If you missed The Way to Self Acceptance Part One, you can read it here.
When a stressful situation arises in my life, I don’t immediately remember to take refuge in the buddha, the dharma the sangha, or Jesus. My first instinct is to take refuge in my eating disorder. When obsessing endlessly about what I eat and don’t eat my universe shrinks and shrinks. Eventually, I find myself in a very safe place, just me and my obsession. Whatever stressful thing needs to be resolved in my life – gone. All I need to do is get my macronutrients exactly right every day and maintain control over what the scale says each morning. It’s very comforting. Until the isolation makes it unbearably lonely, and I remember that I don’t have to live in that tiny space.
That’s when I finally sit. And I face the stress I’ve been avoiding. I remember that whatever happens I won’t just be ok. I am ok – right now, no matter how terrible I perceive the situation to be. And while I may need to make a change or attend to something in my life, I don’t need to worry about it, fear it or avoid it. Coming out of the fog of an eating disorder is similar to coming out of the fog of an abusive relationship. I’ve done that a few times too – more details about that are in my ebook. It’s like you’ve been in a dark closet. And suddenly the door opens and there’s blue skies and sunshine and hummingbirds and friendly faces. And you wonder, where the hell have I been????
Since I started practicing the dharma (whatever that actually means) the frequency of descent into eating disorder has been less and less. And the time I stay before I recognize I’ve shrunk the universe has become shorter and shorter. The number of people who make me angry have become fewer and fewer. And the length of time I can sustain my anger has become shorter and shorter. That is the story of my healing miracle in a nutshell. But the miracle doesn’t happen without effort. And I realized the work required of me in this situation was to accept myself. To accept all that I am and am not, and all that I’ve done and haven’t done.
When my stepmother was unexpectedly given a short time to live, I had spoken to her only a handful of times during the preceding fifteen years. A cruel and unusual punishment for making me feel bad for not having a big wedding. I wish I didn’t have to admit that I used to be the master grudge holder. No one could outdo me.
When I learned of her imminent death I couldn’t remember why I was mad at her. I only remembered how she took in and loved my aloof 6-year-old self. My little girl self, who was weary from years of sexual abuse, witnessing domestic violence, and being left most of the time with anyone who was willing to “watch” me. She hugged me and made me hug her back until I finally gave in and liked it. She took me shopping every Saturday morning and bought me anything I wanted. And then standing in my father’s tiny bachelor kitchen, we’d make chocolate chip cookies and she’d let me eat unlimited cookie dough. As the years went on no hour was too late – even when she had to work in the morning, or had a baby to care for, or both – to stay up, taking seriously my preteen dramas. And she instilled the fear of God in me, lest I wind up pregnant.
On her deathbed I thanked her for having been so good to me. And I begged her to forgive me for being an asshole. She said, “You’re a good person, remember when you were little and I always said if I ever had a kid I would want them to be just like you?” And while I appreciate her nice words, I know they reflect more on her character than mine. As the Buddha said, “the beauty is partly in he who sees it.” I didn’t deserve her forgiveness, but she gave it to me anyway, because that’s the kind of person she was.
It was too late for me to be a better daughter to her, so I vowed in her honor that I would never hold a grudge again. But that didn’t turn out to be as easy as I’d hoped. After sitting with the pain of nonacceptance, I took an inventory of all the people I’d discarded over the years, by simply never bothering to return their phone calls again based upon some slight or another or just not wanting to be bothered with them anymore. I started at the beginning and remembered every instance that I could of every time I hurt someone with words, deeds or neglect. I wrote them all down, I read them out loud, I confessed them to a priest, I burned the paper with ritualistic fervor, and I decided to not be that person anymore. From that moment on I would be kind and forgiving to everyone. But it’s still not as easy even as all that.
The real practice, the real work happens off the meditation cushion. Sitting every day helps us notice how we are behaving in the world, but it doesn’t fix our behavior. The real work of accepting how you are right now and striving to be the best you can be takes place in every moment that you’re presented with a difficult person/situation or hurt or slight. Every time something unpleasant happens, we have an opportunity to make a choice to express divine love or to express human affliction. I think this is what the Buddha meant when he said, “love your enemy for he helps you to grow.”
Eventually it just happened. I realized that I’m not so bad really – doing the best I can at least. And knowing that, I can assume the same about others, even when they appear to be not so good. Somehow little by little, I see myself responding with kindness and compassion to difficult situations. And the crazy side effect is that other people behaving badly (to me or in general) don’t seem quite as awful anymore.
Have you struggled with self acceptance? Leave a comment and bless others by sharing your journey of healing.