Being Afraid of Everything and Doing it Anyway

I was pondering my patience practice of the week ("Pick your battles") and got to thinking about the term "battle." When I went in to treatment it was really a way of escaping the daily battle of my life. I created such high expectations and felt so inefficient that I fought with everything that came my way; I squeezed and pushed and tried to make everything perfect and felt horribly dejected when it wasn't. Quick reminder: perfection is impossible. So giving in to the compassion of others allowed me to stop fighting everything around me. It allowed me to relax a little.

I am proud to say that I no longer drop-kick the daylight out of every day. I noticed that prioritizing and making decisions comes much easier than it used to. When I was sick I obsessed about every decision, always trying to pick what was "best." Now, my priorities are more than clear; they're a part of my mindset. For instance, I recently picked up a job serving tables. I agonized over taking the position: I had sworn off working in restaurants after my last two ED-laden disasters. I also had to admit that my current pursuits simply weren't paying the bills.

However, it was without a second thought that I told my manager I needed three nights off a week: two for my Eating Disorders Anonymous meetings and one for the Spanish class I recently enrolled myself in. Actually, it wasn't until I walked out later that night that I realized what a milestone that was.

It feels nice to step out of doubt and into a little faith. I know I can get everything done that I need to, I know I can be healthy, I know things will fall into place. After discussing faith with people in many different walks of life, it seems to me that faith generally corresponds to having less fear of the unknown or of failure. Unfortunately, some neuron in my brain blocks this rule because I am afraid of everything. And I do it anyway.

That's where my battle lies: not in the doing it, but the freaking out about it all the while. While I can pick my battles I can't stop myself from getting really scared. I'm that soldier standing at the front line, warpaint on my face and stick in hand, wishing that I was wearing panties under my kilt because a little yellow trickle is running down my shaking knees.

I'm afraid of everything and its' reverse. If I get a new "normal" job than I might lose all the exciting independent business pursuits I'm following. But I'm afraid of pursuing them because I'm under-qualified. I'm afraid of going to the Peace Corps because it will take me away from the safe life I've built, but I'm afraid of not going because then I'll be stuck in this damn city. I'm afraid of missing an opportunity and afraid of taking too many. Exercising too much or too little. Eating too much or too little. Being too nice, too mean. Doing everything or doing nothing. Afraid, afraid, afraid.

And yet, I keep doing it. Why do I rush into this battle? Not because it's better than standing in my own puddle. No, it's because I've got this Russel Crowe Gladiator man championing my way. Who is that man? It's me. It's my conscience and my gut, telling me to have a little faith and keep doing what feels right.

So I'm the solider. I'm the Gladiator. Who's the enemy?

That's right: I am my own enemy, too. I have every tool I need to push myself down and employ them often. The greatest tool is fear, that puddle below the pleats. I am the reason that I cannot go to battle but I am also the reason I can win. And realizing that I am all players guarantees one indispensable truth: I WILL always win. Unless of course I cower, don't move at all, and continue to water the grass.

That's simply not an option.

The glorification of a battle won: