An epiphany of self
Any self-aware or self-awareness-seeking person accepts whichever teachers come her way, regardless of the perceived convenience of timing or form. A teacher can be a person or a situation. It can be positive or negative, in the sense of whether the experience is enjoyable, as well as whether the lesson garnered is in regards to learning the how or why or how NOT or why NOT. It can be Other, or it can be Self. Never did I imagine that my choices of the last few months would bring such opportunities for learning into my life, not even when my dreams were screaming it at me. I wasn't ready to hear it. We close out so much with willful blindness.
Because of this situation that I have gone out of my way to create-- that is, being deeply in love with both my husband and another man who is brilliant and wise beyond his years and yet also physically far away from me and who is also married to a wonderful woman that I adore for her own sake--I am finding that I have an abundance of teachers in my life. He is one of them and she is another, but I'm also more willing to see teachers that were already present, including my Self.
In the two weeks since my encounter with my lover (what to call him, when he's so much more than that?) I have been through an incredible spectrum of emotion, from fear and anger to blissful happiness and contentment, all with regards to our relationship. Fear and anger at the distance and what it would mean, fear regarding my relationship with my husband, not knowing what damage I might have done in my single-minded pursuit. Anger at myself for being naive enough to take my husband's word that it was ok instead of really investing in taking more time and being more cautious, and for letting our sexual relationship deteriorate in the first place rather than biting the bullet and dragging his ass to therapy. Happiness and contentment are perhaps self-explanatory, but both are in the context of loving and of being loved, of carrying with me the memory of physical proximity and intimacy, of having experienced a spiritual bond during sex that I had never experienced before. It has been a dance of security and insecurity, whirling around each other and spinning into oblivion.
This has taken its toll.
Last weekend it became obvious to me that I was begining to lose my grip, and on Monday it was no longer deniable, I had worked myself into a full-blown anxiety attack. Not only over what I saw as issues directly related to this relationship, but also over my car which is experiencing its death throes and a huge and unexpected phone bill that was pretty much all my fault. Unlike many sufferers I do NOT tend to show many (if any) outward signs. I refuse to get panicky or weepy. During my very worst attacks I can be a little short with people and sometimes get a little shaky, and during my single worst attack I simply couldn't get out of bed. The rest of the time I successfully submerge the desire to flee and hide away and let my body take it out on itself, which leaves me with pain in my chest that I imagine some people might mistake for a heart attack and overall chest tightness that makes it hard to breathe. I clamp my jaw and my shoulders and neck become especially tense. Excepting that I managed to get up and moving I had all of this going on Monday morning when I threw my meds in my satchel, planning on medicating myself after my commute when my children were no longer passengers and I could also have coffee, as I figured it would take at least one full dose of my meds if not two to allow me to feel some relief.
While I drove I decided that music was in order, and I wisely chose my favorite. I was driving and singing, an anxiety-reducer for me anyway, as are other forms of peformance. My favorite song from my favorite album can easily be considered silly, but it means so much to me. The lyrics are currently applicable, and at that moment particularly applicable to my primary anxiety. The day was sunny and not too cold. The drive was pretty pleasant. My car was behaving. The phone bill, while not forgotten, has faded somewhat from the front of my mind as I glanced at a flock of birds following a farmer as he plowed a field. They could have been on their way someplace else, but they saw an opportunity for nourishment and they took it.
The whole point of the song is taking advantage of an opportunity, one that isn't ever present. There's need, there's love, there's passion tonight. There is no mention of tomorrow, but you understand that those tomorrows will come. That doesn't detract from the joy. I was missing my joy, beating it out of myself. Why? What was it getting me? Did I doubt that I was loved? no. Did I doubt that I was in love? no. Did I doubt that I would see him again? no. Did I doubt the reality of the new love and passion I had found in my marriage? of course not. But my expectation of what I should have, what I was entitled to, weren't matching up with what simply was. I had no hand to hold, no guarantee of a future encounter, no guaratee at all. In fact, I had utterly rejected even the idea of having such a guarantee, as in a saner moment it felt completely false. In that moment I was angry at how comsmically unfair the whole thing seemed, that I couldn't have everything the way I wanted it. And the very next moment I realized that I wasn't entitled to shit any more than anyone ever is. I hate it when people have an overblown sense of entitlement. In fact, I think that pretty much causes all of our social ills. And here I was, feeling entitled, instead of simply being thankful for what I did have.
I'm not entitled to anything. Look at this amazing life I have. I am so amazingly thankful for everything in my life right now.
The pain in my chest was gone. I could breathe. My jaw unlocked. My neck and shoulders relaxed. I finished my song with a smile on my face. By the time I reached my destination I not only felt like a different person, I actually was. I had found a quiet, strong place within myself and realized that having an anxiety attack was a choice, and I could choose not to have it. Not only in this particular instance, but in general. There's a freedom from one kind of slavery there.
