In the Pocket

Someone told me something interesting this week: If we don't know exactly why we are where we are and why we're doing what we're doing, we’re probably in the right place.

This flies in the face of what I've believed for years. I thought that a feeling of certainty meant I was on the right track, but I'm beginning to think I was wrong. 

I've been categorically unsuccessful at guiding myself to happiness and contentment for years, despite many methodical (and less than methodical) plans and schemes. I'm smart.  I'm a good problem solver.  I should be able to find the best path, right?

Not so much. In recovery, my work is not to uncover the right path. My job is to be fully present in this moment, to develop and nurture my connection with a higher power, to do a daily personal inventory, and to take the steps that my higher power lays out in front of me one after the other.

If I do those things, I often find myself in places that make little sense. But they are usually places that feel… somehow… okay. If I had made my own way, things would make sense.  I would know what happened and how I got there.  When I let go and let something greater than myself carve out my path, it's a bit disorienting. But it's so much richer than the security of being able to tie together all the pieces.

How much more delightful life is when it doesn't make sense!  Sense is boring.  Sense gives me security, but it's bland.

Interestingly, when I look back on those moments of disorientation, they make sense. They make a beautiful sense. That is comfort enough for me.

This past month has been one of looking inward and staying connected with HP (my higher power).  I've managed to integrate mindfulness into my daily habits better than ever before. 

I've noticed that I stop more frequently throughout my days, letting questions come up like, "Why am I doing this?  Is this what I should be doing? How do I feel right now?"  Time and time again, the answer is that I feel good in the moment.  I feel good.  I feel secure.  And that's all that matters. I move on, through the thoughts, just like I do during meditation.

I can feel confused and unsure but also good.  I can have no idea where I'm going or why I'm doing what I'm doing and still know I'm doing the right thing.

It has taken many years to get more familiar with this feeling.  I call it being "in the pocket." When I'm in flow and feel wholly safe and loved, I'm "in the pocket."  I live for that feeling.  It makes everything and everywhere safe.  I'm being carried through circumstances that make little sense to me, but I am on the path I'm supposed to be on. The only way to get off-track is to get out of touch with HP.

I might ask:  Why am I in this class?  Why am I taking this drive?  Why did I decide to walk outside?  Why am I calling this person?  Why am I choosing to sit and do nothing when I have 20 things I could be doing?  Why am I drawing this picture?  Why am I sitting down at the piano?

The answers don't matter.  What matters is that I really live those moments.  And if I do, I'll enjoy every piece of my life… and also move out of each piece at just the right time.

No More Dying

I felt like I was dying. That’s the best way I can describe it. I would be sitting at my desk, staring at the computer, feeling the keyboard under my fingers, and I would think, “I’m going to die.” Not a suicidal thought, just a premonition.  If I continued to sit there, at that job, in that building, doing the same thing every day, I would die. This I knew.

So I quit.  After four months of torment, fear, sadness, bingeing, resignation, anger, meditation, crying, praying, thinking, journaling, and dreaming, I quit. When I made the decision to quit my well-paying, full-time, insurance-providing job, I felt free. I felt like I could live in the world again.

I told my boss about my decision four days after I made it in my heart. I had discussed the choice with people, who mostly reacted positively.  I was rather shocked at how responsible they seemed to think I was.  I doubted I would be able to get myself to focus each day, trying to find work as a musician and writer, but they seemed fairly certain that I would do it. It occurred to me that I might be far more mature and reliable than I estimated. Perhaps I am.  Perhaps I’m not.  That remains to be seen.

I have been self-employed for three days now.  I have a few solid clients with Rock Star Writing and Editing already. By a few, I mean 3-5, and only two of them are booked for more than a single project. In music news, I couldn’t get any other musicians to sign on for the second Mi’Show, which is happening on May 4. Nonetheless, I have a nice vision in my head of a solo concert, so I think it will work out.  I have a lot to say to my fans right now, and perhaps I need an entire two hours to say it to an audience.

I have little idea how I am going to make ends meet. At this point, I don’t even know if I’m approved for individual health insurance.  If I get it, how will I pay for it?  My decision to leave my job seems increasingly insane.

