Fear, revisted

Over the last few months I’ve experienced a lot of anxiety. Not so acute as to need medical help, but a constant, chronic fear that just seemed to keep lurking under the surface, like a shark gliding silently under the water stalking its prey, ready to strike at any moment.

I’ve recently been able to name that shark and its name is “not enough.” (Yes, I’ve blogged about this before. Yes, the theme of “not being enough” seems to be a recurring theme in my life. And yes, I really am going to blog about it again!)

For about the last 6 months, or more, I’ve been experiencing a significant pain in my neck, collar bone, and shoulder, especially during workouts (FYI, my trainer has been amazing to help me modify workouts and movements to strengthen my shoulder, while avoiding pain). But still the pain is there. Something you may not know about me is that I believe that most, if not all, pain or injuries in the body have an emotional component. I think that injuries/pain are the bodies way of saying, “hey, there’s something here you need to deal with…;” especially in the case of a long-term/chronic pain/injury.

So I’ve been “asking” my neck and shoulder what’s wrong; what is it that I need to deal with? And I haven’t had an answer until now. For me, clenching my neck and shoulders are a protective measure. It’s as if I’m trying to retract my head into my chest and use my shoulders as a shield – much like a turtle, actually.

Knowing that I’m clenching my neck muscles to protect myself, I have been asking what it is that I’m afraid of. What is it that I find so fearful that I’m constantly trying to protect myself? And after 6 months or so of asking, it finally dawned on me – I’m not afraid of any ONE thing because I’m afraid of EVERYTHING!

The understanding began to materialize as greater realization came to me. To explain my feelings better I need to relate a bit of my history. You see I grew up fat. Not just “husky,” or “chunky,” but fat. Full on, butterball status. When I was about 9, I doubled in body weight for no apparent reason. I realize now that I became “broken” inside from being molested about that age, but since I had fully repressed that memory, I was unable to make that connection. All I knew was that I was fat. And everyone else knew it. I went back to school (5th grade) after summer break and my friends suddenly didn’t want anything to do with me – I had changed too much, too quickly. I didn’t fit in anymore, literally and figuratively. To say I was devastated is an understatement.

I spent the next 7 years being made fun of everyday. EVERY. DAY. Not a single day went by that someone didn’t comment on my weight or my appearance. People passing me in the hall would move to the other side of the hall, so as to avoid me. Strangers, as well as “friends,” mocked me, rejected me and made me know on no uncertain terms that I was not acceptable. And I woke up terrified – every single day. I woke up with anxiety every morning, knowing that I was going to face an onslaught of criticism, judgment, ridicule and rejection, but I just didn’t know where it would come from or how severe it would be; but I KNEW it would be coming.  I didn’t know how to prepare myself; I didn’t know how to protect myself.

So I hunched my shoulders, kept my head down and lived in constant fear of an attack that I knew was imminent, but didn’t know where it was coming from – so I had to “be ready” at all times and being ready meant being constantly under stress. By my Senior year of high school, I think I was made fun maybe only three times, but after 7 previous years of taking a daily emotional beating, I couldn’t let my guard down. I never stopped letting my guard down. I had learned how the world worked – it pummeled you for being you and brought the worst beatings when you least expected them.

Fast forward to today, when I’m 40 years old and I still wake up afraid. I still clench my neck and hunch my shoulders, “turtling,” in order to protect myself. Something else happened to me when I woke up each morning, knowing I was going to face being made fun of and rejected, it made me feel like “I wasn’t enough.” I didn’t have enough energy to fight everyone. I didn’t have enough energy, or words, or fortitude, or strength, to stand up to those who bullied me. I didn’t have enough in me to combat the onslaught of humiliation I faced each day. I didn’t have enough, because I wasn’t enough. It was so devastating to know – and be told on a daily basis – that I wasn’t good enough to be accepted for who I was, that I just didn’t have the energy to stand up to it, to stand up for myself. And then, one day, I just stopped questioning it and I just accepted that I wasn’t enough; that I never would be enough.

