From Anxious Caterpillar to Free Butterfly

Thursday morning. I woke up, and before I even fully opened my eyes, I already heard it hitting the roof of my patio: it was pouring cats and dogs! I let out a deep sigh because I knew I’d have to bike through it that day, and that thought didn’t exactly make me thrilled. I secretly hoped the weather app would tell me the rain would pass quickly, but no such luck—it was going to rain all day. So after breakfast and meditation, I decided to put on my big girl pants and just go for it. Armed with my waterproof biking gloves, two pairs of socks, rain boots, rain pants, and a raincoat, I braved the wind and rain and got my errands done.

I expected to hate every second of it, but weirdly enough, I didn’t at all. I loved being outside, listening to music, and just moving my body. Once I finished what I had to do and was supposed to bike home, I realized I was enjoying myself way too much and wanted to keep the fun going. I decided to bike into the city to buy a few things that were on my not-so-urgent shopping list anyway. On the way there, it was raining like crazy, and I was biking and singing my heart out. People looked at me funny sometimes, but I couldn't have cared less: I was 100% in the zone, happy, and completely myself. I couldn't even tell you how long it had been since I last felt that way (actually, I could: not since the beginning of August!). I was so happy and felt like I wasn't high, wasn't low, but just my true self. Happy, joyous, and above all: free.

When I got home—two hours later, soaked to the bone despite all my great gear—I decided to keep the good vibes going, but in a slightly cozier way. I put on my new thermal socks (the ones I had just bought in the city!), made myself a fresh cup of fireside tea, turned on my electric blanket, and plopped down on the couch to draw. As I did, I was washed over by another wave of happiness: this is it. This is me. This is my true self, my pure self, pure happiness. I closed my eyes for a moment and fully took it all in. It was so beautiful, so simple, so pure.

The contrast with how I’ve been feeling over the past few months was striking. Due to a few family breakups, I went through—let's just call a spade a spade—an emotional hell for two months. Finding inner peace was incredibly difficult, despite all my efforts. I cried more than I have in years, and slept and eaten less than ever (I mean, who can actually eat with a knot in their stomach?!). I tried to find peace in so many ways, and when that ultimately failed and the pain became too much to bear, I fled to a church, just as I wrote in my previous blog post. A church that could offer me exactly what I thought I needed: people around me, social connection, and more immersion in God. I hoped that this immersion would do me good, and even though it initially seemed to, it didn't. But what exactly was wrong? I couldn't quite put my finger on it... even though I did try in my last post. High on dopamine, on spiritual bliss, on "connect with me and make me whole." The truth was only revealed to me yesterday, and it goes a bit deeper than I expected.

When I’m around people, I automatically adapt to them. It’s not something I do consciously, but it is something I’m aware of. I really become like a chameleon in those moments, and even if I don’t want to adapt, I still do it because I’m completely powerless over it. It’s an old survival mechanism that is still hardwired into me, and no amount of willpower or rationalizing can switch it off. Out of fear of not being good enough, I instinctively put my best foot forward to be liked by as many people as possible. No matter where I am, I will usually adapt in such a way that I successfully win over as many hearts as I can. In that moment, I shut down my own feelings without a second thought, and they effectively cease to exist. It’s as if another part of my brain takes over, the part that thinks only of (emotional) survival. So it’s not that I consciously put myself aside—no, it just happens, instinctively. Other possibilities are that I freeze in places where I don't feel safe (meaning I’m 'pleasantly' sitting at the table with others, but I can't get a word out because the conversations and the atmosphere around me feel threatening), or that I want to flee (which I sometimes do). Fight—the last of the primary fear responses (fight, flight, freeze, or fawn)—is something I rarely do, but that’s because I’m a pro at suppressing inner unrest (which in itself, of course, is just another emotional survival mechanism).

By the way, I’m not the only one who does this. I truly believe most people do, but they aren't always aware of it (just like I wasn't for 36 years). Other possible 'traits' include being overly helpful and unable to say no, always wanting to mother everyone while putting yourself on the back burner (something that is often praised by others...), wanting to get too close with people too fast, oversharing, being unable to have a conversation and only holding monologues, constantly apologizing, wanting to steal the show and put yourself at the center of attention, keeping an overly busy schedule just to avoid sitting still, always being bouncy and happy, playing the jovial, nice guy who is loved by everyone, or the complete opposite: shutting yourself down the moment you step out the door and watching the world in silence and isolation. 

Whenever I see people acting this way, I recognize myself in them so incredibly well! Before recovery, during my active addiction, I did most of these things too. Through working the Steps and reading the Big Book, I learned that fear lies at the root of all this behavior. In therapy, on the other hand, I learned how to remove myself from unsafe environments so that I no longer have to use these behaviors. Because the reality is that when I do act this way, I lose myself and have to numb out in one way or another. I’m not unique in this either; most of us do it. By going shopping (again), devouring another sweet treat, quickly filling the evening with friends out of a fear of loneliness, etc. Sitting still, feeling, and allowing the fear to be there is sometimes terrifying. Sometimes even so terrifying, so insurmountable, that we don't even dare to do it. Depression, pain, and despair are lurking right around the corner, and then it sometimes feels safer to just keep going than to actually look at what is happening inside.

That’s also how it was for me over the past few months—due to those majorly changing life circumstances—and I don't know what I would have done without my faith in God, my community, and my weekly therapy sessions... Fortunately, they are part of my safe haven, the place I can always return to. When I feel empty, overwhelmed, or anxious, I know what to do. I give myself the time to let God recharge my inner battery. And once it’s recharged, I enjoy my own company again, I enjoy life, and I enjoy God. I see the good in the world and soak it in completely. That’s when I feel connected to myself and I’m back in my body, instead of stuck in my head. It is my path to healing, safety, and serenity.

Yesterday, I made the drawing above. I didn't know why I wanted to draw it, but I instinctively felt it was right and that I needed to do it. Later that day, I had a deep and meaningful conversation with someone. She is someone with whom I feel so safe that I can completely be myself. I am not afraid (!) that my behavior or words will hurt her or make her feel emotionally unsafe, because I know she is grounded and recovered enough not to let my behavior impact her own sense of security. Our conversation was actually about that, and I realized then more than ever that she is the first and only person with whom I can truly be 100% myself without any survival strategies coming into play. I don't have to be fun or cool, I don't have to please, I don't have to be picture-perfect. I don't even have to be nice. I’m allowed to be angry, to cry, to just stay silent, or to be super outgoing, funny, witty, or anything else. I am allowed to be who I really am, and feel how I truly feel. I dare to be myself around her, without a single trace of fear. And that gives me hope. Without her, I wouldn't even believe it was possible to feel so safe around others that I could be my true self. It’s clear that God placed her in my life for a reason. Because it is possible with her, I have faith that it will be possible with others in the future too. It’s my glimpse in the mirror, and the knowledge that this still-anxious little caterpillar will one day become a butterfly. I have it in me. Not impossible, but very much possible! (And just to be really kind to myself for a moment: the fact that I realize and see all of this shows that I’m already more of a butterfly than I give myself credit for... Just felt like putting that out there!)