SUIT UP. SHOW UP. LOVE ANYWAY.

On the small, cowardly ways we abandon the people who need us — starting with ourselves

By Christopher Shaw, LCSW-S CSAT-S RYT

Founder, Merkaba Temple & Merkaba Retreats

Co-Founder,

When was the last time someone you loved needed you to show up… and you found a reason not to?

I mean specifically. Your cousin’s play, where she had three lines and practiced them in the mirror for a month.Your sister’s first gallery opening, pretending she isn’t watching the door, hoping the people she loves will walk through it. Your brother walking out of ninety days in rehab, scanning the parking lot for a familiar face. Your friend launching the thing she’d been terrified to launch, hoping someone she loved would be there. Your mother lying in a hospital bed asking whether anyone had called. Your kid walking across a graduation stage, searching thousands of faces for the one face that was supposed to be there.

And you weren’t.

Maybe you were busy. Maybe you were tired. Maybe it was inconvenient. Maybe you had something else going on. Maybe you “just weren’t feeling it.”

And maybe — this is the part I want us to look at — you had language ready. Good language. Sophisticated language. Therapeutic language. You needed to protect your peace. You didn’t have the bandwidth. You were honoring your boundaries. You needed to conserve your energy. It didn’t feel aligned.

And sometimes all of those things are absolutely true.

But sometimes they’re not.

Sometimes what we call a boundary is avoidance. Sometimes what we call protecting our peace is protecting our comfort. Sometimes what we call honoring our capacity is simply refusing to be inconvenienced. Sometimes “this doesn’t feel aligned” means, “I don’t want to.”

And sometimes self-care is just cowardice wearing self-care’s clothes.

That one stings. It should.

Because spiritual practice is not supposed to make us better at explaining why we didn’t love. It is supposed to make us better at loving.

WE HAVE BUILT A SPIRITUAL PERMISSION STRUCTURE FOR ABANDONMENT

Something strange has happened in our culture. We took profoundly important psychological concepts — boundaries, trauma, nervous-system regulation, capacity, self-care — and somewhere along the way, some of us learned how to weaponize them against relationship.

Let me be very clear. Boundaries are real. Trauma is real. Exhaustion is real. Dysregulation is real. There are times when the most loving thing you can do is say no. There are relationships you should leave. There are seasons when your body genuinely cannot give what another person is asking of you.

That’s wisdom.

But that’s not what I’m talking about.

I’m talking about the Saturday afternoon when you absolutely could have gone… and you just didn’t want to drive forty-five minutes. I’m talking about the phone call you ignored because you knew they were going to need something. The friend whose dream mattered enormously to them but apparently not enough to you to rearrange dinner. The person who keeps showing up for your milestones while somehow their milestones keep colliding with your schedule.

That’s different.

The spiritual work is developing enough honesty to know the difference between “I cannot” and “I would rather not.”

There is a difference between a boundary and a barricade. There is a difference between self-care and self-absorption. And there is a difference between protecting your nervous system and constructing a life in which your nervous system never has to tolerate the inconvenience of loving another human being.

We’ve become so sophisticated in the language of the self that selfishness can now sound almost enlightened. Contraction can sound evolved. Withdrawal can sound like growth. Avoidance can sound like discernment.

And one of the oldest human failures — turning away from one another — can now come with therapy language and an Instagram graphic.

THE ANCIENT CONTRACTION

Kashmir Shaivism has language for this. It calls it anava mala — the primordial contraction. The experience of consciousness forgetting its vastness and experiencing itself as small, separate, limited.

Me. Mine. My time. My energy. My comfort. My plans. My Saturday.

And suddenly life becomes a scarce resource that has to be protected from everybody else.

Notice how quickly love changes under contraction. Instead of asking, “What does love require of me here?” we ask, “How much is this going to cost me?” How far do I have to drive? How late will I be home? Is this going to drain me? Do I really have to go?

That’s anava mala.

The infinite has forgotten itself… and become very concerned about its afternoon.

And against this contraction, Kashmir Shaivism gives us another extraordinary teaching: Spanda. The pulse. The sacred throb of consciousness.

Reality is not static. Consciousness moves. It expresses. It manifests. It reaches outward into form. Śiva does not protect himself from creation. Shiva becomes creation. Shakti moves. The universe appears.

The Divine… shows up.

Think about that.

The fundamental movement of reality is participation. The Divine doesn’t stand outside creation saying, “I’m sorry, I don’t have the bandwidth.” Consciousness pours itself into existence.

And you are made of that same movement. Underneath your defenses, underneath your fear, underneath your preference for convenience, there is something in you that wants to participate in life. Something that wants to reach. Something that wants to give. Something that wants to love.

Something that wants to show up.

THE PERSON WHO STAYED HOME LOST SOMETHING TOO

Now here’s the part that may sting even more. When you don’t show up, the person waiting for you isn’t the only one who loses something.

You do.

Because somewhere underneath all the explanations, some part of you knows. You can explain the decision. You can justify it. But there is a quiet place inside you that knows when you abandoned something that mattered.

And that place remembers.

Maybe some of the loneliness we experience isn’t only because people stopped showing up for us.

Maybe some of it is because we stopped showing up for life.

One invitation at a time. One phone call at a time. One hospital room at a time. One friend we meant to call. One family member we assumed would understand. One community gathering that didn’t feel convenient enough.

We kept closing doors. And eventually we looked around and wondered why the room felt empty.

Isolation isn’t always something that happens to us. Sometimes isolation is the compound interest on all the places we decided not to go.

BUT YOU ABANDONED SOMEONE ELSE FIRST

And now we get underneath it. Because before you started standing other people up, there’s a good chance you learned how to stand yourself up.

