Rule number one
There is no fight club
Most of my life I believed being a rebel was a badge of honor, an identifier that let those who needed to, know, I wasn’t afraid of anything. It started as a way of fitting in. I was the new kid every year from kindergarten till 9th grade. Often times, more than once in a year since my parents bounced my sister and I between them like hot potatoes. Now I know it was because we were the visual reminders of everything that had gone wrong for them, but that is a story for another time
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Being a rebel kept me alive. I was in and out of juvenile detention because my mom learned to use the system to her advantage. I figured out, the only way to survive inside was to fight. Within hours of my stay, I’d find out who was the biggest, meanest girl there and I’d call her out using whatever words would cause her to throw the first punch. Once I kicked her ass infront of everyone, they knew they didn’t have to remain followers, and I was not to be fucked with: safe for the duration of however long my stay would be. Sometimes it was only a week or two, but usually it was at least a month.
As I was shuffled between two extremes in parents, I tried to fit in to whatever situation I found myself in, but I was always drawn to the outcasts. The skaters in Jinco jeans and half shaved heads or the goths with black lipstick and too much eyeliner who had forgotten how to smile.
The second half of my tenth grade year found me back with my dad in a tiny little high school in rural Pennsylvania. I found my people, made the softball team, and was doing my best to adjust to a “normal” life. I still did dumb shit, like try to ferment orange peels in my locker to make bootleg alcohol, or mouthing off to my dad because he grounded me from the nintendo for my C in math, but this was all an improvement from the constant chaos of my mom’s house.
I had no idea what I saw as progress was me becoming a lost cause to my dad and calling the principle by her first name in the middle of an empty hallway was the slip-up heard round the school, and his last straw. To this day, only I know it was a complete accident. Not even a lapse in judgement, but another shining example of me speaking before thinking. Every friend I made at this new school referred to her as “Kathy” in conversation. I was walking back to class from the bathroom, hall pass in hand, when I saw her headed in the opposite direction. As she passed me, our eyes met, and quite naturally, I shot her my half smile and said “Hi Kathy!”.
I immediately closed my eyes as I heard her spin around on one heel. I desperately searched my brain for what should come after “Mrs.”, but she was already seething through her teeth. My mouth just let out a bunch of sounds that made no sense, and as I stuttered, her face met mine with that all too familiar “Excuse me? What did you say?” I tried to explain how innocent it was, but you can imagine, Kathy was having none of that.
She walked me to her office, and just like that, I was suspended from yet another school and my dad was given one more reason to boom through the whole house “Dani, basement, NOW!” He didn’t like to yell at me or hit me in front of my two step brothers, because it might traumatize them, so he would do it in the basement. Later it became a joke they would all holler around the Thanksgiving table; laughing about it in front of my own kids, never noticing I was still the only one not laughing.
For the better part of 40 years I was always happy to be the rebel, until, I embarked on a healing journey that would make me finally face myself. To be honest, I was very skeptical anyone could help me from carrying all the baggage. I was really good at the unpacking part; dissecting all that had happened and understanding it was just part of the life I was born into.
By this time I was 44 and had reached the wizard level where you’ve experienced enough tragedy to cut everyone some slack. Even my own parents had been moved from the blame category into the “forgive and let live” side.
I had been living in that place for about a decade actually. Being a parent and making a million mistakes, you quickly realize we are all just humans doing the best with what we have to work with. When I entered into Global Harmony (a multilevel group training here in NorCal), I had little faith it was going to be able to do what every therapist and healer had failed to help me achieve- move forward.
I had often heard “Harmony” referenced by many of the new friends I made here in Nevada City. No one could ever really explain to me what it was. Just that it was intense and you kinda had to “just do it” to understand it. I started to pay attention to some of the people who had attended Global Harmony, and those who never mentioned it. The ones who had attended, carried themselves differently. They communicated differently. They interacted with their environment differently. They were different. They knew something I did not, and I was desperate to know it too. As I became more curious about this course there was enough interest within the community that the main facilitators, Sherrie and her husband Walter, were planning a Q&A at our local hang out.
I attended, and my distrusting nature in all things guru-ish were immediately disarmed upon meeting Sherrie and Walter. As they offered warm smiles, small bites, and a wipe board diagram of the foundation of the program, I was a little bit less skeptical about where they were leading people. Their foundation based on reconnecting with ones’ inner child and the long term goal of remaining in that state intuitively felt right to me.
I could not afford the tuition, BUT, through the workings of a few good friends with very large hearts, we raised the required funds, and I was able to attend Global Harmony Level 1.
I was quietly holding back my skepticism that I would learn something new that might help me break out of the shitty pattern of attracting a certain demographic of men and willfully entering into toxic relationships. Or, more so, as I would later come to terms with, self sabotaging any healthy connection I might make into a chaotic cluster fuck so I could reinforce the limiting belief lurking not so far under the surface “you don’t deserve a happily ever after”.