So what changed that this issue is only coming up for me now? I think what changed is the multi-year process of attempting self-improvement and needing to deal with some really crucial aspects of my identity; such as dealing with being molested, dealing with being a closeted gay in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, dealing with family relationships, dealing with multiple addictions, etc. All these things I’ve faced and continue to face, but as these layers peel away, they reveal other, fundamental beliefs that need to be dealt with. I think losing weight and becoming physically stronger over the past year has also been a contributing factor. I think my body is saying, “you’re strong enough to deal with this now…” And there’s the irony – I’ve become strong enough to face the fact that I still don’t feel like I’m enough.

When I wake up afraid every morning, I’m afraid of not being enough; of not having enough strength or energy to face the uncertainty of what the day will bring. It is the uncertainty that I equate with "everything;" i.e., being afraid of everything is really just being afraid of uncertainty. I know that the day will bring hardships and trials; and even though I don’t know how bad it’s going to be, it almost doesn’t matter – I won’t be strong enough to face it; because “I’m not enough.” Even as I type this I feel my neck and shoulder throbbing – as if it’s blinking a warning that coincides with what I believe about myself.

My dilemma now is to know what to do with this realization. I’ve thought a lot about it. I have to acknowledge that most of the time I’m not giving myself enough credit. I really am enough, but I’m so focused on what I lack, that I don’t appreciate what I have.

While I know I need to acknowledge that sometimes I AM enough, there is a harsh reality that, sometimes, I truly am NOT enough. I’m not enough in the sense that I have more to learn and that my capabilities can always grow. Sometimes at work, I really don’t know how to help a patient. Sometimes at the gym, I really don’t know how I’m going to get through a workout or learn a new movement/exercise. Sometimes with my family, I really don’t know how to talk to them or open up to them about what I’m experiencing. Sometimes I really am just too tired to deal with any more challenges. But what I’ve never learned was that even in those moments when I’m not enough, I’m still okay. Who I am, as a person, is still okay.

I wish desperately that I could go back to myself as a child and just hold him and tell him that he’s okay. I would tell him that the way people treated him had more to do with what those people were thinking and feeling than with him. I would tell him that there will be times when he’s overwhelmed and it’s okay, because when he feels like he can’t handle something on his own, he’s worth asking someone else for help. I would tell him that he’s not alone and that he doesn’t have to face everything alone.

I know I can’t go back and hold the younger version(s) of me, but I can look inside my own heart and try to learn those same messages now. Yes, I will have days when I feel overwhelmed and like I don’t measure up, but I’m still okay. I may not always feel like I’m good enough, but I can always know that I’m okay as a person and always worth being loved and helped.

This is going to take some practice. I’m not blogging about this because I’ve learned to “master” this skill or because I’m “through” this challenge. I’m blogging this because I’m right in the middle of trying to resolve it and I know I can’t be the only one who feels this way. If you’re reading this and you sometimes feel like you’re not good enough, just know that you aren’t alone. You can talk to me about it and maybe we can help each other feel like we’re okay, just for being who we are, because it is good enough – just being you.

The "Santa Clause" Trauma

...and no, I'm not talking about the trauma of being forced to sit on a foul-breathed, fat, old stranger's lap while someone gets a photo op out of it...

I'm talking about movies.

It's funny how common it is for a Christmas movie to have the following premise: Child desperately wants something; Child asks Santa for it; Child doesn't get it; Disappointed child "grows up" in that instant and refuses to believe in Santa Clause. (Only to find out years later that he IS real and that their gift was delayed, but just what they needed, when they needed it, whether they recognized it or not... cue sleigh bells for a happy ending!!)

Which leads me to this question - what do you do when someone hurts you by what they DIDN'T do?

As in the case of so many Christmas movies, when a child does not receive what they expect to receive, it can be traumatic. It can shape that child's experience of the world and their fundamental beliefs about themselves in the world. This is especially true when the child has done all they know how to do to get their desire, even if all they know how to do is have hope, faith and belief.

I guess what I'm talking about here is a little more serious than a Christmas movie, but it's the principle of the analogy that I'm going for here.

How does a child grow up to believe in herself/himself when the actions of their own parent(s) say, "you aren't worth my time..."? A child naturally believes in the superiority of their own parents; even sees them as "god-like," in a way. Developmentally, a child doesn't have a mature sense of attribution of cause and effect. In essence they, themselves, are the cause of everything. For example, it's ridiculously common for a child to blame themselves for their parents divorce. For the child, there is no other possibility.

