Fear of Crappy Emotions

**My writing on this blog is so sporadic.  But I'm so grateful for my little space here, and for the little community of women who share it with me.  Thanks.

Buy this print here. 

June B left a comment on my last blog post that called me out a bit.  She didn't mean to, I'm sure her question was genuine.  But she struck at something that surfaces in my therapy a lot.  And that is my undying devotion to the avoidance of what June referred to as "crappy emotions."

I do a lot of things to avoid uncomfortable circumstances which can result in uncomfortable feelings. Sometimes I refrain from sharing my thoughts with Pete, because I am worried he will get defensive or I won't be heard.  Sometimes I hide parts of my identity, things about who I am, because I fear disapproval.  There are so many social experiences I miss out on for fear of rejection.  Even just making a phone call to get a babysitter sometimes isn't worth the risk I take that the babysitter will turn me down.

A few weeks ago we were traveling as a family and Pete and I had a conversation where I shared some of my feelings and it didn't go well.  I didn't get the empathy and understanding I was looking for, which resulted in some resentments and frustration on my part.  I decided that it just wasn't worth it to share my feelings.  What was the point?  It would be better to just keep them inside rather than take the chance that they wouldn't elicit the response I wanted.

I was discussing this with my therapist and he said to me

"Just because it didn't go well, doesn't mean you did it wrong.

Things are gonna go badly sometimes.  Conversations are going to result in hurt feelings and disappointment sometimes.  But why not give it a chance? Give Pete the chance to hear you and understand you.  I believe in you, and I believe that when it doesn't go well, you are capable of coping and feeling and getting through the disappointment."

What are crappy emotions that they must be avoided anyway? They are just guests at the party. Part of life's experiences. And not only that, but sadness consistently brings me closer to compassion, and out of pain grows empathy.

June asked, Will I ever get to a point of long-term consistent contentment and happiness?

Here's what I think. I think the course of my life is going to include crappy emotions.  But it is going to include happiness as well.  With the help of God and wise friends (and a good therapist!) I can navigate my way through it all.  Fearing and avoiding crappy emotions is not only an impossible task, but a confining one.  It's a classic risk-reward paradigm.  If I'm never willing to share my feelings, exhibit my true self, and participate socially - I'll never have the reward of a vulnerable conversation with my husband, feel loved for who I really am, and enjoy creating and nurturing meaningful relationships.

June I hope for both of us that our periods of happiness will be lengthy, and that we can learn how to lay a foundation of peace that will sustain us through the crappy emotions we will inevitably face.

My Foes

Credit 

There is a hymn I've always loved.  Since I was a teenager I've always felt STRONG when I sing it.  Often the pianist will slow it down for the last first, and let the congregation really feel it as they sing

That soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose, 
I will not, I can not, desert to [her] foes. 
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake
I'll never, no never, no never forsake. 

But I couldn't ever really figure out who my foes were.  I don't really have any real enemies to speak of. I'm certainly not fighting any kind of literal war.  So when God has my back, who does He have my back against?

The past couple months have had me reeling in self-doubt. I'm not sure where it came from, but all of the sudden I became painfully aware of my shriveled and suffering self-worth.  One day as I was walking, and listening to this hymn, it occurred to me that in my life, my foes aren't any awful people that prevent me from loving my life and myself. My foes are the voices in my head that tell me that I'm not okay the way I am.  The voice that tells me to be embarrassed of what I have, or don't have.  The voice that tells me to hide parts of myself around certain people.  The voice that tells me I need to change before I can be acceptable.  The voices that constantly over-think and over-analyze something as simple as a comment on Facebook or a message sent on Voxer.  Those voices are my own personal enemies.

And I started to cry, walking down the bustling streets of my city.  Why is self-esteem so elusive? My goodness it teases me!

Accepting myself, loving myself, sharing myself with confidence has become the object of my existence for the last few weeks.

On a somewhat related note, for International Women's Day some friends and I recited [most of] this poem in an assembly at our children's school.  It is so beautiful.

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken? 
Bowed head and lowered eyes? 
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
I rise
I rise. 

(Still I Rise  - Maya Angelou.  Read the entire poem or hear it read, here.)