Still, I do know one thing. The thought of going back to my old job upsets my stomach, up into my throat. I don’t want to go back. It was certainly not a bad job.  It was the best job I’ve ever had.  I was paid handsomely for work that, honestly, wasn’t that difficult. I liked the people there.  The office location was beautiful.  People appreciated my writing and editing for the most part, and I got to contribute in many other ways to the company.

Nonetheless, I was going to die.

Today, I don’t feel like I’m going to die.  Today, I feel free.  I feel afraid.  But I also feel free.  Part of me is strapped down by thoughts clambering for me to find more work, more money, more gigs, more everything. But another part of me knows that I will always have everything I need.  I just don’t know what I need yet.

I watched the sunset today from my car.  I was coming back from a recovery meeting that focuses on steps 10, 11, and 12 from the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous.  We call it After Nine. The concept resonates with me.  We focus on spirituality and on our connection with others.  It lines up brilliantly with something my last sponsor told me. She said that recovery is really about three things:

1. Connecting with God
2. Connecting with others
3. Connecting with ourselves

That’s what After Nine is about. I may not fully ascribe to everything the Anonymous programs typically stand for, but I do feel that this part of it works for me.

I feel that something in this universe knows more than me—can see farther than me—even if that something is nature, pure and simple. There is a future and a past where I do not exist. I exist right now, in the present. And right now, the present is a pretty uncertain place. Or maybe it’s the most certain place. 

In this moment, I know that I am sitting here, writing this post, choosing words.  I know those things.  I don’t know the future.  I don’t know how long I will be able to work for myself or even if I will be able to work for myself at all.  I’m not sure what I’m going to do with music or if I will really find the new outlets I need.  I’m scared that I will not find what I need to make this life work.

But maybe a higher power will give me what I need instead.

Maybe I don’t have to know.  I am trying.  The bottom line is that I am putting one step in front of the other.  Even in my darkest times over the last few months, I did not stop getting up in the morning.  It became very difficult to do so, and I would procrastinate on taking that first shaky step out of bed in the morning. But I kept living life.

I gave it my best.  Yes, my best sucked a lot of the time, but I gave it. I am giving it.  I have goals for how many hours I want to work each day.  I have specific milestones I want to reach. But I don’t know if I will manage to work that many hours or reach those milestones.  I don’t know if I will achieve my goals, and I also don’t know if my goals are really what my goals should be.  I’ll go after them, but I hope that the universe/circumstance/God/Goddess/whatever takes me to the best place for me.

I keep thinking that Houston, Texas, does not reflect my values and isn’t nurturing me the way it once did.  Perhaps it’s time to move on.  However, Houston Community College has a great music production program that I want to complete, and I treasure my friends and other connections here. How will I know whether to stay or go?  Time will show me.

I canoed almost 15 miles down Buffalo Bayou last Saturday with some friends. I felt my smallness.  The boat wasn’t very big at all, but it was certainly bigger than I am.  The canoe seemed so insignificant compared to the trees and the steep, sloping sides of the bayou.  The sky was so much taller, and the city streets so much more massive than anything I have ever been or created.

I quit my job. I play music. I write.  I edit.  I look for work.  I look for ways to feel in touch with the world. That’s what I’ve done. That’s what I’m doing.  And a whole big world continually expands and engulfs all of it.

I’m glad I quit my job.  I’m glad that I can go anywhere in this big, wide world. I don’t know if it ever dawned on me so fully that I can truly go anywhere and do anything.  I’ve known that at an intellectual level, but I’ve never put it into practice.  Since I was a teenager, I’ve had a plan for everything.  I always follow the plan, and when the plan inevitably does not work out, I make another plan.  How about not making a plan?  I don’t mean discard my personal work schedule, goals, or other organizational tools.  But how about loosening my grip on those things?  How about life not being my plan, but instead, the way I do things?

Thinking about plans in that way helps me understand that I don’t know the outcome of what I’m doing.  I don’t know what will evolve out of my current efforts.  But my current efforts feel right.  I love writing.  I love inspiring others.  I love talking to other people about the things I’ve learned in life.  Perhaps these things will come together in a life I enjoy—in a life I want to live.

I’m going to die—eventually. But I’m going to live right now.  In my uncertain, unsteady, bewildered, inquisitive, sometimes frantic and afraid, sometimes peaceful and confident way, I’m going to live. I’m going to put one foot in front of the other and see where it takes me.  I’ve heard phrases like that for a long time.  Now, I’ve given myself a chance to really feel what the words mean. In a way, I want God to show me that she really is in control, that my life is okay.

