What You Have Within You

Photo by Katya Azi on Unsplash

There’s a lot on my mind and in my heart right now. My friend’s brother passed away earlier this week and the funeral was today (I'm writing this on a Saturday). It brings up a lot of emotions for various reasons. I don’t know the details surrounding his death. I don’t really want to know the details, though I do know that he took his own life. The first emotions I feel are shock and disbelief. I would never have thought that things were that bad for him and as far as I’m aware there is no mental illness in the family that might explain it. It’s normal to want to know why, but it doesn’t change the fact that it happened. It also brings up feelings of great sadness. Sadness for my friend and their families, for all those who remain to wonder and grieve. Feelings which are all hard, but also a normal part of the process.

What is unexpected is how quickly it brought me back to the times in my life when I’ve been suicidal. I’ve never attempted suicide formally, but I had planned how I would do it, I’ve written suicide notes, etc. I know that darkness. I know that pain. I know that despair. I know that desire for escape, for just wanting the pain to end.

But along with all that grief, there is also, deep within, a feeling of relief. I can look back and see where I have been. Where I am now is in such a better, healthier place than I’ve ever been. I’m immensely grateful. I’m grateful that I survived. I’m grateful that I am no longer in those dark places. I’m grateful to be in a much healthier place, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. I’m not lucky. I’m not special. I’m not favored. While I can’t go into all the details, the reason I’m still here is because my Heavenly Father let me know that He was aware of me, that He was aware of my pain, and that He wasn’t going to let me go without a fight. So I’m still here. With lots of questions, but I’m still here!

I have been reflecting on this distance between the here and now and the past – really the difference in who I am now from who I was in the past. I haven’t shied away from sharing that I was a victim of abuse. I’ve mentioned – without going into detail – that I’ve had my share of addictions. I was traumatized in many ways, which left me believing that I was inherently damaged, broken, and worthless as a result of all of these things happening in my life. And I was resentful. Not only was I resentful that these things happened to me, but I was resentful that I wasn’t given what I needed as a child to combat these terrible events/circumstances. I wasn’t given confidence. I wasn’t given the affection I longed for; the praise I sought so desperately from my parents; the comfort and understanding I wanted from my mother; and the sense of worth, importance, and “mattering” that I longed for from my father.

I’m not criticizing my parents here, even though it sounds like it. They did the best they could, and from the little I know, they did better by me than what they had been given from their own parents.

But that’s the idea I’ve focused on my whole life – what I should have been given from my parents; or what I expected them to give me. Which, on the surface, seems accurate – parents “give” their children a sense of belonging, a sense of comfort, and sense of pride/confidence, a sense of mattering to someone, as well as a sense of being loved, of worth, of safety, etc.

And for most of my adult life, I believed those were things I did NOT get from my parents. Which only added to feeling empty, worthless, damaged, not good enough, etc. As if I’ve been walking through life with these holes in me, these absences, that were supposed to be filled by my parents, but weren’t. And I have felt despair, believing that filling those holes was a one-shot deal, either they are “filled” in by your parents, or they are not; and if they are not, well then, you’ve missed your chance and they are going to remain empty for the rest of your life, because they could ONLY be filled at a certain time in your life (i.e., childhood) and in a certain way (i.e., by parents).

But my reflections today on who I am and who I have been, has changed my perspective on that.

For the last few years, I’ve been working on “filling those missing pieces of myself.” I had finally decided that even if I wasn’t given the things I felt I needed from my parents in order to feel whole, complete, and a sense of worth, I could “resign” myself to learning how to fill those pieces in for myself. This, in and of itself, is a monumental shift in changing my way of thinking. I still felt some resentment at needing to fill in those missing pieces on my own, but it was the first time I felt hope at being able to fill in those pieces, i.e., have my needs met – even if I did have to do it on my own!

Overall, I would say that it has been working. It has helped me to reach a better place where I know I have to do what I’m doing to help myself, because I am the only one who can help myself right now, and that’s okay – in fact, this has been a really important lesson for me to learn. 

