When I was a little girl, perhaps five or so, I climbed onto the couch and then swung my feet over the back of it to climb over it. Once I had my feet dangling over the back, I grew frightened. I had expected my feet to easily touch the floor. When they didn’t, panic set in. I began to cry for help. When help didn’t immediately come, I grew hysterical. I was afraid to let go. I was afraid I’d hurt myself if I simply dropped. My mother came to my rescue. She convinced me to drop. To let go. I didn’t want to. She forced me. My feet had been perhaps an inch from the floor the whole time. I hadn’t trusted my original perception of the whole journey. Fear had taken a hold of me. Disabling me. I realized I had let it get the better of me.
I learned a valuable lesson that day.
One week ago today, I began the break of behavior that had become toxic.
I’m very proud of myself.
In 1999, I quit smoking. That first week was miserable. I remember crying because I wanted a cigarette that bad. My bandmate was perplexed when I told him I wouldn’t smoke even though I wanted to. I knew I would be miserable for a time, but that eventually I would feel better. I charted the experience so I could pragmatically remind myself that quitting an addiction has a logical process.
So this time, I knew going into it I would feel pretty awful. Thankfully, it hasn’t been as bad as quitting cigarettes. Looking back, I had been preparing myself for quite awhile. Some of the time panicked. Some of the time hysterical.
Finally, I knew I just needed to let the last little bit go.
Now I’m on my feet.
I’m going to be fine.
Namaste, my friends,
Sending love wherever it’s needed. 🙂