Contemplations, part 1

I struggled to write last week.

Well no, that’s not entirely true. I actually wrote three posts, but only published two of them. The third was too raw and messy and uncomfortable for me to share just yet. I’m getting better at accepting the gnarly parts of myself, but this one felt a little too sharp. Tangled. Wrong, I guess. I judged myself pretty harshly for it, and couldn’t bring myself to open up that much to anyone else.

But—a bright spot—I’m holding my self-judgement without judgement, if that makes any sense. It’s ok for me to not be comfortable with what I wrote, and to not be able to share it. I feel some shame about the content, but no shame about letting it sit in my drafts folder for a while. I’ll take that as progress.

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I’m still reading Lisa Olivera’s Already Enough, and it’s stirring up a whole lot of feelings or memories I’ve tried to bury over the years. It’s also making me re-examine those feelings and memories, question the truth behind them, and explore how they’ve formed the stories I tell myself—about myself. It’s hard work. I’m proud of me for doing it.

I just reached the end of Section 1 today, which is called “Getting Honest.” It’s all about going into to those deep, dark places we don’t really want to explore. Olivera essentially asks us to “be still and know.” To ask ourselves questions about what stories we carry about who we are, what shaped those stories, and how they’ve affected our lives. She emphasizes the importance of listening to the section’s title—getting honest—as the key to really understanding that our stories do not need to define us.

Toward the end of the section, Olivera presents a list of 50+ questions for contemplation to help her readers “tune inward and explore what arises.” I have to admit, I initially skimmed right through them and bounced-on to the next page. “I’ve been doing this work for the last two years,” I thought. “I don’t need to do any more of it.”

Except clearly, I do.

If I didn’t—if I was a perfectly integrated human who accepted all the things and fully believed I was enough—then the jagged parts of me that I poured into my unpublished post yesterday morning wouldn’t feel so threatening. But also, I think no matter how much inner-work we’ve already done, there’s always more we can do.

Here’s something else I think:

Enoughness isn’t a destination. It’s an ever-evolving path we have to keep exploring, mindfully continuing to put one foot in front of the other with no expectations of where that next step will lead.

Poetic, no?

Fine, I will not quit my day job.

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Ok, so here’s where the title of this post comes in. After my initial gut reaction to emotionally-bypass the 50+ contemplations that Olivera poses, I went back and decided that skipping them was chicken-shit. I’ve come too far to get scared-off by some deep soul searching. So my challenge to myself is to work though these contemplations, one by one, and see what arises.

I’m not sure how long it’ll take, as there are a whole lot of them, and I get sidetracked sometimes. But I’m going to give it a shot.

Starting here.

What stories am I frequently telling myself?

• I frequently tell myself a story that my body’s appearance isn’t desirable. (I read More Than a Body, which is phenomenal, and have heard the authors, Lindsay and Lexie Kite, PhD, both speak—so I know that logically, and from a functional standpoint, that my body is a damn miracle.) BUUUUUUUTTTTTT…I’m 20lbs heavier than the weight where I’ve always felt most comfortable. It’s probably my body’s set point—my healthy weight. It’s where I landed, and have pretty much remained, since I started practicing Intuitive Eating and gave up the obsessive exercising last summer. But despite all the reading, and the understanding, and the practicing of self-compassion…when I look in the mirror and try to accept what I see as “what is,” I still desperately wish it was different.

• I frequently tell myself a story that I am valued more for what I do than who I am. I’ve started to unravel this one a bit, and have taken a hard, long look at the productivity culture that’s affected my self-worth. But I still have trouble accepting praise or compliments that are about me as a human being rather than me as a human doing. When someone says “that creative idea is amazing!” I say thank you and beam with pride (of course, sharing credit with everyone else who was involved, too). But when someone says, “you’re a really compassionate leader and I appreciate how much you’re there for me,” I get uncomfortable. I question how real and true that is. Whether the me they’re seeing and connecting with is really me, or just a really believable façade.

• I frequently tell myself a story that I’m failing my kids. That despite how hard I’m working not to repeat the same mistakes my own parents made, I’m making them anyway. And, adding new ones to the tally. I catch myself thinking some of the harmful thoughts that my parents said out loud, and I stop before the words come out of my own mouth. But I believe that just the act of thinking them is bad enough. I don’t want my kids to have to carry the same baggage I’m working through now when they grow up.

• I frequently tell myself the story that I haven’t been meditating more regularly because I’m too tired, or I just can’t get my mind to settle down. I know that’s bullshit, though, because “settling your mind” that’s not what meditation is about. Your mind can wander off a thousand times, and as long as you notice it and bring it back, you’re doing it right. I think the real reason I haven’t been meditating lately is because it forces me to sit still. And I still use busy-ness as a life avoidance tactic.

• I frequently tell myself a story that I am the only one who can do things (mostly at home) the right way. The kids’ birthday parties won’t be right unless I’m doing the food, and the cake, and the decorations, and the invitations, blah blah blah. We won’t have the food we need for the week if I’m not checking the fridge and pantry, making the grocery lists, ordering/shopping, and putting everything away…in the right place. Part of this, I recognize, is not a story. If I don’t do some of these things, no one else will. But the story is that I feel like I have to do them at ALL. And do them perfectly. So what if I spend a little less time on decorating? So what if I ask someone else to get groceries and they miss a few things? I tell myself that I need to be the one to do it the right way, but then I resent having to be the one to do it at all. I’ve heard that this is pretty common with moms. There’s comfort in knowing I’m not alone.

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I probably have 30 more stories, but I want to keep working through all the Contemplations, so I’ll stop here for now.

This is going to be an interesting experiment.