Should I Eat the Cookie?

On an online question and answer forum, where people pose questions to the entire web audience, I noticed that someone had asked (essentially), “Should I eat the cookie?”

The number and variety of responses alone was enlightening. It was like reading a transcript of all the voices that compete for my attention when I ask myself that very same question. Eating the cookie can become a debate by committee.

After reading most of the long list of answers, I mused at the number of people vying to offer the “right” answer, knowing that none of the responses would ever be the “right” one.  When the debate begins in my head, I’m often searching for that illusive “right” choice. I’ve been around long enough to know that such a thing does not exist.

The answer to “Should I eat the cookie” is completely irrelevant, because the question itself is the only wrong thing in this scenario.  Why is the question not: Am I hungry?  Do I want the cookie?  Can I afford the cookie?  Is the cookie fresh?

“Should I eat the cookie?” encompasses all of those questions, but it also masks all of them.  When “Should I eat the cookie?” is the question, eating the cookie becomes a test—something that will determine whether we or our decisions are good or bad. 

When we ask, “Should I eat the cookie?”, we bury all of the questions listed above under a moral debate.  However, I tend to think that we aren’t as concerned with burying those questions as the questions we’re more ashamed to ask, like:

Will others approve of me eating the cookie? Will this cookie lead to five more cookies?  Would a “healthy” person eat this cookie? Would a “good” person eat this cookie? Am I a good person?

Instead of hiding the questions you want to ask, siphon through the ones that come to mind. Ask the appropriate questions.  Ask the questions that matter, and don’t hide behind “shoulds.” Admit to the hidden questions and move past them to answer the most important ones: Am I hungry?  Do I want the cookie?

Eating or not eating a cookie does not determine your worth. If the decision of whether to eat it is not a simple one for you, use the choice as an opportunity to ask yourself, “What am I hungry for?  What do I really want?”  The answer often isn’t food…  even though sometimes it is ;)

Authentic Discomfort

Sitting down to write this blog entry, two ideas come to mind:

1. What is most comfortable is not always what is most authentic.
2. We must push our limits to figure out what is best for us.

I’ll start with number one.  Just because something comes easily does not mean it accurately represents who we are.  There are many things I do, not because they are true self expressions, but because I’ve learned that they are means to be accepted and get rewards.  It basically amounts to rerouting my desires to please other people. 

Society teaches us that to be successful, we must adhere to certain social mores or participate in particular activities so that others will accept and promote us.  Because of this, many of us have trained ourselves—since childhood usually—to say what we think others will like rather than what we truly feel.  Even if we don’t want to do X activity, if someone says we must and that it won’t hurt anyone, we do it. 

Over time, these alternate responses overshadow our natural inclinations.  For people with eating disorders, this can mean always choosing the “good” food rather than what we are really craving.  Often, the decision to select the “good” food or the “healthiest” food on the menu is so engrained that we don’t even think we want anything else.  Many anorexics (including myself) say quite honestly, “But I don’t LIKE cookies,” or, “I don’t LIKE cheese,” or any other kind of food that might be frightening. They may not realize that fear is fueling these responses.  The anorexic may actually like cookies, but she doesn’t like the anxiety that comes along with eating them. 

It takes time to decipher which foods we honestly don’t like from those that we have simply decided, at some point, are not an option for us.  It’s okay to genuinely dislike cookies, but I suggest testing the assumption of dislike first.

For me, I had to try all kinds of foods I thought I hated, consequently discovering that I actually enjoyed many of them.  I had to face those fears.  Now, I can choose foods I truly like, even if it might be food that scares me a little.  I can usually tell now when I want something but am simply afraid.  That’s an opportunity to push my boundaries.

And so I come to number two.  We have to push our limits to know what we are truly comfortable with.  Sometimes, the most authentic thing we can do is test our own boundaries.  Even as children, we intuitively know that when it’s time to grow, it’s time to push things.  Kids eat too many cookies and learn what is enough for them.  Kids act out emotionally in public and wait for responses to tell them if it was appropriate or not. 

