Perspective

Plumes of smoke billow above the foothills, just a mere ten miles from my house in Fort Collins.  Biking home from class yesterday afternoon, my eyes fixated on the plume.  Feelings of deja vu surfaced, bringing me back to the fire this past summer that destroyed my parent's home along with hundreds of others.

Feelings of uncertainty, unease and empathy all rolled into one mark the state of my being upon seeing this all too familiar sight.  My heart and thoughts intertwine with the evacuees', connected to them by similar, shared experience.  I not only feel linked through the feelings of dismay at the grave state of the ever-growing inferno but through the shared uncertainty among those whose homes are at risk.

The Galena Fire started around noon yesterday and the pace of its destructive path has been quickening every hour.  I could see the flames last night from my house, hauntingly flickering on the foothills.  Today, the flames have soothed to a cascading smoke, covering the sky in a milky haze.

After the Waldo Canyon fire this past summer, I knew I would never be able to look at a plume of smoke the same again.  The reality of this fact set in when I witnessed the billowing plume yesterday afternoon, instantaneously precipitating the unease that set deep inside my gut.

My heart in all its capacity goes out to those who have been directly affected, forced to leave their homes and wait, hoping for good news but preparing for the worst.  I can not only relate as a fire victim myself but as a part of this community, this state who has single-handedly witnessed the destruction these fires can cause, powerless to stop the course of nature.

My state of emotions has been up and down, alternating between fear and unease to empathy for the direct victims, to anger and finally to acceptance of the reality of the situation.  Upon hearing word of the fire in class yesterday, my mood shifted to fear and unease.

Distracted by the latest news, I tuned the professor out lost in thought until he made a snarky comment.  In all his ignorance, he made light of the situation, laughing it off as a little "second-hand smoke", not fully knowing the effect his comment would have.  I immediately felt anger boiling up at the fact that he was making light of such volatile circumstances.  He had absolutely no idea that people's homes were at risk, probably due to the little to no effect this fire would have on him personally.

Eventually recognizing the anger for what it was, simply a reaction to someone's ignorance, I now shift again to attempt to cope with the reality of the situation.  We all know that fire, natural or not, is going to run its course no matter the extent of human intervention.  We can attempt to do all we can to prevent as much devastation as possible, but when it comes down to it, Mother Nature is going to run her course, regardless of our pleas.

Fire, unrelenting and unforgiving, adds a certain amount of perspective for indirect and direct victims alike.  Though it initially stirs up fear and unease, accompanied by anger and sadness for the loss of land, it instantaneously sheds light on the important things in life.  When news of the fire reached, I went from worrying about petty things, like worrying about the grade I got on my exams and obsessing about the food to worrying about the fate of the fire and its victims.

Since witnessing the destruction a fire can cause, I can relate to the feeling of not being able to wrap your mind around the gravity of the situation.  When a fire breaks out, all bets are off and all petty worries get placed on the back-burner.  It is at times like these when we all realize what really matters in life, not the silly obsessive thoughts, or worry about the past or the future, but about the love and growth and hope that is always there.

When death beckons, whether death of vegetation, a friend, or in the symbolic sense of death as a marker of change, it marks the inevitable shift into the new.  Though we may not always welcome the new, because it is more often than not marked by an ending of something, within time, our perspective shifts to that of acceptance.

But as much as I would like to say I am at the point of acceptance, I know realistically I am not.  I am still harboring unease, fear and some leftover anger over the state of things.  All the meanwhile, my heart pours out to the evacuees, and I mourn deeply for the loss of our beautiful land, hoping and praying that nature will run its course, with a sparing and merciful hand.

Conscious Vulnerability

It is 6 a.m. Monday morning and I am awake for no other reason than to silence and appease the pestering yet gentle voice urging me to write.  This desire has been nudging at me, encouraging me to sort through these feelings that have been surfacing the past 48 hours, the feelings I so often push aside or run away from in trembling fear.

Restless, some may say.  Yet, it feels different.  I feel alert, awake and not in the normal anxious way of feeling that I have grown so accustomed to.  I feel alive, with the growing inkling that I need to sort through these strange, foreign feelings.

Vulnerable.  This word appears momentarily in my streaming and fleeting consciousness.  As my mind sifts through the meaning in this word, fear arises.  To be vulnerable is to allow yourself to not only feel the emotions you're feeling at each given moment but to let others see this part of you, one of the many parts that truly makes us all human.

