Addiction and Numbing

I had one of those fascinating conversations last week with my supervisor. You know the kind of dialogue that gets your brain humming, when both of you are trying to talk, because the ideas and thoughts being sparked are exciting and new. Yep, that kind of conversation.

We were talking about addiction. She's been in the field of psychotherapy for 20+ years, and has the perspective of one who has seen multiple generations wear out her couch cushions. Addiction used to be narrow, either booze or drugs to numb out. Sure, there were fetishes and such, but booze and drugs were easy.

Now, in a technologically saturated culture, there is an app to numb yourself. There is little need to check in with how we feel, because we can log everything into an app, or play a game on the iPhone, or surf Facebook,  pinterest, etc. The good apps give you feedback, usually positive. I have a running app that I used to tell me how far I've gone and at what speed. At the end of my run, it asks what the weather was like, and how I feel, using icons and emoticons. It's all very left-brained. I usually choose the emoticon in between the smiley-face and the grimace, and then I move on. I don't feel. Perhaps that is a weak example. Let's amp it up a bit.

I've started writing a book. I haven't been writing. It'll take a long time at this non-writing pace to produce a book-sized piece of work. I've felt more angsty than usual since I've stopped writing. I've been plagued by the feeling that I should be writing. I know I have something to say, but I question it's value, my value, my knowledge and intelligence, my worth. It's nearly unbearable. That is, until . . . I grab some carbs, the tv remote, and my ipad. This kind of numbing needs three addictions to work. Each addiction or coping mechanism works to change my brain chemistry, literally. Carbohydrate comas are lovely. Zoning out via tv or web surfing reduces the production of cortisol, which is what is being cranked out when we are feeling anxious or afraid. All I know is that when I eat carbs and watch tv, I feel better. I hate myself, but emotionally I feel better. And, I am alone and ashamed.

I'm not sure that my method of numbing is giving me much of a win. It's temporary relief, that leads to emotional self-harm. I will have to do it over and over again.

Psalm 131 speak of comforting the soul. The emphasis is mine, and the translation is ESV. To give credit where due, I have been re-spouting these thoughts after Dan Allender gave this Psalm new context for me, and Paul Miller talks about this Psalm in his book A Praying Life (I just read it this morning).

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up;
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvelous for me.
But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child is my soul within me.

O Israel, hope in the Lord
from this time forth and forevermore.

Addiction and numbing don't quiet or calm the soul, they redirect it. We don't know how to comfort ourselves, but we are quick to distract ourselves, and it feels better than anxiety. It seems like learning to address our anxiety more directly, which would increase our anxiety temporarily, would be a more honest and realistic approach to quieting our souls.

I get really anxious when there is a mess to be cleaned up in the kitchen. Part of my personal story contains a family history of being anxious about getting the dishes done ASAP, even if someone isn't done eating! I have  internally connected a clean kitchen with acceptance of who I am, and a dirty kitchen with rejection (shame, a gaping flaw in my character that will keep me from being loved). Yes, it goes that deep.

This past Sunday we had a lovely Easter gathering at our house. As the evening wore on, and I was enjoying some wine and friends around a fire pit, I began to get anxious. There were five tables, surrounded by chairs, covered in decorations, plates, cups, etc. that would need to be cleaned up. I didn't want them left overnight.  It might rain. It would be irresponsible of me to leave them. I leave for work by 8:30 the next morning. My anxiety was looming.

So, I went inside and disclosed my anxiety to a few of my roommates/friends. I was met with compassion, and some hard to bear insight into my anxiety. I numb by cleaning up, and my anxiety goes away. I will never have to test the rejection/acceptance hypothesis if I just clean up. I was even told by my friend that to not clean up would be healthier, but that my anxiety would increase. Yuck! She was right. In the end, my friends helped me put away all the tables, chairs, etc. before they left, and my roommates had already tackled the inside of the house. I think they did so, partially because they love me, and they accept me in the midst of my anxious struggle.

I think to quiet our souls in the midst of anxiety, we must begin by trusting someone, and not numbing. We must share our struggle, and believe we will not be turned away. This is the opposite of what our anxiety tells us. In sharing, we must share with someone who has proven themselves to be empathetic in the face of pain and struggle. We must trust in the goodness of God as well, but I'll not go further into that here. I feel like that's a whole other post, and an important one!

I wonder if those of you who have read this far would risk considering your own anxieties, how you numb them through addiction, technologically or otherwise? Might you think about unpacking your hypotheses that you will be rejected or accepted based on what you do and not who you are? Perhaps you'll think about the 1-2 people who you can count on to empathize and be with you in your anxiety, so that you can move towards quieting and comforting your soul.

