Welcome to Are You Mad At Me? — a weekly newsletter about anxiety, perfectionism, self-esteem, living with unanswered texts, recovering from people-pleasing and becoming better friends with ourselves.
A short (long) list of things that make me uncomfortable:
people being mad at me
not knowing if people are mad at me
waiting for a text back
trying to decide if i want to text you
going on a 3rd date with someone and still not being sure if i like them
silences in the car on said 3rd date
hurting someone’s feelings and not getting reassurance that they forgive me right away
ending a conversation without knowing that we’re 1000% on “good terms”
knowing what I’m walking away from but not knowing what I’m waking towards
things being messy and in process
not feeling like i’ve “done enough” work
not having the immediate answers to problems
change. all types.
endings. all types.
Things have been really good lately - a lot of new things I’m excited about and a lot of growth that only a couple months ago I was praying for and didn’t seem possible.
And I’ve also been really uncomfortable.
One of the biggest gifts I have been given in recovery is learning to discern the difference between discomfort and danger — learning that often times when we’re getting better and expanding, it can feel wayyyy worse for a little while. That getting better and feeling better are not synonymous. That discomfort is actually a good sign for me that I’m heading in a new, uncharted direction. Does discomfort feel good? Absolutely not. Does it make me want to grab my phone every 5 seconds or ruminate about the one that got away in 2020 or question many of my life choices about transitioning from my glitzy job in Fashion that was so cool and instagrammable? yes. But I’ve learned, as if it’s a bumper sticker on the inside of my psyche, that discomfort is my green light telling me “keep going in this direction. this is the right direction”
I’m not talking about when we feel uncomfortable because we are in a dangerous or unsafe situation or relationship. In those cases, by all means, say heyyy to the discomfort and run the hell away. I’m talking about the discomfort that comes from being a human being on this spiritual journey trying to learn to be more of who I really am and less of who you want me to be. I’m talking about the work of healing my attachment trauma and realizing I don’t just want a guy who is emotional - but a guy who is emotionally attuned (they are different, trust me). I’m talking about the effort it takes to let other people have their big, full human experiences even if that means that I have to sit with the reality that other people will have feelings about what I say, do and am and I need to let them have those feelings. And then I need to tend to my big feelings that tell me that I can’t know for sure that I’m ok/worthy/good/loveable unless others 100% think that about me too.
That type of discomfort.
Here’s a little bit about my discomfort at the moment:
My emotional taste buds are changing. What feels good in dating and friendship is different than it used to be. Like the part of me that felt super attracted to a certain type of guy or friend because the thrill of getting (and keeping) their attention felt like victory — that part of me…is not there. I am not sure when the change happened, and like taste buds, it probably has been evolving very slowly over the last 7 years. All I know is that suddenly I expected something to taste like cherry, and it didn’t. I have been working to change the familiar, comfortable ways my magnets attract certain things for the larger part of the last decade. But I couldn’t will this change. I couldn’t say “today, Liana, you are going to be turned off by the guy who thinks constantly about himself, is obsessive, gives you intermittent affectionate reinforcement and is painfully adorable and cute.” I did the footwork, but the change — the change to my emotional taste buds — happened when it happened. And I am so grateful for that. And I also don’t fully recognize the part of me that is different from the painful, albeit more comfortable self I’ve been living with for 30 years. As I’m writing this — I’m realizing it sounds like puberty, and maybe it is on some level? Like whooooo is this person in this body having these thoughts and feelings that feel so foreign. I kind of like it but wtf is going on and where is the manual?
I’m practicing not fighting or resisting the discomfort by going back to how it used to be, because at least I know my way around that neighborhood. I am trusting that I will learn my way around here — around this newer terrain of self-esteem and these roads of emotional availability and these alleys of learning to trust ease and simplicity.
I’m practicing being okay with this being the in-between. And friend of mine likes to use this veryyy vintage metaphor that spiritual and emotional growth is like taking one cassette tape out but not putting a new cassette tape in yet. Nothing is playing and it can feel like nothing is happening. But this is the in-between. This is making space for what is next to emerge. This is 100% the moment we all want to run. And this is 100% the moment to tolerate the discomfort of not knowing what’s going on or where you’re going.
I’m practicing naming and identifying the ways that I feel different — am acting differently — am attracted to different things, without needing to understand where/how/why/when about any of it. I am practicing trusting that this is the me emerging that I’ve been waiting a long time for. I am welcoming her even though she feels like a stranger. We will become friends over time. I need to give time…time.
I am practicing remembering that discomfort will pass. And that my level of growth is directly related to my willingness to tolerate discomfort. I am observing what I want to do when I feel uncomfortable. What stories do I want to tell myself about myself? What habits I want to pick up? What fears begin to fill my head?
I am practicing true, real, as-many-moments-of-the-day-as-I-can-remember SELF COMPASSION. It takes courage and bravery to not fill the silences so that someone likes me. To not apologize when someone is upset or disappointed even if I haven’t done anything wrong. To not send another text looking for reassurance. To not go back to what I know because at least I know it. To stay the course even though I don’t fully trust it’s leading me where I want to go.
Being uncomfortable is brave. It is not the easy way out.
Judging my moods and wishing they were different.
Sitting with the discomfort of not-knowing, of the fearless excavation, is not easy — but it is simple. Any meditation teacher will tell you that the moment you feel you want to jump up from your cushion and make sure the stove is turned off, or write something down you’re sure you’ll otherwise forget, or even open one eye to see how many minutes are left to go – that is precisely the moment to stay the course. To allow yourself to be pierced by whatever it is that’s just beneath that impulse. What longing? What uncomfortable thought? What sorrow? What desire? The only way we can know is to be still enough to find out. -- Pema Chodron