When I think of being vulnerable, consciously, deliberately, I think of words.  Words are the bridge to communication with the outside world, the door through which we connect to others.  For me, words have always come more natural on a sheet of paper or a computer screen, giving me the freedom to reflect.  The act of opening up and sharing my words with the world (or whoever reads this) is something that both empowers and scares me to death at times.

What will "the world" think?  Will they approve of me? Will they think less of me?  By sharing intimate details of my life, opening up that part of me that is so used to closing off, I find my empowerment.  To not write is to shut off and ignore the expressive and vulnerable part of me that yearns to have a voice.

So, I sit here, today, writing to whoever, writing for myself, proving to myself that vulnerability is not something to be warded off but something to be embraced.  As I sit here, wanting to share the happenings of my "inner life," my guard slowly starts to creep up.  Yet, to push past this bit of resistance, to confront this fear, is the only way to overcome it.

Last night, I engaged in emotional eating.  There.  I said it.  Sure, I didn't use the word "binge" and for some reason that word is scarier than most words I have written on this screen.  To say that I slipped, to admit to not only myself and the world this "weakness" is something I can't say I've fully come to grips with.  But, you got to start somewhere so here it goes: this is me, the real authentic, vulnerable Anna.

 I have shielded this part of me off from the majority of the world, letting only those I trust and know in to see these "damaged" parts of me.  But, I keep reminding myself that this blog is not for others, as selfish as that sounds, this blog is for me, my way of expressing and letting loose pent up emotions and ramblings of the mind (of which I have many).

The guilt and shame inevitably surfaced post-binge.  The irony in this next thought is self-evident.  Each time I slip or engage in emotional eating, I am fully conscious of my lack of consciousness and awareness during this temporary numbing out, comforting routine.  I check out only to check in moments later and be faced with the guilt and self-loathing.

Last night, I was feeling anxious (more so than the "norm" for me) and though I tried to eat calmly, mindfully, my attempts failed.  I was distracted, trying to do work and eat and not feel anxious all at the same time (the multi-tasking food triad).  Inevitably, I lost touch with hunger/fullness cues and chose instead to listen to the part of me that still gets some sort of momentary comfort and relief from the food.

Afterward, stomach aching and groaning, I noticed the guilt surfacing.  Yet, instead of being enveloped into the guilt-trip and berating myself, I found myself replacing this fear and self-loathing with self-love and compassion.  I was able to sort through the actual feelings: the anxiety, the guilt, the shame, and look at myself through the lens of a loving parent or close friend.

A strange shift happened.  I felt filled with self-love and something else so bizarre: gratitude.  In a way, though maybe not the most healthy or effective way, my overeating teaches me something each time I engage in it.  Each time it has happened, I feel less and less guilt and more and more able to learn from each slip-up.

Bringing this awareness of my trigger points, tuning into this cycle of obsess/restrict to binge/numb out, I find myself conscious of the fears I project onto food.  It is almost never the food I am "afraid" of, nor is it ever really about the food in general.  Underneath, there is always the precipitating emotion: the fear.

I felt anxious for many reasons last night, one of which being the fear of my own vulnerability.  Opening up to others, in such a way, as to show them everything I have, the "good" the "bad" is something I can't say I'm fully comfortable doing but I also know that the things I am afraid of are the things my conscious mind is telling me I need to confront.

Being vulnerable, consciously, deliberately is the only way I can find the heart and soul of who I am and where I am headed.  To feel the feelings, to share these feelings, to show the world my imperfections is the only way I know how to confront this fear.  I am me: sometimes I feel anxious, sometimes I engage in self-sabotaging behaviors, sometimes I get angry, obsessive, nit-picky, but to shut off and not show the world these parts of me is to continue to reject all that I am.

Each day, each slip up I have, each fear that arises, is an opportunity to learn more about myself, to truly discover and accept me and things as they are, judgment and obsessing aside.  So, today, I thank my eating disorder for shedding a light on my fears.  Knowing it has never been about the food is a realization I am beginning to fully see and feel.

This is me, vulnerable, unfiltered, putting it all out on the table, inhibitions aside.  Trusting the process, letting go of the worry, I begin to feel eager for the learning that is to come.  Each day, I am growing closer to overcoming the eating disorder, binge or no binge, and each day I am confronting the fears I have pushed aside.

Vulnerable, conscious, living, breathing, learning, growing.  Empowerment, transformation.  Mindful of where I am physically and emotionally, I give gratitude for the love inside of me, filling me up.

This is me, the real authentic, vulnerable me and I for one can say, this is only the beginning of my conscious-focused efforts for mindfulness each day, each moment, consciously vulnerable.