Guilty Pleasures No More

I've been thinking about guilty pleasures, and when we ascribe this title to our choices. We only call things a guilty pleasure when we are disclosing to another something we did in which we are afraid we might  be judged for and thought less of. I'm reading a mindless novel right now call 31 Kisses. The writing is sub-par, the romance plot isn't unpredictable, it's PG rated, and I like it. I chose it out of a myriad of options, and when I did, I didn't want anyone else to know. It's not a book I would like to own up to on Goodreads, unlike the Annie Dillard books that I'm proud to boast about reading, because I think others will think I'm an exceptional reader and person.

Why do we do this? I have enjoyed reading my novel, and it's what I wanted right now. But, why do I want to hide this piece of me from others? If I told some of you about my reading choice, and slipped in the phrase "guilty pleasure," you might commiserate with me, and share one of your own book choices you don't want people to know about, and then we would feel bonded in this moment of vulnerability, honesty, and acceptance.

As we hide ourselves from judgement, a judgement we assume will condemn us to be exiled out of relationship, we lose the opportunity to be known and accepted for who we are, flaws and all. It's what we really want--to be known and accepted, flaws and all.

I'm hereby intentionally banning the phrase "guilty pleasure" from my vocabulary.

Things that bring me pleasure, and for which I will not take on the assumed guilt that disclosing them will make you think less of me (If you do think less of me, where is your judgement coming from? What does my pleasure cost you?).

1. Dance movies--including Magic Mike which I watched recently, and is a really terrible movie with only one exceptional dancer. I didn't like the movie, but I chose it because it was about dancing.
2. Peanut Butter and Butter sandwiches. That's right, butter.
3. 31 Kisses, apparently. I also have a few other mindless novels that bring me enjoyment. Let me know if you want to borrow them.
4. Extra Cool Whip on my desserts. Yum, Cool Whip.
5. Minor plumbing projects. Yes, I would probably like to help you with yours.
6. Occasionally watching seasons of The Bachelor.
7. Shows on the CW and ABC Family (especially the ones about horses).
8. Friday afternoon carb binges (I don't know why this is a Friday thing, but Trader Joe's baked cheetos are great for this).
9. McDonald's Double Cheeseburger Meals--there's something about eating hot fries in the car.
10. Whistling The Muppet Show theme song nearly every day.

Anyone else care to share?

Ps. If you google guilty pleasure and look at the images that come up, it's whole page of Ashley Tisdale (I'm out of the loop on that one) and this. Yes, please.

I had no idea I was anxious

It has come to my attention lately that anxiety has been a significant part of my life for years. I just didn't know it. My coping skills are impressive and nearly impenetrable. I know what comfort feels like, I know what dis-comfort feels like, and I know which I prefer.

My anxiety coping skills are called upon when I'm feeling like I might or actually do need somebody, which asks me to trust someone else with my emotions and desires. They look like defensiveness, anger, control, frustration, or making a case for myself. In the face of needing to feel connected to someone in the midst of my circumstances, the annoying little imp of shame tells me that to believe in the goodness and kindness of another is utter foolishness, because I am not worth caring for. I know that is complete bullshit, but that imp has been there for an awful long time, and he's protected me from being proved right (or wrong, as is more likely).

Here's how the progression goes: all is well, and then I find myself in a predicament where having an ear to listen or an extra set of hands to help would be really helpful, and I want it. I feel the desire of it. I contemplate seeking help. Anxiety enters--the threat of being harmed. My body feels a tad warmer, and my hands sweat a little. Within seconds shame has shown up, too, and shame is unbearable, so I use one of my coping mechanisms, which always work in the moment. Shame tells me to get tough and isolate, and I know how to do that well. The thing about getting tough is that it involves anger for me--anger at myself and others. Anger creates a delightful cocktail of chemicals in my brain that really do make me feel better and un-anxious. So, I successfully sabotaged what I wanted and needed.

I write about this because I am aware of it, finally, and because I'm trying to not do this any longer. It's time for the imp to be muted and destroyed. I'm trying not to cope with feeling a desire for connection, because I was made for connection, so there is no need to feel bad about it. I'm just going to let that desire hang out there.

I was reading in Exodus this morning (and I will say that I do not read my Bible every morning, so for those who struggle with guilt over this, I invite you to bless me for reading my Bible this morning, and to bless your desire to read it yourself. I invite you to not curse yourself with any violent monologue in your head that says that you are a sucky Christian for not reading your Bible every morning--that would be siding with the shame imp). Anyway, Exodus--God's people have just witnessed a series of horrible, nasty plagues against the Egyptians, effortlessly plundered them, and left Egypt. They haven't even gotten as far as the Red Sea, and they are contemplating turning back. This is where I usually judge them.

