The Only Way Out is Through
“Katie, one day you’re going to start talking, and light is going to come out of your mouth.”
My dad said this to me in my early twenties when I was in the midst of my short high school teaching career. I don’t remember the exact circumstances that lead him to say that to me, but I remember I was telling him a story about something, and in trying to follow along, he gave up because I was apparently talking so fast that he couldn’t keep up. He then made the credible point that if I was going to make a living communicating to people (teaching and coaching), that it would behoove to me to consider whether or not the people on the receiving end would actually be able to understand me.
Talking was just one of my fast habits. I walked fast. Played the piano fast. Finished my homework fast. Even ran fast. Yes, I can say that for most of my life, I was in quite the hurry to get to the next word, location, note, assignment, and finish line. I never really considered why I lived my life this way. To be honest, I was pretty proud of it most of the time. I got stuff done. Efficiently. And usually the outcome was above average, so I didn’t have a whole lot of negative feedback to force me to consider slowing down. I mean, slow down?? Why would I do that? How would I get as much done? Um, I wouldn’t. So blaze through life I did, kicking up the dust of my experiences as I took off toward the next one.
As an adult, I didn’t change my approach much. Each day was its own marathon. Get up at 5:00am. Work out. Get kids ready for school. Get myself ready for work. Work an 8-10 hour day. Evenings might have been the opportunity to take my foot off the gas a bit, but where would the productivity be in that? Meetings, officiating high school sports, and sometimes a second job would absorb those hours more often than I like to look back and admit. Then, one day I was having a conversation with a friend who had asked me what I had been up to, and after hearing the litany of commitments that I rattled off, asked me a question that no one had really ever asked me before.
“Why are you doing all of that?”
I was a bit taken aback. I suppose I had grown accustomed to the typical automatic responses, “Wow, sounds busy!” or “It’s a crazy time of life!” No one had actually asked me to explain myself before. I don’t even remember how I responded, probably because having been caught off guard, I was still stuck on the question. I likely offered some fast-talking response about how I loved to stay busy and it kept me on my toes, but whatever I said in that moment, I can assure you that I hadn’t had the proper time to really put any thought into it. As I ruminated on it later (I was realllllllly good at rumination), I think I privately settled on an answer that loosely could be summed up as, “because I can.” I was capable of doing all of these things, and most of the time, doing them well. So if you’re good at something, you do it, right? Of course you do.
I remember a time in dental school when I was obsessing over a weeks-long project we had been working on that was soon due. In dentistry we live in a land of millimeters and degrees, and being slightly off the mark can mean the difference between an A and failure. I commuted to school, so once I was home for the day, I was twenty-five minutes away from the lab, my projects, and any ability to modify an error that needed fixing. I remember vividly the anxiety starting to well up in me once I was home for the evening as I started thinking, no let’s be honest . . . as I started obsessing, over this huge project that was due soon. Had I measured the setup properly? Was the alignment good enough? What if I hadn’t polished it perfectly? What if the grade I got wasn’t high enough to get an A in the class? (Quickly does calculations to figure out what grade is needed to get an A in the class). Maybe if I just go look at it one more time I’ll be sure. Yes, maybe I’ll just drive back to campus at 9:00 at night and take a look. That way I’ll know. And then maybe I can relax. No wait. That’s crazy. Drive back to campus now? It’s 9:00. I can just look at it tomorrow. But what if there are major issues and I don’t have time to fix them tomorrow? Just go tonight. Just look at it. Looking at it and knowing will make you feel better.
As I type this out now, I realize how ridiculous it may seem to obsess so intently about the minute details of a project that had already been checked no less than ten times, that the idea of driving twenty five minutes away near bedtime just to look at it seemed reasonable. And I’m relieved to tell you that I did talk myself out of driving all the way back to the dental school just to open my locker and look at it. But I’ll also tell you that I thought real long and hard about it. And I almost did it. And if I wouldn’t have had to explain myself to anyone who might have seen me, I probably would have done it.
Why is this little anecdote relevant to the fast-talking, go-go-go, cram in all the things lifestyle that I mentioned above? In one word? Anxiety. Well, actually, two words.
Anxiety and distraction.
