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  • Dear Parents

    Although I have left my job as a teacher, I think about my students and their families regularly. I definitely miss the joy those kids brought to my life. (At the same time, I really really really love how…hmmm, what is this peculiar feeling? Oh! Relaxed! Rested. Yes, I really love how relaxed and rested I feel.)

    Hands down, the absolute best part of the career for me was connecting with the students and forming significant bonds. I grew to love all of them (95%), and there are a few who I absolutely wish I could adopt. I also observe and see that, while many of them have solid parents whose values are in place and are clearly nailing the parent thing, there are others who have fallen into the trap of forgetting what really matters and what is healthiest to instill in children. I don’t know if it’s an American thing or universally typical but then compounded with this generation of helicopter parents or a private school/privileged/entitled issue, but I do know that it’s there. So if I could send out a letter to the families and hold nothing back, it would go a little something like this:

    (NOTE: Much of this is in jest. Come on.)

    Dear Parents, 

    This trimester has been pretty chill. We read a book, we learned some cool words, we wrote some responses and stories. Yes, we did some grammar, because I had a gun held to my head, but allow me to go on a rant for a moment: Learning grammar as an isolated subject is stupid and won’t make your children better at writing. You know what makes someone better at writing? Writing. And re-writing. And also getting older. And reading a lot. Most great writers are not taught to be great writers. They just are. It wasn’t because someone taught them about gerunds and participles. That right there reduces writing to a menial task of memorization and logic, but it is not: writing is an art form, and an artist improves through the practice of the craft. Van Gogh wasn’t a great painter because he knew the chemical compounds of his oils. He had heart and soul and an understanding of dimension and space and color, and he threw all that shit to the wall and noticed what stuck. (Did you know that yours truly failed a bunch of grammar exams in high school, but always crushed it on essays and stories? I still can’t tell you what certain clauses mean, and I never will, but check me out right now with all my tone and wit and voice.) If you’re concerned, make your kids read a book a week and keep a journal, and I promise you, they’ll be alright. And if they have no desire to pursue any sort of writing as a career, then as long as they can compose an email, they’ll be alright, too. So, yes. We had fun with some projects. Greek mythology and all that.

    On a more serious note, dear parents, I have to address some of my core philosophical beliefs. Many of you are a burden to your children and are only stressing them out and making their lives harder (or else you are infantilizing them and turning them into spoiled, entitled brats who will not be prepared for the real world, but I’ll save that for another time.) It’s what they’ve shared with me, in so many words, and it’s what I have seen. I know it’s not always intentional or “your fault.” But it is there.

    You do understand that they are eleven and twelve years old, yes? That straight A’s don’t matter, yes? That instilling in them the belief that their worth and abilities are measured by some fabricated system of numbers and letters is ludicrous, yes? It won’t really matter where they go to high school or college. They could go to Harvard or Stanford and still get strung out on heroin, hit their spouses, struggle with depression and hate themselves. You can’t avoid that with a sexy GPA. It’s fine to plan for the future in small doses, but you’re overdoing it. They need you to listen and love and teach them some deeper shit. That is all. Stop glorifying busyness and stress and jam-packed schedules. Because the truth is, we are spiritual beings having human experiences, and the things we value and think are important are just impermanent, future-based illusions that prevent us from enjoying the present moment. It’s how we’ve been programmed. But the great news is that we can de-program ourselves. No, I am not high right now. I don’t get high anymore.

    Try this instead, and I will do the same: teach your kids to love themselves unconditionally, to seek a depth and range of truth and knowledge, and to have integrity. In fact, love yourselves unconditionally, learn some cool shit, have solid values, and then go be a role model. Teach them to watch their thinking and understand how crazy it is. Explain that they are conditioned to have negative thoughts of fear and scarcity because it’s leftover garbage from when they were apes and that there is actually quite nothing to fear. Help them understand that it’s just the brain doing its business: crapping out a bunch of nonsense and lies in circles and re-runs. Teach them that they are pretty powerless over controlling their lives, especially with their brains, and that there is nothing in need of their control. Let them know the truth: life is way more fun when we let go and trust that it’s all going to work out. What else will it do? Our hands all over things just makes it harder. It’s still important to put forth effort and make something, but chill out on the intensity. Teach them that they’re taken care of no matter what, whether by a god or a star or an imaginary creature or Elsa from Frozen or by their own shiny little souls. It’s a much more fun way to live. Stress the importance of learning for learning’s sake, not to get some grade. We should learn because it is important and helps us grow, not because it makes our report cards look all nice. Teach them to be accountable because it will serve them out there in the real world and will lower their asshole rating. They’re not going to school and turning homework in to get an A – they’re doing it because they are practicing accountability and showing up. Teach them good values and ethics and morals, but not in the Santa Claus way – they’ll just develop split personality and unnecessary guilt if they get caught up in trying to be too good. And chill on the moral relativism – yes, we are all one, but kids still need to learn responsibility and the reality of good and evil. They can figure the subtleties out as they grow. Help them to combine tolerance and discernment, as necessary.

    Teach them to accept all of their feelings, positive and negative. Teach them that it’s normal to get angry, sad, frustrated, ashamed, jealous, unsure, confused, or scared. Teach them that it is so super duper regular, that all humans feel that way, and give them healthy tools to move through the pain around those feelings. Let them cry for as long as they need. Give them space. Don’t instill shame. Shame is toxic and leads to every form of self-destruction and addiction. And for goodness sakes, deal with your own shit. Don’t hand it over to them.

    Expose them to art. Music. Literature. Poetry. Movies. Comedy. Dance. Meditation. Prayer. Long walks. Solitude. Quiet. Independence. Dogs. Love of others. Don’t teach them that happiness exists in money or status or appearance or good grades. It doesn’t. It’s nice and all, but come on. You know this. Stop teaching that it’s bad to be alone or that another person will make or break their capacity to feel joy. Teach them that joy is within. “Heaven” is within. Everything is within.

    Look, if I had my way, I wouldn’t give any grades. Or, I would, but like, don’t freak out so much about them. I’d leave a lot more time for meditating/chilling/dancing, and I’d teach everyone the importance of stand-up comedy. I’d read great books, show great films, play great music, allow hours to write. Watch trippy documentaries on space and the universe and the history of France. I would teach a whole bunch of content – the history and art and literature of the world! – but I’d take the sting out of it. I’d make it fun. Isn’t this shit interesting? Sit and talk. Sit and listen. That’s why I love “teaching.” Not because I get to give vocabulary quizzes and wear pencil skirts, but because I get to connect and explore with sweet creatures who want to laugh and wonder and feel loved simply because they exist. They should really call the job “hanging outing with kids-ing” instead of teaching. What do I have to teach? I’m just a kid playing adult dress up, like the rest of us. But I like having a grand ol’ time, I do!

    So yeah, good job on conceiving and birthing a child into this world. I’m glad I got to meet her. I’m glad he was in my class. Even if he wasn’t my favorite, I won’t forget him. Even if she caused me sleepless nights, I forgive her. I was a sixth grader once, too. And I think what I really needed were parents who understood and teachers who were honest and kind and loving.

    Alright, that’s enough out of me, parents. I’ve got a walk to take and some real writing to do. Good job on the trimester. Please, if at all possible, never email me. Unless you want to talk about the universe, alcoholism, or Game of Thrones, save those anxious rants about the homework for your higher power. It’ll all work out!

  • Miracle

    If you have ever had an eating disorder, then you know. You understand what it feels like to be consumed with thoughts of food and weight at every moment. You know the calorie count of every single item at the store, and if you don’t, you could probably venture a guess. You know the fear of losing control, of eating too much or eating the “wrong” thing. You know that sharp sting of self-hatred and shame that centers itself in the midst of it all. Maybe it was mild for you – a slight obsession here and there. Or maybe it was violent and damn near close to killing you as you puked your feelings into the toilet or starved until your period stopped or restricted every “bad” food until there seemed to be nothing left to eat except organic local lettuce. Whatever your experience, and I have had all of the above, I hope you have found or come to one day find recovery. There is a way out, and not just from arresting the problems, but to a place where you will be completely free from the whole pain in the heart, waste of time mess. It has been nothing short of a miracle for me.

    I’ve written in other posts about my history of disordered eating and the ups and downs I went through in recovery. Here, I want to write about the miracle of where I am today. I never, ever, ever thought I would be released from the bondage of disordered eating. I knew I could have “abstinence” from bulimia and intense bingeing, and for a long time, that was a huge relief and good enough for me. But I still thought I would live the rest of my life disliking my body, thinking too much about food, and worried about eating “healthy.” I believed there would always lurk some sort of dissatisfaction and mild obsession. Today, that is not the case. But, unlike any other addiction, especially one to a substance that we have to completely stop using in order to get better (alcohol, drugs) it has taken a long time and a lot of forward and back steps and moments of what one might consider relapse. With food problems, my experience has been that the only way out is through. And through means eating. A lot.

