Delayed Acceptance

There are times when we may choose not to accept something that has happened. A time when we can give ourselves permission to feel, even if those feelings are uncomfortable. When we delay acceptance and give ourselves permission to not accept this moment, it allows us to engage with our emotions and not be ruled by them.

Trigger Warning: This practice may include references to death, dying, and the departed.

Transcript

Hello,

It's me,

Joe,

The Autistic Buddhist,

And today I'm going to talk about acceptance.

This session about acceptance is going to be a difficult one for me.

To speak about acceptance,

I'm going to share with you a personal story where acceptance was very challenging for me.

The story starts with my pet dog,

Kenya.

Many years ago,

I got Kenya as a puppy and raised her.

I had once listened to a veterinarian lecturing on the psychology of dogs,

And she said that the most frequent question she was asked from dog owners was,

How does my dog view the relationship between us?

And she answered that from the dog's perspective,

The relationship between a dog and its owner is exactly the same as the relationship between a child and their parent.

The dog being the child,

Views its owner as its parent,

Its mother or father,

Which I found very interesting.

As an autistic person,

My relationship with Kenya was different than my family's relationship with her.

Our bond was very strong.

Although Kenya was not a support dog,

She acted like one in every way,

And she was in many ways my baby.

And through my relationship with Kenya,

I came to understand why autistic people have support dogs and feel very close to them.

It took me a while to understand what the nature of our relationship was.

And although I was the parent and she was the child,

I relied on her a great deal.

Unlike others,

I relied on Kenya for emotional support,

For helping me to cope with life circumstances.

Whenever I was disappointed,

Sad,

Agitated or upset,

I would always go to Kenya and play with her or just sit beside her and pet her.

It always made me feel better.

I felt I could alleviate anxiety or fear much better by being with her than speaking to another person about it.

I know that when many people experience a bad day,

Frustration,

Discomfort,

They seek support from other people,

Whereas I always went to Kenya first.

It wasn't that she did anything special.

It was that she was there,

Listening,

Being close to me,

Always demonstrating some form of affection by putting her paw on me or her head on my lap.

She provided me with no feedback,

Advice or suggestions of how to improve things or the situation.

All she gave me was her attention and love.

So Kenya and I spent a lot of time together.

When I was home,

She was always next to me.

She slept in bed with me,

Sat next to me on the couch while I watched TV,

Lay at my feet when I was reading or eating,

And lay right behind me when I was meditating.

If in meditation I leaned back just slightly,

I could feel her against the small of my back.

It was as if her presence was saying,

I know you are meditating,

But I'm here right behind you.

I had Kenya for 12 years.

And in July 2022,

When Kenya died,

My world fell apart.

Before she died,

I noticed that she was having difficulty walking.

After a while,

She needed help to get on the couch or on the bed.

She lost weight and her appetite.

I was told repeatedly by everyone that she was old and suffering from the ailments of old age.

I was also told that she was so old that it would not be long before she was gone.

Every day when I came home from work,

Kenya would be looking out the window waiting for me.

And when I walked to the house,

I could see her face in the window.

And when I opened the door,

There she was,

Overjoyed that I was home.

I could not imagine a time where I would not see her face at the window.

It was just too difficult to think about.

One night,

I noticed that Kenya could barely walk,

That she was not responding when called and would not eat her favorite treat.

She had a terrible night and the next day when she signaled me to go outside,

I let her out.

It was raining very hard and she did not like the rain,

So I knew she would be back quickly.

I started to notice that she hadn't come back.

She was outside for far too long,

So I went out to check on her.

She was sitting on the lawn,

Completely wet,

Unable to climb the stairs to get back into the house,

So I went out,

Picked her up and carried her in.

I started to get very worried.

I called my partner and explained what happened,

And my partner said you need to take her to the pet hospital right away,

Which I did.

I was sure that she would be examined by a veterinarian,

Given some medication and perhaps a brace and sent home with me.

At worst,

She may have to stay in the pet hospital for a few days until she was better.

That was what I expected to happen.

That is what I wanted to happen.

When I arrived at the pet hospital,

The veterinarian took her in right away.

He and a nurse took her to an examination room and I sat in a waiting room and I waited and waited.

Soon the door to the waiting room opened and the veterinarian walked in.

He said he needed to discuss something with me and I interrupted him and said is she going to be okay.

I could feel my anxiety slowly turning into fear.

At this time I was no longer anxious.

I was afraid.

The veterinarian said that Kenya was very old and that she was in significant pain.

I just looked at him and tears started flowing down my face.

He said she could no longer walk,

Due to her age as her hip bones had deteriorated.

There was an option for an operation,

But when I asked if it would help,

He said that at her age it would likely make no difference and there was a risk that it could even make things worse.

