Insecure

Rumi tells a story of a hare who defeats a menacing lion through cunning. All the animal victims of the lion’s prior reign of terror gather around the hare to praise him for his victory and for relieving them of this tyrant. Rejoicing that they can finally feel secure, the animals desire to hear the story of the hare’s cunning over and over again for it is music to their ears and balm to their hearts. But the hare is not so easily swept up by the hero role draped over him by others. He advises his peers to remember that the lion was only their external foe, whereas a fiercer opponent, the dragon of their ego spreads mayhem within them.

When from the outward fight I turned around
The war inside our soul was what I found:
‘The small jihad we have just left behind’
For a jihad of a much greater kind;
The strength from God is what I long to win
Which can uproot Mount Qaf with just a pin,
Don’t overrate the lion which can kill!
The one who breaks himself is greater still.*

We feel a sense of security when our external circumstances align with our desires and are favorable to our outcomes. A bubble of relief forms around us when we’ve accomplished a level of success in the world. Unfortunately, the self always wants to attribute that success to its cunning. Rumi’s animals are enthralled by a story about one of their own defeating a lion, the obstacle in the way of their peace of mind.

Insecurity is an uncomfortable place to be. If we can channel all of our insecurity toward external concerns, we might numb the sense of existential insecurity that we all have, but only for a time. When we vanquish the lion, we are left with "the war inside our souls."

If we are insecure, then we find security in God. We are in need and God is overflowing. Ibn Ajiba writes that Tawwakul, that quality of reliance and dependence on God begins when one treats God like a benevolent confidant to whom he entrusts his affairs. A higher commitment of tawakkul is to be with God like a child is with his mother- unquestioning reliance and certainty of care.

If there is one thing that makes me feel insecure, it's motherhood. With my son’s autism, I anticipate moving differently in spaces to cover and compensate for his behavior. The other day, he and I went to a doctor’s office for a lingering cough (we’re fine FYI). The doctor’s office is socially-distanced and, as I found out upon arrival, they recommend people wait in their car until called. Just our luck we, were dropped off that day. Where I live in Northern Virginia is a mix of east coast liberals and southern conservatives, so I don’t always know which store or office or building is either going to say "No mask required," "Masks recommended," "Masks required," or "Masks still required." Yes, some locations are using still which I find a bit snarky. My son is not a fan of masking. There was a brief period where he tolerated wearing it under his nose, but that’s as good as it gets.

Since he’s been home with me 24/7 for the past two months, we have not advanced on his masking technique- we’ve backslid. Well, this doctor’s office was a MASKS STILL REQUIRED location, and I had nowhere else to wait but the waiting room so I sat with the discomfort of my maskless son in a room of masked people. Knowing I had no other options, I sat far from view hoping to be either unnoticed or pitied.

When the triage nurse saw us, she asked if I would put a mask on him. Instead of a circuitous reply, I sheepishly blurted out, "He’s autistic and it’s just not going to happen. I’m really sorry." Thankfully, she was empathetic. Performatively, I reached toward my son multiple times to put a mask on him just to illustrate that I wasn’t pulling her leg. She couldn’t let us back into the waiting room nor could she send me into the treatment area without him wearing a mask. So I’d just have to wait in triage with him until the doctor was ready for me. She called the doctor on the phone and explained that she was with a mom and her autistic son who couldn’t wear a mask. I was grateful for her assistance but also perplexed that I was in the kind of predicament where I needed to be managed. It was surreal. I’m not accustomed to feeling insecure about my differences. Sitting in that insecurity, I could feel the subtle weight of tears form and stand still atop my lower eyelids.

The doctor beckoned us. I settled in with my son, weary of his reactions to what was to follow; preparing my phone as a distraction. I was up first. Listening to my inhale and exhale beneath the bend of her stethoscope, the doctor came in close. Looking toward my heart, she whispered, "My son is autistic too." I’m pretty strong, but in that vulnerable moment she made me feel less alone and it was as if God was reminding me that insecurity is the reality of being human; it’s not a defect. We are insecure and God is our safe harbor.


*To purchase Jawid Mojaddedi’s translation of Rumi’s Masnavi, go here.