Closer to Fine

Acceptance is a concept with which I have had a strange relationship through the years.  As a child, I practiced acceptance on a regular basis.  I didn't argue with my parents about their rigid rules.  The strict Italian household in which I was raised made it clear to me that friends should be female only.  This is part of the reason I was sent to an all-girl high school.  My acceptance of this belief that friends could not be male combined with my natural shyness made me totally self-conscious around men for a long time.   This same blind acceptance of authority's rules extended to school.  As a student it would never cross my mind to question the teachers about what was being taught.  I knew that in order to excel in school all I needed to do was follow directions, listen to the teacher, and memorize what was taught.  No real thinking required...just compliance.  And when I was teased and bullied about my weight as a child, those mean remarks were met with a shrug of shoulders and little else publicly.  Of course, like every bullied child those words haunted me for years and led to a very narrow view of myself.   In fact, all of these types of acceptance led to consequences, some minor and some serious. For instance, taking everything I was taught as gospel-truth led to me not really knowing how to think for myself until I was well into college.  Accepting certain truths without question led me to hold beliefs that weren't true to me in order to continue being a "people pleaser".  While I share some values that my parents held sacred, there are a fair number of values that we don't have in common.  This has contributed to me making decisions that haven't always been in MY best interest.  Suffice it to say, acceptance is something that I've been wary of in my adult life.

However, what I am discovering lately is that by not accepting certain truths in my life, I am impeding my own growth and harming any tranquility that I could hope to have.  In this self-help culture that we are all living through, there is always an article showing us (in 10 steps or less) how to "fix" whatever ails us.  Low self esteem? Try getting out in nature more.  Feeling depressed? Grab your iPod, blast your favorite tune, and dance away the doldrums.  Want true revenge on a rival? Forgive and move on because you are only poisoning yourself with vindictive feelings toward another.  While these nuggets of advice are all valid, they can make one feel like every bad feeling needs to be chased away with a remedy.  In my case, I have been extra vigilant when those bad feelings have surfaced because of my past experience with depression and panic attacks.  At the first sign of a bad feeling, I take out my toolbox of soothing strategies in order to "fix" myself mainly out of fear that one bad feeling will lead to a snowball effect of depression.  But what about the times that negative feelings (i.e. anger, sadness, hopelessness) are not only warranted but needed to be felt? Is it sometimes helpful for me to feel badly? 

The tragic comedy that has been my life during the past three months (starting with the sudden death of a beloved younger cousin; followed by the end of a potential relationship and friendship; with a dream to adopt  being dashed;  and ending with a disappointment in my career) has been the catalyst for many negative feelings: shock, anger, heartache, grief, disappointment, and outrage just to name a few.  To say my counselor (Dr. T)  has more than earned his paycheck in this terrible trimester is putting it mildly.  The other day when I was scrambling and searching for ways to fix myself and to prevent a descent into that dark place,  Dr. T quietly suggested that maybe I just needed to accept these bad events and let myself experience the negativity that accompanies them.  I gave him my best "Really?" teacher look and proceeded to explain to him how much I have had to deal with lately (yes, tiny violins were strumming in the background).  But upon reflection I can see his point.  

It feels like I have spent a lifetime trying to run away from my feelings.  Just as the alcoholic looks to that glass of wine as a mean of escape, I have searched for ways to avoid the realities in my life (Amazon.com is my choice of drug).   The truths in my life that I'm trying to "not feel" have been well documented in my writing: I am a middle aged, overweight single woman who wants to be married with children.  Even writing that sentence hurts but you know what? Even though that is a small part of my identity (I'm also a great friend, skilled educator, and caring person) it is still significant and trying to deny I feel badly about it has only brought about more negative feelings.  Maybe I can have those feelings but still be content with my life? I'm not sure but I'm hoping it will get me closer to fine.