I don’t want to binge and cry away my whole life. I want to write, travel, love, play music, give, and enjoy.  When I tell you that you can make any choice and do anything, I mean it.  Every decision ha consequences.  And guess what, I can deal with those consequences.  You can deal with those consequences.

I’m not going to tell everyone who hates their jobs to quit them. I am going to tell you to listen to your heart. Your heart knows when it’s dying and when it feels alive.  It knows how to live.  I don’t know how it knows, but it knows.  I feel it in my spirit.  I am shared out of my boots, shaking, weirded out, and totally puzzled by what I’ve done. But you know what? I’m allowed to make a giant mistake.  I’ve never let myself do anything that I thought would be a huge mistake, and even with that kind of forethought, I’ve still made too many mistakes to count.  I’ve always avoided any major choice that I thought could turn out very, very badly. 

Well, this time, I see the possibility of failure.  I recognize it.  And you know what?  It’s worth it.  Failing would be better than never trying at all.  At least I’ll be somewhere different when I hit bottom. And maybe that’s all my heart needs: something different.

Heart, I won’t let you die, especially not in front of a computer screen.

Non-Linear Recovery

I used to think people with eating disorders inhabited one of three spaces: in the disease, in recovery, and recovered. I thought people cycled through those phases, perhaps returning to one place or another along the way. Many times in support, 12-step, or therapy groups, a member will say, “I’ve been there before,” or, “I’m back in that place again,” or, “I’m afraid of going back to that place.” According to that view, I’ve been in recovery since 2004, and I was in the disease from 1998 until then. According to that view, I am climbing some sort of mountain or walking down a road of recovery, where I get ever farther away from where I started, and if I find myself in a place that seems like something I’ve seen before, I’ve somehow magically been transported to an earlier pit stop in my recovery. I’ve fallen backward.

I do not agree. For one thing, you could say I was in recovery for a brief period in 1999. You could say I was “in recovery” multiple times during that pre-2004 period. If someone looked at my life since 2004, he or she would certainly find times that could be classified as “in the disease” as well as times when I operated as a truly recovered person.

I am convinced that there are more than three places, and that those places are not linear. The terms “in the disease,” “in recovery,” and “recovered” are too convenient and simple to be altogether true. Sure, they describe very important eras within the life of someone with an eating disorder, but if I try to define my life in those terms, I feel pretty hopeless.

If I lived in this rigidly defined mindset, I would ask myself again and again, “Why am I in this place again? Why am I doing this? I thought I was past this.” I might devalue truly healthy moments, when I lived free of the ED, if I looked at my life since 2004 as exclusively one thing: in recovery. And I might exaggerate the darkness of all the days before 2004 if I consider saw it all as “in disease” time. It makes my progress seem like an unending struggle when, in fact, I had many lengthy periods of respite and many leaps in growth.

Every day in my life is a new one. It cannot be defined in terms of disease, recovery, and recovered. At any point, I might identify more with one of those terms, but the truth is that even when I am struggling with the disease and when I feel I am overeating or exercising too much, I am still healthier and more mature than I was during some times when I considered myself more “recovered.”

Yes, I want to eventually live in “recovered” full-time. I’m not there yet, but I certainly shouldn’t eliminate the possibility that I have been somewhere that looks an awful lot like “recovered” before. And I shouldn’t eliminate the possibility that any time I feel “recovered,” thousands of other states exist simultaneously. I may be recovered, but am I really healthy? Or enlightened?

I remember time periods when I felt free of the disease. I remember what I was doing, how I felt, how I related. That girl may not have been using food to cope, but she dealt with anxiety simply by organizing it out of her life, not by feeling it. She didn’t let people in. Certainly, my life was less rocky and angst-filled with fewer people in it; it was also less rich. I didn’t eat nearly the variety of foods I now enjoy regularly without bingeing or freaking out. To “keep” recovery, I had to make my days all very similar and predictable. I don’t have to do that anymore. But I will admit that my eating is not as steadily “perfect” as it once was.

At the very least, I am more myself now than I have ever been. The term “authentic self” has evolved into more than meaningless therapeutic jargon for me. It is how I live my life. In this life, I pursue my dreams, something I never did before. As I enter into new territory with my job, with music, with relationships, and with myriad other endeavors, I see how strong I am.

