The Second Arrow
One of the most common issues I treat as a therapist is Anxiety. My clients feel anxious about careers, family dynamics, religion, sexuality, politics, life. And I’ve learned over time that anxiety is a tricky thing to treat because the more you try to change it or replace it with something healthier, the more likely it is to get more intense or get redirected into a different, difficult issue.
So instead of fighting against the anxiety or trying to change it, one of the things I’ve found most effective is to teach my clients to accept it, even lean into it, and get curious about what it’s holding. But I always make sure to explain that “accepting it” doesn’t mean that you believe your fears are actually true or that the thing you are anxious about is *actually* going to happen. Instead, you are accepting and acknowledging that you’re feeling anxious about this thing, like you would acknowledge or accept that you’re wearing a blue shirt today. It’s just something that exists, and there doesn’t need to be any additional judgment, criticism, energy, or reaction towards it.
This is much easier said than done. But over time, as clients practice approaching anxiety with a curious “Huh, that made you anxious, didn’t it? Thanks for letting me know, body of mine.” framework, the more likely it is that their anxious mind and body will feel seen and thereby more likely to disappate rather than getting louder.
There is a Buddhist concept that illustrates this idea of acceptance well. It’s called The Second Arrow. The Buddha explained a parable of pain vs suffering using these two arrows. The first arrow is the initial pain of human experience. This is unavoidable. This is getting sick, having your heart broken, stubbing your toe. It’s the anxiety that comes in the middle of the night when you’d much rather be sleeping. All of these initial pain points are a core part of human experience, shared by anyone who is navigating this thing called life. We have no control over this pain.
The second arrow is how we often react to these events in our lives and the way our minds create additional meaning that makes us suffer beyond the initial pain. This would look like stubbing your toe, then piling on a barrage of self-criticism about “why am I so stupid and clumsy? I’m always walking into walls like that. Other people don’t do this, they are more graceful. People probably think I’m ridiculous.” and on and on. According to the Buddha, this type of suffering is more avoidable and unnecessary. It’s the suffering we pile on after the pain and it’s something we have more of a choice in. How do we want to approach our stubbed toe? Is there a way we can redirect or approach that situation differently so we aren’t experiencing additional suffering on top of the unavoidable pain?
I often think about how my upbringing in the church made it especially difficult to let go of the second arrow or come to that place of acceptance vs fighting against my experience. Growing up, I internalized messaging from the church about “doubting your doubts” or “thinking Celestial” (except mine was more in the era of “hum your favorite hymn” or “if you chance to meet a frown.”) We were taught, not just indirectly, but overtly to challenge, redirect, and corral our thoughts and feelings into very specific places.
“You’re sad? No, you’re not! Smile instead! God is a god of happiness, don’t let Satan bring you down.”
“You’re feeling sexual feelings? No, you aren’t! Hum that hymn, and Godly thoughts will take all of those sexual feelings away.”
“Something in church history, doctrine, or culture made you upset? Challenge that. Mental gymnastics your way back to pure belief and conformity.”
The church taught me to live in the second arrow of experience. And beyond that, the church taught me exactly what the second arrow was “supposed” to look like and why.
The problem? I couldn’t always get there.
In fact, if I’m honest with myself, I almost never got where I felt the church wanted me to be. Instead, it would look something like:
“I’m sad. But I’m not supposed to be sad. God is a god of happiness. This must be from Satan. I guess I’ll read my scriptures. I think that felt better. I’m not really feeling sad, right? Like, I can probably just push that away. Yeah, Ok. Sadness gone. If anyone asks, I was never sad in the first place. Phew.”
It was a constant push and pull between my first arrow, real, lived experiences, and the second arrow of suffering the church required of me.
And it always felt like my fault.
It was my fault that I still had that little bit of sadness leftover deep inside. I must not have hummed the right hymn or prayed hard enough. There must be something wrong with me. (Which then continued the second arrow and on, and on, and on)
But what would it have been like, what could it be like now, if instead of fighting against my true, lived experiences, I accepted them? What if I learned about them and leaned into them instead of pushing them away? What if a God I believed in didn’t need to place so much additional meaning and energy on fighting against my “natural man” ways of experiencing?
What if I could just be?
I have found that giving myself the permission to experience the first arrow while stepping out of the suffering messaging from the second arrow has been one of the most powerful, transformative concepts of my life, and that of many of my clients.
To allow my sadness, anger, hurt, doubt, grief, all of it to exist. To just let it be exactly what it is, without fighting against it or changing it to be what I think it’s “supposed” to be, has helped me understand myself and find inner peace far better than any church-messaging second-arrow response I had in the past.
It’s not perfect. I still get caught up in anxiety loops, “shoulds,” self-criticism, etc, on a daily basis.
But now that I can see it for what it is, now that I know that it’s not necessary and that I have choices, I try as often as possible to choose curiosity. I choose self-compassion and leaning in. I choose to get to know the parts of me that are hurting rather than adding additional suffering by ostracising or criticising those parts of me.
Hopefully, someday, the church will trust its members with their first arrows more and stop feeling the need to perpetuate harmful messages filled with negative meaning and expectations of how people “should” feel or experience life.
Hopefully, the church will lean into teaching its members correct principles or values, and let them govern themselves based on true, unfiltered access to their first arrow.
From what I have experienced, this will go much further in helping members healthily live the good values of the Gospel with authenticity and faith.
