Slaves to our Labels

It's those times when it seems like things just aren't moving that get me thinking, am I really changing?  Am I any better than I used to be?  Healing?  Growing?  Am I really any different than I was yesterday? Last month?  Five years ago?  

It occurred to me how difficult it can be to recognize change.  Ever had someone you haven't seen for awhile comment on how different you look or how much weight you've lost while those around you go without noticing?  Well you are the ultimate insider.  It's often the most difficult for us to notice.  Even when the change is obvious, it's all too easy to sweep it under the rug and ignore it. 

We take on titles and labels which can be very hard to remove.  No one gave us these necessarily, but we took them on and we sit with them.  When I believe I'm a smoker, large amount of time can pass without a cigarette, but though theoretically the chemical addition is gone, the draw may still be there.  I'm not sure this applies to everything but I think the titles can perpetuate behavior as well. It's because I'm a "smoker" that I need to have a cigarette right now.  It's because I'm a "compulsive over-eater" that I'm going to finish this cake.  I'm not in any way taking away from the struggle of addiction.  I believe it's real and I can sympathize with anyone going through it.  However it think sometimes it's difficult to notice the change in us because we're so attached to the label and the way of being. The behavior. 

It's so very difficult to change our feelings, understandings and impressions of ourselves.  We've sat with them for so long that it seems almost  blasphemous to remove them. I've always been fat...ugly... stupid... weak...  angry...  mean...  the clown... a problem child...  a sex addict... a criminal...  The list can go on and on.  Sometimes I can tell myself over and over again how fixed I am.  How I'm a different person who is healed and I've moved on.  I can tell myself I'm good, special, unique, and...  And nothing.  Still nothing. The label and the behavior won't let go. 

Some say the answer is in setting aside the label.  Some call it surrender.  Others call it letting go. If it were as easy as saying the words, everyone and their grandmother would be doing it. Real surrender is in doing the work to realize things aren't as I thought they were.  This is (or was) my behavior and this is me.  So it's not so much the setting aside the title but in accepting the new reality.  Often this takes a major smack in the face to recognize the new reality as... reality.

Jews across the world just finished celebrating Passover which is a remembrance and celebration of their exodus from Egypt.    I saw an interesting question.  After Charlton Heston (ok, fine, Moses) led the  Hebrews though 10 plagues, the desert, and into the Red Sea, why did G-d need to kill the Egyptians?  He'd just rained plagues down on Egypt and miraculously led them through a dry and solid sea bottom.  The answer is had He left the Egyptians alive the Hebrews would have continued to look upon themselves only as freed-slaves.  It took the wiping out of a nation for this new nation to look upon themselves as free men.  It wasn't until their former task-masters washed up on the shore that the point was driven home and the nation of Israel felt free.  It took a huge action to change their self-image.

Usually it's because we forget how great we are that we fall/fail.  We see ourselves as slaves.  Slaves to the label and whatever activity lies behind it.  The devil on our shoulder tells us, "you're an addict so it won't matter if you do this."  Or "you're fat and can't manage to lose weight anyway..."  If we knew who we were and accepted our true potential very possibly these falls would happen much less often.  We wouldn't allow the king inside us to act like a peasant.  We'd recognize these actions as beneath us.  

We can't split the Red Sea or any sea for that matter and we don't experience open miracles daily.  But we can create our own reality. Occasionally it happens in an instant but more often it takes time.  Don't compare yourself along your way (probably another whole blog post right there).   We can.  I'm worth it.  You're worth it.  

Knives, Hurt, & Quasi-Reality

I cut my finger this week.  It was pretty deep and pretty bad.  I don't do hospitals if I can avoid them so I held it up in the air, put on pressure and waited for it to stop bleeding.  I remember the yelp I let out when it happened but it was the shock more than the pain.  Once it stopped bleeding (at least mostly) I was able to get through my work day with minimal difficulty.  Other than the few times it hit it into something it barley hurt.  Until the day after...

The following day, often when I was using a knife again or looking down at my bandaged finger I'd get this phantom feeling of getting sliced by that knife again.  Those feelings, along with the residual pain of the wound, hurt more and were more bothersome than the incident itself.  True to the introspective person I tend to be, it got me thinking about other kinds of pain.  Emotional pain.

Often in life, the aftermath of something is unbelievably worse than the event itself.  So many children go through horribly traumatic childhoods not knowing anything is wrong, yet when they grow older some realize something isn't right in their lives.  Eventually it comes time to confront their reality and those pieces of a past they've brought with them which may be holding them back now.  In retrospect, an incident or series of incidents may have just past by at the time seemingly having rolled off our backs into the abyss.  Maybe they hurt to go through, but I kept a stiff upper lip and plowed my way through.  As an adult however, we bring in a stronger perspective of right and wrong and remembering and confronting these events of the past can be horribly painful. 

Based on memories, photographs and what we manage to hear from others we piece together the pieces and come out with a collage of what seems to be a path to how I got here.  But I'll never know.  No matter how much I remember (or don't) there will be blanks which only G-d can fill in. So I'm left with my quasi-reality or the reality I've created for myself.  Maybe I create issues out of things that never were issues to begin with?  I actually think this may be quite common and possibly even unavoidable.  I also think however, it's a necessary evil and unless I'm turning my pain into my drug of choice  I'm still on the best track I can be on.  Dare I say...  The right track.

Another potential problem comes about when we don't remember. When we create realities of what happened based on our pain rather than understanding our pain based on reality.  I've seen men start to tackle their emotional issues only to then realize the mistreatment at the hands of someone.  I've seen relationships fall apart as a result of a new perspective on something that happened 20 or more years ago.  While I think confronting the hurt and forming perspective is essential, I think destroying a relationship as a result is rash (unless of course the same treatment or behavior is still happening today).  Each man has his right to choose his direction and what works for him.

Often it does get worse before it gets better.  Way worse.  Sometimes opening up floodgates of grief, loss, pain, sadness, and fear can be dangerous and have repercussions.  Actually, there are probably always going to be repercussions.  The question becomes, what do we do with the new perspective and the hurt? 

First and foremost it's probably important to realize, you are normal.  Just as the healing process for my finger will hurt, so will the healing process for my perspective, my being, my relationships, my attitude, and my soul.  The hurt doesn't mean it's not working.  After that the rest is really individual to each and up to each one of us.  Try and be open.  Continue to allow your perspective to change.  Don't get bogged down by the past or and quasi-reality you've created for yourself today. 


                                                                                  Hang in there,
                                                                                                     Eric