But at the same time, all these new experiences pile more stressors on. I can slip into ED thoughts and behaviors almost without realizing it. Every week is different. I veer more toward the ED some weeks and less toward it other weeks. It could even vary day to day.

Do the times I struggle mean that I am back in the disease? Do they mean that I have taken a step backward in recovery? No. I will never go back to those places, and I will never lose the recovery I have. My behaviors may not be what I want them to be, but I handle those behaviors far differently than in the past. I deal with them in a way that allows me to slowly move past and away from them rather than shoving them away as I did in previous years of recovery.

Should “recovered” be my all-encompassing destination? I don’t think so. It is one goal—one goal among many others, a goal than enables other achievements and a goal that is possible to attain only by reaching other goals.

Recovery does not follow a clear-cut timeline or maturity model. A person rarely gets to the “next step” in recovery, never to visit characteristics of previous steps again. Every person’s trajectory is very different. I may think that I have gone “back to step one,” that the behaviors I’m doing now are exactly the same as they were three years ago. I may think, “I moved past this! Why am I struggling in the same way again?” But am I really struggling in the same way? No. I am in a different place in my life.

How do I know that? Well, I am able to forgive myself more easily. My eating, although sometimes not what I would want it to be, does not determine how I feel about myself throughout the day. I am not ignoring these eating slips either. I am actively investigating them and learning new things every day. I am relating to people differently. I am taking risks. My life IS different. I am not in the same place again. If I stay curious and keep going, I will move past this place, too. I do not need to be afraid.

Refusing to believe in a linear timeline for recovery removes my tendency to judge others. People recovering from eating disorders sometimes refer to people as “not as far along in recovery.” It’s easy to label people that way and to pretend that I have been where those “newer” people are and have moved past it. But actually, where they are is very different from any place I’ve ever been. They have their own lives, their own personalities, the particulars of their disorders. I have my own. I might be able to relate, but I cannot say that I have been “in that place.” I can learn from even the “newest” person in recovery. That person may have already learned things that I do not know. They may be in a period of greater struggle, but that does not mean they are any further back in recovery than I am. I struggle, too, but my struggles are different. I acknowledge personal milestones and never have to give them back after a slip.

“The only direction is forward.” I believe this. I’m not sure who first said it or even where I heard it the first time, but it holds true. When I start getting down on myself because I’m “doing the same old thing” again, I ask myself, “Am I really doing exactly the same thing?” Usually, I am handling things a bit differently. Often, my food behaviors seem more amplified simply because I am willing to take a magnifying glass to them in ways I could not in previous years. I am moving forward. I am learning new things. Although my eating may not be where I want it to be, any number of other wheels in my life are rolling forward and getting stronger. The strengths I’m building in other areas will help me gain more mature eating patterns as well.

Sometimes I wonder if this new view is just a way of granting myself license to do whatever I want with food. Maybe it is. And maybe that’s what I want. I want to allow myself anything. Like any child, I might abuse that privilege at first. But only by building my own structures within that permission do I learn to behave more maturely with food.

This goes for anything in life. We are always moving forward. We are never stagnant unless we stop being curious, reflective, and inquisitive about our lives. If we ignore our lives and what happens around us, yes, we may stunt our growth. But most of us do not totally ignore our lives. Even if we move slowly, we move forward. Once a person learns something, she owns that learning forever. It could potentially get buried under other thoughts, but it remains, ready to be unearthed by a circumstance or feeling.

You are always moving forward. I know I am. I may feel disappointed in myself at times, but I handle disappointment differently than I did in the past. It’s time to appreciate where I am and actively grow from there. Every place in recovery is new.

I Can Take It

Many times in the past, I have wondered if I could handle someone telling me, “Michelle, you look like you’re gaining weight.  Are you okay with that?  Is there something going on?”  What about a similar question: “Michelle, you’re getting pretty thin.  Are you okay with that?  Is there something going on?”  Could I handle those comments?

The answer is yes.  I can.  People have given me enough negative comments over the years that now I know I can deal with the pang of criticism.  The pain goes away.  I can withstand that.  I would rather hear something—anything—that could steer me in a healthy direction; I would rather a stinging comment lodge itself in my head than have nothing tugging at me as I head down an unhealthy road. The criticism may not save me at the time it is given., but it could very likely come to mind later, when I lack clarity and am open for change.

