“The One that rules over men in justice / Is like the morning light at sunrise / on a cloudless morning, / making the greensward sparkle after rain.”
~ cf. 2 Sm 23:3-4
“Every morning we arise afresh in Christ our light. Ancient Christian writers warn against ‘morning demons’: yesterday’s worries and grievances returning to poison the new day.”
~ October 31, 2016: Prayer for Morning,Magnificat
I know morning demons well! I confront them in the mirror every day at 5:30am as I wash my face, blow out my hair, and apply my makeup. It always frustrates me that during those 20-30 minutes, I am invariably flooded with preoccupations about all the worrisome and troubling thoughts that are crying for my attention. They rush upon me all at once. It seems that one anxiety-provoking notion recruits another and another in an escalating spiral. In like fashion, one bitter and resentful animosity about some conflict at work, some perceived injustice, an invalidating experience, or some other occasion for ire stirs up memories of all manner of past injuries and offenses. My emotions run away with me, and I am left in a conflicted and tense state, vexed by my inability to self-regulate and by my failure to think dialectically, objectively, and compassionately.
Once a month, I receive a small devotional booklet in the mail called Magnificat. All month long, I tote the little collection of passages and reflections around with me, just in case I manage to create the time and silence necessary for a brief meditation. On this last day of the month, the pages are now very tattered. Opening them to read the words of this morning and realizing that the struggle against these “morning demons” is (and always has been, and always will be) a part of the universal human condition reminds me why making space for quiet contemplation is worth the effort. I am not uniquely broken, and I am not alone.
Wishing you all a beautiful, blessed week and month ahead.
An extrovert trying to be an introvert to avoid being hurt… that was how my first therapist described me. Isolation and feelings of loneliness were always sources of pain for me. Exploring my need to be in the company of other people and embracing the discomfort and uncertainty inherent in the swampland of forging personal connections was a first beyond the entrenched cognitive-behavioral-emotional loops of my chronic depression. Reengaging with old friends and building new relationships were dramatic shifts outside of my comfort zone, and these efforts were challenging enough. At a time when I was also waging a pitched war for my life against binge eating disorder, the fact that many (perhaps most) social situations involved food only heightened the drama. My recovery from my depression and my eating disorder were too interdependent to be dissected apart. As I battled on, my friend Amelia was a close ally on both fronts. We fell into a routine of meeting up after work every few weeks for dinner, making our way through a circuit of the best local restaurants in our little area. Over seltzer with lime and decaf black coffee, we shared all the details of our lives, from the most mundane to the deepest and most heartfelt. Each meal was anticipated with delight as an opportunity to be genuine and authentic for a few hours. In the comfortable cocoon of merry conversation, I grew increasingly resilient as I coped with one menu and then the next.
In April, Amelia accepted an offer of a new position and relocated to a city five hours away. It was a long-expected move, and there was nothing sudden about it. I was excited for her, and I was prepared for the change, but there was a difference between predicting loneliness and then actually feeling it. Over the summer, I continued to travel frequently, remained involved in all of my meaningful activities, and maintained my connections with all of my long-distance friends. Yet… I spent much of my time alone. It didn’t always feel like loneliness. I remained connected and I didn’t dwell in any sense of isolation or entertain self-pity. However, every once in a while, I felt the definitive absence of my friends. At times, my therapist and I spoke about the subject, but we never arrived at any useful conclusions. I continued to participate in yoga, I lingered after mass each Sunday to chat with my casual acquaintances from my parish, and, every so often, I went out to lunch with some of my coworkers. None of those fleeting connections filled the empty space in my heart that longed for a kindred spirit.
It was a Friday afternoon a few weeks ago, and I was leaving work in just such a state. I was at the nadir of a several-day funk, and I was not looking forward to a solitary weekend. My mood was low and my anxiety was piqued, triggered by automatic, alarming, all-or-nothing type thoughts about an upcoming professional conference and all the logistics of another trip. To an entirely new city. Alone.
My phone buzzed, and a lengthy text message popped onto the screen. It was Amelia! “Pete and I are headed your way for the weekend! There’s a cycling convention in town. I know it’s last minute, but we’re going out for dinner at Giovanni’s on Saturday night if you want to come. Let me know!” Amelia was returning at precisely the moment it seemed that I needed her most! My heart perked, but my head reeled at the name of the restaurant. Giovanni’s was decidedly unsafe.
“Lord, you have probed me, you know me: / you know when I sit and stand; / you understand my thoughts from afar. / You sift through my travels and my rest; / with all my ways you are familiar. / Even before a word is on my tongue, / Lord, you know it all. / You formed my inmost being; / You knit me in my mother’s womb. / My very self you know.”