    Like how you have to completely stop drinking in order to have recovery from alcoholism, I think if you’ve gone through periods of strong food restriction, you have to eat everything in order to get free. You have to give yourself permission, put the cards on the table, discover that no food is this evil dangerous entity, despite what the media and health gurus tell us. Yes, there are foods that, if eaten in extreme ungodly amounts are not good for our bodies. (Any food, actually.) There are chemicals out there that are best avoided. But also, so what? Trust me – a Diet Coke or processed meal once a month is far better than obsessing daily about every single thing you put into your mouth. The mind is powerful, and when we obsess and fear, we do major damage to every system in our body. So, through means eating – a lot. This means you might gain weight for a while or feel all over the place emotionally. Restriction is distraction, and when we quit distracting ourselves, we start waking up to ourselves.

    When I gave myself permission to eat whatever I wanted, I gained weight. Not tons of weight, but enough to have to buy some new clothes and feel a whole lot of fear. It sucked. It also was the best thing I ever could have done. It helped restore my metabolism, menstruation, libido, and freedom with eating. It also wasn’t forever. The weight started to come back off after a few months, and then it really came off after a year or so, because I no longer was obsessed or restricting. I ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and I found I did so very moderately. Not because I was trying to be moderate, but because I could feel when my stomach had had enough and I was full. Also, food stopped being so exciting and distracting. It was no longer a drug. I didn’t look forward to every meal. I didn’t need to keep eating in order to avoid feelings. Food was nice, but it was also just food, and I had learned how to properly deal with my thinking and emotions.

    I still like to eat relatively “healthy,” because it feels better in my body, but it’s not at all obsessive or hardcore. I’m not worried about chemicals, oils, sugars, or whatever in any kind of intense way. Healthy, by the way, is a relative term. All it means to me are foods that taste good and feel good. A lot of people think dairy and eggs and sugar and any meat whatsoever are unhealthy. I beg to differ. Perhaps they don’t agree with you, but these aren’t dangerous foods. Eating McDonald’s three times a day would start to become harmful, but anyone who is listening to her body and free from addiction probably wouldn’t eat that way. The body is smart, and it knows how to regulate itself.

    I love yogurt. I love Nutella. I love coffee and cream. I’ll eat an apple from the gas station, GMO’s and all. What – EVER. I’ll have a gluten-filled sandwich or a cheeseburger. Some french fries. A pastry. I’ll go days without a vegetable. I don’t drink green juice anymore. I just don’t worry about it. And not to turn this into a diet, but since I learned how to eat whatever and whenever I wanted (it took years, no rush) I eat a lot less. I just don’t care about food that much. I’m actually not a foodie. At all. When I was restricting and dieting and in the throes of eating disorders, it was all I thought about and therefore I usually ended up eating way too much. Or I would starve myself for days and then binge like a madwoman.

    Could I slip back into it? Maybe. My brain occasionally tries to do its old thing of counting calories or scrupulously reading labels or thinking “if I get the salad instead of the sandwich I’ll lose weight and be better,” even though my stomach is like, “I really want a sandwich, please.” I ignore it, let it go, move on to more important things. Less than 2% of additives in my tortillas are not going to give me cancer. Worrying about it, fearing it, and standing in the grocery store for two hours might.

    I am a big believer that our bodies adjust to where they are supposed to be when we tend to our inner landscape, and I’m not talking about our stomachs. Our deep down inner selves. We are not going to magically love ourselves and feel loved by getting thin or hot or “cleansed and detoxed” or whatever the goal might be. We are not going to fix self-hatred and broken spirits by shoving superfoods (does anyone actually like Goji berries?) and greens down our throats or fasting. It’s not going to happen. That is a backwards equation. We have to love ourselves first and cease restriction and addiction, and then our weight regulates and our beauty shines through. When we love ourselves, we take good care of ourselves, and that probably means putting nice things into our bodies. And then leaving it alone. Moving on. Living.

    If you knew me eight years ago, or five, or even three, you would have seen a young woman obsessed with and terrified of food and body. If you had asked me if I thought I would ever be free, I would have said never. Or when I’m skinny, maybe. Not today. I am completely free. And it’s a complete miracle.

  • To Live

    To live in the world is to live with courage. I don’t care what walk of life you walk – it is hard for humans everywhere. It is also a blessing and a bizarre trip – to have a body and heart and a mind and to put water and dead animals and plants into our mouths so we stay alive and to make love and try to get along with other beings and find hobbies and work to fill up all the empty space. It’s weird. Something makes it rather frightening and stressful and seemingly impossible. Our circumstances. Our thinking, mostly. Our thinking is a real pain in the ass. Sometimes it is a nightmare.

    I think often of my friends who are dead. Some of them died in car accidents, a few of them overdosed. But I think specifically of the few who took their own lives, the deep suffering they must have felt. That there was no way out. Their heads got too loud with that thinking, that thinking that tells those dark and untrue tales… Yes – to live in the world, to live in the body at all, is to live with courage.

    My friend Abby, who I met when I was fifteen, killed herself two years ago in New Hampshire. I don’t know the full story. We had lost touch in recent years, and the details, naturally, were kept very private. I can imagine she must have been in agony. We spent our teen years silencing the darkness in our heads with copious amounts of alcohol and drugs. We bonded over our deep and resonant love of music, literature, and movies. She had a wicked sense of humor, a stellar fashion sense. She herself was beautiful and fiercely intelligent. She came from wealth but wasn’t a snob. She was, like myself, a hopeless alcoholic and addict who also suffered from eating disorders and all that lies beneath that: family trauma and abuse and its remnants of shame, fear, and self-hatred. We both shared moments of sobriety and recovery together. We attended meetings together and shared stories over coffee. We both relapsed at various times. I made it back. Abby didn’t.

    Like so many of us, Abby had an impenetrable wall, even when we were both sober. I rarely saw her cry or grow emotional. She could be tough, but often when confronted she shut down. Beneath her tough, tattooed, leather jacketed exterior was a wounded kid searching for a little peace. She searched for it in beauty: in being gorgeous, in art, in collecting glamorous clothes and purses and shoes, in photographs. Art is a great solution, but it cannot be without God, and I think hers came to be without God. She must have forgotten that she was worthy, beyond appearances. It is so easy to lose ourselves in the external, especially in cities like Los Angeles, especially when we have the financial means to do so. It breaks my heart that she couldn’t find her peace in a lasting way. I watched her body shrink to less than eighty pounds in the last few years of her life, her walls stretch and harden, her state of mind darken. She was using drugs again and starving herself to the point of needing frequent hospitalizations. She was incapable of getting real or vulnerable – the shell was hard and encasing.

    When I heard she had died, my heart broke. I was sitting in a bed and breakfast in Edinburgh, Scotland, browsing Facebook, and I saw a memorial on her page. This was a couple of months after her death. I had had no idea. I began to weep. I hate to say it, but I wasn’t entirely surprised. I knew she was on a highly dangerous trajectory simply in terms of her physical health. I knew her mental and emotional state couldn’t have been much better. I assumed at first that she had overdosed or had a heart attack from being so underweight. When I talked to a mutual friend about what really happened, it hurt. I also related. About six or seven years ago, I fantasized often about hanging myself with this old jumprope I had in the closet. I thought at the time that I was broken beyond repair. I came to find that there is no such thing. Not all of us do.

    A day or so later, I discovered that another high school friend had passed, this time from a freak heart attack. He was best friends with my older brother for a time and one of those men about campus who every girl loves and every guy wants to be. Kind, handsome, driven – inevitably successful. It was tragic, his passing, the suddenness of it, the reality that it wasn’t drug related, it wasn’t suicide. So many of us did not make it out of high school without substance abuse issues – he did. And still, death. I imagine he did not want to die. Both instances broke my heart. I imagined their families, that suffering. Both instances reminded me of two things: one, to love fiercely, myself and others, no matter what. Two, to live as much as possible, while living.

