Getting present hurts before it helps
Getting present hurts before it helps
And how to feel just a little bit better.
“What’s the bravest thing you’ve ever said?” the boy asked the horse.
There was a long pause. I waited for the horse to say something magnificent. Hoping, in my desperation, that the painted animals on my screen might offer some wisdom, or relief. That after this arduous day of phone calls, tears, and bruised egos, I wouldn’t regret the decision I’d made.
After getting divorced, I ran.
Physically, emotionally, mentally, socially—as far as I could from him, us, and every reminder of the life we’d spent ten years building.
I have to start over. He is not my home anymore. Seattle is not my home. This body I’ve occupied neither—none of it is home now, and I have to build a new one.
For three years, I’ve been running. Searching for a place that feels like home. People that feel like home. Versions of my body that feel like home. Hobbies. Lifestyles. Men. I find glimpses of belonging, but the glimpses are just that—imaginary projections of other people’s lives. Movies with characters I don’t fully recognize. Nothing, though, that felt like home.
I don’t think running was the wrong choice. I made my choice, and for whatever reason, it’s what I needed to do.
The instability, though, has rocked me. I haven't really found my footing. And with every changing location, I find myself starting over. I remind myself it’s normal to feel anxious in newness. That beginning again is like walking naked into a crowd. That vulnerability is at its sharpest when nothing is familiar.
I’d like to think I can handle so much newness. That I’m comfortable with packing up and moving every few months. That I’m good at making friends. And in many ways I am. But constant change, lack of community, and the no-home-to-call-my-own paired with a career as a writer that is inherently unstable is taking its toll.
To cope with the lack of stability, I’ve run more. Faster. Further. Further from my body (welcome back Eating Disorder), further from community (goodbye phoning a friend), and further from a family that desperately wants to help me (googles “plane ticket to Bali”).
Ironically, as a result of focusing on getting really present in light of this season’s theme here in The Messy Middle, I’ve had to stop running. For the first time in almost a year, I’ve slowed the fuck down and sat right in the messy middle I’ve been running from. I’ve gotten pretty honest with how not-present I’ve been, and how much damage the running is doing.
And I’m a wreck.
Welcome to week two, season one of The Messy Middle.
This season is all about presence. For the next three months, we will embark on a journey together of embracing the present moment, slowing down, and finding focus.
Last week we set the foundation for presence, and this week we’re faceplanting in the mess.
What’s messin’ around in today’s newsletter:
Repercussions of Radical Presence: Coping with the initial pain of actually getting present.
Today’s Tip: I’ll offer a practical tool that you can start to apply this week to help you practice being present.
Rach’s Reccs: A few resources for you to explore in your own time this week or for the duration of the season to supplement your learning and growth.
Journaling Prompt: Some self-reflection around how getting present is starting to impact you.
Repercussions of Radical Presence
I have spent the last 72 hours in panic attacks. Upon waking, I’m crying. In alley ways, I’m crying. In restaurants, the gym, and park benches, crying. It’s as if all the world is pouring out of me and I’m helpless to stop it.
I tried all the “get present practices” but none of them helped: I did an emergency guided meditation for panic attacks. I went for a walk outside in the sun. I did my parasympathetic breathing. I sat in a park. I called friends. I didn’t suppress the panic and let myself feel it. I held myself in a fetal position and sobbed. I showered. I ate. I drank water. I looked at a photo of little Rachie and said kind words to her. I named my feelings. I journaled. Why isn’t this going away? I can’t do this. I can’t live like this. What am I going to do?
Turns out getting present fucking sucks.
No wonder I don’t do it. I much prefer the immediate relief of wine or food. The instant surge of hormones regulates the fuck out of me. For a moment. But it’s not lasting, and it’s not effective. Sitting with what I’m feeling doesn’t make it go away. It one hundred percent makes it worse. Feeling the feelings is a big OUCH.
After hours—truly hours—of crying and panic attacks that would not let up, I felt a little better.
Not like, “ah ok I can go about my day now,” but like, “alright, I’m not hyperventilating anymore, but holy fuck I can’t live like this.”
A single meditation or round of breathwork did not bring me into equilibrium. Having a panic attack didn’t stop the panic (DOES NOT WORK THAT WAY LOL). Being radically present with myself, my life situation, and my ability to cope forced me to recognize how bad things have gotten, and that I need help.
Sitting in the shit helped. Not because it helped, but because it showed me really fucking honestly what I actually needed to do. And that helps.
What I need is to stop running. What I need is stability. What I need is therapy and family and support while I focus on building a business from the ground up, finishing my degree, and yes-still-always recovering from my Eating Disorder.
I need to drop my ego and stubborness and get over the stories in my head about “where I should be” and “how I should be” and “who I should be.”
I need to see the bigger picture, which is that I have choices about how to create more ease in my life, and it’s ok to choose them.
The reason I feel a little bit better is because I asked for help, and I’m accepting it.
This week I’m flying back to Seattle. I’m going to stay with my dad—my beautiful father who I’m grateful and proud to be bonding with in our later years. Both of us divorced, alone, and perhaps in need of one another’s company for a time. Maybe the father-daughter chapter I wrote about in my book is turning a page, and what I’m supposed to do is write a new chapter with him, and him with me. What if that’s exactly where I’m meant to be right now?
Did I fall apart all these years so that him and I could come back together? My father and me?