This morning my thoughts were that perhaps they were feeling a ton of anxiety, they were really scared, and it felt wretched to feel that way. They are following this Moses dude, who didn't have the best reputation, and Egypt went to all to hell as soon as he showed up again. The God of their fathers brought them to Egypt where they were enslaved, so trusting him might have felt a little sketchy, too. They are supposed to march away from Egypt based on the words of a shady guy with a magic stick, and a promise from a God who appeared to have abandoned them. They felt uncomfortable with the unknown before them, and the known (slavery) felt familiar, so not so scary.

Kettle = Black. That's how I role. Its hard, really hard, to trust God for the currently invisible and future goodness he promises. Trusting God means feeling uncomfortable and waiting to see how it turns out, instead of sabotaging. Trusting God means waiting. Trusting God means leaning into the unknown with courage, tenacity, and heart. Trusting God means groaning (not whining) in my unpleasant, anxious, painful circumstances.

Right now, for me, trusting God looks a lot like asking people to listen to what's happening in my heart, and asking for help with stuff like raking leaves. I might find out that they care enough about me to offer their hands and their hearts.

Cats get anxiety too, apparently, but they make a wrap for that.

Unfiltered

The remaining sludge and sediment from a batch of beer I brewed.

When brewing beer there is always sediment left in the fermentation bucket that you have to  avoid getting into your bottles. You can put your beer through a secondary fermentation process that brings about clarity to the beer and decreases the sediment even further. I usually skip the latter step because I am able to drink my beer a few weeks sooner. However, I also leave the last bit of beer in the bottle as to not ingest the sediment I missed. It feels like it ruins the finish of a otherwise delightful quaff.

I was thinking about the accuracy of my blog title. Why do I usually (always) have  filter? Is it because I am using discretion and I want to be tactful? Sure. Is it because I'm hesitant to be brutally honest, because I don't want to hurt someone's feelings? That's probably the truest reason the blog got it's name. But lately I've become more aware that I filter my words because I don't want others to know that I'm needy, and messy, and scared. I filter so that everyone will think I'm competent and strong and independent, and just fine. I filter so that no one can really know my heart. I don't think it's going to work much longer. That makes me angry, because I'd rather feel angry than scared.

Further unfiltered: this is what I thought about in church yesterday as I was profusely disrupted by 2 of the songs we sang, and started thinking about the idea of surrender. I'm sure there's another blog post in the works on that topic.

Choosing Death

I choose death every day. I don't have to, but I succumb to it. I could choose life if I wanted, yet I trade down. I think it's because I don't hate death the way I should.

We go through life looking for greener grass, believing that the choice we have is life and better life. I think it's darker than that. We don't want to sit in the reality that we live in a world that isn't as it should be, so we pretend that it's really okay. In pretending that it's okay we don't properly long for it to be better; there are no birth pains. We live with a constant epidural. I guess longing and what we do with longing has been on my mind lately.

Every time I choke back desire I choose death. When I want to connect with someone and I pick up the TV remote instead of my cell phone, I choose death. When in my mind I spew out contempt towards the person I wanted to connect with, believing that they don't care about me, I choose death. When I spew hatred at myself, thinking I'm too much or not enough, I choose death again. Choosing death is choosing to shut down feeling alive, the kind of alive that it meant to remind us that better life is coming.

I have friends who are currently experiencing the hard sucker punches of life. They are lonely, they are scared, they worry, there's uncertainty, there's sorrow - everything in their circumstances screams at them to find a way to shut it all down. Like me, many of them do. Honestly, I'm not sure I want to enter into what they're feeling, because I might have to bear a taste of their agony. Maybe I can try to fix it for them, or give them words to placate and minimize their experience. Maybe I can just not even ask. I can choose death.

Or . . . I can get angry at the injustice, weep for the losses, long for the hideous pain of labor to be over.

If I choose life I will become acutely aware of my shortcomings, my weakness, my neediness. If I choose life I'll need a Savior.

Alluring My Heart

In the past weeks I've been sitting with friends, clients, books, and my own internal ponderings. Many I have been with have been weary from activity and unsatisfied with daily routine. There is such pressure to do, to conform, to participate, and at the end of it all, there is such longing for more that fights its way to the forefront. Usually, longing brings about more busyness, because longing is so very hard to bear.


My own current journey had lead me to be very aware of how much I desire relationship, and how adept I am at keeping people from knowing my heart. As I've faced my own longing, I am left with deep loneliness. In my ambivalence I welcome the loneliness, because for the first time in my life I'm not trying to flee from it through temporary aloes, but I also hate my awareness and experience of it. Loneliness hurts! Yet, this has brought to the place where I'm aware that I have the choice to move towards people and relationships or to spew thoughts of blame and contempt as to why people aren't pursuing me. Only one of those choices is acceptable.


