Do you live your life with a wide-open heart? Or is yours heavily guarded?
For me, it's nothing but open all the way. My heart is so open I've been accused of taking it out of my chest and handing it to any random passerby on the street. (I’m exaggerating just a tad, but knowing me, it's not beyond the realm of possibility.)
Not too long ago, someone—I’ll call her an advisor—told me to "shield up" and protect mine.
Huh?
It took me a few seconds ...
Oh, right! I get it! My heart is valuable. Yeah ... riiiiiiiight ...
*nods head vigorously in agreement while remaining clueless*
Truth be told, I never really gave it much thought. Until recently, when The Universe brought me a situation that made me want to shove my heart into a Brinks armored vehicle and park it at Fort Knox. (If I could've, I would've.)
For much of my life, I've been dishonoring my heart by walking into no-win scenarios with people who kick it to the floor and leave it lying there, all bruised and bloodied.
And why?
Because I'm confusing an open heart with a doormat's heart, one that subjects itself daily to whatever anyone anywhere decides to throw its way—lies, anger, betrayal, callousness, selfishness, abuse. The heart of every doormat needs an immediate rescue and fast before there's nothing left of it. (By the way, no disrespect to doormats. The struggle is real.)
Like me, you may be misinterpreting what it means to have an open heart.
You want to be kind, caring, compassionate, and empathetic. You want to bring your authentic self into all relationships, old and new. With an open heart, you expand. You become more grateful, more forgiving, and more loving. All good, right?
But some of us open-hearted souls aren't kind or caring to ourselves.
With a take-no-prisoners attitude, you show you no mercy. Compassion and forgiveness for yourself? Are you kidding? Empathy? Whoa...save that for the neighbor down the street. They deserve your open heart.
And guess what?
So do you.
Greeting the world freely and honestly is all well and good. But what you need to throw into the mix is a little thing called discernment. You have instincts, intuition, and gut reactions, all tools for determining where and with whom to place that solid gold heart of yours.
Go ahead and love Bobby. Teddy, and Mary Lou, unconditionally. Sit and listen to what they say and show them compassion. But when a bright, crimson-red flag pops out of Bobby's shirt pocket, Teddy's jacket, or darling Mary Lou's handbag and waves itself frantically in front of you, please, do yourself a favor and step back. Take a breath. Re-evaluate.
You can't escape heartache (believe me, I’ve tried). You must embrace vulnerability if you want to keep it real in all your relationships.
But what I'm finally realizing (slow learner alert!) is that constantly exposing your heart to the negative and dysfunctional aspects of living will eventually deplete your life force, squeezing every last drop of vitality from your once-joyful spirit.
Three hearts in my childhood home were consistently left lying on the floor, unprotected and exposed to the elements. Domestic violence, soul-crushing words, and emotional warfare left Mom, Dad, and yours truly heart ... sick.
(Ten years after a coronary bypass, my father died of a massive heart attack, and I have been struggling with a heart condition for the last 15 years. Sadly, after her divorce, Mom isolated herself and placed her heart in the Brinks truck.)
As a kid, my open heart absorbed it all, the good, the bad, the ugly—and the temporarily insane. I had no filter to eliminate what was inappropriate. The name-calling, hitting, slamming, breaking, and other displays of craziness found their way straight into the core of my being.
And they never left.
I had the intuition of an 80-year-old shaman, but at my young, dependent age, discernment wasn't an option. At eight, twelve, and even seventeen years old, I wasn't in a position to detach and move on. Besides, I loved my parents. So much so that—if I may be a bit dramatic here—I would've taken a bullet for either of them.
My heart has always been wise. Unfortunately, I've never known how to act on the wisdom it provided me. I've failed time and time again to protect that part of me that feels deeply and loves without limits.
Listen, and act accordingly.
Please, by all means, fall head over heels for them. But secretive often means unavailable. Not everyone plays fair in love.
Your old college pal still lies. Maybe teaming up for a business venture isn't the right move for you.
They're family, and their therapy is progressing. But remember, re-establishing trust takes time.
Don't shut down, but do keep a little armor nearby in case of a “shield up” emergency.
I had a long-overdue cardiac catheter ablation two weeks ago. The electrophysiologist (a specialized cardiologist) used small burns to cause scarring on the inside of my heart and, hopefully, block the crazy electrical signals that are causing it to go haywire.
At my pre-procedure meeting, I jokingly gave him some names of a few heartbreakers from my past that I wanted him to zap.
He laughed.
(I think.)
As I got closer to the day of the big event, one that I had resisted for years (What do you mean you're going to BURN?!?!), I began to feel more and more as though I desperately needed the physical action of the ablation to jump-start the healing of my "emotional" heart.
Just before they wheeled me into the OR, I finished my conversation with the doctor by explaining my belief that he was going to "shield up" my heart.
He smiled and nodded, "yes."
(I think.)