I returned from New Jersey yesterday, the state in which I lived for the first 23 years of my life. Going home has always been an emotional experience for me.
I left New Jersey because I desperately needed to hit the reset button. Some might say I escaped or ran away from my problems. I disagree.
In order to heal, grow and change, we sometimes need space – and lots of it. Like a plant that has outgrown it’s pot. My new pot was the state of Colorado and a fresh start with my husband Brett.
I’ve blossomed as a result, but until now, there has always been lingering pain around my family and my childhood.
In the days before my most recent trip, that familiar feeling of anxiety emerged, as it always does when I’m headed East. But I made a different choice this time. I decided to embrace the anxiety – no more ignoring the emotion and hoping it would just go away (FYI – it won’t).
We think it’s so much easier to ignore a negative emotion. We’d rather pull the covers up over our head than face the truth. Guess what, it’s not easier, it just makes it hurt more.
My coaching mentor, Brooke Castillo, says it so well:
We know we are eating to avoid the sadness (or anger or disappointment). The pain seems so much more difficult than the cookies. But it’s not. The pain covered in cookies becomes pain covered in fat, covered in more pain. Pain is hard. To go through and feel the emotion instead of avoiding/distracting takes courage.
As a coach, I understand the power of emotion. When something feels bad, it’s a red flag, the body’s way of saying, hey, something needs paying attention to, look at me, listen to me.
I decided to listen this time.
I’ve been holding onto a dream for 37 years. The dream of a large, close knit family with holiday traditions and Sunday dinners, weekly phone calls and family vacations, barbecues and long Skype sessions. The dream of a childhood filled with memories of peace and stability, rather than fear and uncertainty.
Here’s the truth – when you spend all of your time wishing and longing, you miss the reality of what is. And what is can be amazing.
I recognize that now. While descending into Denver International Airport yesterday, 30,000 feet or so above Nebraska, I decided to answer this question – what is perfect about my family?
1. I am on speaking terms with and genuinely love my parents, sisters and nieces. So many families no longer speak. The pain tears them apart. Although we don’t talk or visit often, I know that I can pick up the phone at any time and chat with my Mom, Dad or sisters and they’ll be happy to hear my voice and I’ll be happy to hear theirs.
2. I have an amazing husband. Brett has a heart of gold. He is kind, generous and forgiving. He is my best friend and my soul mate. I’ve known him for almost 20 years and he loves and accepts me for exactly who I am.
3. My husband’s family is the big, loud, fun, crazy, close-knit bunch that I always wanted to be a part of. When I first met my husband’s family, I didn’t know what to make of them. I didn’t want to be a part of their family. I hid in the corner like a frightened dog. I was jealous. I was insecure. I felt sorry for myself. All of that has changed over the years. I attended a Spurr family BBQ on Sunday, even though Brett was here in Colorado. That’s something I would have NEVER done, not even a few years ago.
After I left, I sent a text to Brett’s cousin Ilene. It said, thanks again for the invite. I just love your family. She replied, you mean our family.
Wow!
4. I have family traditions – and they are awesome. So it’s not Christmas at Aunt so and so’s house, but who cares. It’s Christmas Eve at Taos Pueblo with bonfires and Native American dancing. It’s Thanksgiving in New Mexico at our friend Gina’s house, which is always packed with the most fabulously eccentric mix of artists, doctors, ex-Wall Streeters and ski bums. It’s the cheesiest card competition on Valentine’s Day and our annual Vegas vacation with my hilarious father-in-law and his wife Beth, who I adore.
I could go on, but this post isn’t really about me. It’s about you and the emotions you’re avoiding. I can promise you this, the pain of avoidance is so much greater than the pain of acceptance. In fact, acceptance feels amazing, like a giant weight has been lifted. Acceptance allows the light and love to come flooding in.
It can be scary as hell to confront our emotions. But the alternative is a destructive monster called avoidance, and that monster so often leads to depression, violence, addiction, loneliness and yes, obesity.
I’m not going to tell you what to do. But the next time that familiar feeling rises up – you know the one – remember that you have a choice. You can avoid it or you listen to what it’s trying so hard to tell you.
If that frightens the shit out of you, start with a single question, what is perfect about this situation?