In order to make another point here, I want to relate a work experience I had several years ago. For a time I was working as a Home Health Speech-Language Pathologist, which meant going to people’s homes to provide rehab on speech, language, voice, swallowing, etc. I recall one particular time, where I had gone to an Assisted Living Facility in Bountiful to treat a lady that had been having some swallowing issues. She was a sweet lady, but my heart went out to her – she was in her late 60’s, very overweight, living in an electric wheelchair and I could just see that life had been hard for her. Sometimes, when you’ve been through a certain kind of darkness, you recognize it in others.

We had met for a couple of sessions, and I had been teaching her some exercises for swallowing. On this particular visit, we went through the routine exercises and I could see some improvement, which I always make a point to recognize for my patients. I told her, fairly simply, though sincere, “hey, you did really well with those exercises, I can tell that you’ve been practicing.” I paused for just a second, and then added, “I’m really proud of you.”

She reacted almost as if she was startled, and then started to cry – which startled me! I asked her if I did or said something wrong, and through her sweet, innocent tears said something that broke my heart. She said, “no one’s ever said that to me before.” I jumped up out of my chair and gave her a big hug; I mean, what else could I do?!

It broke my heart to think that this sweet woman had lived her whole life, never hearing that she had made anyone proud. And it sounds like such a simple thing, but it also broke my heart for another reason – I had lived my whole life never hearing anyone say that to me either. I wanted so much to make my dad proud, or my mom, and I had never, ever felt like I did. Partially because I knew what terrible choices I had made, but also because I believed who I was, was inherently disappointing. I mean, how could any parent be proud of a son who is overweight, ugly, unaccomplished at anything, and gay? I actually have a vivid memory of my dad telling me once that he was disappointed in me. It was only once, but I knew it was how he truly felt about me, because I never heard him say otherwise. And if that’s how my own father felt about me, then what else was I to believe?

I really couldn’t have known what impact the words I spoke would have on this woman, but my words were sincere and I think that’s why they were powerful for her.

Today, as I reflected on that experience, I saw something else in it that I had never considered before: I gave this woman something that had never been given to me. How is that possible? If I never made anyone proud, and I had that as an emptiness within me, then how could I have given that to her? The only answer that makes sense to me, is that I wasn’t empty of this thing, as I had led myself to believe. I suddenly realized that it’s also possible that I never really have been “empty” of anything. That maybe, just maybe, all of those “needs” that I thought could only be granted by loving parents, were not really missing from me after all. Maybe they’ve been there all along, but I just couldn’t see them, because I “thought” they were missing.

Maybe it isn’t that parents are supposed to give you those things that are part of your identity, but maybe they are supposed to help you discover them within yourself. Yes, it is just as unfortunate and sad for anyone who doesn’t have parents or an upbringing that can help them see their worth and value and importance, but it’s not because those things are missing. Would I have wanted my parents to show me those parts of myself? Of course! I will always look back and I will always have wanted that, but for the first time in my life, I don’t feel empty.

I need to say that again: For the first time in my life, I don’t feel empty.

The irony is not lost on me. I have felt empty my whole life and I now believe that I have been perpetually trying to “fill” those needs with anything that would make me feel good – and what better way to feel good than to eat? So I ate. A lot. (It’s also not lost on me how ironic it is that feeling so empty inside would result in me gaining so much on the outside! As if my waistline were trying to compensate for the void I felt within.)

If I had it within me to be able to tell this woman that I was proud of her, then I suppose I have it within me to tell myself that I am proud of me. And just to be clear, I’m not talking about “comparison-pride.” I’m not talking about the pride that makes a comparison and says, “I’m better than…” No, I’m talking about “confidence-pride,” or maybe a better word is “assurance-pride.” The kind of pride that comes from the confidence, or the assurance, that you have inherent worth and value, simply for being who you are, and not in comparison to someone else.

It's hard in this world we live in. It’s hard to not compare. It’s hard to look at someone else’s life and NOT make some kind of comparison. Everything in the world invites that comparison; wants you to believe that you aren’t good enough, smart enough, talented enough, accomplished enough, strong enough, good looking enough, etc. I certainly bought into that idea. I wholeheartedly bought into that idea. And lived in misery and despair because of it; because I compared myself and was always lacking.