    It grows sometimes unbearably cliche – the carpe diem urgings and the let go of that which we cannot change and the practice gratitude for what you already have because you never know – it can become so tiresome to hear all that, especially when we are caught up, but it doesn’t make it any less true. We are all going to die, and we don’t know when, and to live fully, imperfectly, with reverence for life is the most important lesson of all. Even when it’s shitty, and even when we have very justifiable reasons to hate everyone and everything, and even when we think we are very bad people who are broken beyond repair. (Which we never are.) Sometimes, I think, I want so much to prove my aliveness through the importance of my stories, my thoughts, my feelings, my identity. Maybe that’s why my head spins, because it’s scared if I stop thinking, I will no longer exist. But does it really matter, really, at the end of the day? I get so tired of the yarns my mind weaves. I get so tired of the silly stories and the keeping score and obsessions and sufferings and daily irritations. The brain is the dumbest organ of all. But underneath all that and above all that and inside it all and through, there is the stillness of simply being, of living, the wonder. That I don’t have to try so hard or be so good or work toward anything other than existing, happy, breathing, alive.

    I empathize with my friend who suffered those tornadoes in her brain. I understand why she needed to leave. I wish she had held on and found relief like so many of us have, even if the relief is fleeting and temporary and we have to keep bringing ourselves back around to it. She didn’t, and that’s OK, and perhaps she is somewhere far better and very free. Who ever knows, except those who go? To live in the world is to live with courage, but it also takes courage to die.

     

     

  • Above All, Compassion

    There’s this old Peter Gabriel song that really cracks me open, not only for its beauty and power but because it reminds me of a time in my life that was particularly dark and stormy. I remember listening to it on repeat in my old Honda Accord, driving home on Sunset still drunk on whiskey and coming down from methamphetamine. I had spent the night with an older man at his Hollywood home, a man I had met in outpatient rehab no less. Before I ended up at his place, I was in the valley with my friend Jackie, getting hopelessly hammered and making a complete fool of myself in front of her and her roommates. I was overmedicated with anti-depressants and overweight due to compulsive eating. I regularly drove drunk and often in blackouts. I sometimes cut my arms with razor blades. It was a desperate, depressing, frenzied moment in my life of alcoholism. I was nineteen and hopeless, and I wanted to die. Instead I drank, drugged, and slept with anyone who was willing. Anyway, the song came up on my playlist tonight, and it helped pull me out of the beating myself up spiral and self-judgement loop that crept up on me over the past few days. It reminded me of just how dark it can get for us, just how full of self-hate and despair we can feel, and that the solution is always, above all, compassion. Especially for ourselves. Because look how strong we are, how far we can come.

    That was over ten years ago when I drove west on Sunset, and my life has changed dramatically since then, not only in terms of sobriety but also with my level of self-care and self-esteem. I am sober a few years and deeply grateful every day to be free from that hell. I no longer suffer from debilitating depression. I no longer hate myself and want to die. I am, however, still prone to codependence in all of its nasty forms and the character defects that go along with it; namely fear, guilt, judgement, people-pleasing, and self-doubt. I am still highly affected by other people’s behavior and can get very triggered. I often interpret another’s actions as somehow correlated to my actions and worth – for example, if a client expresses the slightest dissatisfaction or micromanages my work because of her own anxiety, I instantly assume it is because I am a failure, made huge, unforgivable mistakes, and will never get it right. I essentially come back to this very old and dark belief: I am in trouble,I am bad, I am worthless. 

    I am of the belief that codependents are particularly sensitive to those who mirror back to them their false belief system. It’s like how the highly sensitive fall under the spell of narcissists, or love addicts chase the love avoidant: codependents get sucked in by micro-managers who are perfectly comfortable with crossing boundaries and lacking in truly valuing another person’s worth. This has happened recently with a work situation, and even though my gut told me to walk away a couple of months ago for a myriad of reasons, my codependency had me stick it out. It took getting uncomfortable enough to finally make a decision to end the relationship. I’m glad for the process because it offered a valuable learning experience, and I now feel more confident going forward with business decisions. I am of the firm belief that we can really only learn by trial and error. In the midst of feeling fear, self-pity, and anger about the behavior of another, if you’re open to recovery, comes the reality that we are not helpless and can make a choice, even if it takes time. This experience was another reminder that it is my responsibility to stop putting up with inappropriate treatment or behavior, even if in the process my system is screaming in codependent panic. It’s frightening to shift the dynamic of old behaviors. When you’re a chronic people-pleaser, it is downright emotional to stop. Setting boundaries sounds great in theory; in practice, if you’re a real codependent, it can feel like death. It does actually end up being empowering and positive, but it doesn’t feel that way at first.

    There is also the reality that I will never arrive at any kind of perfect and protected existence, free from those who challenge me; this recovery stuff is not meant to cure anything or render me an untouchable god – it simply offers support and a little more freedom, serenity, awareness, and authenticity. I still have to interact in the world and will inevitably come to face to face with more triggering realities. Even healthy clients and friends that I love sometimes bother me, and I am sure I sometimes bother them. I am powerless over other people’s behavior, period, but I am not helpless, and I can work with my reactions and choices, even if my thoughts and feelings sometimes take over and try to get the best of me. As the saying goes, “how you’re feeling is not always a reflection of how you’re doing.”

    When I made the decision to let this client go and give notice, I felt empowered, but I also had waves of extreme anxiety and guilt. I had a bit of a meltdown that evening and needed to conjure up some self-care and fast. If this sounds like no big deal to you, then you are probably not codependent. If it’s no real emotional thing to quit a job, fire a client, tell a friend how she’s upset you, then you probably had healthier boundaries growing up and are not so fearful to take care of your needs and express yourself honestly and directly. Not so with the people-pleasing codependent. This stuff is downright terrifying and taxing to our internal systems. It inevitably brings cascades of unwarranted guilt and doubt and making the other person a Higher Being. Better than. Capable of harming us and/or ruining our lives. It is exaggerated, sometimes catastrophic thinking, but that truth doesn’t matter in the moment – it feels real and overpowering. I can’t tell you how many times I have wished to be one of those people who could truly not give a fuck and let go of the need to be nice. Because niceness, at the cost of your own sanity and health, is overrated and unnecessary. People are supposed to take care of themselves. I have jokingly told my friends I wish I could be a bit more of a sociopath in my work dealings. Obviously, I don’t really want that – I don’t want to be heartless and cutthroat, and I don’t think I ever could be – but I do wish to grow more in the direction of not beating myself to a bloody pulp over some imagined harm I have done to the other person by taking care of my needs.

    So as I sat there in my bedroom writing and reading with this anxious pit in my stomach, the Peter Gabriel song came on, and a whoosh of self-compassion flooded me. I’m OK. I have come so far. I have known suffering and moved through it. I am allowed to be imperfect. I am allowed to be exactly who I am, whether people like it or not. I am doing a really good job. And it lifted. It occurred to me that at every step of this journey, through the ins and outs of getting triggered and setting boundaries and attempting vulnerability and intimacy and feeling angry and overwhelmed and working twelve steps and showing the fuck up to life, above all, compassion. It is not our faults that we are human and have this eight pound lump of matter in our heads that tells us all kinds of frightening tales (the majority of which aren’t real or happening.) And it is not even the lump of matter’s fault that it’s so hyper vigilant – it had to be a long ass time ago in order to encourage survival, and it doesn’t know that we are no longer being chased by snakes and tigers on a regular basis. And so, compassion, and then the eventual passing of feelings. I started to feel better. I got dressed and took myself out to an Al-Anon meeting, north on Sunset into Brentwood. And I listened to that song the whole way.

  • The Inside of Loneliness

    I have come to find that the feeling of feelings is the first step in surrender and moving toward growth and change, from whatever it is we need to surrender to, grow toward, and change from. Spilled tears, gasping sobs, clutched knees and calls to friends are part of the deal. Moments of self-pity, complaint, and babyish sentiments all have their place in the whole shebang. So, too, do discovery and awareness. Ah. So this is what this is all about. This is pretty big for me. I used to never really feel my grief. Usually, I just felt angry or anxious and very stuck, and even if I cried it didn’t actually clear out what was happening inside of me. It took time for me to be able to access the deeper layers of myself, where I could find release from going through the (e)motions rather than trying to force myself to feel or not feel something. I feel it all today, and sometimes it is deeply painful, but it is not unbearable and is actually sort of tender and relieving. And it always provides clarity.

    Last night I had a major loneliness lapse. It came after having plans with friends fall apart and a subsequent desperate attempt to hang out with an unavailable guy. This lapse was overdue, as I have been feeling loneliness creeping up on for me months now under the guises of boredom and restlessness. Don’t get me wrong – I rather like being alone and usually prefer it to crowds and groups – but what I often like even more than comfortable solitude is connecting with one other person, loving and feeling loved, listening and feeling heard. This can be quite difficult to come by. Perhaps my expectations are high or perhaps I am still guarded when it comes to letting people in. Or maybe it’s hard for many people. Something tells me I am not alone in this. I think we are living in the midst of some very strange times and people are far more isolated and cut off from others than we are willing to admit. Nevertheless, lonely did I feel, and sort of embarrassed, and pretty darn vulnerable.

