind. I’ve exchanged that one. And when Abby asks, “What’s wrong?” I can say, “Nothing, honey,” and mean it, mostly.

Anger delivers our boundaries to us. Our boundaries deliver our beliefs to us. Our beliefs determine how we experience the world. So even though it can be scary, we’d be wise to answer the door.

heartbreak

After a decade of listening to women, I’m convinced that our deepest fears are:

Living without ever finding our purpose

Dying without ever finding true belonging

Again and again women ask me, “How do I find my purpose? How do I find my people?”

My best advice: When heartbreak rings, answer the door.

This is what it sounds like to refuse to answer the door:

I wish I could learn more about that injustice…I wish I could visit that sick friend…I wish I could get involved with that cause…I wish I could read that article…I wish I could show up for that family…but I can’t bear to because it’ll break my heart.

It’s like we really believe that our hearts were meant to be kept hidden away, bubble-wrapped, and under lockdown. As though the point of life is to not be moved. That’s not the point. When we let ourselves be moved, we discover what moves us. Heartbreak is not something to be avoided; it’s something to pursue. Heartbreak is one of the greatest clues of our lives.

The magic of heartbreak is that each person’s doorbell rings in response to something specific. What rings your bell? Is it racial injustice? Bullying? Animal cruelty? Hunger? War? The environment? Kids with cancer? What is it that affects you so deeply that whenever you encounter it, you feel the need to look away? Look there. Where is the pain in the world that you just cannot stand? Stand there. The thing that breaks your heart is the very thing you were born to help heal. Every world changer’s work begins with a broken heart.

I met a group of women in Iowa who’d each lost a baby to stillbirth or early infant death. They formed