I understand, now, that my formative years contained experiences that prevented me from seeing what I had within myself, from seeing my worth, in fact. But I also now see that I wasn’t ever really lacking anything within, I just couldn’t see it.

I don’t know if this insight that I’ve had will help anyone else. I don’t know if anyone else will really even understand it, but I hope that if someone reading this feels empty inside, I want you to know that you aren’t. You already have everything within you that you need to heal, and to be whole, and to feel your own worth and value. It will take some faith and it will take some practice, but you can do it.

Because you have it within you.

Photo by Flavia Carpio on Unsplash

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.

Of Stupidity and Carbs

I did something stupid recently.

Have you ever done anything stupid? Like, you knew it was going to be a bad idea, even before you did it, but you did it anyway? Well, that’s what I did. I justified my “bad idea” by calling it an experiment: “If I do this, I’ll just see what happens and I’ll learn from it and it’ll be cool.”

It wasn’t cool.

Not cool, at all.

What did I do that was so stupid? I ate carbs.

Ok, I can almost hear you rolling your eyes at me… BUT, I have to explain why carbs are a stupid idea for me.

I don’t villainize carbs. I don’t think carbs are evil. I love carbs; I want to be carbs… the problem is, I have a chemical reaction to carbs that results in an “altered mental/emotional status.” More accurately, sugar carbs result in panic attacks and starchy carbs result in depression. Put ‘em both together and I get into suicidal territory. Yes, my reaction to carbs is that drastic; I’m not exaggerating here. I’ve tested this over and over and over – and always with the same result. Sometimes the reaction happens within a few hours and sometimes it doesn’t show up for a few days, but it always shows up.

This is just one reason a low-carb diet, like a ketogenic diet, has been so helpful for me, because it all but eliminates my drastic mood swings. Life still has its ups and downs, but I regulate my moods and thoughts SO  much better while eating Ketogenically.

So, for the last seven-eight months I’ve been following a ketogenic diet (carbs under 20-30 grams per day, protein based on lean body mass, and fat to round out my calorie needs). I certainly haven’t been “perfect” with it – I’ve had my moments of “carb-loading,” i.e., binge eating, but this time was different. I had bread or sugar carbs EVERY DAY for a week.

So, so stupid.

For the first 3-4 days I was in heaven – tons ’o carbs and no backlash. I thought, “hey, I’m cured; I can totally have carbs now.” But about day 4 is when the cravings started and the “willpower” began to run out. I know the difference between physical hunger and “emotional” hunger and I was becoming emotionally hungry all the time! One poor decision led to another and I just kept eating more and more carbs… Then the nightmares started; waking up in the middle of the night with my heart racing and sweaty from fear/panic; or rising in the morning with a feeling of dread – that if I got out of bed, something bad was going to happen. Then came the depression. Everything in my life seemed bad, wrong, insufficient, an unsolvable problem, hopeless, helpless, like nothing would ever be okay – like I would never be okay. I became angry and annoyed by the slightest things and somehow, I just couldn’t shake hating myself for all of this. After all, I was the stupid one who ate all the carbs. I knew it was a bad idea, but I did it anyway.

I mean, haven’t I lost 70-ish pounds eating low-carb? Yep, I sure have. So haven’t I “earned” the right to spend a week eating whatever the hell I want? Erm… that’s a tough one. I think the problem with that question is in the idea that I can somehow “earn” bad food. Is that the relationship with food that I want? To be “good” so that I can earn the right to be “bad?” And by bad I just mean throw caution to the wind and fly off the nutritional rails… No, of course not! No one “earns” the right to be bad! It’s probably a bad idea (irony intended) to “moralize” food into “good” or “bad” camps, because – for me, anyway – it's too easy for it to become a reflection of who I am as an individual; i.e., I ate “bad” food, therefore I am a “bad” person.