I think that could explain why so many people hurt themselves. And hurt could be anything from negative self-talk to actual physical harm, leading up to suicide. It could explain why some people have a hard time believing in themselves. Or why change is so hard for some people - their own parent(s) taught them that they aren't worth it.

While both of my parents were loving, or at least, did their best to be, my mom often served as an active critical influence (there are loads of reason's why, which I won't go in to...), and that has it's own type of trauma associated with it, but my dad was absent. It's not ironic that I write this today. Today is the anniversary of my dad's death, March 11, 2007. As I write this, I miss him, but I am also realizing that I've been "missing him" since childhood. He was kind; he was gentle; he never yelled or got violent - and I absolutely love and honor him for that. But I have more memories of seeing his back than his face. I have more memories of him retreating, or walking away, than I do of him coming toward me. I realized just today, while I was thinking about him, that I think I was able to let him go when my parents got divorced when I was 14 and I was able to let him go when he passed away 8 years ago when he died, because I had already had to let him go as a child - because he wasn't really there to begin with; at least, he just wasn't "present."

You can be in the same room as someone and say that you're "with" them, but if you aren't giving them your attention, you aren't really "with" them. You're near them - that's all. There were loads of times when my dad would come home on a Saturday evening and I would find out that he'd been out metal detecting, or rock hunting, or fishing, or whatever, and I'd think, "why didn't he take me with him?" I learned early on that my dad liked being alone. In fact, in those rare times when he did take me with him, I always felt like he didn't want me along. I knew that he'd rather be alone and that he had brought me along out of obligation. No child likes to feel that they're a duty.

I talked with him about that before he died and what he told me blew me away. He said he loved being with me, but he felt that I never wanted to be around him! Here we both were, thinking that the other didn't want the other around. As an adult, with a more mature sense of cause of effect, I can look back and see that he liked to be alone because that was what he knew. His own siblings had alienated him and I don't think he ever dealt with that resentment. But he learned to function in the world alone. I see now that his "absence" was just his own loneliness, but for me, as a child, I didn't see that - I couldn't see that. All I could see was that he pulled away from me because I wasn't enough to keep his attention. That was my "I don't believe in Santa Clause moment." But, what I really mean is, that was my "I don't believe in myself," moment. How could I believe in myself, when I wasn't even good enough for my own father's attention?

What happens to a kid with a fearful/critical mother, a present, but "absent" father - and don't forget to throw in some traumatic molestation for good measure? You get a kid who isn't able to see his own worth. You get a kid who thinks very little of himself. You get a kid who doesn't know why he's here or what his purpose in life is. You get a kid who gets involved in lots of addictions and self-defeating/self-harm behaviors. You get a kid who gets anxiety and depression, because he doesn't believe that he's worth being happy, or deserving of it. You get a kid who will do almost anything to avoid the pain of being himself.

I may not believe in Santa Clause, but I am starting to think it's a Christmas miracle that I'm still here...

Here is my plea to fathers: Please pay attention to your children! Please don't just be in the same room with them, give them your undivided attention!! Be interested in them. Ask them to share their thoughts and feelings and then listen/accept without judgment or criticism. Ask them what their interests are, or what their hopes and fears are. Put your arm around them and tell them they are loved. No, more than that, tell them that they are precious to you; that they are important to you and that you are proud of them. Console them when they are scared or lonely. Tell them that they are okay and that everything will be okay. Hug them tightly.

Just to be clear - I do love my father and I miss him terribly! But the disappointment I feel is real and I know that it will just take time to work that out. I look forward to the day when I can think of all the good my father did for me and not feel the hurt anymore.

Enough

“It’s good enough just being me.”

There may only be a handful of people who remember that Elder Hales spoke those words at a normal, regular Sacrament Meeting in the Holladay 29^th Ward many years ago. (Normal, aside from the fact that a member of the Quorum of the Twelve was speaking to us!) His words had a big impact on me.