I came to realize as an adult that I have struggled with some level of anxiety most of my life. I have definitely had some strange OCD-ish type behaviors that interfered with my daily life enough to be bothersome to me, even though I never really explored them past a Google search or received an official diagnosis. Some of them persist to this day, although much less frequently, and since they don’t impair me or cause me problems, I’ve just accepted them and moved on. As a child I spent an abnormal amount of time worrying about God, hell, and my inability to escape the thoughts that came into my head. Enough worry that I went to my teacher at seven years old in tears because I was terrified that my doubts and worrying meant I wouldn’t go to heaven. From a very early age, I was lost in my own thoughts. A lot. Those of you who have experience with anxiety know the hamster wheel of what-ifs, catastrophizing, and worst-case-scenario obsessing. It can be an exhausting never ending abyss. An abyss I learned that I could pretend didn’t exist if I just distracted myself enough to not have time to notice it.
Of course distraction can come in many forms. For some it’s drugs or alcohol. For others gambling or shopping. For many young people, it’s endless scrolling on an app that questions one’s self worth with an endless feed of social comparison. For me, it was overcommitment and a fierce drive to achieve. It’s important to note that none of these distraction tools is “bad” in and of themselves. It’s the end result and impetus behind their use that determines their danger or lack thereof. But each of them can absolutely be used by anyone as self-medication. An in moderation that may be completely harmless. But when used to avoid the larger, lurking issue that is causing anxiety and the need to distract in the first place, they can be a slippery slope into behaviors that actually lead to self-sabotage. As was the case for me.
A couple of weeks ago, someone who has only known me personally for the past few years told me that she could sense the peace I have and that she appreciated that it had a positive effect on her as well. This was perhaps one of the most thoughtful and meaningful compliments I had every received. Not because it was exceptionally kind (it was in fact, exceptionally kind), but because if she had known me for the first 35 years of my life, she probably wouldn’t have recognized me as the same person and she definitely wouldn’t have been complimenting me on my peaceful energy.
I can humbly say that I know what she meant though. And I’m grateful she was gracious enough to share that feedback. Because I have felt that shift in myself. Katie 2.0 is truly a different person, and even though the road to gaining this perspective and peace was tumultuous and painful (by my own doing), I have more gratitude, humility, and compassion now than I think Katie 1.0 would have ever been capable of. I know that’s a gift, and I don’t take it for granted. I wish I could say there was a simple ten step process to get there. But truly, the experience that transformed me from the inside out was the following:
being forced to acknowledge the darkest sides of myself,
sitting in the discomfort that comes from having to live through the consequences of my regrets,
and most importantly, having to accept the reality of what I could not control.
Sitting in the discomfort. Quietly. Still.
This was not anything I was used to or good at. In the past my constant busyness prevented me from truly experiencing any one moment fully. It was always, check the box, next. Check the box, next. Next challenge, next commitment, next, next, next. Always with my eyes forward, never really appreciating the immediate view. I became disconnected from myself, which meant I became disconnected from those around me. And in this disconnection, I got used to moving through life checking the boxes of expectations that I thought were mine, but in reality I had never pondered long enough to know who or what I was actually being true to. Which is why when my friend asked me, “Why are you doing all that?”, I didn’t have a good answer.
Sitting in discomfort, experiencing the extensive list of items out of my control was the best exposure therapy I, as an anxiety-prone perfectionist, could have ever asked for. When people have a phobia, often the most effective treatment for their fear is not to avoid it, but to slowly expose them to it over time, until they eventually realize that they are capable of confronting it and that their worst imagined outcome didn’t and isn’t likely to happen. For me, the most intense exposure therapy was realizing that no matter how I felt or what kind of person I knew myself to be at my core, that I had no ability to control the thoughts and action of others. Up until just a few years ago, a good portion of my life was structured around perfectionism, people-pleasing, and achievement. Personal failure shattered those ideals into a million pieces that could not be glued back together. And then people, my people, showed me that their relationship with me wasn’t centered on any of those things in the first place, and that no matter what, they loved me in spite of my failure. They directly showed me that my worst imagined outcome—that I wasn’t lovable or valuable outside of my ability to perform and be “good”—didn’t happen. And that is exactly how exposure therapy can work magic and change a person’s life.
It is by that grace and love shown by those beautiful souls (you know who you are) that Katie 2.0 has the capacity for love, grace, and compassion that I never could have imagined as Katie 1.0. And even after all of that discomfort and hurt, I know that being Katie 1.0 was good and necessary and valuable, because she was on this journey too. I see her, understand her, and I am grateful that she set the stage for a fulfilling life. She also forced me to be honest and aware of my ongoing weaknesses, blind spots, and shortcomings, and I am forever committed to seeking out the wisdom that comes from confronting those less than desirable parts of myself. I know intimately that the parts of yourself that are hardest to face are precisely the parts that can teach you the most.
Be honest with yourself.
Be still.
Let go of what you can’t control.
The sun will rise tomorrow, and you’ll do the best you can. And when life affords you the privilege of knowing better, do better.