When wasn’t I a fearful person? I try to remember a time. Maybe when I first went off to overnight summer camp as an eight-year-old and didn’t look back or cry when I waved good-bye to my parents at the bus-loading area. Other kids were clinging and weeping as if the world were coming to an end. Me? I felt like a bird, just let out of its gilded cage. I intended to do everything, try everything, fearless and free. And I did. Archery, canoeing, camping in the wild, carving with a jackknife, swimming across a lake, crafts, theatrical skits, singing around a campfire under the stars, meeting new people, learning new chores. The only fear I recall is that I’d have to scrub the latrine with a toothbrush if I let the American flag touch the ground during the flag folding ceremony. Of course, that never happened.
So, when did all my fears creep in? When did I begin to fear “what people would say” or whether I was good enough or strong enough to do any of those things I used to love? Maybe it doesn’t matter when. More important is that I am finally willing to face and move through my fears whenever they crop up.
First, as I’ve written, is facing my fear of food, the scale, and all things weight-related. Yesterday’s exercise from my wonderful life coach was called “the Joy Eat Experiment.” I was supposed to take ten bites of a favorite “joy food” (formerly known as “binge food”) and answer several questions on a worksheet. Before I began, I was to assess my hunger (on a scale from 1-10) and describe in great sensory detail my piece of—in this case—carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. With each bite, I was to describe the experience and record my thoughts. This experiment took a huge leap of faith. My eating has been so “sane,” so “un-obsessive” since I started working with my life coach—and I’ve even lost some weight from the feel of things. The “old me” would have been afraid to tempt fate and the Appetites by purposely eating something so sinfully delicious and calorie-laden. But that was then; this is now. So, I waded in with excitement, an embarrassingly salivating mouth, and faith.
My experience went roughly like this:
Bite 1: Took a bite of the frosting edge and a corner of the cake. The frosting melted on my tongue; I liked the coldness of the bite, mixed with the crunch of the nuts. Sweet, creamy, delicious!
Thoughts: This tastes great. Can’t wait for another bite.
Bite 2: This bite came from the point of the piece of cake, off the top. It was a better mix of frosting and cake. I loved the way the frosting melted into the cake and the crunch of coconut in this bite.
Thoughts: I love this! This tastes better than I imagined.
Bite 3: Tasted more carrot in this bite, still loving the frosting—how creamy and sweet it is. No nuts yet—more coconut.
Thoughts: The frosting is the best! I wonder if I should just eat that and leave the cake.
Bite 4: More frosting than cake in this bite. I felt a crunch of sugar as I chewed (for the first time) and tasted the tang of the cream cheese this time.
Thoughts: Can I really stop at ten bites? This is sooo good!
Bite 5: This bite was mostly cake, very little frosting. The cake tasted very moist and a bit spicy. Coconuts. A crunch of walnuts finally.
Thoughts: I like the frosting better than the cake.
Bite 6: This bite was all frosting. I swirled it in my mouth for a long time, enjoying the creamy texture, the sweetness.
Thoughts: I am thinking that I still have four more bites and wondering what could be better than what I’ve already tried.
Bite 7: More frosting and a bit of cake this time. My mouth keeps salivating around each mouthful.
Thoughts: I am thinking there is a lot of cake left and that the old me would have wanted to eat the whole thing—and WOULD have eaten it all by now, in a rush. I’m thinking this is interesting to spend time tasting each bite so “intimately.”
Bite 8: Mostly frosting again. I’m swallowing it too easily, like it’s old hat.
Thoughts I’m getting tired of this game. Enough is enough. I don’t really NEED anymore, but I really should follow directions and take all ten bites.
Bite 9: This bite had more cake and some frosting from between the layers. As I rolled it around my mouth, it started to feel like paste.
Thoughts: This feels silly now. What am I trying to prove? That the next bite is going to be “it”—even better? Something seems crazy about my thinking. Why do I keep hunting around the piece of cake to divine which bite is going to “do it for me”? This thinking is nuts.
Bite 10: This bite of all frosting had a nut in it. I was sad that it dissolved so fast on my tongue.
Thoughts: Look at all the frosting that’s left! Yeah, so. It’s not going to taste any better than the frosting you already ate.
My surprising conclusion was that while other bites may taste good, nothing tastes as good as those first few bites. I also learned that it is just a piece of cake and that its presence does not have the power to make me eat more than I decide would make my body feel “comfortable.” This is surprising to me, actually. I would have thought that the more I ate, the more I would want—as if I am insatiable. Perhaps that is what I’ve told myself—or what others said about me—but I don’t have to believe that anymore because it is not true.
What other false things have I been telling myself in order to feed other fears? Here’s one. That I don’t know how to undo knitting mistakes. So, whenever I’d goof up (you do have to concentrate sometimes), I’d either suck it up and ignore errors—this causes great anxiety in a recovering perfectionist—or abandon a project altogether. Last night I discovered some serious mistakes about six rows—of 150 stitches—back and I was beside myself. I wanted this blanket for my daughter-in-law to be as flawless as possible. All night I debated what to do. Could I really overcome my fear of ripping back and just do it—successfully?
This morning I looked up videos on YouTube and found several that offered differing ideas. One looked so easy, until I tried it. My eyes crossed trying to figure out which side was the “right side” of the V, so I could feed a tiny needle through. “Just have faith,” I told myself as I yanked the yarn and ripped out 900 stitches in one whoosh. My husband tried to lighten the mood by cracking jokes, which I asked him to please kindly keep to himself right now.
At last I threaded another long needle through the teensy remaining loops. To my great joy, I counted 150 stitches on the new needle. Mission accomplished and onward!
As analysis of recent dreams has revealed, the road forward is not always smooth or well-marked. But here are a few guideposts that seem to be serving me well in my journey.
- Feel the fear.
- Examine the thought behind it for truthfulness.
- Reframe the thought to something equally or more truthful.
- Then take a leap of faith and just move forward by taking the next logical step.
No comments:
Post a Comment