And it's not bad advice, really. I think there are studies that show that breathing exercises can calm the central nervous system. Breathe in for 4, breath out for 6, that kind of thing. So I try, but sometimes it comes out sounding like Darth Vader. Or I have to put my head between my knees. Or I have to pace the floor. Drinking cold water sometimes helps, too. There is probably some science behind that, but I'm not a scientist.
When I'm having an anxious day, everything feels off. There usually isn't anything specific that I can put my finger on, instead it's very general. Today, thankfully, isn't one of those days (so far, it's always subject to change).
I've been thinking how to describe my particular brand of anxiety, and there are several analogies I could use. I'll give you one today.
I was recently at an event where champagne was being served. In this case the party planners wisely chose plastic flutes. They had them arranged nicely on a table, and it made a pretty picture. Through a strange series of events some setup had to happen quickly on the same table, and as people were moving fast, the little plastic flutes went flying everywhere. They were rolling all over the floor (triggering my OCD but that's another story). Someone was grabbing them up off of the floor and setting them back up, but another bump of the table would send them right back over the edge. I kept wondering why that really harmless and kind of amusing scene stuck with me. It was a snapshot of my anxious innards.
It's like this:
It's as if I am solely responsible for transporting all the Waterford crystal champagne flutes to the party. But all on one tray. They are stacked perfectly, but precariously. You can picture it. To get the crystal glasses to the party on the tray, I have to walk down a flight of stairs. I can't see over the glassware, all I can really see are the sides of the steps. With each step I hear the crystal flutes tinkling. So I have to go very slowly, but with each step I am more and more convinced that I will drop the tray, destroying every glass. Every step is an eternity.
That is what it feels like.
I can appreciate how silly this probably seems from the outside. And if I take a giant step out of my own brain I can see it, too. It's all inside my head and my heart. What's actually happening in the real world may be a little chaotic, I mean tumblers do tumble. But in the end it's usually all fine. The champagne gets served, the toasts are made, and nobody cares after that.
So what's the big deal? The big deal for me is learning to be okay with me, being me. I have always wanted to be one of those super-put-together people who take it all in stride. Instead, this is who I am. I have spent a lot of time regretting how I was made, but the longer I am me, the more I think I need to accept this - embrace it even - and see what I can learn from it. Fr. Jacques Phillippe has a great bit in his book Interior Freedom:
“Under God’s gaze, we are delivered from the constraint of having to be ‘the best’ or perpetually having to be ‘winners.’ We have a deep sense of release, because we don’t have to make constant efforts to show ourselves in a favorable light or waste energy pretending to be what we are not. We can quite simply be what we are.”
And that makes me take a deep breath.
Comments
Post a Comment