~ Psalm 139:1b-4,13,14b
Competing ideas zipped into my consciousness. “No,” was a prominent voice. “No” to the menu, “no” to the restaurant, and “no” to everything that they both represented to me. Giovanni’s exemplified everything that I found repugnant in American food culture. It was about as far from authentically Italian as one could possibly find. The fare was entirely Midwestern American, featuring pasta with a side of bread, served with meatballs, sausage, salami, and pepperoni, heavily doused with cheese, cream sauces, and more cheese, and served with a garnish of tomato sauce. The three salads on the menu consisted mainly of iceberg lettuce, croutons, and, you guessed it, more cheese. The only entrée that included a vegetable was fried eggplant parmesan. There weren’t even any vegetable sides offered.
Against these objections, I also heard myself stating a decisive, “Yes.” My memory of a recent appointment with my dietician resonated, and I couldn’t escape the echoed repetitions of Kelly’s voice, “You may not skip social things because of food.” I was grateful for her clear, direct manner, which left little room for quibbling. “Yes” to Kelly, “yes” to Amelia, and “yes” to connection, friendship, and wholeheartedness. I couldn’t conceive how I would manage the menu, but there was little utility in obsessing over it. Reading and rereading the descriptions of the unappealing choices would not alter them or make them more acceptable. Memorizing every deplorable detail would only make me more anxious. I admitted to myself that there were no safe choices; I replied to Amelia that I was not in the least bit comfortable with the restaurant; and I expressed my tremendous joy at the prospect of seeing her again, committing myself, for better or worse, to whatever this dinner entailed. Decision made, I settled into waiting with a combination of exuberance and resigned acceptance.
As afternoon succeeded morning on Saturday, a familiar exchange revolved through my head. Yes/no. Excitement/acceptance. Tranquility/anxiety. Amelia and Pete were at their cycling convention, and I awaited their word on a dinner time. It wasn’t until 3:30pm that I heard from them. Could I meet at the restaurant in two hours? Typically, 5:30pm would be “way too early” for me to eat, especially given the typical later timing of my weekend lunch. However, on this particular Saturday, I was grateful that the short notice left me little interval for pre-planning, advance calculations, or ruminations. Still in yoga tights and looking a teensy bit too disheveled for a sit-down meal, even at the most casual of places like Giovanni’s, my main concern was making myself presentable and getting across town in under 120 minutes.
When I arrived (only 10 minutes late – which is just on time for me!), I was so flooded with the excitement of seeing my beloved friend that I could barely focus on anything else. It was impossible to read a menu and survey all the sights and sounds of my new environment while maintaining the bubbling flow of conversation that gushed forth the instant Amelia and I reunited. I tripped my way to the table, so distracted I was peering over my shoulder in an attempt to keep her in sight, as words tumbled out in all directions from both sides. It was after the waitress paused at our table for the third time to take our orders that I concluded it was time to settle into dedicated concentration for the task at hand – to hobble together some sort of manageable compromise from a truly abysmal list of choices.
“It is just one day.”
“It is just one meal.”
“It is not going to kill me.”
“I can do this.”
When the pleasant waitress returned once more, I smiled sweetly and asked innocently, “Do you have any side vegetable dishes?” I fully expected her negative answer, but I wasn’t yet discouraged or dissuaded. “Do you have any vegetables?” I asked in my most saccharine way. Like, at all? Like, in the entire restaurant? Like, could you go to the grocery store and buy me a carrot?
She twisted one corner of her mouth and scrunched her nose as if she was racking her brain. “You know what, let me check,” she responded kindly. I tried not to be too appalled that it seemed like such a bizarre, foreign idea that a patron would want to eat a vegetable with her dinner. A few moments later, she returned triumphantly with the answer: there were spinach and red peppers in the kitchen.
“Perfect!” I internally rejoiced. I asked her if it would be too much trouble to steam some spinach for me. She offered to sauté it. I asked her to sauté it lightly, ordered the grilled chicken with pasta and pesto, and said a little prayer under my breath that my meal wouldn’t arrive at the table swimming in oil. “It’s out of my control now,” I told myself as I settled back into the rhythm of conversation, happy, content, acquiescent, pleased, relaxed, and willing.
“It is just one day.”
“It is just one meal.”
“It is not going to kill me.”
“I can do this.”