I came to understand the reason no one would tell you what went down at Global Harmony was two fold. For one, you are required to be a fully willing and participating party. Not just surrendering to the process, but not holding back any unsavory detail about who you are and what happened to you.
You attend this training in a group, could be 4 people, could be 20 people. Either way, you become both bearer and protector of some pretty horrendous details about your own story and witness to others. Part of the deal is holding all of that sacred for those who have been, are in attendance, and any who may one day follow. Rule number one in fight club...
I realized within moments of our unearthing of stories I was exactly where I was supposed to be, BUT, my skepticism on if this could help me was actually growing. See, being vulnerable and dropping jaws in a room by sharing certain parts of my story was like second nature to me: just part of the process of creating an emotionally safe space for others to feel safe enough to do the same. This was actually something I was good at.
As day one grew to a close (into the wee hours of the next morning) I was exhausted; emotionally drained and also humbled by hearing horror stories from others that mirrored my own.
Rewind to the weeks leading up to my attending, I had shared with one friend that I was not convinced I would get much out of this experience. I knew I had a lot to offer to the group. Being a glorified therapist to myself had taught me a few things and I knew enough to be able to help others process and navigate trauma. This friend reiterated multiple times that Sherrie had a gift in finding out what made you tick, and once you were in the “hot seat” as it were, there was no hiding from the truth she saw.
What I did not share with this friend then, and did not fully understand at the time, is: I am that person, the one who sees “the” truth in others; what’s buried by shitty behavioral patterns and poor life circumstances. Sometimes it’s a “gut” feeling I won’t understand at the time that I typically let lay dormant somewhere in my subconscious and do my best to pretend it doesn’t exist. But usually, whatever “truth” I see in others is from observing a million seemingly insignificant details connect through my own trauma response of pattern recognition, and all of a sudden, a knowing emerges that I can’t unsee. I’ve learned to trust it, but to also be as gentle with it as I would a live bomb that could go off at the slightest touch. Understanding that it is not “the truth”, but merely “a truth” about that version of who that person is in that moment.
Now, back in Global Harmony. Day 2 and I’m sailing through this training humbled by the back stories of all participants and still sorta wondering if I’ll gain any new skills to get myself out of my own endless cycle.
I had shared with the class what I honestly felt were all the pivotal events that had lead me to that very moment of seeking and surrender. The main story being how I had ended my 12 year marriage by entering into an affair with a guy I met on an airplane, which then lead me down a dark path of self destruction and brought me to reclaiming my own integrity; the resurrection. I admitted to everyone, that I was keeping myself in a cycle that always ended with what felt like “forgiveness” but never actually released me from my own suffering.
The second morning of Harmony found me bright eyed and eager. I arrived on time and did all the required steps to enter into the conference room. I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to pee and jumped out of my seat to go to the restroom. When I returned to the conference room, the timer determining tardiness had not yet pinged, but the music had stopped playing.
As Sherrie brought the class to start she asked about homework and took inventory of who had and had not followed thru. One by one we each answered respectively about our assignments. When she asked me, I reported that I had completed my assignment and she said thank you and moved on to the next. Once we all were accounted for she called 2 names out and asked those people to stand up, as they were “out of integrity” (an agreed upon term used, when you, the attendee, had gone against one of the agreed upon guidelines of Global Harmony), for admittedly not completing the homework. She then called my name, and said: “Danielle, stand up, you are out of integrity”.
I shot her a very inquisitive look and opened my mouth to protest, but she quickly reprimanded me by simply widening her eyes at my trying to talk over her and repeated, rather nicely: “stand please”.
I stood- seeeeeeething. Her attention moved to person one, asking why the homework was not complete and a story unfolded that I could not begin to tell you the details of because-
I WAS SEETHING. As in, had this been a cartoon my entire being would have been a flame, jaw and fists clenched in unison and steam billowing from my ears.
I had worked very hard over the last 12 years to reclaim my integrity. Lying to my then husband for 7 months did not just put the finishing touches on the end of our marriage- it had also destroyed who I was. My entire identity had been built on my word, my loyalty to the truth. I was honest to a fault and lost it all once. The rebuilding had only made my resolve to telling the truth that much stronger.
Who in the ever loving fuck did this woman...I contemplated walking out. My palms were beginning to sweat, my cheeks were red, and there was a buzz happening through my whole being due to the shaking.
As person one talked for about 30 minutes, my eyes did not leave her. In fact, they narrowed in. Every word going through my head was radiating from my body. I don’t know if anyone else felt how atomic I was, but Sherrie was very aware.