I’m not sure, but going home feels like relief. Like hope. And I thought I’d run out of both, so I’m holding them loosely with no expectations. Only maybes. Only middles. Only messy.
If you’re interested in reading about my relationship with my parents, I write openly about my childhood and adult life with both of them in my memoir, “Where the River Flows.” Click here to learn more.
Today’s Tip: Call for Backup
“Asking for help isn't giving up,” said the horse. “It's refusing to give up.”
-Charlie Mackesey
If you’re like me, there’s a reason presence is hard: it hurts to sit with what’s real. Why on earth would I want to be present with my insufferable inner voice? Why would I want to sit with my panic long enough to meet my biggest fear face to face: that I may never, ever be loved again? Wouldn’t it be so much easier (and more fun) to hop, jump, and skip away from my reality?
Yes. It would. But that hasn’t really been doing me good in the long run, and maybe it’s time to try the other thing. The thing where I get present—and ultimately honest—about the ways in which my insecurities and thought processes are the real walls between me and being loved. That it’s not my body, bank account, or imperfect record preventing me from settling into what I desire.
Running won’t bring me to the life I want. It will only take me further from it.
So I gotta sit in the shit. Which really, really hurts. It’s like an emotional cold plunge. The shit has been sitting on ice and it’s acidic and abrupt and abrasive. So this is a really, really good time to call in reinforcements, because the initial confrontation with presence burns. (And it stinks.)
How to call in reinforcements
Send in the troops, it’s getting messy!
Literally call a friend. I know. I hate doing it too. SO much. I usually freeze up on the phone, don’t say much, or apologize. I’m better now than I used to be, and each time I try, it gets a little easier. This doesn’t have to be magical or healing—I reduce all expectations when phoning a friend and place one goal on the call: to hear another human voice that I recognize. That’s it. Make your goal “hear a human voice I recognize.”
Tips that will help your friends love and appreciate you:
Schedule or request a phone call instead of calling out of the blue.
Provide context: I like to text my friends and say, “hi honey, i’ve been really struggling with XYZ. if you have space/emotional bandwidth for a phone call today I would really appreciate it.”
Indicate what you need: Let your friend/person know what you need. Sometimes I just need someone to be on the other end while I cry. Sometimes I need logistical support (like this time when I was too overwhelmed to look at flights). Sometimes I want advice. Let people know what you’re craving so they know what to cook for you.
Asking for help is like requesting a meal. Let people know what you’re craving so they know what to cook for you. Tell them what you’re allergic to. Otherwise you might end up being disappointed with the meal, and they might feel resentful for spending so much time cooking for you.
Use the Mess Hall chat. I made the Mess Hall for a reason: so we can build a troop of our own. One of the reasons I don’t call friends is that despite their longing to understand me, they often don’t. It’s not for lack of trying—it’s simply a lack of overlapping experiences.
Disclaimer: The chat isn’t a replacement for therapy, but my hope is that it can be a place for us to lean on one another. To say “no one in my life understands this,” and be met with “I might.”
Therapy. It’s never a bad time to go back to (or start) therapy. I called my old therapist this weekend to set up an appointment when I get home. It’s time to go back. I need more support, and it’s ok to ask for it.
If you’re not sure where to start, send me an e-mail. I don’t offer therapy, but I do provide 1:1 consultations to help you build a roadmap or plan, and often times can help you find a therapist or walk you through the process.
Rach’s Recommendations
These are some things that helped me get through the cold plunge. Or the burn. Or whatever metaphor works for you that brings up “hurts like shit, suddenly.” Nothing was immediately relieving (at least for me), but each of these were comforting. They helped me feel just a little bit better.
Watch: The Boy, The Mole, The Fox and the Horse by Charlie Mackesy (if you don’t have an Apple TV subscription you can catch some charming clips from his instagram.)
Read: The Boy, The Mole, The Fox and the Horse is originally a picture book, so if you’d like a tangible reminder of Charlie’s heartwarming story, you can buy his book and support his artwork.
Practice: Emergency Meditation for Panic Attacks with Stephan Pende Wormland on my Insight App playlist (14 minutes)
Journaling Prompt
Today I’d like you to reflect on how getting present is starting to impact you. The goal is to remain non-judgmental: there is no right or wrong, good or bad—this is simply an exercise in observing, noticing, and taking stock. Think of yourself as a reporter gathering information, rather than a psychologist analyzing your situation.
Prompt (share in the comments!):
In what ways is practicing presence impacting me?
What changes have I noticed since getting more present?
How or where in my life am I struggling, resisting, or avoiding getting present?
note: you’ll get a journaling prompt every week if you’re subscribed to The Full Mess. you’ll also get long-form journaling prompts once a month, so it might be nice to have a dedicated journal or document on your laptop for The Messy Middle.
I hope you found today’s newsletter. That’s it. Not helpful, not useful, just that you found it :)
Reminder:
Don’t forget to introduce yourself in the Mess Hall! I’d love for us to build community support on this journey. I’ve dropped an icebreaker in the chat here:
To access the Mess Hall, you’ll need to download the Substack app.
Using the chat forum is highly encouraged, as connecting with others on a similar journey is one of the most helpful tools for feeling just a little bit better.
As always, I love the heck outta ya, & I’m so grateful you’re here.
If you have questions or feedback, the comments section on this post is open to all.