Trusting the Process

I returned to the Red Tent this year with the intention of engaging its themes through the lens of losing Mom, feeling confident in my decision. Approaching this fifth post, my mind is filled with questions and doubts, threatening to derail the intention that began this process.

Is this really a good idea?

Am I making too much out of this story?

Is my perspective valid?

Beautifully fitting is this month’s theme, Trusting Myself, because I am claiming it as I continue. I trust that the decision to share my experience here is good and honoring of my mom and our story. I trust that this part of our story is important.

Story work brought my parents and me closer as we began our healing journey and continued to repair, and Enneagram language facilitated deeper connection to ourselves and the stories we shared. Our weekly Thursday mornings together expanded to include the Enneagram, finding our numbers, and being curious about the impact of trauma on how we identified with what we thought were our numbers.

Mom landed on Type Six, bringing further clarity about how we engaged each other in relationship. It made sense of the fact that I began my Enneagram journey identifying as a Six too. You can’t do that! was a mantra that kept me small and safe, placed on my shoulders by her fear. It is an odd paradox, being required to bear adult-sized burdens as a child and being left unable to trust yourself as an adult.

So much of my life was spent deferring to and orienting around—orbiting—Mom. Whether ordering the same thing for breakfast as she did at Bob Evans, choosing clothes based on what she preferred, or pouring cream into my coffee, I heard Mom’s strong voice, which I perceived as my inner committee.

Mom embraced Six wholeheartedly. The Loyalist brought her story into focus. She saw what loyalty in her circles and stories had cost her. Loyalty kept her working right up until her instant retirement, the day of that fateful scan. Only then did she find freedom to step away from her loyalty to work responsibilities.

Dad landed on Type One, with his idealistic, perfecting, black-and-white thinking. We named that this translated into how he navigated life in a chaotic household, which in that moment brought lots of laughter and many tears. The Reformer offered more language for his journey to find correct theology, taking us along with him for the tumultuous ride. 

I settled on Type Nine, but not the stereotypical Nine. I claimed the counter-type, or social, Nine. It made sense and was safe to be The Peacemaker, merging with others and seeing all sides of everything while orienting myself around the group in a hardworking way.

All of this transpired due to the work we began together in 2018, but that season of gain with my parents was a time of personal loss. Friends from my Allender Center training cohort, Levels 1 and 2, were moving on to Level 3 without me that year. It was not my season to continue. I knew it, yet my heart still felt the loss. I remember how difficult it was to trust myself to know this and believe that goodness, my goodness, was right where I was, not somewhere out there.

Being left behind felt familiar, like moving during the middle of my senior year of high school when friends continued on to graduation and college, leaving me feeling forgotten. Something was different this time though. I was not forgotten. I was remembered and missed.

I had agency outside of what others were doing. I held my own ground.

I started Heart Path Story Coaching that year with no one’s permission but my own. I let a tiny seed of imagination begin to germinate, and I set up a studio space where story and creativity blended together to offer harmonious heart care. It was a place for me to create goodness. My mom was an enthusiastic cheerleader and staunch supporter of my new work in 2019.

It was not until after Mom passed that I discovered my actual Enneagram number. While participating in an Enneagram typing interview with Patria Rector (https://www.thebrokenandbeautiful.com/), I was invited to consider the self-preservation Four, a subtype of The Individualist. This type landed in my soul and felt deeply true. It also opened new layers of memories and grief, offering me permission to acknowledge an intense childhood and tumultuous relationship with my parents all the while knowing that our season of sharing and processing together was gone, never to return this side of eternity.

What does this mean for me, left here in the land of the living? I look back on the ways I deferred, complied, and abandoned myself to accommodate Mom and her needs. I look in the mirror at my wildly creative, individualistic essence, and I marvel. You’re still here! You made it!  

She smiles back at me with a knowing, wizened grin, wild hair framing her face. I wondered when you would notice! I’ve been here all along. Let’s go!

I join her and offer gratitude to her for waiting. Together we enter a new place, one where there is room for curiosity, kindness, and exploration of uncharted terrain. She is intense, creative, beautiful, artistic me, and I welcome and trust her invitation to step into a brave new way of being in the world.

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Julie McClay lives in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley with her partner of 31 years, four of their eight children, and six fur and feather babies. Two precious grandchildren bring deep joy and delight. Julie is a lover of stories and words. She serves clients, both in person and virtually, through Heart Path Story Coaching, offering a creative space of kindness, curiosity, and Story Work. Writing and Art Journaling are key elements of her process.