I’m finally getting old enough that I recognize emotions when they pop up.  When I feel the pain of a criticism or a deep sadness rises to the surface, they aren’t foreign, strange visitors anymore.  I don’t look around, bewildered, wondering what to do with those feelings.  I feel them. I recognize them. I name them. 

I talk to them, and they fade away. They may bring things for me to think about.  They may lead me toward some action.  But the feeling fades.  And I am not afraid of them anymore.

These are the lessons for today:

1. Feel your emotions and remember them.  Eventually, you will have enough victories dealing with emotions that you will feel secure and not completely overwhelmed every time you feel them.  (And if you feel overwhelmed, you will one day firmly know that overwhelming states pass as well and that you can find treasures inside those moments.)
2. Be lovingly honest with people.  Don’t shy away from telling people your concerns if you have them.  Any words of encouragement, even if something that could potentially sting must be included in the statement, are better than no words at all when someone truly is in need.  But please, choose your words in love—don’t take so long in choosing that you say nothing—but choose loving language.

Someone Else Entirely

I once laughed at a suggestion I read in a self-help book: For one day, pretend you do not have an eating disorder. Imagine a person other than yourself, who can be anything except eating disordered, and be her for a single day.

It’s not that this seemed ludicrous—just a bit silly. Ah, those were back in the days before I realized the immense fun of being silly and ridiculous. Now, I’ve set ridiculousness as a daily goal (mostly because it’s one I know that I can easily achieve).

Anyway, I have never completely done this (pretend to be an entirely different person for a day). I have followed this practice for a few hours at a time, especially for activities I may not be too excited about. Imagining myself as someone different can certainly spice things up. And when necessary errands seem unbearably dull, I’ll sometimes apply eccentric make-up and saunter through the aisles at Wal-mart as a person who does things I never would.

Those are all very short-term applications, though. Today, I discovered the power of asserting myself as a different person for an entire day.

I did not create a whole new persona; I simply decided to pretend that a couple of my values had shifted. I decided that, just for today, I am not going to be a person who cares about exercising. Instead, I’m a person who cares passionately about music. I didn’t specify how I related to my eating disorder or how I would spend my time. I just decided to behave as I felt I would if I truly cared about music much more than exercising or maintaining a perfect body.

Freedom. Freedom is the experience. And you know what I also found? This person who values music above exercise—she is the real me. I am my dreams. I do value music. It’s no wonder that I resent the times when I force myself to exercise when I would rather play music. I know what I would prefer; I know what is truly important to me.

This isn’t to say I should stop exercising entirely. For today, however, I did practice a song instead of working out before heading to the office. I also came home and spent a good deal of time working on some other music, practicing and finishing up a new song, instead of doing anything else. Valuing music highly also changed my orientation toward all the to-dos that often nag me when I get home. Today, I was able to say, “No, I do not value those things right now. I value music, and that is what I’m going to do. There is time for you later.” Deciding to maintain this mentality for an entire day helped me face any obstacle that got in my way. I knew my primary value and acted on it each time I was faced with a choice between acting out of love for music or a preoccupation with appearances.

Life, ideally, balances itself out between the tasks we have to do to survive in the world, good health, relationships, and self-expression. Sometimes, I get all out of whack. It isn’t that I shouldn't value exercise. Biking and walking are fun. I enjoy activity, no doubt. But I never want to think that one enjoyable (or unenjoyable) thing defines me. If I define myself according to a single measure, life becomes pure drudgery, and I become an awfully boring specimen.

I proved to myself that I can live a day without exercise as a crutch. I let myself flow and shifted my priorities. This shift didn’t change most of my activity for the day, but the mental realignment echoed through me. I felt powerful and true to myself. I took care of myself and my true desires. There have been plenty of stretches in my life when exercise didn’t concern me, and this day reminded me of what it feels like to live without that burden. This is certainly something I thought I would have down pat by now, but today revealed that I still have a huge potential to learn and grow in this area. Struggles ebb and flow.

I highly suggest pretending to be someone else for a day. You may discover new ways of approaching the world or learn that you can do things you fear and not crumble. Or, in being someone else, you may come face to face with who you really are.