    This year has marked significant change for me on many levels: work, financial, living quarters, personal and romantic situations. I went from working full time as a teacher and constantly being around people to tutoring part time and spending far more hours alone. I got back into yoga in a real way, back into AA in a real way, back into (for the first time in years) dating and relationships with men. Through that I stumbled upon more realities of codependence and love addiction and how they are factors in my experiences with dating and relationships as a whole. I became aware of how many of my friendships were set up in a way that I felt short-changed and dismissed, where I was the giver and received very little in return, that I would settle for this and call it good enough. I saw how much I had grown in being able to have a voice and stand up for myself and trust my gut, how much I could practice the stopping of making others my Higher Power. I saw my part in all of this, that it was no one else’s fault or purposeful behavior, that something in me was still seeking out others who would mirror this old sense of inadequacy, this old I am too much, I am overwhelming, I am difficult to love. (We tend to go toward what we were taught was love, that is, until we relearn.) My parents did the best they could, of course, but this was the message that was delivered. I was a sensitive child, the youngest of three, and I think in a way I was overwhelming to my parents. They barely had access to their own true feelings – I mean, these are people who called their divorce good because “they were going to stay friends”- they had no idea how to properly parent a kid like me. I had giant feelings from a young age, and my mother in particular had no idea how to deal with them. I can’t tell you how many times they told me I was hyper-sensitive as if it were a grave offense. Come on, what five year old has control over her sensitivity? It was just in me. Everything hurt so much, and I was taught that it was my fault. I learned to build walls and push people away before they could hurt me. I learned how to go numb.

    But then I learned how to undo all of that and start feeling again and start practicing vulnerability and intimacy and connecting with others. Like any practice, especially when you are beginning with zero tools, it has been a bit of a mess. I have pinged and ponged from neediness and desperation to shutting down and isolation and back to clinging and again to pushing away and everything in between. I have trusted my feelings and doubted them deeply and felt completely lost and in the dark as to how to have relationships. I have continually sought out those who do not reciprocate and then used this as an excuse to feel sorry for myself and say, see? Aloneness is safer, but loneliness is painful, and it is in all human beings to connect. I’ve always been after the deeper and authentic kind, not much of a fan of the superficial, and of course real vulnerability is much harder than simply paling around with others. And so here I am, still pinging and ponging, and I guess it’s all OK. The only way out is through, and I have come to trust that the only way to learn and change is through experience and honest mistake-making. We become aware of the way by seeing what is not the way.

    I’ve been a twelve-stepper for many years, and what I have found is that after a while, the steps start to work themselves, almost naturally, if you’re open to them. Without really trying, I become aware fairly quickly of my powerlessness over a situation, how, yes I do have faith even when it hurts, what my part is in all of it, and what actions I can take. I feel my feelings, but I don’t wallow or get hung up on some old idea that the universe is conspiring against me and all is hopeless. I know that if I am feeling lonely, I need to find various ways to reach out to others and keep building healthy friendships. I know that if I am feeling sort of desperate and messy and clinging, I need to get centered and give myself whatever my system is frantically searching for. I also have to trust that even in the midst of confusion and doubt, everything is fine and I have many, many blessings. Steps 6 and 7, which are sometimes called the “living steps,” are all about staying aware of our behaviors and reactions, our old ideas, beliefs, and thought patterns, and having the willingness to keep growing and changing and making new choices. And that is right the hell where I am at.

    There’s the notion that alcoholics are “extreme examples of self-will run riot,” meaning that we can act impulsively and selfishly, trying desperately to control situations and outcomes, rather than having faith and trusting and letting things unfold. You might call it a hyperbolic state of impatience and compulsion, spiraled from a fear-based, lonely mind. I definitely had this in me when I was drinking and using and acting out in eating disorders. It showed up often in the workplace, especially when I felt fear around how I was being perceived by parents and administration. I still see this in me when it comes to dating – they aren’t joking when they say dating is hard and triggering and not always fun. Talk about patience and faith! Nothing in me wants to wait. All of my past relationships were quick and enmeshing and immediate – we were inseparable and in love in a week. Granted, I was younger and definitely not as emotionally sober as I am today. But I still don’t want to wait, and I still think there is something wrong with me when he doesn’t call or text or want to see me again or can’t show up for me the way I deserve. And then I get mad. And then I am hard on myself. And then I feel hopeless. This is my old stuff: fear, control, fear, judgment, fear, self-pity, fear, blame, fear, self-hatred. Black and white thinking. Comparing myself to others. Thinking it should look or be a certain way. Judging others, judging myself. Telling myself the tired old tale that if only I were prettier, thinner, hotter, cooler, more mysterious or harder to get… then he would be interested! If only, am I right?

    Because of these fears, I certainly don’t always let things unfold. I can run too fast away from or toward the person. I can easily lose my center. After all, I am human. No one is doing this perfectly. And when it hurts too much and I have a loneliness lapse, my mind starts telling me all kinds of ridiculous, dramatic tales that often result in me blaming myself and feeling guilty and responsible for simply having what I imagine is a universal human experience. I have to assume that even the most extroverted, popular, surrounded by others all the time people have moments of loneliness and feeling unloved and unseen. So it becomes a balance. Are there choices I can make in my life to have a new and different experience? Of course. But is it my fault in some sinister way that I am feeling lonely and unlovable? No. Come on, that’s way too tough and rigid. Yes, our problems are often of our own making and due to our strange perceptions and wonky thinking, but I’m not going to be mean to myself about it. As the Buddhists say, it’s not my fault that I was born with a human brain. Human brains are no picnic. And that’s recovery right there. Feeling the feelings without judgment or wild story-telling, having faith in the experience and process, and taking necessary action to keep growing and changing. We always think we are supposed to be somewhere we are not, that if only we had done that and not this, things would be different. Minds are prone to guilt, shame, fear, and judgment, biased toward the bad news and the negative. Humans are prone to loneliness, and we have this strange dichotomy of both desiring and fearing vulnerability and connection with others.

    What I find when I look inside my loneliness is not some big bad truth that I am lonely for a big bad reason that will never be reconciled due to my introversion, astrological leanings and conditioning from childhood. I am certainly not the only thirty year old without a husband or a baby or a bustling social life. What I actually find is a sweetness and a deep compassion for myself and for those who may be experiencing the same. No one here is exempt from the human condition. No one here gets out alive. I find the truth that I am not as alone as I think I am and that there are choices I can make to get back out in the world while still honoring where I’m at and taking good care of myself. I don’t have to drift into the muck and mire of self-pity and toxic isolation. I also don’t have to run like mad into the arms of anyone who will catch me. I can just be here, with the sadness and loneliness, with the faith and gratitude, inside of it all, full in my heart, fully human.

  • The Core

    Well. I think I made it. I think I finally got to the center of what causes this whole stinking mess of addiction and self-destruction. I think I can now finally see and feel what it is that has driven me for so many years to harm myself and sometimes others. Read on…

    I work well with storytelling and all of the images, symbols, and metaphors that accompany great tales. It helps me to see this process of recovery as a “journey to the center of my being.” On the way there I have had to continuously fight off monsters and demons, clear away debris, believe I have arrived to the place, only to realize I’m stuck in some other land. All along I have been guided by a benevolent force (no way I could have made it otherwise) that has loved me and told me, keep going. This force does not magically fix things for me, but it grants me the courage and faith to not give up, even when staring the most frightening and painful experiences in the face.

    There are some who claim that the troubling root of addiction is selfishness and self-centeredness and that the only way out of suffering is to focus on serving others. This is partly true, but I believe abounding recovery lies in understanding and healing the self, not running away from it or relying on distracting our “sickened minds” in order to have relief. Most experts agree today that alcoholism is an illness that centers in the mind and drives one to obsessive thinking and lack of control. Because the body eventually crosses a line and becomes physically addicted and sick, once the substance is ingested, the addict is unable to moderate or stop by willpower alone. This is part of the equation, especially when it comes to drug and alcohol abuse, but it isn’t the whole picture. Luckily, the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous were on to something when they didn’t merely stop at the mental and physical aspects of the illness but included this idea of a “spiritual malady” as an essential part of the equation. And it absolutely is. Spiritual malady, to me, is what I mean when I say the core. It is the soul sickness. It is the darkest place deep inside of us where we carry a belief that encourages death, not life.