Nasty Insecurities

Credit

This Saturday is The Togetherness Project.  (If you still think you would like to attend I'm pretty sure Jacy won't turn you away.)

Over a year ago Jacy and I met in person.  Together with Scabs, Mac, Buffalo Gal and other amazing women we spent a weekend having an experience that I think changed all our lives.  I think it planted a seed for Jacy that has now grown into a full-blown event. 

As the weeks leading up to the event passed and I didn't register I couldn't put my finger on why.  I've spent two weekends away from my family at Camp Scabs (another beautiful idea that came from our original retreat) and another weekend running in a race.  There has been a persistent feeling that I should stay home this weekend.  I chalked it up to being here for my kids because Pete is actually attending an SA conference this weekend as well.  But I still hadn't quite been able to really wrap my head around why I am missing this opportunity to learn, but especially to see my amazing WoPA community. 

This morning as last minute emails are flying around, and weekend plans are being made, I had a meltdown.  It would be easy to say that I just felt sad about not being there, but it was more.  It is a fear, a really deep insecurity that I have.  While I washed a cookie sheet and tried to process all my feelings Ben Howard sang to me

"I've been worryin' that we all live our lives in the confines of fear."

I'm afraid that if I'm not there people WON'T miss me.  I'm afraid that if I don't go I'll miss out on the recognition I might get for being involved, for being part of that original group of women who dreamt big.  I fear that my friendships will suffer because other friendships are strengthened.  Fear about missing all the validation that my WoPA offer me.  Fear that my worth is proportional to the number and quality of these relationships I have. Fear that I'm missing out.  Fear that it will be amazing (which it will) and I will regret not being there.

And of course my biggest fear of all, my fear that by not being there, I am inherently inferior to all those who are there. 

I'm learning to lean into the pain so I sat on the couch and cried it out.  I turned to God, and he answered me. 

"This is why I didn't want you to go.  I want you to look these fears and insecurities in the eye and own them. And face them.  And then overcome them." 

I wish I could be there. I wish I could see you all. I wish I could soak up all the wisdom from the amazing speakers.  But for Heaven's sake! I'm not the loser I'm making myself out to be.  And the only way missing this event could possibly be worth it is if I can really really internalize that and get through the weekend without having another fear-based meltdown.

So I'll spend Saturday with my little people, and try to practice a little gratitude, live in the present and trust that when it's over my friends will still be my friends. 

Vulnerability Hangover

Cliché Zero

Last night I stood in a room of 30-40 men in suits.  I felt a bizarre combination of total intimidation and quiet confidence.  Last week my stake president invited me (and then Pete agreed as well) to speak at the bishopric training meeting.  [This is a meeting for local church leaders and their assistants.] 

It sounds totally cliché but I really did envision all of you in the room with me.  I wanted to have my moment to represent us, to share the hope of recovery and to encourage these men to better understand what more they can do.  I would like to post what I said, but honestly right now I feel so exposed I feel like crawling in a cave and isolating. 

After such a bold personal confession it's hard for me to not feel insatiable for validation.  Did my words help? Did these men approve of my message? Was I effective? Do they admire my courage? Friends, I'm so hooked on validation my life is unmanagable.

Later in the evening Pete got a text from a member of our own ward who is also a good friend.  He thanked us and said he still admired us as much as he had before he knew our deepest secret.  (Not his words exactly.)

Go ahead and laugh out loud, but I felt like he was the one leper. 

BAHAHAHA!

So ridiculous right? 

There were several men in the room who know us personally and I find myself wondering where are they? Why haven't they texted/emailed/called to support us? 

So I'm working on that. And when I can be sure that I'm not sharing just to appease my validation appetite, I'll talk about what I said last night. 

But thanks to you all who were with me in my heart.  Thanks to Pete for his gesture of courage.  It felt really good to be united with him in something. 

Have a fantastic Labor Day Weekend friends. 

Building my house of Confidence

Credit

My therapist suggested I study cognitive distortions.  As Fancy Nancy would say “That’s just a fancy way of saying negative thoughts.”  Everyone has cognitive distortions, we all have erred thinking, but the psychologically unwell, like myself, have these thoughts at an incapacitating level.  These thoughts keep me from being emotionally healthy. 