I keep asking myself why? Why would I do this to myself KNOWING it was a “bad” idea?! I think there must be a lot of reasons. I’ve spent so long fighting cravings that I just wanted to give in. I am so tired of fighting the desire for carbs (i.e., emotional hunger) that I just wanted to lose control and not think about consequences or repercussions. I was angry that I’ve been having such bad neck/shoulder pain that no one seems to be able to resolve and I just got angry at my body for hurting for no reason – and I wanted to punish it; as if I was saying, “hey, if you’re not going to work properly and be in pain for nothing more than just moving, then screw you – I’m going to get fat and lazy and just give up on you.”

Which is sad, now that I see it typed out in black and white. What a poor relationship I seem to have with myself. I’m so ready to hurt myself and punish myself as if that’s all I deserved; it’s almost just a knee-jerk reaction at this point. It’s not healthy; it’s not caring, or kind or compassionate. It’s abusive. How did I learn this? Where did I learn this?

Honestly, I don’t think the answers to those questions even matter right now. What matters is improving that relationship. So I’m going to do some really uncomfortable work here and commit to a couple of things:

1. Forgiveness – Yep, I made a poor decision to eat a bunch of carbs (premeditated or otherwise). Beating myself up for it isn’t going to change that, it isn’t going to “pay” for my dalliance(s), and it isn’t going to prevent me from making poor choices in the future. What it will do is reinforce the erroneous belief that I’m an inherently bad/weak person, deserving of self-abuse and punishment. Forgiveness is not ignoring what I did, or trying to remove/avoid consequences; forgiveness is me admitting I made a bad choice, but knowing that I am not a “bad person” because of it. Forgiveness is saying, “I care enough about you that I don’t want you to repeat that behavior, because I don’t want you to hurt anymore…”

2. Embrace pain. This may sound like it’s coming from left field or you may be wondering how “embracing pain” could help me change these destructive patterns. Well, it’s because pretty much all of my dysfunctional patterns are some form of avoiding pain (physical, mental, emotional, etc.). Pain is an indicator that something is wrong. Because of my trauma’s and learned self-abuse, I interpret “something wrong” to mean that I’ve done something wrong or that I am wrong; that I have somehow caused this pain. So when I feel pain, I blame myself for having done something wrong to cause it. Embracing pain means exposing myself to life and being vulnerable; it means challenging my beliefs about myself and more specifically what I’m worth or what I think I’m capable of. Pain is nature’s way of saying something needs my attention, not an indication that I’ve done something wrong or that I “am” wrong. Pain, while unpleasant to experience, can actually be an ally, and one I probably need to stop “avoiding at all costs.” I can be in pain and still be okay.

Deep down I know my days of making stupid decisions aren’t over. I’m certain I have plenty more to make. But my hope is that I can, at the very least, learn from when I’ve chosen poorly in the past and use that feedback to make wiser decisions in the future – especially when it comes to carbs!

Carnocchio

I’m sitting here with an injured right knee. I injured it in the stupidest way possible – extending my leg from a bent position while sitting on the floor. That’s it. I just lifted my leg to straighten it out and felt like it “slipped out of socket,” although I didn’t feel anything move. It took several seconds to work the pain out and I was able to stand and walk on it, but there was a sharp twinge of pain every few steps.

That was yesterday; today is much worse. I can hardly bend it or straighten it. It aches when at rest and “lights up” with pain when I try to move it. I can put weight on it, however, and that makes me grateful, because it means it’s most likely just a tendon stretch or pull and not meniscus damage.

But I’m still mad. I’m mad that I got injured in the lamest, stupidest way possible – not doing anything! It would be one thing if I were injured from an accident or something, but just straightening out my leg? How stupid is that! Ugh!! And then it makes me angry at my body for being so weak and out of shape; especially when I’ve made so much progress over the last few months to increase my health and fitness. This just feels like I huge setback and I’m angry. I’m angry at myself, my body – everything!

