I have learned so much from being a student — and at times a teacher — of the principles of innate health. The biggest lesson was seeing my limited control in life. Not only am I not in control of the weather outside nor my loved ones, I'm not even in full control of my own moods. There’s an all powerful and loving Source that is.
I came to see that I have a lane, and inside that lane, I can do quite well. Outside of it, I don't do very well. I became more interested in staying in my lane and more aware of the Source. My life got lighter.
And still — somewhere along the way, I encountered difficulty.
I'm not here to say the principles of innate health are incomplete. I only want to describe what I personally couldn't find there, and what I later found somewhere else: in the world of Musar, Jewish self-development, specifically in the teachings of students of Rav Shlomo Wolbe, obm.
His idea, in short, is this: the world was created for the sake of Yedidus — for warm, loving connection. Though warm connection occurs with other people and with the Creator, it actually begins inside me, between two distinct entities:
a) the neshama — the loving adult, and b) the nefesh — the lovable child.
These are two genuinely distinct facets of me and there's a relationship happening between them at all times. Sometimes it's a relationship of exquisite affection and togetherness. Sometimes it's a relationship of estrangement and aloneness.
I had been noticing the second kind in myself — a sticky aloneness, a chronic undercurrent of shame, of being ill at ease in my own skin. I didn't know what to do with it. It was weighing me down and I was indulging habits I didn’t like.
I stayed loyal to what I’d learned in the Principles, to the idea that there's nothing other than a single Source, and that my moment-to-moment experience is being created by that source right now. But honestly, it felt cool. Abstract. Philosophically tidy, but not so helpful against the recurring aloneness and shame I was carrying.
What changed things was learning about yedidus, the loving connection that isn't just a concept — it’s a startlingly warm reality that is waiting to be chosen, to be ignited. The natural desire of any child – when there’s trust – is to connect warmly with a loving and capable adult, and vice versa. That warmth doesn’t prevent all difficulties, but it creates a safe environment in which a child can be with difficulties, navigate and question them, and open to new and courageous paths.
I started filtering this idea through my own experience as a parent.
When my children are in distress, not only do I not try to control them, I communicate something specific: I see your pain. I see your courage. I get you. I am with you.
I want to carry their pain and look at their heroism alongside them. If I get permission, I'll offer guidance. But the main message is always: you are not alone in this. We're together. Whatever you're feeling doesn't have to be carried, or suffered, by you alone. Your victories are not seen by you alone.
Once I have their trust, I will also assert loving authority. I will communicate expectations and boundaries. And because of the warm trust, they will experience my authority as an extension of our warm connection.
Connecting my parenting to the neshama and nefesh dynamic was new. And I opened to the idea that I could offer my nefesh the same thing I offer my kids.
Had mistrust crept in? Yes. I had been meeting the pain and shame with deep but cool clarity: “your experience is being created in the now, moment to moment.”
But with no adult to hold the pain, it festered. In the absence of the neshama and nefesh seeking each other with an understanding of their respective roles, my life became host to inner mistrust, resentment, and estrangement between the two. Meanwhile, lacking a warm connection with the neshama, the nefesh had become more susceptible to the false security of my yetzer hara – my distortion impulse. This is not so different than a home in which a child doesn’t find reliable, warm, safe connection. He still needs connection; if not with his family, he’ll seek it in the street.
As I began to seek this connection, something began to shift. The aloneness started to soften. In its place came a steadier feeling: I have ups and downs, but I'm not alone in them. I have access to a loving connection and authority. I can question the distortion that lies behind the shame; I can consider new possibilities. My nefesh yearns to draw close to my neshama and my neshama yearns to draw it close.
My neshama turns out to be a wonderful loving guide and teacher. My nefesh turns out to be a delightful and lovable student and child. Together, the two of them are experiencing the reality of warm connection and accomplishing a great deal.
If you’d like to hear more of my thoughts on this topic, please visit this youtube link below for over 30 short videos. I welcome your input and questions.
I came to see that I have a lane, and inside that lane, I can do quite well. Outside of it, I don't do very well. I became more interested in staying in my lane and more aware of the Source. My life got lighter.
And still — somewhere along the way, I encountered difficulty.
I'm not here to say the principles of innate health are incomplete. I only want to describe what I personally couldn't find there, and what I later found somewhere else: in the world of Musar, Jewish self-development, specifically in the teachings of students of Rav Shlomo Wolbe, obm.
His idea, in short, is this: the world was created for the sake of Yedidus — for warm, loving connection. Though warm connection occurs with other people and with the Creator, it actually begins inside me, between two distinct entities:
a) the neshama — the loving adult, and b) the nefesh — the lovable child.
These are two genuinely distinct facets of me and there's a relationship happening between them at all times. Sometimes it's a relationship of exquisite affection and togetherness. Sometimes it's a relationship of estrangement and aloneness.
I had been noticing the second kind in myself — a sticky aloneness, a chronic undercurrent of shame, of being ill at ease in my own skin. I didn't know what to do with it. It was weighing me down and I was indulging habits I didn’t like.
I stayed loyal to what I’d learned in the Principles, to the idea that there's nothing other than a single Source, and that my moment-to-moment experience is being created by that source right now. But honestly, it felt cool. Abstract. Philosophically tidy, but not so helpful against the recurring aloneness and shame I was carrying.
What changed things was learning about yedidus, the loving connection that isn't just a concept — it’s a startlingly warm reality that is waiting to be chosen, to be ignited. The natural desire of any child – when there’s trust – is to connect warmly with a loving and capable adult, and vice versa. That warmth doesn’t prevent all difficulties, but it creates a safe environment in which a child can be with difficulties, navigate and question them, and open to new and courageous paths.
I started filtering this idea through my own experience as a parent.
When my children are in distress, not only do I not try to control them, I communicate something specific: I see your pain. I see your courage. I get you. I am with you.
I want to carry their pain and look at their heroism alongside them. If I get permission, I'll offer guidance. But the main message is always: you are not alone in this. We're together. Whatever you're feeling doesn't have to be carried, or suffered, by you alone. Your victories are not seen by you alone.
Once I have their trust, I will also assert loving authority. I will communicate expectations and boundaries. And because of the warm trust, they will experience my authority as an extension of our warm connection.
Connecting my parenting to the neshama and nefesh dynamic was new. And I opened to the idea that I could offer my nefesh the same thing I offer my kids.
Had mistrust crept in? Yes. I had been meeting the pain and shame with deep but cool clarity: “your experience is being created in the now, moment to moment.”
But with no adult to hold the pain, it festered. In the absence of the neshama and nefesh seeking each other with an understanding of their respective roles, my life became host to inner mistrust, resentment, and estrangement between the two. Meanwhile, lacking a warm connection with the neshama, the nefesh had become more susceptible to the false security of my yetzer hara – my distortion impulse. This is not so different than a home in which a child doesn’t find reliable, warm, safe connection. He still needs connection; if not with his family, he’ll seek it in the street.
As I began to seek this connection, something began to shift. The aloneness started to soften. In its place came a steadier feeling: I have ups and downs, but I'm not alone in them. I have access to a loving connection and authority. I can question the distortion that lies behind the shame; I can consider new possibilities. My nefesh yearns to draw close to my neshama and my neshama yearns to draw it close.
My neshama turns out to be a wonderful loving guide and teacher. My nefesh turns out to be a delightful and lovable student and child. Together, the two of them are experiencing the reality of warm connection and accomplishing a great deal.
If you’d like to hear more of my thoughts on this topic, please visit this youtube link below for over 30 short videos. I welcome your input and questions.
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