You said you were going to start taking care of your body. Tomorrow. You said you were going to meditate. Tomorrow. You said you were going to make the appointment. Tomorrow. You said you were going to write the thing, have the conversation, begin the healing, change the pattern, make the phone call.

Tomorrow.

And tomorrow became next week. Next week became next month. Eventually you stopped noticing that you were breaking promises to yourself at all.

That’s where showing up begins. Not because self-discipline earns you spiritual merit. Because every promise you keep to yourself strengthens your capacity to keep promises to life.

Every morning you get up when you said you would. Every time you sit down at the altar when part of you would rather scroll. Every time you move your body when inertia says stay still. Every time you tell the truth when hiding would be easier. Every time you keep the commitment after the inspiration has disappeared… you are building something.

You are teaching your nervous system: Discomfort does not mean stop. Resistance does not mean wrong. Inconvenience does not mean misalignment. Fear does not always mean danger.

Sometimes discomfort simply means… Love is asking something of me.

LOVE WILL INCONVENIENCE YOU

This may be the sentence underneath this entire teaching: Love that never inconveniences you isn’t much of a spiritual practice.

Anybody can love when love fits neatly into the calendar. Anybody can be compassionate when compassion is convenient. Anybody can be generous when generosity costs nothing. Anybody can show up when they happen to feel like showing up.

But eventually, love will ask you for something inconvenient.

Love will interrupt dinner. Love will call at midnight. Love will ask you to drive across town. Love will ask you to sit in a hospital room where there is absolutely nothing you can do. Love will ask you to attend something you don’t particularly enjoy because somebody you love cares deeply about it. Love will ask you to listen to the story again. Love will ask you to apologize first. Love will ask you to put down the phone. Love will ask you to reorganize the week.

Love will ask you to go.

And sometimes love will ask you to stay. Sometimes love will say no. Sometimes love will establish the boundary. Sometimes love will leave. Sometimes love will rest.

The question is not, “Did I say yes?”

The question is, “What made the decision?”

Love or contraction? Truth or convenience? Wisdom or fear? Spanda or anava mala?

Only you know.

And if you become quiet enough… you almost always know.

WE ARE FORGETTING HOW TO BE FOR ONE ANOTHER

Now zoom out. Because this isn’t really about your cousin’s play.

We are living through an epidemic of loneliness while surrounded by unprecedented ways of connecting. We can reach almost anyone on Earth in seconds, and people are starving to be reached.

People are surrounded by followers and wondering whether anyone would come to the hospital. Surrounded by contacts and wondering who they could call at three in the morning. Surrounded by people who “love” their photographs and wondering who would actually rearrange a Saturday for them.

You cannot build a family on “if it’s convenient.”

You cannot build a marriage on it. You cannot build friendship on it. You cannot build spiritual community on it. And you cannot build civilization on it.

Human beings have survived because somebody showed up. Somebody brought food. Somebody sat beside the body. Somebody raised the children. Somebody rebuilt the house. Somebody stayed awake through the night. Somebody made room.

Somebody came.

Not because they were always excited about it.

Because that’s what we do for one another.

THE SUIT IS NOT A METAPHOR FOR YOUR MOOD

That’s why I love the phrase Suit up.

The suit isn’t your mood. You don’t put it on because you’re inspired. You put it on because something matters.

The firefighter doesn’t wait to feel aligned with the fire. The parent doesn’t wait for inspiration before caring for the child. The nurse doesn’t wait until compassion spontaneously arises before entering the room.

There are moments when something bigger than your preference gets to make the decision.

Call it dharma. Call it devotion. Call it integrity. Call it love.

But eventually spiritual maturity requires becoming a person who can say, “I don’t particularly feel like doing this… and I’m going anyway.”

Not because you are abandoning yourself.

Because you have discovered a Self larger than your preferences.

AND IF YOU DIDN’T SHOW UP?

Now some of you are thinking about somebody.

Good.

Stay there.

Maybe you didn’t go. Maybe you weren’t there. Maybe someone needed you… and you failed them. Maybe you’re remembering something from twenty years ago.

Do not turn this teaching into another weapon against yourself. Shame will not make you more available to love.

But responsibility might.

So don’t drown in guilt.

Repair.

Maybe you didn’t show up then.

Show up now.

Call them. Tell the truth.

“I should have been there. You mattered to me, and I didn’t show you that. I’m sorry.”

No explanation. No defense.

And then… become different.

Because awakening isn’t constructing a flawless history. Awakening is becoming increasingly unwilling to abandon love now.

SUIT UP. SHOW UP.

So here’s the charge: Show up for your body. Show up for your practice. Show up for your healing. Show up for the promises you made when you were clear.

Show up for your marriage. Your friendships. Your family. Your community.

Show up for the person whose suffering interrupts your plans. Show up for the conversation you’re afraid to have. Show up for the life you keep saying you want.

And when somebody you love is standing on a stage looking into the crowd… be the face they find.

When somebody you love is lying in a hospital room listening for footsteps… let them be yours.

When somebody you love does the terrifying thing they’ve spent years dreaming about… be there.

And when your own soul comes looking for you tomorrow morning… be there too.

Maybe spirituality isn’t measured by how peaceful you can become when nobody needs anything from you. Maybe it is measured by how available you become to life.

Because love crosses the distance. That’s what Shakti does. Consciousness moves toward life.

So the next time love asks something inconvenient of you, ask yourself:

Is this actually a boundary? Or am I just afraid of being inconvenienced by love?

And if you know the answer, don’t explain it. Don’t analyze it.

Suit up. Show up. Pulse outward.

And let the Divine find you participating.