And yet… I feel like every physical system has some mental/emotional component attached to it. A “broken” knee means I’m most likely afraid of something – afraid to move forward in life; it can also mean stubborn/inflexible pride. I know I have my moments in struggling with pride, I’m human – after all, but the fear of moving forward is something that resonates with me. I feel stuck in a job I don’t really love – although it’s a good job. I feel like I’m stuck by not really having anything I’m truly passionate about pursuing in life. I’m absolutely stuck in knowing which romantic relationship to pursue and feeling lonely most of the time!

Since I was laid up in bed anyway, I decided to do some guided meditation to see if I could understand what this particular injury is trying to tell me. I was all over the place and saw many images I couldn’t quite piece together. But a few things stood out in particular.

I saw myself at about the age of 9 or 10. This was the age when several things changed in my life – I was molested for a second time, I practically doubled in body weight, I required glasses at that age and I recalled that my knee would occasionally pop out of socket. I remember how much it hurt the first time and how panicked I was. But as it happened from time to time, I eventually grew to expect it and even though I was already not that active, I became truly sedentary, so as not to aggravate my knee further. (I as probably 17 or 18 the last time it happened.) I suppose I thought that not using it was healing it because I never really had a problem with it after that; until yesterday, that is.

What was truly strange was not that I saw myself at 9 or 10, but that when I saw myself, I was lying on the ground, on my back, lifeless – no more than a doll or a puppet – which made me think of Pinocchio; or rather, something like a reverse-Pinocchio. I saw myself as a lively human boy made of flesh (a Carnocchio, I suppose!), but after enduring some traumas, I became lifeless – I turned into nothing more than a puppet. No longer capable of facing life; I shut down and retreated to a place inside myself where I was safe – but unable to fully interact with the world.

I believe that several physical conditions changed as a result. For example, I believe I got fat as a way of protecting myself (fat is a cushion and a barrier, after all); I believe my eyesight deteriorated because I could no longer see a future where I mattered, or where my life could mean anything; I think my knee failed me because I was afraid to move forward to a future that held no promise for me, where I no longer understood what it meant to be a man.

In my imagery, I sat down next to my “lifeless” self and scooped him up into my arms. I held him and cried over him – perhaps I was crying for him. I told him how sorry I was that he had been through such hard things. I told him I understood why he would have shut down and lived a life of hiding his true self from constant fear. I told him I loved him and that he didn’t have to be afraid anymore. It struck me how my younger self had never felt emotionally supported and as I did so, I felt a sharp pain in my knee. That told me I was onto something.

I told my younger self that maybe my knee was initially damaged out of fear and that I haven’t had a problem with it because I’ve lived for so long in that fear – that I couldn’t tell that it wasn’t strong. I told myself that maybe this time, through attempting to improve my health and fitness, my knee became re-injured – not because I’m afraid, but because I’m ready; ready to move forward. But I can’t move forward on broken beliefs, just like I can’t move forward in fitness with a damaged knee. Maybe it’s as if my knee needed to re-break (i.e., break old belief systems), in order to re-set and heal correctly (i.e., “move forward” in life with new, healthy thoughts and beliefs about myself).

This may be a lot of hokum to some people – and maybe it is, but my point is that this experience helped me to reframe my injury. Rather than being mad at my body for breaking down again – this time, I could see it as my body trying to heal from past traumas and helping me to reset my foundation to something healthy and functional. It didn’t take the pain away, but now when I feel the pain, I can tell myself that this is a necessary step on the road to true recovery – physically, as well as mentally and emotionally.

I want to become “a real boy” again – alive, healthy, vibrant and able to direct the course of my life, instead of passively watching it go by, with someone else pulling the strings.

Life is a game of...

Let me tell you a story. This is a story about you.

You are around 11 years old. You’re sitting with the rest of your class in the gymnasium. It also doubles as the cafeteria, but the tables and benches have been carefully folded and put away and the lacquered floor swept and mopped to its highly reflective sheen. You are nervous and distracted. You are unintentionally eavesdropping on the hushed conversations going on around you, jealous of everyone else’s apparent calm. P.E. is NOT your favorite class. You hate that you are literally the fattest kid in school, let alone your class. You hate that no matter how good you do, you can’t ever keep up with the other kids; they are all faster, stronger, smarter and way more agile than you. You hate P.E. and you hate where you are. You hate the cavernous quality of the gym, where even the slightest sounds echo off the walls, floor and ceiling. You try not to even think too loud for fear that your thoughts will begin to echo around the room. And if it’s so open, why is it so hard to breathe?

