Self-Reliance

Ralph Waldo Emerson's writing remains one of the most profound sources of comfort and inspiration I've ever consumed. From my teen years through the present, and on until my death, he has shaped - or reflected - or illuminated - what it means to me to be embodied in this life. (I'm not being disloyal to Jane Austen because she didn't write poetry or non-fiction, at least not that I've read.) Yes to Rilke, yes to Virginia Woolf, yes to Annie Dillard. The list is, thankfully, too long to recite. But in my humble opinion, Emerson is peerless.

I reflect on my eating disorder recovery often, because it was and is a profound event. Re-learning to trust my body has come in stages. First I learned to trust my hunger: to eat what I wanted when I wanted, rather than when a doctor or dietician told me to. Then I learned to trust my muscles: to run when I wanted to run and rest when I wanted to rest. Then I learned to trust what I needed in a partner: to require emotional and intellectual connection. I learned to trust my opinion next: to speak up for myself when necessary at work or in social situations. This journey of self-reliance is a like piece of music that builds and ebbs; all of the movements and tempos and themes are important to create the whole. I feel like I'm building up to something, but I'm not quite sure of what that is yet.

I remember a moment my sophomore year in college; the memory is as crystalline as if it happened last night. I was nineteen years old, and up until then, I always employed my stomach muscles to hold my gut in, even while alone, even (it seemed), while sleeping. A friend of mine, the same who introduced me to Rilke, mentioned something about how wonderful it was to relax her body and let it "be." I either said nothing or nodded my head in acknowledgement, pretending I knew what she was talking about. Inwardly, though, I was incredulous. WTF does that mean, to let your body be?! Later, alone in my dorm room, lying in bed, I made the conscious decision to relax my belly. I love the word belly. It reminds me of babies and softness and tenderness. What an unburdening it was to unclench. I think, and this memory is not quite as clear, I waited for something bad to happen after I relaxed. But nothing did. It was a simple movement, but the loosening, the letting go of the forced tension, was a profound shift for me psychologically. Lest we forget that life is not a linear path, this was not the ah-ha moment that solved all my problems, but nevertheless it was an important step.

This meandering story leads me to yesterday. I didn't rest much the night before because my son couldn't fall asleep until 2am. He was not disruptive and actually quietly entertained himself for a while, but I woke up when I heard the dog visit him downstairs at 1:30am. I shuffled down to retrieve C. He held my hand and walked upstairs with me, and he allowed me to snuggle him in bed. He asked me why we needed to have big feelings and whether they'd ever go away. I didn't have a good answer. He said he wished that we had three suns so we never needed to face night. I agreed.

I sang Today, I've Been Working on the Railroad, and a few other classics, and C eventually fell asleep. I let him sleep in the next day. As another sign of his growing regulation, once he woke up, we did our normal morning routine and he happily scootered to school.

There are pieces here that speak to self-trust and affirmation: Not freaking out when C couldn't sleep; C, listening to his own body; my decision (which felt like a risk) to let him sleep in. But the hard part came later, while he was at school. It was hard to trust myself then. I was tired and felt a returning of the overwhelming, daunting confusion of life. I cried. I was so tired of feeling anxious, and I didn't want to do any legal wrap-up or search for a job or clean up the absolute mess that is my house. With the truck in the shop an extra day, I needed to figure out a plan to get B to equine therapy and C to TBall while my husband finished work and attended the town zoning board meeting.

In the end, I deferred most of my decisions. I watched two episodes of Ted Lasso while folding laundry, gardened, washed dishes, and then asked B's therapist if we could switch to telehealth. Next, I decided it would be unwise to even attempt to get C to T Ball, because by the time he finished we'd have to scooter home in the dark and, as a result, he'd get to bed late again.

Ultimately, we had a good evening, and everyone fell asleep at an acceptable time. It was not perfect, though. C ran through my newly-planted garden, and I snapped at him. While taking the pizza out of the oven the pan slipped, and the silicone mat caught on fire when it landed on the heating coils. The dog ate a piece of the bread I just baked. My daughter flooded the bathroom during her shower.

At one point during the evening, I decided to disclose that I was grumpy. I'm trying to acknowledge my feelings in front of the kids, and I'm sure it was fairly obvious that I was frazzled. Just acknowledging it helped a lot. And I listened to my body enough to realize that much of what I was feeling was probably a result of fatigue, which also took off some of the internal pressure.

It feels absolutely reckless to trust myself sometimes. I'm getting better, but often I'm afraid that self-trust will translate into selfishness or laziness. But the more self-data I gather, the more I realize that it doesn't. I'm generating my own empirical evidence.

The children made it to school early today, even with a slight change in routine. I visited with a couple of friends at drop off, and then I decided I needed to weed around my rose bush and listen to a podcast, so I did. I needed to write, so I am. But in an hour, my "workday" will resume because I'll run the 3 miles to the auto shop to pick up my car and probably wrangle with the mechanic as he seems to be giving me the run-around. Then I'll go to the post office and drive to Target to get my daughter a leotard and jazz shoes for her play, milk for C's medicine, and dishwasher detergent for the machien. I'll do laundry and dishes and pick up the kids from school. I'll take B to play practice. Then it'll be time for dinner, silent reading, and the nighttime routine. Because I'm at the stage where I can't just trust myself willy nilly (good grief), I must justify listening to my needs even when they feel frivolous: See?! l also fulfilled my duties: See?! I'm not a worthless piece of shit! I do hope, though, that someday I'll have the audacity to trust myself without justification. I just have to gather more data.

The power which resides in me is new in nature, and none but I know what that is which I can do, nor [will] I know until I have tried. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson (substituting first-person pronouns for "he")