He stated that she would be in constant pain and that pain would affect her ability to eat and drink,

Likely causing her to slowly starve.

I did not want to hear this.

I wanted to scream,

Stop.

I was openly crying now,

Sobbing,

Trying to breathe.

As I wept,

He looked at me and said,

I think it's time to say goodbye to Kenya.

At first,

I was confused.

Say goodbye?

Where was she going?

Were they moving her to another hospital or somewhere else?

Perhaps a specialist?

And in a moment of pause,

I understood what he meant.

The Northwest Indians of North and South Dakota and the United States have a saying that they use when one feels a very deep sense of sadness and despair.

And that saying is,

My heart is on the ground.

And that is exactly how I felt.

I cannot describe to you the deep and unwavering sense of despair I was experiencing.

I told the veterinarian that I agreed that it was time to say goodbye to Kenya and I asked him to see her before she went.

In a very emphatic way,

He said,

Of course.

He told me that Kenya was currently sedated and that he would bring her out with an IV tube attached to her leg.

With a syringe held in his hand,

And when I asked him to,

He would push the plunger of the syringe down and the medicine would quickly flow into Kenya's body and she would instantly pass,

Without any pain or discomfort.

When he returned,

He and a nurse had Kenya with them.

The nurse was helping her walk.

She had a sling wrapped around her stomach to hold her back legs up off the floor.

The veterinarian was holding onto the syringe attached to a long,

Thin plastic tube that was inserted into Kenya's front leg.

When I saw her,

I fell on my knees and I held her.

I held her tightly against my chest and cried.

I could not stop my tears.

My crying was intense.

It was loud.

It was racked with grief.

The veterinarian said to me,

Whenever you are ready,

Let me know.

I held Kenya close to my chest and placed my head on hers.

I could not let her go.

I didn't want to.

I felt her starting to tremble,

As if she was very cold.

And I said,

She's trembling.

Is she in pain?

The veterinarian,

In a soft,

Sad voice,

Said,

Yes.

And with my face streaked with tears,

I held her tighter and said,

Do it now.

The veterinarian injected the medication and Kenya suddenly went limp.

The veterinarian said,

Let's give Mr.

Darosha some time with Kenya,

And he and the nurse left.

I lay Kenya down very gently.

She looked like she was asleep,

And I was beside her,

Bent over,

With my hands over my face,

Feeling the most intense emotional pain that I have ever felt before.

In my entire life,

I have never felt such grief.

I simply could not accept what happened.

I should outline here the difference between what I was experiencing and the concept of denial.

In denial,

A person denies the reality around them.

They adopt a feeling that what happened did not happen.

That was not what I was experiencing.

I was not in denial,

But fully aware that my Kenya was gone,

And that I would never see her again.

What I was experiencing is what I chose to call delayed acceptance.

For me,

Delayed acceptance is not wanting to let go so soon.

It is a period of time where mourning and grief must take place and run its course,

Or any other emotion that needs to take place must run its course.

It is an understanding that I am suffering now,

Because this is where I am,

And this is how I feel.

I often think that denial is like standing in a hole,

About three meters deep,

With no way out,

Refusing to accept your situation,

Refusing to accept the fact that you are in a hole,

And you can't get out of it.

Whereas delayed acceptance is being in the same situation,

Except that there is a ladder in that hole,

And you can climb out any time you want to,

But you are choosing to stay in the hole for a while,

Until you feel it is okay to climb out.

And that was my situation.

I knew that eventually I would come to terms with Kenya being gone,

But I did not want that now.

I once read this story in a Buddhist text.

I can't recall the source.

The story was about a novice Buddhist monk,

Who asks a senior monk,

When will I know when I am enlightened?

And the senior monk says,

When you learn to accept.

The junior monk says,

Accept what?

And the senior monk says,

Accept everything.

Accept everything.

Once I heard Eckhart Tolle say that if you cannot accept the circumstances around you,

Then accept your non-acceptance.

This is what I wanted to do,

Was to submit to my own non-acceptance.

Or more accurately,

Adopt delayed acceptance.

I realized that although acceptance tends to make life less painful,

I was not ready to let go of my pain or my grief.

Not yet.

So I adopted delayed acceptance.

Yes,

One day I will come to terms with this loss.

I have suffered.

But that day is not now.

And when people became aware of my grief and tried to console me with statements like,

You'll get over this.

I answered with,

Yes I will,

But sometime later.

Not now.

This is where I need to be.

The choice to delay my acceptance allowed me to grieve,

Holistically,

Without any anxiety or worry.

I would not accept my loss now,

I would accept it later.

I found that when I shared my delayed acceptance perspective with others,

They demonstrated sincere respect.

My delayed acceptance was a place I chose to be in,

So that I could honor Kenya and my relationship with her.

