“Uncomfortable” doesn’t come close to adequately describe the utter anguish I feel when receiving a gift.

“You didn’t have to give me this,” my typical response, because well, they didn’t.

I can feel their eyes on me, awaiting my reaction; as I wonder what the genuine purpose of this gift giving was; satisfying their need to be the bestower or to evoke positivity, awaken happiness within me, the recipient.

‘Tis the season of giving.

While I promote the inflation of love, the perpetuation of kindness, I can’t help but feel that through plastic and expectation, we denounce loving kindness to something inauthentic.

But, here, the point is moot; we’ve been conditioned to show our love or, perhaps even, measure our worth, by plastic, metal, ornaments for our necks, poisonous cloth for our bodies, discs, paper and bows.

I can’t discount the desire for people to convey some part of their emotions through a gift, despite the ironic tragedy of it all.

What’s truly disconcerting is our inability to openly receive and accept love—to believe we are of worth.

I’m, currently between jobs, struggling to collect enough pennies to eat one meal during the day. I’m between homes, ungrounded. My boyfriend has kindly provided me a place to sleep, to shower, and ensures that my belly never grumbles.

One day, he slipped me a little cash on his way out the door, “So you can eat,” he exclaimed.

How heartless of me not to burst from his kindness, to melt at his benevolence.

I was, instead, overwhelmed by a sense of unworthiness. Darkness floated through my mind, gently, tauntingly. He didn’t have to waste his money on me. I didn’t deserve this. I was a burden. My thoughts evolved so far as to think I was, honestly, ruining his life (crazy, where the paths of our thoughts will lead if we let them).

We’re both empathetic to other people as, I desperately have to believe, most humans are programmed. Most of us feel the pain, or the suffering of another person, and find little ways to soften that tension, to provide an escape into contentment.

By over-giving we deplete our energy, we deplete our Anahata—our heart chakras. It takes energy to refuse kindness, to “not inconvenience other people.”

We balance our energy, by accepting, receiving, believing in our worth.

I had a difficult time accepting his assistance, his love, because I believed I wasn’t worthy of such kindness. It took succumbing to my dark thoughts, spiralling into a sadness that was quite unlike me, for me to discover the shining truth; I needed the way I thought about myself.

I was, am, worthy of love. Accepting it, accepting any gift, requires that knowledge. When I figure out how to conquer this depleted feeling completely and I’ve completely mastered the art of self-love, I’ll let you know. Until then, little steps that have helped make my soul feel of worth this holiday season;

Believe You are F*cking Worthy.

You are worthy of love.

You deserve any kindness, or wonderful deed that comes your way. You are worthy of abundance.

Your soul is not separate from the things around you—we are all connected.

As you are love, others are love, deeds are love; anything beautiful that comes your way is just another expression of you; love.

Strengthen Your Heart Chakra.

Any backbend, chest opening, shoulder opening, or arm strengthening pose can help increase the prana (life energy) in our heart space. We often send energy to the front of our bodies, don’t forget to send your pranayama in-between the shoulder blades, to the back of your heart.

Using Lavender oil, topically or in a diffuser, increase the balance in your heart chakra.

Inner mantras; “I am open to love,” or “I am worthy of love and abundance,” increase the energy in the heart space.

Say It Out Loud

Every time something good happens to you, small or large, gently tell yourself, “You deserve this.” Because you deserve all the wonder of the world.

If you believe it, that certain energy will be attracted to you.

You deserve all the greatness in the world.

Relephant Read:

The Importance of Receiving.

Author: Elizabeth Brumfield

Editor: Renée Picard

Photo: Janet Ramsden at Flickr