Doubt, the wonderful and transformational irritant

In the beginning, the relationship felt like a dream. I was convinced he was the one for me.

But soon after, that all-too-familiar sinking feeling began to creep in.

The dynamics started to shift. Text replies that once came promptly became sporadic. Enthusiastic plans morphed into ambiguous promises. The growing chasm between the fiery passion we started and the increasing distance was not just distressing—it hurled me into a vortex of self-doubt and unease.

The realization dawned upon me: it wasn't solely the man in front of me. It was a repetitive pattern that had become a shadow in most of my romantic relationships. I found myself asking: was it something I was inadvertently doing? Or was I simply drawn to the same archetype—individuals uninterested in the depth and commitment I yearned for?

My great-great uncle, the philosopher Charles Sanders Peirce, once wrote:

“Doubt is an uneasy and dissatisfied state from which we struggle to free ourselves and pass into the state of belief; while the latter is a calm and satisfactory state which we do not wish to avoid, or to change to a belief in anything else.”

Drawing inspiration from his words, I began to see doubt and anxiety as early warning systems. They signal the need for change, prompting us to believe in our worth and our entitlement to love.  And in embracing this belief, we find peace and serenity, attracting those who mirror our sentiments.

Solitude vs loneliness

Last year, as an experiment, I chose Playa Negra in Costa Rica to spend my first solo Christmas. At a time when families gather, I aimed to experience a minimalist Noel.

"Better alone under a palm tree than in the cold," I'd tell my loved ones.

Awakening at 5:30 am to the symphony of roaring surf, howler monkeys and tropical birds, I was drawn to the emerging dawn. The air's warmth, akin to a comforting hug from nature, welcomed me.

On that beach, with the sun rising above the trees, I reflected on solitude versus loneliness. My thoughts drifted back to the Swiss Alps, where memories of my father's tragic death in an avalanche weighed heavily.

Falling crystals amplified my loneliness, mirroring the depth of emotions, much like the accumulating snow. Unmet expectations from those around me, and beliefs of how they "should" act, further heightened my sense of rejection.

But here, amidst the tranquility, I was free from triggers and expectations. The clarity was profound: the difference lay in choice and autonomy.

Now, no matter where I am, I affirm my preference for solitude and discover peace within. Of course, it's still easier under a palm tree.

'No' can be a complete sentence

Nine years ago, a member of my self-help group commented, "If you're not meditating at least 45 minutes, it's not benefitting you," just as I had shared that I'd achieved a 30-minute daily meditation routine.

His words deeply affected me, leading me to a pause in my meditation for several months.

This wasn’t the only time he provided unsolicited advice. When I mentioned considering plastic surgery for an abdominal scar and hernia removal, he again eagerly voiced his opinion. I decided to confront him.

"I feel upset when you offer unsolicited advice. Please stop,” I told him.

His puzzled expression prompted me to add that such frequent advice could hint at controlling behavior patterns, often seen in codependent relationships.

This experience underscored the importance of setting boundaries without over-explaining or justifying them. By feeling obligated to provide reasons, we can unintentionally grant others undue influence over our decisions. Boundaries are there to protect and empower us, and sometimes a simple "no" suffices.

Interestingly, I didn't feel the need to attach a consequence to my boundary, and as anticipated he refrained from offering unsolicited advice thereafter.  

Reflecting on that interaction, it marked a significant evolution in my self-awareness and self-respect. Through a Freudian lens, my boundary-setting challenges may have stemmed from unresolved subconscious conflicts or defense mechanisms that once served to protect me—perhaps giving rise to behaviors like denial, projection, or repression. These group meetings and therapy sessions were instrumental in fortifying my sense of self.

Today, as a coach, I champion the importance of boundaries. They're tools for safeguarding our autonomy and needs, not instruments of control or manipulation.

Amends

In 2013, my therapist asked me a question that still resonates: “I’m curious. What was it in your childhood that enables you to be functional today? I’ve worked with many patients who have been through far less than you have, yet they struggle to function."

After pausing to reflect, I replied, “Prayer. As a child, I prayed a lot. Prayer was my solace, especially during my most challenging times.”

My deepest fear was the prospect of becoming an orphan. Whenever mom travelled, I’d kneel beside my bed, clasp my hands, and pray for her safe return, reciting the Lord's Prayer in French.

During one of these sessions, a vision of mom materialized from a cloud as though she were an angel. Her face radiated love; her arms were outstretched, and she mouthed my name. As quickly as it appeared, the vision vanished. Despite repeated efforts to conjure it up again, that mystical experience never recurred. Yet, it left me with a sense of purpose: I was put on this Earth to help people.

My early education in a French Catholic school introduced me to spirituality and underscored the importance of prayer. However, the act of confession unnerved me. The dark, closet-like booth and the practice of confessing my sins to an unseen figure through a hole in the wall were intimidating. Plus, no priest could have dislodged the amount of shame I carried.

As I grew older, my connection with God waned. However, in my 30s, upon being introduced to the concept of making amends, that connection began to rekindle. Regrettably, I acted hastily and carelessly. I rushed to make amends with an ex-boyfriend, in a misguided effort to win him back—a choice I now recognize as manipulative.  

Today, I'm committed to diving deeper into spiritual programs, taking the time to examine where my behaviors diverge from my core values. I’ve discovered that resentments and fears lie at the root of my self-seeking behaviors. I remain grateful to that therapist for posing that question—one that I continue to ponder and explore.