Who Fills Your Bowl?

I did it again. I was tired and depleted. I was hungry to be seen, heard, and loved. For someone else to see my empty bowl, and say, Oh my goodness . . . look how much you’ve been giving to everyone else. Sit here. Don’t you move. Rest your tired, body, your spinning mind, your tender heart. Let me cook up something just for you, fill that bowl of yours with delicious nourishment.

But, of course, I didn’t say I was feeling empty. I certainly didn’t express my need or desire in any clear, direct way. I just wanted them to see into me, read my mind, intuit my hunger, and offer precisely what I needed. (Where’s an Enneagram Two when you need one?!?) And surprise surprise, they didn’t do that. I left our time together with my empty bowl, and some profound disappointment, edging toward resentment.

It took me days to remember what I already know, this uncomfortable truth: I am responsible for my own bowl. We all need to be loved, and there are ways in which we give and receive love, that fill each other’s bowls. But ultimately, we are responsible for our own bowl’s care. 

When I was dating in my 20s, I would often get so hurt and disappointed. Why wasn’t he asking more questions? Or listening to what I had to share? Why wasn’t he doing this thoughtful thing for me? Or speaking the words I longed to hear? And when I got upset, why couldn’t he see through the door of my bedroom into my hurting heart and come apologize?

One night when I was feeling particularly down about ever finding good love, I contemplated throwing in the towel. I wondered (or was it prayer?), why can’t someone just read my mind and love me like I want to be loved? A revolutionary response whispered into my mind: I already love you like that, Kimberly.  And you can love yourself too, you know. Not in a self-centered way, but with tender kindness. You’re right about one thing: no one else can read your mind (especially if you don’t speak it.) But here’s a wonderful thing-you can read your own mind! You already know what you need, desire, long to hear.  And you have so much good love to give. How about giving some to yourself? Tell yourself. Love yourself.

Basically, fill your own bowl. Or rather, let’s you and I fill you from the inside. I am the bread of life, I am the living water. Come to me, your Source, and you will never go hungry, thirsty, empty.

I thought of a David Wilcox song I’d been listening to for years, entitled Break in the Cup, about how often we try to make each other happy, striving to be who the other wants us to be. Often, we just end up pouring ourselves out, finding ourselves empty. The song ends with the lines:

We cannot trade empty for empty.

We must go to the waterfall.

For there’s a break in the cup

     that holds love inside us all.

Waking up to this Love that was already and always there changed everything. It could actually fill what felt like a bottomless well inside me. And then I didn’t expect this partner or this friend, this family or community, or even the sum total of them, to give me the love I needed. I could just receive the love they were each able to give in the ways they could give it. I learned that we’re all so different, we actually have to teach one another how to love us well. Over time, in many of these relationships, I could express what helps me feel loved, and learn what makes others feel loved. We could grow in our understanding of and care for one another.

But as much as we want to, as hard as we try, we can never completely fill each other.  We are tiny, flawed vessels, and there is but one Source.

Clearly, I still forget. I crave more imperfect, human love, even if it’s not enough. I want it to come from particular people at particular times. Meanwhile, I may totally miss a gift of love coming from an unexpected channel. Sometimes I still wish other people could read my mind, particularly when I feel too tired and worn out to read my own. But I know this is a fool’s errand. As others have so wisely said, wishes and expectations like that are just disappointments waiting to happen.

So lately, I’ve been starting my day remembering Who fills me. I take into my hands this beautiful pottery bowl my friend made for me (there’s love!) and sit under a little lap blanket knit for my baby boy (more love). I sit cross-legged in the early morning light, hear the birds waking into song. I hold my bowl in my lap, feel its size, its shape, its heft. I look down into it and admire its earth-colored contours. I sit in silence. There is plenty of love and nourishment to be found, if I just remember where to bring my bowl.