Additionally, I've been reading through the Bible chronologically, which means I'm currently in Chronicles and Kings, which is full of stories of murder, deceit, war, envy, hatred, disobedience, selfishness, and don't forget genealogy. Many chapters end with a prompt that if I should desire to know more, that I can find it in the Book of the Chronicles of the Kings of Israel. Thank you, I've had enough. There are a few kings that weren't evil and grotesquely disobedient, but still they failed to remove the totems to the false gods, and this is their noted offense, not only because it was a black mark against them, but because it meant that the hearts of the people were not set upon God.


This jarred me this morning, because it made me remember what God wants, what he's wanted all the way back in the garden. He wants relationship with his people; He wants their hearts. My longings are there for such a lovely reason, to allure me to God. Busyness, television, alcohol, pornography, work, etc. all deadened our longing for what we were made for and for what we can have: deep, meaningful relationship where we can be vulnerable, weak, needy, messy, adored, doted on, cherished, known . . . . Today I am thankful for loneliness, because my loneliness is actually longing, and my longing does not have to go unmet.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, not the mirror

So, I've recently been reading Wendell Berry's books Hannah Coulter and Jayber Crow.  I'm hooked.  I feel like I'm breathing in fresh air when I read his works.

Here's an excerpt from Hannah Coulter that has my mind working.

I was beautiful in those days myself, as I believe I can admit now that it no longer matters. A woman doesn't learn she is beautiful by looking in a mirror, which about any woman is apt to do from time to time, but that is only wishing. She learns it so that she actually knows it from men. The way they look at her makes a sort of glimmer she walks in. That tells her. It changes the way she walks too. But now I was a mother and a widow. It had been a longish while since I had thought of being beautiful, but Nathan's looks were reminding me that I was.       (p. 65)

 If we strive to find beauty looking back at us in the mirror, then we will surely fail to attain it, for in seeking to be beautiful, I believe we give up a part of ourselves to the slavery of vanity; we actually lose beauty.  Rather, as we move towards others, allowing them to see us, to take us in, it is in their estimation of us that our beauty lies.  It is an openness to being seen, and that is beautiful.

Each of my friends is beautiful to me.  I can't help but see them this way.  Though I know they strive as I do to dress well and practice some degree of good hygiene, I find that they are no less beautiful to me as when they are in their PJ's after having scrubbed off the days make up.

I guess I want to quit trying so hard to create a beauty in myself, and instead to let the beauty that's always been there propel me towards being more open and emotionally present.  It scares the hooey out of me; it really does.  But I think it's more honest and life-giving to others and to me, so perhaps it's worth it.

Hope is scary, and gritty.

"Hope is a radically dangerous passion. Hope is anticipation. It is a vision of the future that guides how the present will be lived."  Dan Allender from Bold Love

I feel like I'm in a dance with hope, not a graceful waltz or passionate tango, but a war dance, and I want hope to win.  As much as I want hope to win, I will fight till the end against it.  Hope demands relational risk, and not about whether or not I will experience the hurt of disappointment, but whether or not this time I will be disappointed, because I cannot avoid disappointment.  Hope does not try to erase the fall, but stares it down with the knowledge that the score has already been settled and we are just waiting to see how it all plays out.

Hope grieves and rages and celebrates, it does not shrink back nor hide. Hope lays bare one's soul, revealing all and believing that one day my longings and desires will be fully realized, so I need not be ashamed of them now.

Shame on you, Shame.

Okay, so kind of a serious post, but I am blogging, and this is what I've been thinking about.

So I've been exploring a past PTSD experience I had while in Zambia during my current sessions with my counselor.  I realized that I had attached shame to part of the near-car-jacking event.  Because I felt shame, I didn't admit to myself or those around me that I needed help.  I hid.  This has lead me to think a lot about the nature of shame and why we do the opposite of what we most desperately need.  Shame tells us to flee from relationship, the thing that can most readily help to remove our shame.  Shame makes all our fears flare up.  Shame keeps us from freely expressing who we are created to be.  Shame keeps us from interacting freely with God as well.

When people talk about how Satan attacks Westerners, they say it's in the sins you can't see.  I think this is true.  I also think the root of that sin is bound up in shame.  We are not who God says we are.  We are too marred to be loved by Him and others.  We believe we will find rejection if we disclose our shame, where we will more than likely find mercy.

We weren't created to hide.  We weren't created to have to hold back who we are.  It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.  Shame is a lie.  Shame on you, Shame.