    I thought for a long time that my destructive core belief was that I was not good enough and therefore unlovable. Many people walk around with this notion – maybe everyone to some extent. It can be extremely difficult to feel adequate and whole, especially living in cultures that tend to send messages that we are incomplete as we are. As I moved along my journey, discovering this belief was essential. It showed up when I stopped drinking and abusing drugs. It is what I thought was still driving me to over and under eat, to smoke, to engage in unhealthy and toxic relationships, to discount my efforts and abilities at work, to act as if people didn’t like me, to live in fear on a daily basis.

    As I moved through addressing many other factors beyond just substance abuse (namely eating disorders and codependent behaviors), I knew some Higher Power force was with me. I was learning for the first time that I had worth and value. Much of the time I had to convince myself I believed this – “acting as if,” as it is often called. It was certainly better than nothing. Though I didn’t often feel good enough, I started to behave in a way that demonstrated to myself and others that I was worth taking care of and nurturing. Healing from codependency is giving ourselves permission to take complete care of ourselves, regardless of how others might (or might not) feel about it. It also means having boundaries and finding healthy ways to express our thoughts and feelings. It is about taking responsibility for our lives. Though I often still felt deep within that I was flawed and inadequate, I did not regularly behave in ways that confirmed this belief. I had begun to take responsibility for my life. I thought this was the sole solution, and it was for some time. I no longer was self-destructive with my behavior and much of my thinking. I didn’t rely on other people to meet my basic needs. I was aware that more and more solution would come from trusting that I was good enough and lovable.

    Then I made some big life changes, which I believe I did intuitively or was somehow guided to, knowing there was far more work for me to do. I only thought I had arrived at the core. The truth was, I was very much still on the outskirts. (Have I mentioned that recovery is a process? A journey? Jeez.) In just a few months I quit my steady (all encompassing) job, moved out of my apartment and back into my father’s house, and started dating a fellow alcoholic/love addict/codependent/wounded kid like me. Quitting the job was an immense life change. I had been teaching at the same school for a few years, and it was work that both changed me and drained me. It is where I got my teacher legs and where I learned that I was still incredibly fearful and dysfunctional in relationships with others. I knew I wanted to quit for a myriad of reasons of which I won’t go into, but mostly I believe that my whole system needed a break from such distracting and engulfing work in order to have room for these deep core feelings to come into view. I had saved some money and was privileged to be able to live for a while rent-free. My plan was that I was going to travel for a few months, come home, and then start looking for a new job. Looking back, I think I just wanted a socially acceptable excuse to quit so that my conversations didn’t look like this:

    “You’re quitting? What are you going to do?”
    “Oh, you know. Hit an emotional bottom after a relationship. Have some space to go into the depths of my wounded soul.”
    “…”

    You get the idea. I did “travel,” for several not enjoyable days, and that is a whole other piece. When I returned from Thailand, everything changed. And thus began what I believe I was actually looking for and destined to experience when I first left teaching. Thus began a new leg of the journey that would help me arrive at the core.

    I believe my career was a great distraction from looking at and feeling the deeper layers. (Workaholism is real.) At first, it was the perfect place to notice my codependency and practice taking care of myself. But there was only so much I could do. Teaching is a job where you often take care of everyone else’s feelings (whether it’s students, parents, or colleagues) and barely have time for yourself. It is a job that certainly left me depleted and exhausted at the end of most days, and my weekends were spent in quiet solitude, recharging. My self-care kept me afloat and free from acting out in other addictions (although food issues were still sometimes at play), but it was more like maintenance than actual repair. And it was great for a time. The connections I made with many students will be with me forever. I love those kids. I learned a lot about myself and how I relate to others. I saw with wide eyes how much I still felt like a bad person and incapable of doing a good job. I saw how much I lived in fear, took other people’s behavior personally, had a tendency to judge and sometimes hate everyone and everything. I also saw how capable I was of loving and helping and caring.

    It was a transformative time in many ways, but it was also a blockade. When I decided to quit, I knew (subconsciously) that it was necessary if I was going to progress in my recovery and overall healing. I didn’t know where I was headed, but I knew it was somewhere that would grant me a new level of awareness and repair. It didn’t matter that I had a Master’s degree and great health insurance, or that I was loved by students and respected by the head of school – those things can reflect hard work, sure, or some level of growth and maturity, but they don’t actually heal anything.

    When I stepped away from such full-time, distracting work, a few things started to shift in me. The food issues that had never seemed to completely cease, completely did. I wasn’t hungry anymore in my mind, only in my belly, and I didn’t care about food. It had completely ceased working like a drug. There was more space to feel and reflect. Stopping such a consuming job was very much like quitting drinking – there was finally a window to look at what was really going on. But first, there was space for failing at travel, and for failing at a relationship:

    I fell in love with someone who could not love me back. And I’m not saying he treated me like dirt or slept with tons of women while we were together or only called me once a week. No. He was sweet, kind, and good-natured. In many ways, he was devoted and caring. He meant well in all that he did. But he’s a wounded kid like me. We were drawn to each other like two classic love addicts, enacting the dance of addiction and avoidance, both afraid of intimacy and abandonment, both unable to actually have an authentic relationship. I didn’t realize at the time how much I wanted someone to help me not have to look at and heal this core issue (that had yet to reveal itself.) I thought because I had so much recovery in Al-Anon that there was nothing broken in me anymore. But the fact that I was wildly attracted to someone who was deeply broken himself said something about work that I still needed to do. It helped me wake up (once again!) to the fact that the outsides of me don’t matter and that denial runs deep. The outsides can sometimes be a reflection of a healthy inside, but they are usually just a distraction, especially if the deepest work has yet to be done.

    When this relationship ended it brought up intense feelings, and because I was going to lots of meetings again and immersing myself in recovery, I became very aware of them. I did not run. In the past, when my turbulent relationships would end, I usually just got into another relationship or starting acting out with substances or plain denial. This time was very different. Reality was staring me down. There, too, was space for reading, getting back into writing, and finally committing again to a yoga practice, all of which increase awareness. I was willing to see the truth. And here is what finally came up. Here is what I discovered: the core is not the belief that I am not good enough and therefore unlovable. The core is this: I have no right to exist. I have no right to exist, and I am unfit for reality, therefore I deserve bad things. I deserve to die. The core. A tall order. This dark soup of sickness would obviously lead to self-destruction vis a vis addiction in all its ugly forms.

    This might seem dramatic, but I promise I am not being hyperbolic. Or this might seem like not much of a revelation, but it very much was for me. It is a real, albeit very old belief, deep down inside of my lowest self, a bubbling swamp of putrid sludge. It is not about being not good enough – it is about dehumanization. Being a monster. I am certain it is this core belief that drives people to kill themselves. I have an idea of where this core stuff comes from, but I can’t be totally sure. I believe some of it is learned from the abuse and trauma of childhood. Some of it is carried over emotions from the family and what they carried. It might be an inevitable part of alcoholism. It is strongly related to what John Bradshaw calls “toxic shame.” Whatever it is, it is a real experience, and those who have been shaped by it understand the pain of living. It is a real experience, and yet I know that its message is false. It simply isn’t true. And that is the way out. When we are willing to get close enough to a monster, we often see his fangs aren’t so sharp. The Great and Powerful Oz was just an insecure man behind a curtain, trying to appear intimidating. I used to believe it, I used to function from that place, and I used to try to die all the time. Today I want to live, and that means on some level, some higher level, that I feel I deserve to live. That I deserve good things and have a right to exist. Thankfully, I discovered this core belief with enough recovery to recognize it is not rooted in any sort of reality, and I don’t have to give it the power to destroy me.

    I find that the more I investigate the darkness and let it tell its story, the brighter my life becomes. We go into the swamp, because the swamp is there, but we don’t have to stay. I have to witness and befriend the core (without letting it take me over) or it and all that goes with it will never leave me alone. It will show up in every job, every relationship. It will drive me to choose that which reflects back this false belief system. It will try to sabotage authentic joy. It is the other shoe, waiting to drop. This swamp, this core, just wants my attention. It has it. But not too much.

  • The Power of Gratitude

    It’s that time of year again where we practice giving thanks and reflecting on all that is blessed is in our lives. For some, this can feel like a shallow undertaking of mumbling predictable niceties, and others may not be able to feel any thanks, bombarded with problems and pains as they are. Understandable. We live in chaotic times, and the tools that our culture and society recommend to get by are usually not the healthiest ones. I remember a time in my life when I was so mired with resentment and self-pity that I felt zero gratitude for the good things in my life. Intellectually, I knew they were there, but I could not feel them. Over time, as the ice around my heart melted, I was better able to experience a depth and range of authentic emotions, both blissful and uncomfortable, and through them all I have found the practice of gratitude a mighty effective buoy.