Kids try to climb things they’ve never scaled. They wear impractical outfits and find out later why their mother tried to make them wear layers.  Kids run as far and as fast as they can, eventually learning just how much they can push those limits so that the next time, they can run a little farther and a little faster.

We have to do the same thing.  Again, I’ve demonstrated this with food.  To know what full feels like, I had to eat beyond it.  Of course, when overeating becomes habitual, something is off-kilter, but to reach fullness, a person has to know what it feels like.  Only then can a person appreciate all the different levels of satiation that feel good to her.

To learn to eat new foods, I have to actually try them. To learn what I feel comfortable wearing in public, I have to purchase and put on different clothing.  To refine new songs, I have to play them in public. To learn how to trust, I have to open up to trusted friends.  These actions all feel uncomfortable at first.

Discomfort isn’t always a signal that something is wrong.  It’s a signal that something is happening that we don’t know what to do with yet.  Sometimes, we need to pull back and reach a more comfortable spot.  Other times, we need to try that new thing, sit in the discomfort, and see if we find peace instead.

I know it’s time to push my limits when a little urge inside of me crops up repeatedly, asking me to try something new.  Often, that urge scares me in the beginning.  But if it stays with me, I know I have to try it.  With the eating disorder, the urge may have been to eat a brownie fudge sundae.  In other areas of my life, it was to try a new singing style, to reach a new level of honesty, or to visit a place where I’d never been.

So many things in life are uncomfortable.  That discomfort doesn’t mean that what we’re doing is wrong or doesn’t express our true selves.  Going beyond boundaries is how we find out whether those boundaries are safety guards or prison walls.  Sure, I may eat too much now and then.  Sure, I may say things I regret.  Sure, I may end up going to places where I am utterly bored and disappointed.  But after those experiences, I know how much is enough, what is truly me, and where I feel most alive.  I can also learn to ask forgiveness when my tests infringe on someone else. 

When it’s time to grow, it’s time to get honest, ask ourselves if we are really being authentic, and live in different that reflect our true selves a little better. Stretch yourselves, people!  I’ll be right there with you.

Boxes

We all grow up with certain pictures in our heads—certain patterns, images, routines, sayings, and models that we are taught (or teach ourselves) are right and wrong.  Absolutes, or near-absolutes:  This is the way a nice person behaves.  This is what anger looks like.  This is what a job is.  This is how good people feel.  These are the things I have to do before inviting people over.  This is a good food; this is a bad food.  I am capable of X only if Y is present. These are the milestones I must achieve to be successful. The list of possible notions goes on and on. 

In my view, these are all boxes.  As human beings, we feel compelled to organize, describe, and categorize our lives.  Doing so makes it easier to see our place in the world.  It helps us make decisions.  It helps us build a sense of who we are based on what we are not.  We put things in boxes so that we can move forward and live.  We have to have some basis for choosing our next moves, so we wrap them up neatly in boxes. 

Many people cling all their lives to the boxes they were given as children.  They operate according to rules that worked for others—or rules they were told work for others.  For me, however, growing up has been, if anything, a string of opened boxes.

To understand the world and live in a fulfilling, satisfying way, I have had to face the fear that my most deeply held beliefs may not be true.  And even if I couldn’t prove some of my boxes false to a scientific certainty, I have determined that many of them no longer work for me and are impossible ways for me to live.  The boxes must be opened.

We all open boxes in big and small ways.  A baby eventually learns that mommy is not magically disappearing when the baby can no longer see her.  Mommy goes out, does other things, and remains alive and present somewhere even when she is not with her child.  This realization is essential for the baby to understand what people inherently are and how the world works. 

Other boxes are opened in less natural ways.  Some people who grew up in an environment where one race or gender was valued more than another may discover one day that the undervalued part of society has the same worth as everyone else.  A person who was taught that being attractive is the only way to succeed in life might meet a few people who, although they are not the image of perfection our society worships, are highly successful and likeable people.  Those encounters can alter that person’s paradigm. 