You hear the door click and you whip your head around with everyone else, all conversations immediately stopping so that even the silence seems to echo around you. Your senses are sharpening and your breathing increases almost imperceptibly. You watch your 60 year old, past his prime – but probably still more athletic than you give him credit for – P.E. teacher walking in, pulling some gym equipment behind him.  As comprehension of what he’s dragging behind him hits you, you feel like a trap door underneath your stomach has suddenly been released; your heart jumps up into your throat and you are barely aware of how your muscles have tensed up as your heart rate steadily increases. You see that he’s pulling a wire cart loaded with balls - big, red, rubber balls with small hash marks stamped across the surface, increasing their grip, but making them feel rough. Tiny beads of sweat begin to form on your forehead as your thoughts are dominated by the one word that spells your imminent destruction – Dodgeball.

You look around at your class and you see the familiar range of expressions. Some kids are rolling their eyes, as if to say, “dodgeball? again? it’s so boring, don’t you have anything new for us to do?” Some kids are looking around, as if they too are uncertain what to think, apparently apprehensive. And then there’s always one or two kids that are looking around the class with hungry, greedy eyes. They’re already evaluating everyone in the class and deciding who are the easy targets - the weak links. They look at you and they smile an ominous, “grinchy” smile that can’t – and doesn’t – mean anything good. Your anxiety gives way to panic as the blood rushes out of your head into who knows where.

You already know the outcome. Everyone will be gunning for you because you are the easy mark. You stand out no matter where you stand. It doesn’t matter how you turn, there’s ample mass to target. Because you’re fatter than everyone else you’re also slower than everyone else, which means it doesn’t matter if you try to hide behind someone else, they’ll be able to move out of the way faster than you. You know you can’t back up to the wall because the opposing team can still see you and 9 times out of 10 the coach will call you out anyway. You toy with the idea of making a kamikaze play – walking right up to the line with no one else around and just stand there – exposing yourself for the easy target that you are and just wait for the sting of the rubber as multiple balls slam into you like heat seeking missiles.  But exposing yourself hurts more because you know the other kids will be aiming for your head and face, not just your massive gut. Clearly, no one seems to understand that you have feelings. Maybe they think that your extra layer of lard protects you from physical and verbal threats, but it doesn’t; if anything, the opposite is true. Not that they’d care about that anyway. It’s kill or be killed in dodgeball.

All you can do is lumber around in a panic, bracing yourself in fear for that inevitable rubber smack stinging your skin and being “out” for most of the game, i.e., the pathetic loser. Ever since your first game you’ve known that life is like a game of dodgball and you end up in life just where you end up in dodgeball…

The End

Okay, this isn’t a story about you. This is a story about me and it’s actually a true story. This really was my experience and it I share it here to illustrate one thing – fear. While the feelings I felt during dodgeball were clearly amped up, those feelings are and have been constantly with me. I feel that anxiety every day. Every morning I wake up with the panic of not knowing what’s going to “hit” me that day. Being terrified of the uncertainty of what will come, but knowing that something will indeed come – something always comes to knock me down. And while I may not know what it is that’s going to happen, I do know one thing – it’s going to hurt!

I have recently come to understand that I fear pain above all else. In my flawed thinking the presence of pain means that I’m not safe, that something is wrong and that I’m not okay. The condition of not being okay is so painful that I will do just about anything to avoid it – including (as illogical as it sounds) enduring a lesser pain to avoid the greater pain. And what’s even better is being able to “control” that lesser pain to remove uncertainty.  Therefore, I can binge on chips, cookies and other luscious carbs any time I want. It may not make me feel good in the long run (i.e., is the lesser pain), but it satisfies my emotional/physical need to be safe (i.e., avoiding a greater pain). It makes me feel like everything is right and that I’m okay – even if it is just temporary.