It would be a lie if I denied that I was unconcerned about gaining weight. Those thoughts were present. I was upset and disturbed by the food selection and by the relationships with food and eating behaviors reflected around me. However, in a moment when I was faced with a choice to isolate within the safe, protective shell of my eating disorder or turn all of my self-protective instincts upside down, I committed to the uncertain path, and I forged ahead without wavering. It felt risky, it felt reckless, and it felt real. In a less-than-ideal situation, I did better than cope. It felt like progress.
“I am not absent-minded. It is the presence of the mind that makes me unaware of everything else.”
~ G.K. Chesterton
In my imagination, there is an ideal of what it would mean to be perfectly mindful. There is a notion, a concept, of always being in the present – fully aware of what is going on around me, fully conscious, awake, and attentive to my external environment and my internal thoughts and emotions. My therapist tries to tell me that to be always mindful would not be mindful, but that makes little sense to me. As I gradually make my way through my book on mindful self-compassion, I draw encouragement from learning that the moment we become aware that we are not being mindful, we become mindful. (I know that I’ve been writing about this same book for months. I’m a slow reader, okay! It also doesn’t help that I jump from one book to another, then onto a third, then back to the first).
One afternoon, last weekend, I set out for an autumn bike ride along the paved trails near my house.
The fall is one of my favorite seasons, and it always stirs up some very strong memories and emotions. They swirl together fluidly, making it impossible to follow a linear ribbon of thought or recollection. Light and dark, faces and names, places and ideas, happiness, joy, gratitude, nostalgia, pain, loss, guilt, delight, sorrow, shame, laughter, tears… they all mix together like so many disparate ingredients poured into one giant bowl. Flour, sugar, eggs, and milk form a smooth batter, never to be constituent parts again, but richer for their joining.
My mind was fluttering with activity as I pedaled along the tree-lined paths, legs pumping, lungs heaving, and heart nearly bursting with all the glory of that autumn afternoon. When I returned to my apartment, I was in danger of falling into self-criticism for being so mindless. Though I did notice the sparkling rays of the setting sun, the fresh current of the air, and the smell of damp earth, I could not deny that I was largely preoccupied during my ride. As I stretched my sore quads, I turned on the television to a biopic of G.K. Chesterton. Not knowing much about this British author, I continued to watch, and I found myself presented with the above quote. It gave me pause for deeper consideration.
Perhaps there is more to this practice of mindfulness than I am allowing.
Two wonderful bloggers, Jenny of Peace From Panic and Lisa of From Dream to Plan, nominated me for the Leibster Award. To be entirely honest, Jenny nominated me months ago, back in March, and there are really no excuses for how long it took me to finish answering all of her excellent questions. I am very flattered to be recognized by these two exceptionally special writers. They both share their wholehearted selves through their fabulous and engaging blogs, which I encourage everyone to visit!
The guidelines for the award are pretty straightforward.
Thank the person who nominated you, and tag him or her in your post. (Thank you Jenny and Lisa!)
Answer the 11 questions asked of you.
Nominate 5-11 other bloggers (ideally with 1000 or fewer followers), and inform them of their nominations.
Create 11 new questions for your nominees to answer.
Because I was nominated twice, there are twice as many questions to answer, so I will get right to it! To begin, here are the questions that Jenny asked…
Why did you start your blog?
Messages encouraging the use of disordered eating, the promulgation of unrealistic body expectations, and the promotion of unhealthy relationships with food and exercise are the norms in our culture and society. I wanted to offer a different voice and to document my journey through recovery from my eating disorder. You can read about my motivation here.
What book are you reading now and do you recommend it?
I am always reading more than one book at a time. Right now, my three are The Mindful Path to Self-Compassion, by Christopher Germer, Seven Storey Mountain, by Thomas Merton, and Eating Disorders: A Guide to Medical Care and Complications, by Philip S. Mehler, MD, and Arnold E. Anderson, MD. I would recommend the first two, unequivocally. The third book is one that I am reading for work, and I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it for general reading.
What does your favorite coffee or tea mug look like?
It would be impossible to choose a favorite. Right now, because it is autumn (my favorite season!), I am enjoying my owl-shaped coffee mug tremendously. 😍
Do you prefer modern or traditional art?
Retail shopper or online shopper?
Both. The convenience of online shopping is great, but when it comes to buying clothing, I to be able to touch the fabric and to feel my body in the clothes.
If you could do something really adventurous, and knew you’d be okay, what would it be?
What is the kindest compliment anyone can give you?
That I am kind-hearted and loving. That I am living out my values. (But only if it was true and not just flattery!)
Are you athletic? Favorite sport?