    When I used to hear people share about the power of gratitude, whether it was in meetings or meditation talks, it bothered the hell out of me. Yeah yeah, gratitude, whatever, but I am suffering here. It sounded trite and forced, like it was some sort of denial of true suffering and struggle. I came to find the opposite to be true. Gratitude bothered me because it tried to disrupt my self-pity and resentment, which is the real state of denial of authentic feelings. One can hold grief, sadness, anger, and pain and still experience gratitude. It is very difficult, however, to feel gratitude (or anything) when in the muck and mire of toxic resentment. Resentment, and all that goes along with it – hate, blame, judgment, comparing – actually creates the absence of feelings because it is rooted in self-rejection. Resentment is not authentic anger, because resentment is not authentic. It is often wildly far-fetched and hiding a much deeper pain. It is externally focused and pushes away the opportunity to realistically look at ourselves and our circumstances, and this blocks us from feeling what is actually going on. There is always something going on below the surface of hate. There is nothing wrong with having moments of resentment (in fact, it is inevitable) because it is often the way in – to finally getting to what is actually happening and why, but to stay there for too long without any accountability or soul-searching creates a miserable, sick existence. The world and its players are never going to cater to us or fix us, and if we don’t become responsible for our own happiness, we won’t find it. That is why recovery is all about looking at ourselves, at our part in things – not to beat ourselves up or create shame, but to accept reality, which in turn helps us to cultivate authentic self-esteem. Gratitude is scattered everywhere in this process. If it weren’t, it wouldn’t work!

    Gratitude does not mean pretending that everything is fine – that we aren’t in pain or that changes don’t need to be made. But it means holding both at the same time. Understanding that the pain will pass. That we have support. That we aren’t helpless or alone and that there is a solution. That we have already come so far and overcome pain before – we can surely do it again. That we can keep growing, inside and outside and up. Even gratitude for pain is powerful, for it is quite true that pain is the touchstone of spiritual growth, if we allow it to be.

    I am grateful today for the things I often take for granted – that my basic needs are met in terms of food and shelter. For my health and the health of my loved ones. I am grateful for certain things and objects, like music, books, delicious food, having transportation. Mostly, I am grateful for recovery and that I never gave up. Because there was a time when I wanted to. This time, five years ago, I was a slave to addiction and deep suffering, and I wanted to die. I thought there was no way out. Today, I have gone through tremendous healing on so many levels and from so many enslaving addictions, and I want to live. In a way, I feel I have just started living. Everything on the outside is not perfect or stable. (Is it ever?) I am unemployed, running out of money, coming to terms with love addiction and the end of a relationship, and feeling quite lost. The unknown is ahead of me like never before, which I don’t like, and my mind is prone to obsessing that everything is going to fall apart. But I have trust today and faith, and beneath the worry and wonder there is gratitude for where I am and for what lies ahead.

    When I feel sad and lonely, when I feel obsessive and anxious, when I just don’t quite know what to do with myself, I have this practice deep within me that helps me feel that I am blessed and I am OK. And there is such gratitude for the moments when I am completely comfortable in my skin, breathing without effort, needing nothing.

  • This is the Part of Me

    I had a therapist for a couple of years who practiced with me something called “Parts Work.” It is deeply rooted in Jungian psychology, and at its essence draws upon the fact that we have many different parts inside of us and all deserve an equal voice. What tends to happen in fragmented psyches is that certain voices or parts get much louder and take up all the space. These parts showed up in childhood and were actually at first trying to offer help and protection. So if you had a highly critical parent who expected perfection, you might have a part in you that is a tough perfectionist, because at the time this seemed like the surefire way to be loved and approved of by the parent. What happens, though, as we grow up, is that we are no longer served by that perfectionist voice. She ends up making us feel like shit, no matter what we do. The idea of Parts Work is to calm down all those different parts and let the Center, or Self, or Internal Parent, or Soul or whatever you want to call it be in charge, and then the other parts don’t take over and drive us mad. These parts still have a voice, but they aren’t in charge, and they are sometimes firmly told to please cease their chatter. They are extras – not the lead. (Something tells me the writer of Pixar’s Inside Out experienced his own level of Parts Psychology.)

    This was profound and important work. First of all, it was unusual – therapy was no longer going to be about complaints and grievances. There was work to be done. (Hurt Little Girl Victim Part can take over the therapy room, and she sometimes needs to for a little while. But not forever.) Second of all, it delivered actual results, and pretty quickly. I started to see the different “people” in my psyche that had taken over my entire Self: the Critical Perfectionist, the Frightened Child, the Angry Defensive Teenager. These were three of my key players, and there was absolutely no room to breathe with them taking up all the space. I either felt self-hatred, fear, or anger. It kept me a victim and a blamer, perpetually not good enough. There was very little access to my true sense of Self. Part of the work was giving them each a fair voice, calming the louder one down (Critical Perfectionist) and letting the quiet one talk (Frightened Child.) What starts to happen is that when you give them a voice and listen, they actually do calm down or speak up as necessary. They want to be heard, and they want to hear each other. And it allows the sense of Self, which is always kind, calm, and loving to be in charge. And then the Parts are like, hey thanks, I really needed to share that. Or, hey thanks, I’ve been getting tired of hearing myself yell.

    This is often work that gets done in meditation, too, specifically mindfulness. We become aware of all the voices in our heads telling us what to do, think, and feel, telling us who they think we are. Mindfulness asks up to pay attention but not get caught up and always come back to that larger sense of Self, the one who knows. The loving awareness. After a while these voices become sort of funny, because we know that they are just psychic mush left over from dysfunctional childhoods or the simple fact of being humans. It is still important that we listen to them, that we pay them some attention, but we don’t have to take them so seriously.

    What I have noticed is that much of my initial internal reaction to things is coming from some child part of me. Call it instinct, if that works for you. I either feel frightened, offended, hurt, ignored, or annoyed. These are my go-tos. In reaction, I either want to fight back and defend, offend, or hide in a corner. If I do react from this place, I tend to cause harm, because I am reacting to something that didn’t actually happen. If I instead pause, breathe, and give the situation some space, I soon come to that settled sense of Self that can view objectively what is happening and what actions should be taken, if any. When I was teaching, whenever I got an email from a parent or administration, my first thought was I am in trouble. I did something wrong. My body clenched. My stomach dropped. That is a six year old girl reacting. When I opened the email, more often than not, it was benign. Or it was praising. Or perhaps it was presenting a problem, but it wasn’t attacking me or blaming me. I often had the same experience when I received feedback or was asked to speak with my boss. I’d clench my fists and brace myself to take it and immediately become defensive in my head. I can still do this when my father calls me. The little girl in me is really scared that she did something wrong. But nothing was ever wrong the way that child part initially perceived it would be.

    Before I knew any better, I used to react to perceived threats without any thought that I was incorrect in my assessment. I defended, offended, or ran away and felt like a victim, because I thought this was keeping me safe and the right thing to do. It was actually creating chaos and dysfunction and harming my relationships. I can still react, on occasion, if I am particularly stressed, but mostly I have learned to trust that my initial reaction is not rooted in present reality and I can pause until whatever Part it is has calmed down. Then I can respond. I love pausing. It is a key tool in my life. I try to pause with everything, even seemingly innocuous texts and emails. There is no rush. It is also pretty fascinating to observe what comes up when you choose to give twenty four hours (or more!) before responding to an email. I once paused for three weeks on tending to a disagreement with a friend, and it ended up being a most empowering experience. Sometimes it is OK to leave things messy. The key takeaway is that the Self knows.

    The Self, the Internal Parent, the Higher Power can make healthy decisions and respond with grace, but it requires patience and calming down the voices that want so desperately to be the center of attention. Their roles are valid and sometimes necessary, but they just don’t have the substance to steal the show.

  • Rescue You

    Rescue You

    Rescue you, and take you in your arms.
    Rescue you, you want your tender charms.
    Because you’re lonely and you’re blue,
    you need you, and your love, too
    Come on, rescue you.

    See what I did there? Oh what a different world it would be. I challenge you to take every love song you hear (so, every song ever), change it from other-centered to self-centered, and see what happens. Does it make you smile or squirm? Feel something along the lines of, I could never love myself like that. Maybe you still believe, like I once did, that we are only meant to love others that much, not ourselves, because that would be selfish. Whatever your reaction, there’s something fascinating about how much our culture reveres other-love but tends to slink away from actually having a nurturing and committed relationship with oneself. (I’m not talking about narcissistic personality disorder here.) It’s really too bad, because a truly satisfying, happy, and purposeful life stems directly from self-love and self-esteem and letting go of this idea that we are meant to sacrifice ourselves for others. In a nutshell, if you rescue you first, you might actually be able to authentically help someone else – to rescue themselves of course.

