When Life Gets in the Way

How to Hold Onto What You Discovered

A client I’ll call Susan came back to see me recently.

She had done this work with me before and had gotten quite a bit out of it. There were insights that felt important at the time, things she understood about herself and wanted to carry forward.

But then life happened.

Work. Stress. Responsibilities. Old habits. The normal stuff that slowly starts taking up all the space again.

I don't think this is unusual. In fact, the longer I do this work, the more I think one of the most important parts of a session has very little to do with what happens during the actual session.

It's what happens afterward.

You can have a profound experience.You can connect with a guide, experience a past life, meet a younger part of yourself, see your future self, or simply understand something about yourself in a completely different way.

But eventually you open your eyes.

You drive home. You go back to work. Someone irritates you. A bill shows up. You don't sleep well. Something happens with your family.

Life starts moving again.

And little by little, something that felt incredibly clear can become harder to access.

The Place We Started

At the beginning of Susan's session, I had her create what I call a safe place or inner sanctuary.

Hers was simple.

She found herself inside a white, enclosed space with these large egg-shaped wooden chairs. She added a little pool, her dogs, a table with drinks and a book. She was lying comfortably in one of the chairs.

When I asked how she felt there, she said, "Content."

Later, her grandmother appeared along with one of her dogs who had died. Her grandmother didn't have some elaborate message for her. She was mostly smiling.

Susan understood the smile as saying:

"Everything's going to be okay."

That was enough.

What interested me was what happened when Susan left the sanctuary.

Outside, everything was dark and cloudy.

She described being pulled in a million directions. Underneath that was stress. Underneath the stress was a feeling of incompetence. Underneath that was the belief, "I don't know what I'm doing."

And when we kept following it down, she found fear.

There was also an image of herself as a little girl being told she didn't know what she was doing.

Whether someone sees this kind of imagery as the unconscious mind communicating symbolically, something spiritual, or simply imagination doing what imagination does isn't really the important part for me.

The contrast was interesting.

Inside the sanctuary, she was content.

Outside of it, she was being pulled everywhere.

I think a lot of us probably know that feeling.

The Part That Wouldn't Jump

The session continued through a series of landscapes until Susan found herself on a boat surrounded by water.

Another version of her was already in the water, swimming, splashing and moving freely.

The Susan sitting in the boat was different.

She had conformed. She was coasting. She wanted to jump into the water, but something kept stopping her.

"It’s not responsible to do that."

The freer part of her had a pretty direct response:

"Who the fuck cares? Just jump."

But she still couldn't quite do it.

So we did something I sometimes use when someone feels stuck between two directions. I had her imagine two possible future versions of herself.

One was the woman who never jumped.

Ten years had passed and she was essentially the same person, just older.

When Susan asked what that future version of herself would say, the answer was:

"I wish I had jumped."

Then there was another future Susan.

She had jumped.

She appeared wearing a beautiful white dress. She was smiling and happy.

Her message was simple.

"I jumped. It worked out."

Susan took off her dress and jumped into the water.

She admitted it was a little scary.

But it also felt good.

I think that's probably a more realistic image of change than suddenly becoming fearless. Sometimes you're still scared. You just jump anyway.

Insight Isn't Integration

Eventually Susan reached a hill overlooking the landscape she had just traveled through.

Earlier there had been boiling water, darkness and obstacles. Now she could look down and see calm turquoise water, a beach and a few coconut trees.

Her future self appeared again.

This time Susan asked her what she needed to do moving forward.

"Stop doubting yourself."

Then came something much more practical.

Write things down.

Journal.

That may not sound particularly profound after everything that had happened in the session, but I actually think this was one of the most important parts.

Because now there was something Susan could actually do.

Her first intention was:

"I am grateful."

Then we made it even simpler.

Find one moment of joy from the day.

For Susan, an example was driving with the top down.

That's it.

It doesn't have to be a revelation. Maybe you had a good meal. Maybe someone made you laugh. Maybe you walked outside and the weather felt good. Maybe you had five quiet minutes before everyone else woke up.

The point isn't to pretend everything is wonderful.

It's to keep noticing what you don't want to lose sight of.

The Knock on the Door

I asked Susan what could prevent her from continuing this.

Her answer was immediate.

"Me."

She knew herself well enough to know what could happen.

She could fall back into old habits. Work could take over. Fear could come back. The responsibilities of everyday life could slowly pull her away from what she had just experienced.

So instead of pretending that wouldn't happen, we practiced it.

I had her imagine that some time had passed and the old version of herself showed up again.

She knocked on the door.

Susan laughed.

"Go away."

The old Susan walked away with her head down.

Then I had her imagine it happening again.

Another day. Another knock.

This time Susan smiled and said:

"You're not welcome anymore."

She turned her back and walked away.

I really liked that moment because she wasn't fighting that part of herself.

She recognized it.

There's a difference.

An old pattern can show up without you having to become it.

Fear can show up.

Self-doubt can show up.

The part of you that wants to retreat, isolate, get angry, give up, or fall back into whatever familiar pattern you've spent years reinforcing can show up.

You can notice it without handing it the keys.

For me, this is where the idea of the witness or observer becomes useful.

Instead of, "I'm back here again. Nothing changed."

It becomes, "Oh. There you are."

And then you decide what happens next.

Keeping the Flame Burning

Toward the end of the session, Susan made a couple of simple promises to herself.

"I am kind to myself."

"I matter."

We returned to the sanctuary where the session had started.

She was back in the egg-shaped chair. She had her drink and her book. Her dogs were there.

But something had changed.

Earlier, when she left that protected space, the world outside had been dark and threatening.

Now she could see through the walls.

Outside were blue skies.

She said it felt "like it's meant to be."

I encouraged her to come back to this place.

Not necessarily by doing another full session.

Come back before bed.

Come back for a minute in the morning before grabbing the phone and entering the world.

Remember the chair.

Remember the dogs.

Remember her grandmother smiling.

Remember the woman in the white dress who jumped.

Remember, "I matter."

That's integration.

And I think I've probably underestimated how important this part of the work is over the years.

We tend to focus on the experience itself because that's the interesting part. It's what people remember. It's what makes a good story.

But an insight can fade.

The mind gets busy again.

Maybe integration is less about holding onto every detail and more about keeping a small flame burning.

You don't need an hour every morning.

Maybe it's one minute.

Maybe it's three breaths.

Maybe it's writing one sentence in a journal.

Maybe it's closing your eyes before bed and returning to the safe place you created.

Maybe it's recognizing the old part of you knocking on the door and saying, "Not today."

And sometimes you'll forget.

Life will get in the way again.

That's probably inevitable.

The goal isn't to remain in some perfect state where nothing bothers you and old patterns never return. I'm not sure that's realistic.

It's learning how to come back.

Near the end of Susan's session, I said something to her that I think summed up the whole experience better than anything else I could have said:

"It's just remembering, right?"

I think it is.

Remember the insight.

Remember the tools.

Remember the place inside yourself where things felt a little clearer.

And when life pulls you away from it, which it probably will, find your way back.

Even if it's only for a minute.