Ummm… define “athletic.” I love to bike, swim, and practice yoga, because they are fun and enjoyable activities. They also keep my body healthy and leave me feeling refreshed and alive. For a long time, I was addicted to running. My therapist and psychiatrist are working with me to develop a healthier relationship with running. For several years, I quit it entirely while I allowed my mind and body to heal. A month or two ago, I ran a quarter mile and then worked my way up to a half, but now I am nursing some badly bruised/strained feet. So the running is still TBD.
What is your favorite quote?
How have other bloggers encouraged you?
The blogging community here at WordPress is such a blessing! The comments that I receive are amazingly supportive. Other bloggers challenge me to think in different ways. I find inspiration, I am reminded of my values, and I am drawn back to what is most important through the comments left on my blog and the posts of other writers. I don’t think its exactly what Dr. Barbara Fredrickson meant when she decribed positivity resonance (I think that requires a face-to-face encounter), but it must come close.
Imagine a peaceful place. What does it look/feel like?
There is a safe place that I go to in my mind when I’m meditating, where I sit beside a gentle brook, under a giant, leafy tree. The sun is shining through the leaves, sending dappled light across the water and the thick, green, grass. Those same leaves ruffle in a gentle breeze, while the brook babbles happily.
Ok, onto Lisa’s questions…
What’s a funny travel story you will never forget? Personally experienced or not.
I honestly can’t think of a single thing! Isn’t that terrible? There are so many amazing memories, but they aren’t necessarily funny. At least, they certainly wouldn’t seem funny to other people. I think most of my travel stories are the, “You really had to be there…” sort. Maybe, in some ways, those are the best kind.
What’s your favorite recipe not from your home country?
Pumpkin soup from Germany! It’s unlike any pumpkin or squash soup I ever tasted in the U.S. I actually don’t know the secret to the recipe, or what makes it so incredible. It is simply delicious! I also love rice pudding, which you can find here in the States, but which always tastes better in Britain. Mmmmm… and croissants. Alas, Americans do not know how to make a good croissant. Or how to brew a good cup of coffee! Now my mouth is watering.
If you could travel to one city or country right now, where would it be?
This question is easy to answer, though the response may not be what my readers would expect. Although my recent writings are all about Paris, the ONE place I want to be more than anywhere else right now is… Germany!!! There is nowhere quite like southern Germany on the edge of the Black Forrest in the fall. Mmmmm… I can taste the pumpkin soup! My heart flutters when I think of the changing trees along all the little hills and valleys. I have this very distinct memory of the landscape emerging from a dawn fog, me staring out the back window of Helene’s little BMW, the road winding along from Stuttgart to Zurich early one morning… It was heaven!
What is your favorite way to travel? (Bike / train / plane / walking, etc.)
YES. (All of the above)
Why did you start writing your blog?
What movie could you watch over and over again and still love?
The Lord of the Rings (any of the three)
Do you have a favorite quote?
Nope! There are too many good ones to pick just one.
Would you call yourself an indoor person or an outdoor person?
I need a little of both to remain in balance. Without nature, I would suffocate. The beauty of God’s created world puts a song in my heart, inspires gratitude, and centers my soul. Yet, there are times when nothing is as restorative as a cozy afternoon or evening spent indoors.
How do you get motivated to work toward your goal(s)/target(s)/ambition(s)?
That is a really great question, and it is perhaps impossible for me to answer! If I knew exactly how to motivate myself, I might be much farther along this path of life. I think that I have a naturally curious and driven mind, but being so driven can also lead me to quickly become overwhelmed, resentful, and angry. I suppose that I would say the thing that helps most is loads of therapy! There was a time that I was ashamed of my tendency toward distraction, depression, anxiety, my propensity to leave projects half-done, and all my other faults and failures. It took some pretty devastating major life events to turn my way of thinking on its head. I think pursuing a goal starts with embracing my whole self – all of my imperfect parts along with all of my strengths – and readily admitting that I do not possess all the answers that I need. The willingness to turn to others (like my therapist and a few very tried and true confidantes), to be humbly honest with myself, and to adjust my expectations to reflect my reality definitely helps.
If you had to choose one country (aside from your own) to move to permanently, which would you choose?
Probably the UK. Of all my trips abroad, London was my favorite city.
Where is your favorite place to be?
Hmmmm… I don’t know if I have one favorite place. For me, it is less about the physical place than the memories, the experiences, and the people. Love. It all comes back to love.
The fun of the Leibster award is sharing it with others. I am passing along this award to the following nominees. I love to follow their insightful blogs. They each share a unique voice, and I hope that you will check out their sites. Below the list of nominees are my 11 questions to each of them.