There are dozens of identified cognitive distortions but one that I’ve found to be a habitual practice of mine is “PERSONALIZATION.”  There is great irony in that term because just about everything in my life feels personal except psychology vernacular. 

Personalization is when I make everything about me. 

I have an old friend from childhood who has done some impressive things with her life.  Both personally and professionally she serves humanity worldwide and advocates for women in particular. She is also a wife and mother and I have confidence she fills those roles well.  She periodically posts pictures on Instagram of her international travels to exciting places, where she does genuine, good work for people.   I find that after I see these posts instead of appreciating her efforts for the greater good, admiring her ambition and skill, and feeling happy for her life experiences; I feel jealous, depressed, and painfully inadequate. 

All of the sudden the inspiring work of a gifted soul has become about ME, and my insecurities.  Her success means my failure.  Her accomplishments are superior, mine inferior.  All of this making her worth to the world greater, and my worth less.  Worthless.  

My boys are obsessed with all things Star Wars, including the Weird Al rendition of "American Pie" titled "Anakin." I have it memorized.  Lately I've been thinking about how it is interesting that Yoda felt Anakin wasn’t qualified to be a Jedi because he sensed fear.    I’m sure he sensed Anakin’s insecurities, pride, anger and desire for power, but the ultimate deal breaker was fear. 

Fear is a sneaky thing.  It masks itself as low self-esteem or ego.  It is disguised in jealousy and even artificial confidence.  But without a doubt I know my personalization comes from fear. 

Fear of being fundamentally less than others.  Fear that my contributions are less valuable.  Fear that if people don’t perceive me as kind, then that means I am not kind. (Or intelligent, or successful.)  

I imagine a world without those fears.  I dream of a world where all the amazing things other people do enhance my joy, rather than detract from it.  A world where I do not fear other’s perceptions of me because I have an internal and abiding understanding that I can contribute and my existence is worthwhile, in spite of my shortcomings.  But even underneath my house of confidence and reassurance, in my mind’s eye, I construct a foundation of knowledge that I have inherent worth.  It is neither less than those whose lives seem to exceed mine in value, nor is it greater than those whose lives deliberately or incidentally destroy my perceived value. 

It just exists.  It is the opposite of fear.  It is profound personal acceptance and peace.  It is not influenced by the behavior, attitude or accomplishments of others.  It is liberating.  It gives me freedom to act, to live, to be vulnerable, to make mistakes, and to love others in spite of their mistakes.  It is my mantra. 

I AM ENOUGH. 

So why the heck can’t I believe it?

Lean into the Pain

Credit

Last weekend was amazing.  In a few days I experienced extreme emotions related to the vulnerability of sharing secrets and odors in a van with five other people, the adrenaline of competition and hundreds of people going for the same goal, the endorphins that come from a runner's high, the emotional connections with genuine friendship, the frustration of combining personalities and opinions, the physical exhaustion of running 19 miles in two days, the sleep deprivation, the social "performance" expected with friends and strangers, side-splitting laughter and ultimately a severe compulsion to be alone. 

Now that I'm home and settled back into life I find myself dealing with the aftermath of the feelings and to be honest I feel totally hung-over.  I miss my friends.  I miss the highs.  There are periods of longing, wishing I were still in the middle of it and feeling anticipation about when I can do I again.

But I also remember how incredibly over stimulating it was.  And I can't imagine ever doing it again.

We are such complicated creatures.

***************

A couple weeks ago Pete and I were both having bad days. I don't remember the details or the circumstances but it was time to leave for church and I couldn't find him.  When I did find him he was sitting in a folding chair in our office and he looked at me with heavy eyes. 

"They say to 'lean into the pain.'  But I'm so tired of the pain."  His heavy eyes filled with tears.

I feel tremendous gratitude for the friendships I've made, the wisdom I've encountered, the knowledge and understanding I've gained.  Sometimes it seems as though happiness is just out of reach, I've almost figured it out.  One more breakthrough or one more epiphany and I'll get there. 

But the truth is, I'm a mortal.  The people I love are mortals.  There is going to be sadness, loneliness and confusion.  Anxiety causes the obsessive parts of my nature to feel like the world is spinning around me and I can't find my bearings.  Self-doubt, insecurity, guilt and disappointment float across my thoughts like clouds, giving me only brief glimpses of the glorious sunlight. 