The problem is, of course, that this is no way to live. Living this way leads to misery, depression, weight gain and decreased health. It leads to emotional breakdowns as well. These conditions are not how God intended His children to live. It is said that fear is the antithesis of faith and I truly believe that.  My life has reflected more of fear than of faith, which only gives me one more thing to feel bad about! (It’s kind of a bad cycle.)

I’m reading a book called “Self-Compassion” by Kristin Neff, which I highly recommend. One of the points she makes is something she learned from a Buddist teacher, Shinzen Young, that “we can distinguish between the normal pain of life – difficult emotions, physical discomfort, and so on – and actual suffering, which is the mental anguish caused by fighting against the fact that life is sometimes painful.” (pp 93-94) As he taught her, “we can’t avoid pain in life… the key to happiness [is] understanding that suffering is caused by resisting pain.”

The take-away message for me is that the majority of my problems are caused by my resistance to pain and not necessarily the pain itself. I would be much happier if I allowed myself to experience pain WITHOUT interpreting that to mean that “I’m not okay.” The truth is, I can be “in pain” and still be “okay.”

This is supported in the scriptures when Lehi says, “For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things.” There was no exclusionary clause to this statement. He didn’t say there must be opposition – except for righteous/obedient people, then everything is smooth sailing. He said there MUST be opposition in ALL things. (Must is actually a very strong word here - not “may” be, or “might” be, but MUST.) In other words, it is essential that opposition be present, which means – I’m going to experience pain at times and since I’m supposed to experience pain to some degree, there’s no reason to fear it or resist it (i.e., suffer).

As Jesus said in Matthew 5:45 “…for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust.” In other words, no one is exempt.  Of course, a greater understanding of the Atonement leads one to acknowledge that all pains are swallowed up in Christ and, therefore, need not be feared at all.

The irony is not lost on me – how much pain I’ve caused myself by trying to avoid pain. Which is where self-compassion comes in. Offering myself forgiveness and understanding can overcome the guilt I feel for how poorly I treated myself over the years, all as a result of trying to avoid pain. Then acknowledging that pain is inevitable and that’s okay!! The hardest thing for me to do is to “sit” with bad emotions and tell myself that I’m okay. I feel the autonomic response of fight-or-flight kick in and I panic. Since I have nothing to fight, I choose “flight” or avoidance, e.g. drowning my sorrows in a bag of oreos, and the cycle continues.

This process of sitting with bad emotions and still being okay is going to be tough to learn, but I also have hope that it will help me end the cycle of pain I cause myself, that I can be free from fear and that ultimately, I can stop believing that life is a game of dodgeball. 

Things I learn from Aphasia

I have class devoted to learning about Aphasia, which is a language disorder as a result of a traumatic brain injury, usually a stroke.

We watched a video of a conference that was held focusing on how to best counsel people with Aphasia. It was pretty interesting, but the thing that impressed me was the very humanistic approach that was adopted. One thing in particular that stood out to me was a quote that was shared that had no attributable author. I loved it so I've re-typed it below (preserving the punctation):

Anonymous Meditation
"We think we get over things.
We don't get over things
Or say, we get over the measels but not a broken heart.
We need to make that distinction.
The things that become part of our experience never become less a part of our experience.
How can I say it?
The way to "get over" a life is to die.
Short of that, you move with it.
Let the pain, be pain, not in the hope that it will vanish
But in the faith that it will fit in.
Find its place in the shape of things
And then be not any less pain but true to form.
Because anything natural has an inherent shape
And it will flow towards it.
And life is as natural as a leaf.
That's what we're looking for
Not the end of a thing, but the shape of it.
Wisdom is seeing the shape of your life
Without obliterating (getting over) a single instant of it."

Making up for only 2 posts in April so far...

Just trying to survive the next couple of weeks. I probably make it sound worse than it really is. The last few weeks of the semester have been good, but also a challenge. Next week I have two finals and because I've decided to "settle" for an A-, I won't be taking my third class's final, which is optional, and I'm really okay with and A-, so yay! But with other projects to be done, I haven't been able to keep up on the other two classes, so here I am, having to take a few days off work to catch up! Grrrr...! (Well, what I'm really doing is avoiding even starting my homework by blogging about it!!)