    I am all too familiar with the thinking that some magical man (or friend, job, trip, item) is going to come along, see me, rescue me, fix everything that is broken and make my life better and complete. I believed this for years. Who wouldn’t? Have you ever watched a Disney princess film? A romantic comedy? Read great works of literature? We are a codependent culture. We believe that our salvation lies in someone taking notice of us and meeting our needs. And of course we would trust this, considering we are taught it is almost evil to take care of ourselves first – so someone’s gotta do it! If all those Disney princesses had been told to find and rescue themselves, maybe things would be different. (The Wizard of Oz came close with the idea that it was always inside Dorothy and the gang: a brain, a heart, courage, home. With a little support from each other, they found that what they were looking for from the Wizard was already, and only, within.)

    Yes, we are all connected. We are all human beings on this earth who deserve rights, respect, and dignity. But we have to give that to ourselves, first and mostly. To imply that it is to be gotten only from the kindness and service of others is to set yourself up into a mighty trap and a lifetime of disappointment. It is essential to have healthy, supportive connections with others, whether through family, friendship, or partnership, but if these relationships are what you rely on to feel loved and connected, you will likely find yourself feeling unfulfilled and maybe, like me, really confused and lost. It can start to feel like tail-chasing when you are seeking esteem and validation through the different people in your life.

    This idea of other vs. self centeredness doesn’t just pop up in the movies. It is everywhere in society and therefore obviously reflected in social and public matters. There is an interesting dichotomy between liberal and conservative philosophies. If only the two could merge and share a bit from each side. Both have valid points. Both, at their essence, mean well. Both, when taken to the extreme are misguided and harmful. My father has always been a staunch libertarian, and although I disagree with some of his political beliefs, especially in terms of social issues, I understand where he is coming from at the core, and I believe that the essence of much of his philosophy is true. It is nice to help other people, but altruism, this idea that we are solely on this earth only to serve and save others without regard for ourselves is a dangerous concept. It is a concept that robs us of our birthright to take care of ourselves, esteem ourselves, and to continuously grow and develop our spirits. It is a codependent concept, because it says that our self-worth, our purposefulness and significance lies in what we do for and how we relate to others, rather than how we learn to help ourselves and become the very best people we can be. It keeps people in a suspended state of immaturity and irrationality.

    Buddhism is another philosophy that I think can be misunderstood. I have taken to it quite a bit throughout my recovery, and there are facets of it that are brilliant. The talks and writings of Pema Chodron and Jack Kornfield are invaluable to me, and I agree with much of what they say. Presence, mindfulness, and the power of watching our thinking and not buying in to everything our minds tell us is profound. The idea of the middle way is profound. But this idea of becoming “nothing,” rejecting that we have a sense of self as the way to fulfillment, actually becomes a rejection of being a human, at least when taken to the extreme. When done lightly, it can be wholesome and helpful; the less obsessively attached I am to the roles I play in my life, to my belongings, to my external environment, to people, the more I can accept what is, practice gratitude, and not take myself too seriously. It is very much the path of honoring the self.  But when it gets taken so far as to reject all connection to my personality, it becomes a slippery slope to self-abnegation and even self-hate.

    It is unfortunate that so many miss out on this very rich work because they buy into the misguided belief that it is selfish and somehow wrong or that they are letting others down. This doesn’t mean we have no regard for others or trample through life with blustery ego and disrespect; in fact, the more we take care of ourselves the better we will get to know ourselves and the importance of healthy boundaries, and will thus be mindful of our impact on others. But when did self-reliance become a dirty word? When did it become considered so wrong to look after yourself? I have found that nothing has granted me more freedom, self-esteem, and joy than taking complete responsibility for my life, especially my thoughts, feelings, and reactions to the world. Have I been supported over the years by others? Of course I have. By parents, friends, fellows in recovery, therapists, teachers. We are an interconnected society, after all, and none of us are deserted islands. In a way, however, we are islands, and we sometimes welcome visitors and we sometimes leave and go elsewhere. But no one can crawl inside of me and change my heart, my mind, my point of view, my level of awareness and self-esteem. No one can value me the way I can value myself. It is my personal work, and I have a right to it. As do you. I strongly believe that if more people took care of themselves we would have a much healthier society.

    It is a rational and powerful declaration to not make other people responsible for your life, especially in terms of your inner well-being. External needs vary, and we certainly rely on others to help us with various facets of living. That is part of society. But it is no one’s job to take care of your inner world and overall happiness. To perpetually paint certain people as victims whose only chance of survival is to be saved by those who aren’t “selfish” and self-serving is to steal from those very people their chance at cultivating their own self-esteem and self-worth. Support is one thing – rescuing, fixing, completing, and saving is quite another. There are, tragically, people who find themselves in real victim roles, violently persecuted by another person, group, or government, and they deserve help. Just as we have firefighters to save us from burning buildings and heart surgeons to prevent fatal heart attacks, those who are truly helpless deserve intervention. I guarantee, though, when all is said and done, that the truest way out for them is to feel empowered from the inside out, not forever reliant on some other person or group to perpetually save them. And fortunately, most of us are not helpless or broken beyond repair. We might feel helpless at times, but if we are not in chains, there is always a solution. Never underestimate the power of the human spirit to triumph, especially when ignited with freedom. This is not about tough love or plucking at those proverbial bootstraps – it is about inspiration and granting people the dignity to exist as individuals.

    Helping others, especially the helpless, is kind, decent, and necessary, but the process should always have an end game – helping them to help themselves. Most people in their heart of hearts do not want to remain victims, because humans do not thrive when they are disempowered. This is a small example, but the best therapist I ever had did this very thing; our work was an integral piece of my recovery, but after nearly two years, we both knew I didn’t need the therapy anymore. We acknowledged this in a session, and off I went to practice living with my mended soul and psyche. I sometimes had moments of fear where I thought I needed to go back, but I found I was able to resolve the problems on my own. Talk about real help! If I had stayed with her for years and years, too timid to believe that I could navigate the big wide world on my own, it would have turned codependent, which always stifles life force, and frankly, breeds resentment.

    I mentioned earlier, that I agree with much of what is said on Buddhism. That right there is a powerful idea – to agree with much of something. Some of something. Half of something. Maybe only a small fraction of something? Who gets to say what we believe, think, and feel? Part of personal freedom is the ability to think independently and decide for ourselves. It is also how we exercise our minds and practice critical thinking and problem solving. I don’t want to be told what to believe, and, when I get really honest, I don’t want my problems solved for me. I want to explore and decide for myself. I want the struggle. A great teacher leads students to discover their own philosophies and values – not give them already established ideas to memorize and emulate. (So please, reject what I am writing and think for yourself!) Even in twelve step programs, it states very clearly, “take what you like and leave the rest…. we realize we know only a little.” What a profound statement. Funny though, how when people dissent a bit in meetings or disagree with what is written in AA literature, there’s a strange energy in the room. It is scary and threatening to go against the grain. People want to conform. It feels safe to have one thought. This is the way. There is no other way. How limiting. But it makes sense to be drawn to that because to think, discover, and decide for yourself requires more work and more risk. And a lot of people might get mad at you, find you strange, or (gasp!) selfish. And yet, it is far more rewarding and enriching. The joy of living and growing dies when expression and thought are controlled, even if the intention is for some kind of peace.

    I have decided instead, after years of being a victim, codependent, terrified of other people’s reactions, to learn and think for myself and not sequester myself into one group or entity, wherever I go. Especially politically – dear lord, I don’t want to belong to either side! (Can we safely say that both the extreme left and right are out of their minds and seem to have no tolerance for dissent? Yikes!) Even as a proud “member” of Alcoholics Anonymous (the only “requirement” for membership is a desire to stop drinking), I don’t agree with everything that the books say or that the people say. Same thing goes for Al-Anon. Much of my recovery from addiction (and fear) was learning that I could think for myself and take good care of myself. I see a lot of fellows suffering because they comply so rigidly with the program tenets and allow no space for other ideas. They have bought into this bizarre idea that their minds are too unwell to think for themselves or that anything outside of a twelve step program doesn’t support recovery. I see a lot of self-rejection. I have compassion, though, because I used to be like that, and also passion, because I changed! It took me a few years to be able to accept, without shame, that I was too governed by emotions and too reliant on the opinions of others. But I finally got it. Today, I try to keep it open and roomy. Best thing I have done to stay open and free thinking? Read and read and read. Read everything, from all sides. (And also know that the people writing might have profound insights or might be full of shit. Think for yourself.)

