What To Do When There’s No One There
There is a slow, steady process that happens between a parent and baby – or any caregiver and infant. A process of trust growing and developing, a tender time when perfection isn’t needed, just enough consistency for something good to grow.
It’s called the Arousal Relaxation Cycle, described by theorists such as Cline and Fahlberg. An infant cries, has a need such as hunger or tiredness, and the parent/carer responds. The infant is soothed, settled, their need is met and they relax. Some time later, the same process happens again, maybe the same need or a different one. The parent/carer responds, figures it out, maybe through trial and error. But they persist, only needing to be good enough and the infant settles, quietens and begins to trust over time that they are loved, heard, that help and care is there for them when needed. Not only that, but the young infant learns from the very beginning that it is ok to have needs, to cry for help, that this is part of being alive, being loved and in relationship.
And it continues through to adulthood. When that child-now-adult feels under stress, after a difficult day at work, when ill, or at a time of trauma or upset, they may still seek contact with the parent/carer. They may phone for a familiar chat, turn up to be fed once again, seeking to be cared for by someone who understands, who allows them to have needs and responds with warmth and love.
Things can become complicated when this process is interrupted. And it can be interrupted in many ways because we are human. But this model carries us through life. It’s essentially the way that all relationships form and grow to varying degrees, from good friendships to intimate lovers.
But what happens when there is no one to respond? When the parents or carers once there are no longer available? When there is no significant other, no particular person, no first responder? Because we live at a time when community is not always easy to find, when family does not look like it used to. There can be big relational gaps, significant vacancies where there isn’t an obvious place to turn, an obvious person to run to.
I’ve been in a time where I do not have an emergency contact. Those forms at work where there needs to be next-of-kin in case of emergency? I honestly have had no idea who to put. I can’t really put my young children’s names down as the people to call when they themselves need picking up from school because I’ve been injured. I’m laughing but it’s felt really vulnerable. Very exposed. Knowing that if I get into financial trouble, particularly as a single parent, that I have nowhere to go. That if ever the worst hits, if I become ill and unable to work, that there is no back up, no one to help. No one who could scoop me and my children up and make sure we are ok. There isn’t a safety net.
And I know that I am not alone with this. There are many people who are in this situation too. There is a deep loneliness and isolation that comes with this, isn’t there? A big emotional hole that physically aches at times. Because it’s also about not having a sense of home, of belonging. Feeling like a piece of driftwood with nowhere to hold to, with no one holding onto me. That when that Arousal-Relaxation Cycle kicks in, there is a system error, there is no one to respond and no one watching to notice.
Frankly, this can be a dark place. One that can easily tip into despair because of the emotional ripples and repercussions it can cause. Let’s not go down that deep rabbit hole.
The thing that has seriously surprised me during this time is how He has worked with this, shown up in this. We know that He says about being close to the broken hearted. But the Bible doesn’t elaborate what that looks like, how He does this. It’s only in the experience, in the actual hard feeling of that place, that we discover it for real, beyond theology and knowledge and into a very real intimate experience with Him that’s as close as a kiss.
If we can manage to not numb ourselves in those hard emotional places, if we can manage to not eat or drink or shop our feelings; if we can manage to not exercise and endorphin our feelings; to not busy and work ourselves, avoid and distract ourselves in the myriad of ways that we do, then He can have space to respond.
He’s not a good enough parent. He’s a perfect parent.
If we can notice the feelings, the needs and ask for Him to come and help, still ourselves long enough to hear Him, sense Him, then He will. He is the ultimate first responder and His capacity is way beyond that of any real human parent. Because ultimately we didn’t come from our mum and dad, we weren’t formed and created by them. We were formed and created by Him.
He delighted in every moment of dreaming us up, creating us, hiding us in a waiting womb to grow before we were even noticed by our human parents; before we showed up as a line on a stick or on an ultrasound scan. He was singing and rejoicing over the beginning of us before anyone else even knew we were there. That’s how much we actually belong with Him, how we’re defined by Him, His voice over us being louder and stronger, coming both before and lasting longer than any human voice ever could.
And His eye is always keenly on us; He never dies, never leaves, is always able to respond. He knows when we are going to cry out, when we are going to need Him, He is watching, waiting, ready for the cry, wanting to respond. Not out of duty – never out of duty – but out of fierce, unrelenting love.
At the dark moments, the hardest points of this time, the emotional hurt has been almost physical and I’ve desperately needed to be held and held together, to know that I’m really not alone, that I am seen and known by someone, loved by someone.
I’ve had to ask for Him to come close in the absence of anyone else. There’s been no other option. And He has responded to the desperation. He’s not callous or hardened. He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t tell me to pull myself together. Instead, He has been present with a gentleness, a sweet tenderness that has met a deep need more than any human arms could. It may not be a physical hug (God-goals, we are working on this…) but it’s a deep peace, a to-the-core feeling of being intimately known, understood, held, secure, still and completely joined with Him. Where I’m so aware of His approval, that I am completely His. It is being soothed and comforted in the deepest of ways, like an infant in the arms of the parent.
To begin, it was a faltering process, an uncertain one, turning to Him but a little unsure of what the response would be. How He would come, how it would be, whether it would be enough. Because this isn’t something we have done before. I’ve realised, looking back, how this really has been a steady process of forming a new attachment with a new parent, crying out and Him responding promptly, in this time-after-time, hour-by-hour, day-after-day kind of way. Gradually growing a deep trust in a new way, with a parent who will always be there, any time I need Him or Her, immediately, whatever time it is, wherever it is. Coming in comfort and also in practical ways, immediately present and powerful to rescue, in ways beyond the capacity of any human parent.
I didn’t know that this was what I needed, what He was leading me to do, but He did. He goes ahead and leads us beautifully, perfectly.
And over time, my uncertainty has become more sure. Being able to run into His presence, His comfort, His approval, increasingly quickly, with growing ease. The past encounters building and building so that we have our rhythm, our history, knowing what we have shared before, what has been spoken between us, that’s only ours. How He speaks to every part of me perfectly in the way that’s needed, softening, bringing me home, bringing me to life. How I have loved each moment with Him and just want more. There’s a freedom and joy and ease to it because He never missteps, always being with me in the way that I need. I don’t know how He does it. He really knows what He is doing. I really can trust Him.
Faltering starts pay dividends. They grow, slowly, steadily like anything else. Like a tender bud pushing through the concrete of hard places. And He’s gentle and so kind. He’ll go at our pace. He’s just waiting for when we are ready to grow something beautiful with Him. So call to Him and let it begin.