Delayed acceptance is fundamentally permission.

Permission I had given myself to feel,

To live in my emotion,

And not be ruled by it.

I hope none of you ever suffer that kind of pain.

But life does not work that way.

And I am sure that at some point in your life you will lose something of such value that it will stagger you.

And when that happens,

Give yourself permission.

Permission to cry,

To grieve,

To be vulnerable.

Permission to live with your emotions.

It has been over a year since I lost Kenya.

And when I think back,

I still become sad and miss her.

Even writing this session proved very difficult.

And it's okay.

One day I won't feel as sad as I do now.

But not today.

I hope that this story,

This session,

Has given you some benefit and has been helpful to you.

I thank you very much for taking time to listen to this session.

Reviews

Such a kind response and one I will try snd remember. I, and I’m sure many others have had a similar experience but I crried listening to your story, remembering my own loss of my beloved companion. Thank you for sharing.

Thank you for sharing your story. I had to put down my cat Patton last November. He was 22 years old. I basically prepared myself to let him go. I miss him, but I'm not sad when I do. Thank you.

Thank you, Joe, for sharing your story with us! It means a lot

Permission to heal at my own time. That is beautiful. Thank you for putting together this inspirational track. Namaste 🙏 💜

I understand and share the same sentiments that you have expressed about the passing of the one who was a great companion to you. I have experienced this process four times now and I remember how much I experienced each time I sat with my dogs 🐕 as we parted. My current emotional support animal is at my side as I respond to this traumatic experience and seems to be trying to understand and cope with my emotions in this moment. I have loved them all and have tried to focus on all the good times we shared but I still remember the grief I had to endure 😓 before moving on. Of course it lessened over time but I remember each one of my friends. As I am cuddling my current dog I am reminded of the wisdom that says that the past is history the future is a mystery and the present is the gift that we give ourselves. I feel better ❤️‍🩹 now.
Namaste 🙏 ❤️

Thank you so much Joe. You're story brought me to tears. I had a similar experience with my dog Chui. I'm so glad you found a way to use it to understand delayed acceptance. That's a really helpful analogy.

My heart is also on the ground. On Nov 3rd 2022 my husband Kacey passed. We were married for 45 years
Your story made me weep profoundly, it also awoken my soul provided light and helped me to accept the things I can not change. My gratitude to you runs deep. 🙏💞🐾👣

Oh dear that was really sad and made me cry. I have a large white dog who is 10 possibly now. I worry about him all the time. Like you we have a similar relationship. We are dependent I reckon on each other. He woke me at 4 this morning cos he heard a fox. Tiresome. Not unusual.
I got a dog to make me feel safe at night after an intruder story which I’ll spare you the details. Bad story. Blanquito has been by my side moreorless ever since. I know I will howl. However we are not there yet. Sorry for your loss and maybe you might consider rescuing another buddy one day.
I wish you well. 🙏🏼

Thank you so much for sharing so openly. I understand this feeling and concept deeply, and appreciate your insight on it.

This was so good! Thank you for sharing. It made me cry, but I think I needed to. Also, I have been confused about acceptance of a chronic illness. I’m always trying to figure out if there’s anything that might help (there are no approved treatments) and how to keep working, but how can I be accepting it if I’m still trying to fix it? I think I also sometimes stuff my grief and frustration because I “should” accept it. This sort of permission to feel what you feel is helpful. Maybe it isn’t one acceptance of my condition forever, but rather feel each setback, grieve that, and then accept again and go on.

Relationships with my animals- dogs, cats, horses, have been amongst the most important and most costly in my life. It was the loss of a young colt I had bred that set me on the path that eventually led me to Buddhism. I once read “there is no remission from grief, no reprieve “ only time and acceptance. Thank you for sharing this hard-won lesson

Thank you for this. Four beloved doggos of mine have passed in my arms over the years. Keeping my heart open for them while it happened expanded my grasp of acceptance. Listing to this talk after this morning’s Zazen brought tears freely falling. Thank you. I needed to remember and step further into accepting the love, joy, affection and loss each dog brought into my life. Remembering Bullie, Zadkiel, LaLa, and especially Flapjack more fully this morning, though tearful, is a welcome blessing. Your memory of Kenya behind you while sitting brought back warm memories of how Flapjack used to curl up in front of me, against my folded legs, on the cushion while I sat. Thank you again. “Dog” is such a short word for loving beings that fill so much of our hearts.

Much heartfelt gratitude to you for sharing so deeply. I know I will return to these reflections in my moments of grief. So sorry for the loss of your sweet Kenya.

Thank you for sharing this story! May you keep honouring your feelings. May you have lots of love when sadness, pain, and grief stop by to say hi. May your love for her also bring you good memories of the time you had with her! 🌸🪷🪻🌷🌻🌼⚘️