However, the additional lesson to realize is that the most important choice won't usually be whether to have the attack or not, but rather it will be some choice probably long before that. The choice to do or say something at an appropriate time instead of holding my emotions in out of a fear of being seen as weak or childish. Allowing myself the freedom to experience my own emotions as legitimate--which is what I would tell anyone to do as healthy, and yet have trouble doing myself. I have been given the gift of experiencing myself as my own teacher on a much deeper level than I have in quite some time.
Because of this situation that I have gone out of my way to create-- that is, being deeply in love with both my husband and another man who is brilliant and wise beyond his years and yet also physically far away from me and who is also married to a wonderful woman that I adore for her own sake--I am finding that I have an abundance of teachers in my life. He is one of them and she is another, but I'm also more willing to see teachers that were already present, including my Self.
In the two weeks since my encounter with my lover (what to call him, when he's so much more than that?) I have been through an incredible spectrum of emotion, from fear and anger to blissful happiness and contentment, all with regards to our relationship. Fear and anger at the distance and what it would mean, fear regarding my relationship with my husband, not knowing what damage I might have done in my single-minded pursuit. Anger at myself for being naive enough to take my husband's word that it was ok instead of really investing in taking more time and being more cautious, and for letting our sexual relationship deteriorate in the first place rather than biting the bullet and dragging his ass to therapy. Happiness and contentment are perhaps self-explanatory, but both are in the context of loving and of being loved, of carrying with me the memory of physical proximity and intimacy, of having experienced a spiritual bond during sex that I had never experienced before. It has been a dance of security and insecurity, whirling around each other and spinning into oblivion.
This has taken its toll.
Last weekend it became obvious to me that I was begining to lose my grip, and on Monday it was no longer deniable, I had worked myself into a full-blown anxiety attack. Not only over what I saw as issues directly related to this relationship, but also over my car which is experiencing its death throes and a huge and unexpected phone bill that was pretty much all my fault. Unlike many sufferers I do NOT tend to show many (if any) outward signs. I refuse to get panicky or weepy. During my very worst attacks I can be a little short with people and sometimes get a little shaky, and during my single worst attack I simply couldn't get out of bed. The rest of the time I successfully submerge the desire to flee and hide away and let my body take it out on itself, which leaves me with pain in my chest that I imagine some people might mistake for a heart attack and overall chest tightness that makes it hard to breathe. I clamp my jaw and my shoulders and neck become especially tense. Excepting that I managed to get up and moving I had all of this going on Monday morning when I threw my meds in my satchel, planning on medicating myself after my commute when my children were no longer passengers and I could also have coffee, as I figured it would take at least one full dose of my meds if not two to allow me to feel some relief.
While I drove I decided that music was in order, and I wisely chose my favorite. I was driving and singing, an anxiety-reducer for me anyway, as are other forms of peformance. My favorite song from my favorite album can easily be considered silly, but it means so much to me. The lyrics are currently applicable, and at that moment particularly applicable to my primary anxiety. The day was sunny and not too cold. The drive was pretty pleasant. My car was behaving. The phone bill, while not forgotten, has faded somewhat from the front of my mind as I glanced at a flock of birds following a farmer as he plowed a field. They could have been on their way someplace else, but they saw an opportunity for nourishment and they took it.
The whole point of the song is taking advantage of an opportunity, one that isn't ever present. There's need, there's love, there's passion tonight. There is no mention of tomorrow, but you understand that those tomorrows will come. That doesn't detract from the joy. I was missing my joy, beating it out of myself. Why? What was it getting me? Did I doubt that I was loved? no. Did I doubt that I was in love? no. Did I doubt that I would see him again? no. Did I doubt the reality of the new love and passion I had found in my marriage? of course not. But my expectation of what I should have, what I was entitled to, weren't matching up with what simply was. I had no hand to hold, no guarantee of a future encounter, no guaratee at all. In fact, I had utterly rejected even the idea of having such a guarantee, as in a saner moment it felt completely false. In that moment I was angry at how comsmically unfair the whole thing seemed, that I couldn't have everything the way I wanted it. And the very next moment I realized that I wasn't entitled to shit any more than anyone ever is. I hate it when people have an overblown sense of entitlement. In fact, I think that pretty much causes all of our social ills. And here I was, feeling entitled, instead of simply being thankful for what I did have.
I'm not entitled to anything. Look at this amazing life I have. I am so amazingly thankful for everything in my life right now.
The pain in my chest was gone. I could breathe. My jaw unlocked. My neck and shoulders relaxed. I finished my song with a smile on my face. By the time I reached my destination I not only felt like a different person, I actually was. I had found a quiet, strong place within myself and realized that having an anxiety attack was a choice, and I could choose not to have it. Not only in this particular instance, but in general. There's a freedom from one kind of slavery there.
However, the additional lesson to realize is that the most important choice won't usually be whether to have the attack or not, but rather it will be some choice probably long before that. The choice to do or say something at an appropriate time instead of holding my emotions in out of a fear of being seen as weak or childish. Allowing myself the freedom to experience my own emotions as legitimate--which is what I would tell anyone to do as healthy, and yet have trouble doing myself. I have been given the gift of experiencing myself as my own teacher on a much deeper level than I have in quite some time.