This was one of two messages that stood out to me*. Mostly because I didn’t expect an Apostle to be preaching self-acceptance; if anything, I would have expected a message on charity, or selfless service to others, or sacrificing yourself for the sake of others, etc. But his message was, essentially, love yourself.

And this wasn’t just a message, it was instruction. He instructed us to go home that day, look at ourselves in a mirror and say, “it’s good enough just being me.” I felt that I needed to take his counsel. I went home, as instructed. I stood in front of the mirror, as instructed (I’m already feeling uncomfortable at this point). I look at myself, but not in the eyes, and I hear Elder Hales’ voice in my head, telling me what to say, and… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t voice the words that were echoing through my mind. I just couldn’t say it. And I was so disappointed in myself – ashamed, actually.

I couldn’t say those words, because I didn’t believe them. The idea, the concept, was foreign to me. I had tried the experiment in the hopes that by saying it out loud it would help me believe it, but when it came to the actual moment, I couldn’t do it. It felt too false and I didn’t want to voice a lie.

It is many years later, now, and I have learned many things since that time. I have learned that I grew up in a shaming environment. (Side Note: I don’t want you read the word “shame” and hear “bad,” “unloving,” “harsh,” etc. My parents were loving and generous and made enormous sacrifices for our happiness. We did have many, many good times. But in spite of their good intentions, the nature of our interpersonal interactions had the effect of instilling shame in me; unintentionally, certainly, but constantly there, just the same.)

For those who may not really know the difference between guilt and shame, it boils down to this. Guilt says, “I did something bad.” Shame says, “I am bad.”

Shame is concrete. Heavy. Immutable. Immovable. Shame is like a virus on identity, it hijacks it and starts replicating itself, producing more and more until the whole system is overwhelmed, ultimately altering identity. It can lead to breakdown, as in illness, or in some cases, it does lead to death, typically suicide. Shame can become so pervasive that it seems that the only way out from under it, is to destroy the self completely - annihilate the self, altogether. At least, that’s how it felt for me.

Shame became a source of fear. I never felt safe. Shame became a foggy, fun-house mirror. I could never see myself clearly. When I did look in the mirror, what I saw was someone who was ugly; someone deserving of punishment and suffering; someone who was worthless. Someone who was never enough.

I suppose, to be fair, there are lots of reasons why someone might feel like they are “not enough,” but for me, it was shame. So when I tried to follow a prophet’s counsel that day, the reason I couldn’t speak those words was because, when I looked in the mirror, all I saw was shame. I KNEW I wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t just a thought, or a feeling, or a suspicion, or even a belief, it was knowledge – certain, factual knowledge – that I wasn’t good enough. You know what’s really interesting? I don’t even know what I “wasn’t enough” for! If you had asked me, “what is it you’re not good enough for?” I would have looked at you with a dumbfounded, blank stare. “I don’t know... life?” I might’ve said. But that’s kind of why “not good enough” can seem so powerful, because it’s all encompassing. It can apply to anything. Oh, you like to paint? You’re not good enough to be a real artist. Oh, you like to sing? You’re not good enough to be a professional singer. (Heck, you’re not even good enough to sing in the shower, let alone in front of other people.) Oh, you actually like school? You’re not smart enough to get straight A’s like everyone else does. Oh, you like to be active? You’re REALLY not good enough to deserve being thin and athletic. And so on and so on…

But I told myself, there IS a way to be enough, isn’t there? I mean, there just HAS to be. Wait - I know! “Perfection.” (You see where I’m going with this?) If I could just be perfect and not EVER mess up or make a mistake, if I were perfect, then I would be good enough, then I would measure up, then I would be successful and happy and have no trials…, and all the other lies that go along with “being perfect.”

Because for all of us mortals currently kickin’ it here on Earth, perfection isn’t realistic. Earth life IS a place for us to perform, but it is not the “performance” state, it is the “preparatory” state. Essentially, life is one big practice round where we are learning to eventually become perfect one day, long into the future. (Bodies are weird; we need time to learn how to deal with them!) Yet I act like this dress rehearsal is the last game of the season and if I mess up, I’m toast. (Yes, I know I’m mixing metaphors; oh look, another imperfection…!)

