Dear Steemfriends,
I guess this is a little raw plea to any of you that might have a solution or advice to what to do about my sensitivity. Is it just who I am? Is there a cure? Is it just something I embrace as part of my complex, vibrating, alive is-ness? Is anxiety always going to rattle my bones?
Melbourne Street Art
As a kid, I’m told, overexcitement would see me running in circles and being a little bit overwrought. Nothing unusual – all kids do this. You know the story – no red cordial or loud music before bed time, or you won’t sleep (not that Mum would ever give me red cordial!). It seems I’ve got to this phase of my life where I’m peeling off the onion layers of self-ness and realise these layers have always been there, since childhood. So I’m looking down these corridors of my self hood stretching back through the years and wondering – is oversensitivity and overstimulation something so deeply chemical or embedded in my tissues that it’s going to either take a lot of work to get over it, or will I just have to bear it, like one bears a broken arm, or a backache?
Fitzroy Street Art (Melbourne)
Today I drove up from the coast for a meditation conference in Melbourne, and I’m finally in my Air BnB and I’m wired - ironic, huh? For being with a bunch of meditators talking about meditation all day? The drive up was hard – a lot of traffic, peak hour drive in the city, all senses alert for trams and lights and other cars and trying to figure out where I was going, where I was parking, where the university was, where the foyer was, where the lecture was, what lecture or workshop or panel to choose. And there’s so many people, and noise, and I start getting uber anxious – the familiar flutter in my heart, my palms sweaty, pulse racing – all cells vibrating at a speed that makes me feel ill. And I do realise the irony of it, and I’m super aware of it because I’ve been here before, and unlike childhood, I recognise it. I’m telling myself ‘breathing in, I breathe in, breathing out, I breath out’ and I’m desperately wishing I had a Valium (which I won’t do anymore) or a portal into another universe where I wasn’t this anxious vibrating being desperately wishing not to be. And the more I feel it, the more I sense it, the more frustrated and angry at myself I get. I can be my harshest critic, and knowing this makes me feel even more critical.
And yes, I’m so aware that these are layers and layers of conditioning and it’s by wrestling with that that the layers will eventually peel away, and underneath that is calm and ease and pure is-ness, but the layers are sticking and it’s like trying to get paint off with every thinner and scraper you’ve got but scraping your knuckles bloody in the process and still having thick and stubborn layers of paint ingrained into the bricks of the house you call your body.
This little unveiling of this present moment, that feels not so present as it extends into hours, days, weeks, may come as a suprise to some of you. Yet most of us or many of us are led to meditatitive, yogic practices precisely because we have experienced trauma, anxiety, stress. And it's not a cure all. It helps enormously. It helps with the bigger picture. It helps us be better people. But it doesn't make us instantly perfect, calm, zen beings.
I know this moment will pass. I'm just struggling through some big bubbles of anxiety that make me want to reach out to y'all. Because I know I am not the only one. So hello, beautiful suffering beings. I am with you. I feel you. Big, big hugs.
It is easier when I break out of the cloistered space of the lecture halls and into the night. I love the bustle of the city on my terms, in the dark, on my own. I love walking through the streets, people watching, the bars and cafes. It's vibrant and alive and beautiful. I stop in at the takeaway version of the Vegie Bar on Brunswick Street, Fitzroy and enjoy a warm and comforting dahl and some sweet potato chips, peruse the bookshop, flick through vinyl in the music shop. I have space to breathe, and be in my own thoughts. I have gentle distractions and no demands to perform, react, create, interact. I don't make eye contact with the clerk when I buy a record.
In the Air BnB I force myself through rounds of Nadi Shodhana, drink a chamomile tea I'd liberated from the conference and run through the checklist of all the things I need to get out of this funk.
Maybe I just need St John Wort, and all the other herbal allies that assist me in life. Because right now, meditation is just not helping, although I know it will help in the long run. Those layers of old paint have gotta flake off eventually. Even writing about it and connecting to you all helps a little. Thanks for the steempills.
Dear Steemians - what would you do? How does anxiety impact your life?
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