Someone may think that people who live in a certain country or city behave in particular ways.  Then, she visits that place and sees that nothing is how she imagined.  In another case, someone may grow up in a given religion and, at a certain point, start questioning it and eventually leave or radically change his spiritual practice. 

I have had to question deep-down beliefs about how people should behave.  I thought that I had to always be prepared, always have a full-time job, always regard family with sacred awe.  None of those ideas are bad, but to view them as absolutes is completely limiting.  It’s like thinking some foods are bad and others are good or that being a certain weight will equal a happy life.  It feels comforting because choices are limited, and I can easily see where I stand success-wise.  If I eat X, I’m good.  If I weigh X, I’m good.  If I am kind to my parents, I’m good.  If I am gainfully employed, I’m good. 

None of those statements are true.  But it felt safe to have concrete measures to stack myself up against. 

I have grown the most when I followed the courage to question my core beliefs.  I haven’t necessarily made radical changes in every area of my life.  Some values I picked up as a child still guide me.  But most have been tweaked, and many are no longer part of how I view the world.

 I no longer have the same spiritual beliefs I grew up with.  I no longer dress in certain ways, just to fit in.  I’m no longer quiet about my emotions or ideas in order to be considered a “nice person.” 

I’m still in the process of ridding myself of a few boxes.  The “what other people think about me matters” box is still duct taped on some edges.  The fact is, sometimes what other people think DOES matter to me.  The question is, do I care?  And then, of course, I wonder, “Maybe it really never does matter.”  In this case, I made a new box: the “what other people think about me does not matter” box.  Although I’m not entirely rid of the first one, I can choose which box to apply in any instance.  I usually pick up the latter, but having the earlier one available is a comfort.  Perhaps it will deteriorate eventually from disuse. 

Boxes are not bad.  We need them in order to function in the world, make decisions, and form ideas about who we are.  But we need to realize that boxes are not unchanging.  They are not permanent fixtures.  And the boxes we own are not the only ones in the world.  We can pick up new ones, discard old ones, and refashion ones so that they fit better. 

Most of all, even when using boxes, I try to remember to open the tops and see how much more is out there.  It may be comforting to live in a tiny box for a while, but the wonders of life cannot be contained in a small space like that.  Or maybe they can…  This is the beauty of opening the lid.  Nothing has to be true forever.  I can be open to any possibility and learn new things all the time. 

Maybe I don’t need to be in X profession.  Maybe I can go back to school at age XX.  Maybe I can move to another country.  Maybe what he thinks doesn’t matter.  Maybe she is wrong.  

Life is enriched when we learn to remain open to all possibilities.  We can choose particular beliefs we want to vouch for, but we can also listen and learn from other ways of thinking.  When I see someone in a box, I’m reminded of how limited it is, but I am also sensitive to how difficult living without boxes can be—and that living entirely without them might even drive a person insane.  

As for me, I’m learning that I can trust myself to question life.  When I lived in Spain and went through a deep depression, I made a conscious decision to question my deepest beliefs.  Nothing I knew was working for me anymore, but I felt deathly afraid of leaving old values behind.  Instead of giving in to the fear, I made the choice to live life differently, under different parameters, trusting that I would be okay.  I believed that if the values I left behind turned out to be right, I would be led back to them. 

I questioned religion, family, school, music, and everything I’d ever been afraid to walk away from.  Bidding my old beliefs goodbye was the only route to sanity for me.  I have never regretted the choice I made in Spain and the decisions that have followed along that path of rethinking and investigation.  

Whenever I haven’t had my core notions challenged or learned anything new for a while, I start feeling less satisfied and more off-balanced.  Mental and emotional issues surface, and my eating typically goes at least a little wonky, too.  I may feel depressed or hopeless.  When those stretches of stagnation hit, it’s time to break out the box cutters.

Inspiration Overload

I have inspiration overload. I took a weekend getaway to retreat and to participate in a recovery workshop led by Anita Johnston, an eating disorder specialist who uses (and teaches others to use) myth and metaphor to “decode” eating disorders and other issues. Sitting in circles of women all weekend, all of whom had come together from various places in diverse settings to seek a higher guidance truly invigorated and enlivened me. My heart sings even now!