Today is a cloudy day.

Sometimes my best option is to just lean into the pain. 

******************
What did I do last weekend? See here.

Blogging late at night is not a good idea

Credit

Nothing good happens after midnight, my dad would say. 

I would add to that, nothing good happens after midnight particularly after watching four hours of tv drama.  An overdose of TV sitcoms makes me start to think of my life in terms of plot lines with characters full of angst and turmoil. 

To top it all off, I got on Facebook and read a few "real life" blogs.  My nephew is a few months younger than my oldest, and he is thriving in gymnastics and taking piano lessons, my sister reports on the family blog. 

I've done a pretty good job of avoiding self-pity the last few months.  (It's all relative.)  It used to be one of my biggest vices but I'm working on it.  Tonight I crawled in bed and tears of self-pity rolled down my cheeks. 

"Are my kids missing out on life because I've hunkered down? Am I so totally absorbed in my recovery, or lack thereof, that I'm depriving them of extracurricular activities?

Why do I have to deal with this, and my sister doesn't? Why does she get to spend hours at meets and recitals but I'm determined to isolate myself because I'm trying to find some emotional safe ground?"

As you all know, another vice of mine is validation.  And here I sit shamelessly seeking validation. 

It's hard. 

It's hard to drop all the fun stuff in life to try to save your marriage. 

It's hard. 

Now I'm going back to bed, and hoping that things look better in the morning. 

My Validation Fixation

Credit

"I am insatiable for validation." I wrote in my 4th step inventory. Then I doubled the font, put it in bold, and highlighted it in the word document. It could not be understated.

I don't like using the word addiction loosely. So I will say that my fixation with validation stops just short of an addiction. It is my compulsive behavior. I look for a validation fix everywhere I can. In each email I receive from a friend, I hope to be validated. In the comments on my blog I long for praise. All around me on the internet I search for opportunities to be validated by writing comments or submitting guest posts. During my sharing at group meeting I look for approval in the faces of those who listen to me. When I bear my testimony at church I anticipate complimentary responses. During an emotional crisis I reach for my phone to call a trusted friend, someone I can count on to either validate me or talk me out of my desperate need.

When these sources all fail me, I turn to social media. Instagram and Facebook are a warehouse for manufactured validation. I post a picture of myself or my kids and I find instant positive feedback. But it's never enough. There are never enough comments or "likes" to satisfy me. I am insatiable.

When validation can not be found, I default to distraction. I peruse Instagram and Facebook, or play Words With Friends. Pinterest. Amazon. Anything to distract me from the fact that I am not being acknowledged, appreciated or worshipped.

(I am not saying there is anyhing inherently wrong with these things. Just like there is nothing inherently wrong with the beach. The beach is only a place to be avoided if you're a cycling sex addict.)

*Side Note* I want to issue a formal apology here, to anyone who I emailed preachy or self-righteous advice to. There were times it was me acting out on a compulsive desire for validation, because I was insecure about my position. And I can't possibly express my gratitude sufficiently to those who have had the courage to disagree with me, to refuse to indulge my somewhat manipulative effort to be validated. Now that I'm feeling the meekness of having no answers, I am slightly embarrassed at how I behaved when I was sure I had figured it all out.

My insatiable need for validation is definitely a problem. It might be a managable problem for me but for two things. One- I look to Pete as the number one source of my validaton. Two- Pete is an addict. I loved Rhyll's words

"Even though his presence brought out a toxic reaction in me, I desperately wanted to be loved and validated by him."

Pete and I have the same blame-shifting conversation during each of his addictive cycles. The conversation where he tells me that I'm detaching too much, and I lose my confidence. I might be able to have this conversation if I wasn't so committed to pleasing him, but my need for his validation suffocates me and breaks my heart at the first sign of his disapproval. This last time, through my tears I begged him to leave the room because I could not handle the pain of his blame.

The only people who I don't look to for validation are my children. I am so thankful that they have been spared the pressure of filling my perpetual need. From them all I wish for is love. Love free of agenda or self-interest. Pure childlike love. Love that comes so naturally to them that I can be totally confident in its intentions. It is whole and it is the antidote to my disease. It is the water that quenches my insecure thirst.