The way I usually deal with anxiety is to eat. Although it's totally subconscious, I think my reasoning goes something like this:
My stomach feels funny.
I don't like the way it feels, not at all.
Maybe if I eat something, it'll feel better.
No, that didn't really work. Maybe I should eat something else.
That didn't work, either. Let me try eating something else.
. . .
. . .
. . .
Yuck. I'm so full. I'm such a pig. I hate myself.
In other words, I replace one negative emotion—anxiety—with another—self-loathing. But unlike my anxiety, which makes me feel out of control, my self-loathing feels familiar and manageable. The anxiety comes from an external source that I can't control, but the self-loathing comes from overeating. It's like re-routing a river: the river still flows, but at least it's flowing down a pathway that I've chosen.
I know, I know: that is some seriously crazy shit! And so self-defeating! What can I say, it's been a very effective coping mechanism for a good chunk of my life.
But today I'm trying something different. My stomach is churning like crazy, but I'm desperately resisting the urge to run to the fridge. If I start eating, I know what the outcome will be: I'll end up feeling sick (but in a familiar way) and unhappy with myself. But what if I don't start eating? I have to confess, that is a very scary thought.
Okay. It's scary. But this is supposed to be an adventure, right? So let's explore that scariness a little. I'm not going to run to the fridge, but this churning in my stomach is unbearable! I can't stand feeling like this! What's the alternative to trying to stuff down this feeling? Well...maybe I should...explore it.
And this is where I run into a brick wall. How the hell am I supposed to explore my anxiety? Since I'm a writer, the obvious answer is to write about it...but I'm not sure I can. It feels too big for that, too big to encompass with words.
But maybe that's the answer: if I can put my anxiety into words, maybe it won't be so big any more. And if it's no longer so big...well, then maybe it's something I can manage.
Agh, I'm just going around in circles here. I'm going to take a break—step outside and draw in a few lungfuls of fresh air—and see if that helps clear my mind a little. Then maybe I'll come back and see if I can put my feelings into words instead of stuffing them.
Oh, I can go you one better than that. I eat MORE of what I've already had, on the largely subconscious logic that I just haven't had enough of whatever it is to make a difference. How's that for sensible?
ReplyDeleteSome habits do make it easier to be mindful around food.
• Don't eat standing up, out of a pot or bag, etc. Put the food on a plate and yourself in a chair at the table. Use a napkin and utensils.
• Don't read and eat, work and eat, etc. (I break this one pretty much daily.) Just eat. No multitasking.
• Write down what you eat. This does increase mindfulness, but it also increases my tendency to beat myself up about what I've eaten, so I'm of two minds about it.
• Eat in full view of God and everyone. Don't sneak tastes, bites, bits. I tend to like to eat privately, which in turn feeds (sorry) right into my sense that I am doing something wrong and therefore should hide when I take time, care, attention, or other resources for myself. Hooray! Two difficult emotional issues at once!
I'm glad you're blogging again. I hoped you would.
One other thought on this. You probably developed eating as an anti-anxiety coping strategy a long time ago, perhaps when the anxiety's cause was not something you could affect. I know I did. I had a very anxious childhood and young adulthood, and I came late to the idea that I can and often should change things that I don't like, instead of just suffering along. (No great wonder that anxiety and depression so often go together.) The coping strategy I developed back then--eating--isn't all that useful in a world where I can often adjust my stressors, yet I find the old strategy hard to shed.
ReplyDeleteI think a lot of people make useful adaptations in stressful situations, but then keep on using the strategies after the situation changes and the adaptation isn't useful anymore. It's sort of an evolutionary blind spot. Maybe it's less blind if I know it's there and ask myself what I can or should change to reduce the stress I'm feeling, in lieu of eating while staying quiet about whatever is upsetting me. Does that make any sense, or am I raving?
And now I will quit babbling away on what is, after all, your blog. :-)
Hello, Stephanie. I found your blog because it has exactly the same name as mine! And I find that you and I are exploring in similar ways.
ReplyDeleteI want to cheer you on in your mindfulness exploration. I've been doing mindfulness work for 11 years. It's gone way slower than I would like, but lately it seems to be accelerating. For me, formal meditation practice has been excellent training. I tried meditation once in my 20's, but I was not ready for it. Then I started again when I was 40 and I really took to it.
Your observation, "It feels too big for that, too big to encompass with words," fits so many of my experiences. I've often beat myself up for not being able to explore my anxiety. But the cold, hard truth, I've found, is that one just cannot explore these things until one is ready. My path has been one of trying, failing, trying something a little different, failing ... zoning out ... trying again and having a little success and wondering whether I imagined it.
I think that we, as a society, are in the stone age of this kind of work. People like you and me are intrepid explorers, going where most people don't care to tread. I think that in another millennium, people will know a lot more about this kind of stuff and it won't be so hard and slow and lonely. In the mean time, here I am, a fellow explorer.
My blog is mindfulnessadventures.blogspot.com.