I learned a great deal and am longing to share it with you all, but I honestly feel completely stymied. It’s time to sit back and take it all in, letting it soak through my skin and into my heart. Once I have fully felt all that I have learned, it can pour through me and be useful to others.

I do, however, feel compelled to recommend Nia movement classes and Anita Johnston’s book Eating in the Light of the Moon. Through free, judgment-free movement and reflection on the symbolic elements of our thoughts and lives, our soul, mind, and body unite in effective communication. The mind can serve the soul as a helper in navigating the logistics of the world we live in. The mind doesn’t have to rule us or make all our decisions. Our soul is who we are, and it speaks through our bodies.

By getting in touch with our bodies, we can access truth about our souls that our minds sometimes cover up with pesky worries, thoughts, and, at times, logic. We need our bodies and metaphor to puzzle through things that our mind can’t explain.

This weekend, I stayed at The Crossings in Austin, a wonderful spiritual retreat location that I recommend to anyone needing reflective time in nature. It provided the perfect mix of the natural world and a cozy room to sleep in at night. The wellness center, complete with all sorts of amazing services for body and spirit (from massages and facials to chakra alignment and spiritual guidance sessions), certainly helped as well. It was the ideal atmosphere (at least for someone like me) for quiet reflection and total permission to explore and examine in safety. I could choose to take classes, socialize, or spend time alone. And the atmosphere encouraged me to stretch the boundaries of what I could do to open my heart and move forward (or inward) in my journey.

All that said, I entered the weekend with some expectation of rest. However, it did not turn out that way at all. Once on my way to Austin, I felt drawn to participate in so many things. Time escaped me, and I found myself learning and going and moving and doing so much that I can still hardly keep it all straight. In an attempt to align my thoughts, I made a list of all the things I want to pursue now that I’m home. It’s long. Long.

Okay, so I did not receive the kind of clarity I wanted. The trip even extended my already lengthy list of aspirations. Perhaps I gained more questions than answers, but that could be a good thing. I like to think that I have gained a greater variety of questions to ask, and that’s a crucial step. Now, I can embark upon the task of exercising my mind in new areas as I answer them. It’s time to slow down, here in my everyday world. I may even take days off of work in the near future and NOT go somewhere so that I can allow the truths that have been imparted to rise to the surface.

Although I may not have returned equipped with a more straightforward list of to-dos, I do feel a greater sense of overall purpose. I see that I could lead groups of women in growth, even as imperfect as I am. I want to use my gifts with others. I see my skills as a friend-maker and as a thoughtful introvert. I see my strengths more clearly, and I see how I can use them. Now, the task is getting all this knowledge out into the world.

Do I start speaking at events tomorrow? Do I work more deliberately on a book? Do I put more effort into the support group I’m trying to form here in Houston? Do I initiate regular gatherings of my female friends? What do I do!?

For today, I answer, “Rest, Michelle.” As much as I ever do, I will let it all sink in. Part of what I see is my reluctance to rest. During the moments when I was expressly given permission to drop everything and lie down (physically or figuratively) this weekend, I noted the power of sitting still and simply allowing thoughts to come. Once worry about the next move is removed, space is created for the growth of truly actionable ideas or a greater sense of self that will walk alongside me after I have broken the stillness and returned to the busyness of life.

Of course, I can’t leave off without mentioning nature… Oh, glorious nature! I had many memories of hiking with my grandfather this weekend. It felt so similar, and I was able to access regions of myself I hadn’t in a long time, regions that also happen to be connected with food and the way I currently prioritize my time. Right now, I am considering nature and its connection to my personal nature.

In any case, I can end there. Consider this post permission to sit back, relax, and let whatever you’ve been learning lately to permeate your soul. Once you’ve soaked it all up, you’ll be able to stand and walk into the world, the new discoveries oozing out of you without any effort—even without making a list of all the things you want to do with those discoveries! Enlightenment cannot help but spread.