Person one’s missed assignment became a pin point of their continued cycle of self sabotage as I played my morning over and over in my head trying to figure out where it had gone sideways. The only thing keeping me in that room was the level of respect I held for the woman who got me there. My friend, who held Sherrie in such high regard, and my friends’ partner who had helped with my tuition, was in the room.
My normal go to in this situation is to verbally break down the person questioning me by unleashing all the “truth” I’d observed about them. I never cross the code of divulging anything said person would have told me about themselves, but it almost makes it worse when they never had to say a thing. And I had words for her...
I thought about walking out again. Now 30 minutes had passed and I’m still standing like an asshole as person 2 starts to tell their story about said homework assignment not being completed. Her words “out of integrity” are now echoing through my head and every second that passes without me finding where I am in the wrong is building up my confidence in letting this lady have it as soon as she calls on me to tell her how I am out of integrity.
I never looked away. Sherrie and I had an entire conversation with our eyes and our energy as she simultaneously listened to person 2’s scenario about their incomplete homework. I became impressed with Sherrie’s ability to address me and person 2 at the same time.
I reminded myself to breathe. It wouldn’t be much longer until she got to me, and I did not want my voice to shake when I finally opened my mouth. Another 20 minutes passed. I had been standing for an hour. The weight of my anger shifted from one leg to another and back again, but it had only grown with the passing of time.
As person 2’s “aha” moment was on the horizon, I suddenly felt something move inside me. I decided, all at once, it wasn’t worth it. If I threw out a bunch of judgements to this woman, she might never know how much respect I have for the work she does or how much love I carry for the two people who got me a seat in her training.
My eyes never left her, but the anger quieted. My legs were tired and my fists became fingers fidgeting with rings. Pretty sure my cheeks were still red as person 2 took their seat and Sherrie’s eyes finally met mine. There was no question in how I felt about standing for the last hour.
She said: “Danielle, can you tell me how you are out of integrity”. I steadied my voice, thought of my friends, and said only matter of factly: “No. I actually can’t. I came into the conference room, put all my stuff away, and took my seat. I did go to the bathroom, but I came back before the timer went off- so you tell me Sherrie.” (quite undignified with that last bit)
She did not address any of my words; not the ones I had just spoken or the countless ones I threw at her for an hour while I stood raging.
She said:
“You’re a rebel huh?”
I was taken back a bit, but curious enough to wonder where she was going. I bit.
“Yeah. I’d say I consider myself a rebel.”
She countered back:
“Proudly!?” A statement that became a question by way of her tone and ever so slight frown.
I countered by saying, “I have no problem sticking up for or fighting for others who can’t or won’t. Yes. I am proud to be a rebel.”
She asked me, “do you know what the definition of a rebel is?”
I rattled off essentially what I had just said, using a different combination of words, but as I got toward the end, I realized, I actually didn’t know what the definition of a rebel was.
As my words trailed off, she picked them up. A slight smile on her lips, because she saw me see my own “aha” on the horizon.
In that moment, I realized, she had done to me what I had always done to others. She observed my entire cycle of rage. I don’t know if she knew I would do something different at the end or not, but she was strong enough to take it either way, so it didn’t really matter how she got me to this moment of clarity, where I could be reached, but we were there.
She then told us all a story about real rebels. As she reached the end she said:
“Danielle, fighting or arguing for the sake of what you believe to be right or against what you believe to be wrong is not rebellion. Fighting on the behalf of others who you feel can’t or won’t is also not an act of rebellion. It actually gives you a false sense of “being good” when you are just sidestepping your own growth to feel good about yourself and taking away an opportunity for that other person to learn some things for themselves. Being labeled as rebellious has given you a false sense of righteousness, because you are taking up for someone else and therefor, it’s justified, when in actuality, you are just sabotaging yourself. Fighting and arguing simply because you are good at it is not good enough.”
You wanna talk about “Aha”. Tears. I still cry just in writing these words because that moment was so profound and pivotal in all the work I’ve done since and who I am today.
She then explained that the only time it is ok to fight against something or someone is when there is actual oppression. Tyranny. When your humanness or the humanness of others is being threatened, then you fight like hell. But fighting just because you are good at it does not make you good.
As I bawled for the 11 millionth time in just 36 hours, she then explained, very politely about how the directions from the day before were to be in my seat BEFORE the music stopped, it had nothing to do with the buzzer. The buzzer was her reminder to start class, and had I listened closely, and followed directions, I would not have been out of integrity.
But I’m forever grateful that I was. I tell you today, there may be no other person on this planet who could have questioned my integrity in such a kind and loving manner that made me wake the fuck up!
Those “Aha” moments continued to come. I got so much out of Level 1 of Global Harmony, I continued on to Level 2, and I hope to be able to complete all 5 Levels some day!
I still fight, but I choose those battles much more carefully these days. Sometimes the most rebellious move you can make, is standing strong and remaining still in your resolve; resilience.