    Today, my philosophy is two fold: firstly, to take care of yourself first, deeply and wholeheartedly, which will then allow you to make authentic connections to others and be useful and purposeful. The playing field will be level, because you won’t be trying to save anyone or expecting them to save you. You won’t be so offended by others or judgmental, because you won’t need others to agree with you or validate you. A nice paradox of detachment and connection comes into play. The second piece is having some kind of faith, which is defined as “complete trust or confidence in something.” It doesn’t have to be religious or philosophical or fancy. But it helps to have faith in some kind of Higher Power, some benevolent, loving force, to help along the journey. Personal growth can be deeply confronting and painful and obviously has its fair share of aloneness and sometimes loneliness. It was essential for me to build a loving Power, which I sometimes call God because that word doesn’t bother me, to be with me along the way. This was especially significant when I was first getting sober and confronting my very fragmented and miserable self, because I had no internal parent or Power within. Today, I do. And yet I also still have my Higher Power, because It has proven to be a loyal buddy who loves me like crazy. 🙂

    The two together, my esteemed and worthy self that is free to think openly and doesn’t rely on others for her happiness, and my homie Higher Power, is a recipe for authentic and joyful living. (How to translate this into a Disney film?) I no longer have to look to others to decide who I am. When necessary, I can seek advice, support, and nurturing from trusted friends and give that in return if called upon, but I also know that the answers are mostly within. My heart is open and vulnerable, but I have boundaries. My brain is not stupid. It’s not sick and diseased, as is sometimes said to be the case in twelve step meetings. My brain is capable of healthy thought, especially when aligned with my spirit. Am I still capable of obsession? Of course. But that doesn’t mean I’m insane. It means I am human, and maybe slightly more obsessive than the average bear because I suffered for years with addiction. The difference today is that I can sit with that obsession until it passes, instead of acting on it in some destructive manner, because I learned how to take care of myself and not abandon myself.

    An addendum to my philosophy of self-care and faith in a Higher Power would be cultivating acceptance (this does not mean becoming weak and defeated) and awareness. Acceptance means letting go of trying to force outcomes. It encourages being right-sized and grateful for our lot in our present lives, while awareness encourages being open to change and growth. Both invite pausing, a truly remarkable tool, perhaps one of the most important, that helps me respond with grace rather than react with harried instinct. It is far easier to practice acceptance and awareness when we practice really effective self-care. There are certain absolute truths of which I am aware and accept, but there is also a lot of room for expansion and change of thought. I know that no man or friend or teacher or whoever is going to come along and save me from having to take care of myself (and I wouldn’t want it). And I know that I have no power to really change or save someone; maybe at the best, I might inspire them or point them in a healthy direction (to themselves!) None of this makes my mind smaller or makes me selfish in the dirty word way – quite the opposite in fact. I like being responsible for my life today and being in charge of my well-being. It is richly satisfying and far less convoluted.

    It is still considered cold-hearted and indulgent for people to worry less about others and take care of themselves first. I dare you to challenge it. It might set you free. Cue the love song.

  • One Hundred Forms of Fear

    When you’re a child, all sorts of things may scare you: the dark, spiders, witches, whatever monster is lurking under the bed. As you grow though, and most of those acute fears lessen or vanish, a different brand appears, and it usually more subtle, an underlying sense of dread or insecurity. When I was trudging through my adolescence, I wondered if other people had this same fear that I seemed to experience on a daily basis. Did people feel nervous and anxious but often for no real in-your-face reason? I later found out that a large chunk of it was due to alcoholism, codependence, and growing up with trauma. And yet I don’t think only certain people have it – some form of it is part of the human experience. But those of us, and it is many of us, who grew up in some form of dysfunction, tend to have a fear-based processing center that can override all else and cause us to lead miserable, worried, controlled lives.

    A fear-based mind often becomes obvious when we still feel afraid despite most everything being really good, inside and out. Like today: the sun is bright and warm, and when I drive down Pacific Coast Highway to go to yoga, it hits the ocean and makes it look like glittering diamonds. My health is great, there’s food in the fridge, some money in the bank, ways to get from here to there. I am clean and sober and immersed in recovery. I have friends and family who I love and who love me. I can read and write and sing and dance and hear music. Deep down in my heart and soul I feel loved and feel a great capacity to love in return. And nothing scary is actually happening. There’s no threat, no danger, and yet I can feel nervous and desire a hiding place. There’s something frightening about the thought of being out in the world. Why?

    The mind often chooses fear because that is what it learned. Many people grow up in some form of dysfunction and get used to the feeling of imminent danger, mild or violent. Some of it for me still lingers, despite extensive inner work, from the leftover residue of actually feeling scared and depressed on a regular basis as a child and adolescent and relying on alcohol, drugs, food, relationships, and approval to smooth all that fright. Our culture, for all of its unbelievable strengths and accomplishments, dropped the ball in terms of raising children in ways that would nurture the internal system. Most of learned to esteem ourselves externally, through our looks, grades, friends, achievements, wardrobes. Later, it became our cars, jobs, bank accounts, spouses. Many of us were punished, sometimes severely, simply for behaving the way children behave. (Children are not adults.) We were not allowed to feel our feelings in a safe way. And we were not taught and shown that we are loved and worthy, simply for being. It’s no one’s fault, really. Most of our parents didn’t learn this either, and their parents didn’t, and so on. It gets passed down through the generations, and many harmful forms of parenting and instructing are still valued in our society. Addiction in endless (and sometimes hidden) forms runs rampant, and never underestimate what it does to a family system.

    If we grew up feeling regularly afraid, of mom and dad, of getting in trouble, of not being good enough, we are likely to carry this into our adult years. We will fear authority, making mistakes, not being accepted. It will cause us to attempt to control ourselves and our environment in all sorts of absurd and destructive ways. What are we to do? Is there a way out? Yes. It’s called re-parenting ourselves, and it is a hallmark of programs like Al-Anon that treat codependency, where we take full responsibility for our lives and learn to change our thinking and behavior. Twelve step programs aside, if you look closely at most religions and philosophies, especially in a metaphorical sense, many of them are talking about how our highest self, our “Cosmic Parent,” is within. That the only person who can really save us, take care of us, and love us unconditionally is ourselves.

    It is not an overnight solution. It takes years in fact, but it absolutely works. Do we get a lobotomy and are therefore forever free from fear and childhood wounds? No. We continue to sometimes wrestle with the affects of addiction, trauma, and codependency, but we have a way out, and the more we practice, the easier it becomes to get out faster. I used to stay paralyzed in fear – now it crops up and I can get free much more quickly. I also don’t believe fear the way that I used to. Recovery is sort of like cleaning a dirty old house. Once you get all the initial garbage out and vacuum and sweep and scrub and wipe, it becomes sparkling clean and pristine. Sometimes you have to do major remodeling and rebuilding, depending on the damage. But eventually, overtime, you have this beautiful, clean, well-constructed place. It feels open and warm and inviting. But… you still need to do maintenance here and there and regular upkeep. Recovery is like that – at first, it’s really messy and painful and overwhelming. But it does come together and requires less intense effort.

    Fear can be helpful at times, signaling that something is amiss or that danger is in fact lurking, but most of the time it isn’t. We don’t live in the time of saber tooth tigers chasing us anymore, and if our parents were sometimes threatening or mean, well, we’re grown now and it is our job (and privilege) to re-parent ourselves. When fear is coming up regularly, it is usually an overreaction to events that our brain scans as dangerous (for a hundred possible reasons both learned and biological) and it becomes our job to discern whether this fear is based on reality or some perceived but non-existent threat.

    When are we least afraid? Is it when the world is safe? Not exactly, because we have no control over that, and nothing will ever be completely safe or predicable. We are least afraid when our minds are quiet, so the heart and soul can speak louder and radiate a fundamental truth. When that truth is radiating, and I tend to feel it in my chest, it send this message: that nothing can really hurt me because I am loved unconditionally by a Higher Power of my understanding, and that I love myself unconditionally, even when others can’t. I am free. It is essentially about self-worth and self-esteem, not because I have done anything, but simply because I am. I exist. Self-esteem, not other-esteem. I can be on the floor sobbing with grief and still have that presence in my chest. Sadness doesn’t have to be feared. Even fear itself softens in the presence of that light of truth, because we are able to take care of ourselves.

    (And if that sounds cheesy or corny or woo-woo to you, or like self-indulgent therapeutic jargon, you probably need it more than ever!)