The other problem with perfection? Besides not being attainable in this life? I have the idea that it seems to carry the promise of relief. Perfect people don’t have trials, or pain, right? I mean, they’re perfect, so nothing bothers them or gets to them; they never get overwhelmed or frustrated or angry. Life for perfect people is blissfully happy and serene, right? Isn’t that ultimate peace/relief? No pain, no trials, no burdens… no shame? All for the price of just being perfect; just being good enough.

That’s the dynamic that keeps me in a shame loop: Perfection is the antidote to shame, so I try to be perfect. But because I’m a “not perfect” human, I mess up and when I mess up I feel shame for not being perfect, but I know that being perfect will cure the shame because then I won’t have anything to be ashamed of, so I try to be perfect, only to mess up, shame myself and so on and so forth.

But every argument is based on suppositions and I’ve got some doozies here that are quite false. For example, the idea that perfection means the removal of trials/pain. The Savior was the most perfect person to ever walk the earth, and not only was he not spared from experiencing pain, he was actually made to endure a pain that is unfathomable by man. The most perfect man suffered the greatest pain - ever. Also, there is scriptural support for the idea that God, our Heavenly Father (and the Savior), feels sorrow, sadness, jealousy, anger, wrath even. I mean, come on – seriously, wrath? I don’t think I’ve ever felt wrath. But apparently He does, and He IS perfect. So even if I could be perfect, it wouldn’t relieve me of feeling pain and sorrow.

One might throw in a valid objection here, “…but aside from being capable of feeling sorrow, being perfect means you don’t have to worry about having done anything to feel ashamed of.”And you’d be right. Which leads me to a harsh truth – you ARE going to do things wrong. You aren’t going to do things perfectly because you can’t – you are human and flawed and fallible, and it’s okay!! Heavenly Father allowed you to be this way for a reason. If he wanted you to BE perfect right now, He would make you perfect right now. Because of all these things, the “harsh reality truth” is that, when it comes to perfection you’re best isn’t good enough, but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t good enough.

So what does it mean?

I think it means this: you came here to learn how to be perfect, but, much like learning to play an instrument (or a sport or any new skill for that matter), you have to make a lot of wrong notes in order to learn how to play the right ones. With ongoing, long-term, consistent practice, eventually, you learn to play all the right notes, to play it perfectly, but playing it perfectly doesn’t make you any more important or worthy than you already were while you were practicing, it just means you’ve improved your ability in that skill. This life is all about learning to be perfect one day (i.e., through practice) and not to be perfect right now.

There is also the false assumption that perfection equals protection. This is the idea that if I’m good enough, i.e., perfect, I will be protected from having bad things happen to me. I mean, don’t we read that in the scriptures? That when His people are faithful the Lord lightens their burdens so that they can’t feel them? By that definition alone, I’ve never been good enough. I have burdens!! And I feel them!! Far from being removed, they haven’t been lightened (that I’m aware of). I mean how can you go through life, feeling occasionally suicidal and still believe that your burdens have been “lightened?” You can’t! At least, I can’t anyway. But much like feeling “bad” things, perfection, even if I had it, wouldn’t protect me from bad things happening. The Lord may have lightened burdens for his faithful people, but they were still in bondage… Being perfect didn’t protect the Savior from ridicule, hatred and scorn. It didn’t protect him from being crucified.

So it starts to feel hopeless. If being perfect doesn’t prevent bad things from happening, what’s the point of trying? The point is, we were meant to grow to be like our Father in Heaven – some day. Meaning, perfection IS attainable, but it has to be learned and learning takes… you guessed it – trial and error. You may not be good enough to be perfect right now, but you are good enough to be learning how to be perfect some day.

Maybe this is, in part, why President Boyd K. Packer said:

“It was meant to be that life would be a challenge. To suffer some anxiety, some depression, some disappointment, even some failure is normal. Teach our members that if they have a good, miserable day once in a while, or several in a row, to stand steady and face them. Things will straighten out. There is great purpose in our struggle in life” (That All May Be Edified [1982], 94, emphasis added).

I guess my point is this: My best isn’t good enough to be perfect, but it is good enough for just about everything else. In other words, for right now, “it’s good enough just being me.”

*The other message was how strengths can also be weaknesses, which kind of blew my mind, but more on that another time.