I've also been experimenting with my diet again. I spent the last two or three years trying to discover how foods affect me, and that has been invaluable, but I am now trying to play with the idea of consistency. I might eat well for a week or two, but I usually binge on the weekends, pretty much negating any good I did during the week. Sticking to the foods that make me feel better and avoiding the foods that make me feel worse has been hard. Then I wonder to myself, why? If good food makes me feel good, and bad food makes me feel bad, then why is this even an issue? Why is it that I am willing to destroy my health, and even my life, for junk food? Not even junk food, really, because I'm also including pasta and bread and cheese (dairy) in all this...

I suppose it boils down to a tolerance for bad feelings. What I mean by that is, it is true that bad food makes me feel bad, but only after it makes me feel good. And not just good, but like, blissfully good. It doesn't just ease stress and pain - it makes it go away. Good food doesn't have that effect. Good food makes you feel good, it's true, but it doesn't "eliminate" the bad feelings like bad food does. These things are hard to judge and measure because they are not black and white topics, they are all about continuums. There are degrees of feeling good and bad and then it's further complicated by different types, such as feeling good or bad physically vs. emotionally vs. mentally vs. spiritually, etc.

You know what's strange? I go through the most amazing emotional and mental olympic events in order to avoid pain (stress, suffering, etc.), but I only end up supplanting some pains for other pains, so I haven't really eliminated pain, I've only altered it. As I type this, I'm starting to make some connections. I also think the reason I do this is to have some semblance of control. Food is something I can do something about, therefore, I use it like I am in control of it - in that way I convince myself that I am "in control." I control how I feel and when I feel it. BUT - it's a fallacy. What I have actually done is GIVEN control to food and to my body and deep down I know this is the wrong method, but the thought of "losing" that control and opening myself up to the pain of life that I can't control is terrifying. (stray thought here: I think I've just invented a new field that is the synthesis of art and science which I'll call "performance therapy")

So, I guess I need to figure out why am I so afraid of pain? I love C.S. Lewis' work on the meaning of pain, and I'll be honest it's a bit beyond me, but what I get from it is that pain has a purpose. It's a part of the experience of life and life is incomplete without it. For me personally, pain is what reminds me that I need a Savior, no, that I depend on a Savior. If my life were easy, I would never need Him. Maybe to some degree, my being so terrified of pain only aggrandizes it's effect. What if the pain of life really isn't all that bad, or at least, as bad as I "think" it will be and I am missing out on the joy of life, simply because I'm trying to avoid a little pain?

You know what? I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't want to be afraid of pain. I don't want to be afraid of repentance. I don't want to be afraid of change. I don't want to be afraid of life.

I can see why addictions are so strong: Just a simple little molecule called (insert drug of choice, i.e., sugar, alcohol, tobacco, etc), and all of your pain goes away. What could be simpler than that? It gives you relief and the feeling of being in control, even if it's just an illusion. Who wouldn't want that? But what are you left with? You are left with living life on only one side of the seesaw where nothing happens and life becomes meaningless. Who knew? Joy AND Pain make life fulfilling. Oddly enough, it's been part of the message of the gospel for as long as it's been around. (Yes, I'm being sarcastic here!)

Speaking of the gospel, and because I think that's enough Performance Therapy for one day, I have been asked to speak in church on Sunday. I was asked to "sum up the Atonement in 8-10 minutes." (I can hear Bill Cosby in my head going, "riiiiigggghhhhttt.....") I have been pondering and praying for a week now and I'm totally at a loss for what to say. No, wait, that's not right. I'm at a loss as to HOW to say it. The truth is, I have a lot of feelings about the Atonement, especially from the experience of my dad passing away, but how do you take something that personal and put it into words? I'm sure I'll come up with something, but I just know I won't be able to do justice to what I feel in my heart. I guess it's also hard because I know it's the last time I will be able to speak in my ward. Anyway, wish me luck! I'll let you know how it goes...