Fear.
That's the core of so much that I've been wrestling with over the last couple of years. I've been scared to engage life in a certain way. I've gone off and pursued all kinds of different things to avoid dealing with things that are scary. And the worst part is that I really had nothing to be afraid of in the first place. The fears were almost entirely a product of broken beliefs about myself and how other people experience me. At some point I became convinced that bad things would happen to me if I did not conform just so to certain expectations. The only problem was I really had no idea of what those expectations were. So I've been inventing things in my head for all these years and feeling bad about myself when I failed to meet those expectations.
The pattern is pervasive. Everything in my life is in some way affected by these self-imposed limits. I've put the fewest limits on myself professionally, but that's also where expectations and acceptable behaviors are relatively well-defined. I didn't have to invent anything in my head. There's also lots of objective feedback in a professional environment. This feedback reduced the disparity between how I see myself and how others see me. It's really no wonder that sports and school have always been my comfort zone. Rules are defined. The desired outcomes are clearly defined. There was less space for me to wonder if I was doing the right thing.
As I've recognized that my fear of social shame, rejection by somebody else, or simple self-loathing are grounded in some ephemeral notion of "right" that I developed deep in my youth, I have been able to recognize the urge to give into that pathetic voice. When I hear it, I stop and really think about why I'm feeling afraid (I'm being very deliberate in my use of words associated with fear), I can talk myself out of simply responding to the environment in my standard way and do the thing that really needs doing. I have some examples to illustrate what I mean.
Saturday night was my daughter's Father/Daughter Dance. This was a very important event for her, so I went into it very aware of how my behavior could impact her experience. When we got there, we saw plenty of adults that I knew. My fearful self felt like I needed to chat with these people, participate in the social milieu because that's pretty much what everybody else was doing. Nope, this was about my daughter. I wanted to do what she wanted. So I hung out with her, I talked to her, and I danced with her as much as I wanted. I didn't worry about what the other dads were thinking. I did crazy dances with her, asked her what she wanted to do. I let the night be about her (rather than me, which was my old way, to make sure I did whatever I needed to do to alleviate the fears that I was feeling in the moment). By the end of the night, I think a few of the other dads were jealous. Their daughters were busy playing with their friends and wanted nothing to do with dad. My daughter was still excited about the dance the next day. I felt good about that. It made me feel like I had done my job well.
My son plays baseball. Last year I experienced all kind of anxiety every time he was at bat. I wasn't nervous for him as much as I was nervous for me. I didn't want people to judge me for his performance. I wanted him to perform at a certain level so I could feel better about myself and not have to worry about what other people thought. I wasn't so interested in who he was and loving him for that, but getting him to become who I needed him to be to relieve my fears and satisfy my petty emotional needs. Then I realized that so much of what I've been struggling with was a consequence of not feeling like who I am was enough for the people who were supposed to love me no matter what. I had to be what they wanted and hide everything else or they wouldn't love me anymore. I had to make things easy for them so they would accept me and make me feel loved. I didn't want to do that to him, so I decided to focus on what he did well in a baseball game and not worry too much about everything else. I also had to recognize how hard last year was for him (he got hit with the ball a couple of times) and to give him time to get comfortable. I was rushing him back to hard last year. I never really listened to him, I never gave him time to feel afraid. I didn't want to acknowledge his fear because that would mean that I would have to acknowledge my own. I've spent my entire life hiding from my fear. I hide from my fear because I am ashamed of it. I don't have all the anxiety this year. I just focus on accepting him for who he is. He is a wonderful person. He doesn't need to be fixed. Sure, there are things that we can do to help him get better at baseball, but those are just skills that he can learn. They're not defects that he needs to hide. That's how I felt growing up and it's taken me 30+ years to recognize that I'm not defective. He doesn't need to grow up with the same baggage.
A failure to appropriately express my affections has been a big problem in my marriage. Expressing feelings means being vulnerable. That was a scary thought for me (even in the context of a relationship where it has been made very clear that my love and affection is shared and appreciated). Last night would have turned this morning into an emotionally painful time a year or so ago. I would have missed some very clear signs and left my wife feeling hurt and unappreciated. I was experiencing the feelings that used to make me disengage, but I recognized them for what they were and focused on what my wife was telling me. She wasn't saying anything with words, but with her actions. That's a mode of communication that is just as relevant to her as words, but has given me all kinds of problems over the years. Actions are open to all kinds of interpretations. While one part of me was reading the situation in the intended fashion, another part of me was too busy thinking of ways that things might go wrong and would do all that it could to prevent those possibilities from becoming a reality. I was able to get beyond that limit last night. Nothing I feared was true and the night was fantastic.
The limitations I've put on myself with fear is not restricted to my relationships with others. I was running yesterday. This was my weekly long run, but I wasn't sure that I was up to the distance that I had planned. I was feeling a little thirsty and a bit out of sorts. I recognized it as fear, fear of the pain, fear of boredom, and just kept going. I put the fear out of my mind and stopped fighting. I fight to keep the fear at bay rather than just letting the less than pleasant sensations have their moment and move beyond them. Feeling afraid, inadequate, hungry, thirsty, embarrassed, or ashamed will be a little unpleasant, but it will pass. Having those feelings doesn't make me weak or less of a man or an inferior person. Those feelings just make me human. Fighting against them won't prove anything. Not every accomplishment needs to be a monumental struggle. Sometimes surrendering to the moment, feeling the pain, feeling bad, is the best way to move forward. Those bad moments don't define you. It's ok to feel bad. That doesn't make you bad or weak or a waste.
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