When I went to treatment this blog was utilized to the same strategic means yet took on an entirely new scope. Not only did it help me to avoid verbal/ written redundancy on painful topics, but it became an outlet where I could re-discover my own creativity. Being sick and in school I forgot about my own expressive ability. I wasn't inspired by movies or books or people and I lacked the cognitive function to create. This blog has become one of the greatest therapies I could pursue. Of course, we cannot forget that I am a professional guilt-monger, and the fact that I sit here and write about myself in the great expectation that others will be interested in it sparks little guilt fireworks in my mind. The topic of talking about oneself has popped up thematically several times recently, in fact.
Yesterday I went to lunch with a friend-of-a-friend. Within minutes I was acutely aware of one important thing: this lady enjoyed talking about herself. At the beginning she attempted a feeble, "So how are you liking your new job?" and then quickly divulged her life-story and subsequent insights on living. As soon as I realized that a) she really enjoyed talking about herself and b) she was also an incredibly successful person, I fed into that scenario like a fish on worms. I asked and asked and asked, rarely offering information on myself. It's true that I wanted to learn about her past and how she'd managed to live the life I desired in such a short few years. But it's also true that I was hesitant to talk about myself, lest she decipher how utterly unimpressive I was. At the end of the meeting I felt bitter, worthless, and guilty for judging her topical choice and my own inability to move past my personal hang-ups. In retrospect, I realize that I could have made interesting contributions (don't get me wrong; I fed her some bait but when she failed to pick it up I failed to keep trying. I let my own sense of inadequacy bar me from sharing. Talking without listening resulted only in negativity.
And then there's therapy. Even if you've never been in session with a therapist you probably are aware of the value in sitting yourself down in a comfy armchair and verbally vomiting all over someone whose only job is to listen. The best therapists do offer responses, usually tools for dealing with the most obtrusive emotions, but really they're the wall and you're the racquetball. How many times have we sent an idea their way only to have it bounce back in a million miles an hour to hit us right between the eyeballs? Yes, talking without listening results in painfully beneficial realizations.
Still, I informed my therapist that we need to take a little break and I'm not sure if this is the middle-school type (i.e., I will be back) or the big-kid type (i.e., I'll start looking for something else). Once a week I went to her office and sat down to explain in as much emotional detail as possible everything that had happened to me. All of those nasty little booger-thoughts infiltrating my otherwise-healthy mind spilled into kleenexes as I blew my nose. I often left feeling cleansed. However, I also left feeling judged (she's a very opinionated and responsive therapist) and guilty (surprise, surprise). It's true that the guilt often stemmed from admitting things that I didn't want to, whether they were actually negative or just negative in my mind. Talking about the things that we try to hide from on a daily basis is the first step in allowing them the acceptance and observation that make them manageable. Still, I wondered if blowing my nose actually made me more congested. Was the accountability truly functioning to deter negative action and emotion? Or was it the "right thing to do" for a recent treatment-grad like myself? Was talking without listening truly the route to redemption?
So for this next couple weeks rather than going to therapy or seeing my nutritionist I'm trying to invest my energy into other ways of exploring my thoughts and emotions. I'm trying to journal more often and I'm here writing to you. Last week I went to meditation, I've gotten acupuncture a couple of times, I've made it to the easiest-possible yoga class twice and loved every minute of it. I religiously attend my Eating Disorders Anonymous group and I'm spending time in front of the fire with my family. Also, I'm reading Siddhartha, one of the most enlightening spiritual texts ever written.
One point on Siddhartha's spiritual journey, a point very close to his reaching Nirvana, necessitated his learning to listen. It all began with him talking. He attempted suicide by throwing himself into a river. Instead of seeing his doom as he leaned into the abyss he heard and felt "Om." He then went to Vasudeva, the ferry-man, and told him the entirety of his life-story. Vasudeva listened, smiled, and led him back to the river. The answer was in listening to the world as it flowed by. Siddhartha spent years with Vasudeva listening to the river and the stories of those ushered across. Talking with listening led to Nirvana.
There's a middle-ground here, people, that we've got to find. This isn't racquetball and it's not verbal vomit. It's not hiding behind words and it's not assaulting others with them. It's like meditating while reading a book and writing in the margins. Its like hitting a racquetball, having it soar toward your head, and then Harry Potter swoops in and grabs it and hands it to you (and then he falls in love with you). Thinking with listening equals beautiful living.
You know one thing that helps? Comments from all of you. Let me know what you think whether it supports my statement or not. Show me you're there because I love you for it. Let's play tennis.
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