The sun beats down, warm on my eyelids. My legs are starting to fall asleep, wedged in this upward position in the hammock. There’s a slight breeze, swirling the flower petals and pollen around me. My mind screams danger, allergies having prevented me from sleep before, but I take deep breaths, soothing my provoked brain. Reminding myself I am past that stage, I am safe.

I feel like a stranger in my own skin, in my own life. Upon finishing work, I wandered aimlessly, nothing of immediate import demanding my time or attention. The lack of stress exposing my recently severed, raw wound where I finally gathered the courage to tear my dependence on stress from my now vacillating psyche. I had formed such a tight bond with stress, letting it drive my every thought, every action throughout my day. It kept me focusing on the tasks, feeling like I was always accomplishing something, placing a considerable portion of my self worth on the amount of work I could produce. Stress and busyness soaked up any free time that may have been used to heal, to reflect, to dream. 

I’m a recovering stress addict, having refused to let my perceived safety be pulled from my white-knuckled grasp for years, and finally, the last few months, while I worked with my therapist and Dane to slowly pluck it’s tendrils from my life. I’m in my third month of living without my lifelong addiction, and often find myself with more quiet, more stillness, and, gratefully more margin in my day to day to connect with others, to help, to heal. 

I wish I could boast that I’ve completely kicked it, that I don’t miss it, and I’ve hit my new stride, having emerged from my chrysalis a peaceful, stress-free butterfly. Unfortunately, I fluctuate, some days feeling incredibly grateful, full of peace and opportunity knowing this was my last major hurdle to healing. Other days, my brain reverts to the well-worn neural pathways developed over the last 30 plus years, searching for worries, for things to prevent me from slowing down, validating my urge to task, task, task. Assigning my self worth, my impact, to the level of distinction, of excellence I can achieve, just as quickly as possible. 

I recently had the opportunity to read the book Outlive: The Science & Art of Longevity by Dr. Peter Attia. The book discusses several tactics to help your physical body live longer and better. He finishes the book with, what was for me, the most poignant chapter, covering emotional health. He discusses his own journey about his discovering and working through trauma that had grown into a massive monster, pushing behaviors he neither consciously chose nor from which he benefited. This chapter made mention of a discussion he had with a patient, someone who struggles with my similar drive and still-present propensity to place my self-worth in achievement:

“I know I was not alone in this feeling. I was speaking with a patient of mine once, an incredibly successful and well-known person, and he said something that stunned me. ‘I need to be great,’ he said, ‘in order to feel like I’m not worthless.”

The passage brought tears to my eyes. Having succinctly identified a major reason I surrendered to my stress and busyness. I was scared of taking my foot off the gas, because I didn’t know how to have any worth without my endless tasks. I took this to my therapist, she having already observed my misplaced confidence. She instituted several practices, none too time consuming, but all crucial to my healing. It came to no surprise to me that her tools neatly overlapped with several practices Dane had suggested. 

Each morning, I wake up, pop my ear phones in, briefly focusing on my phone only to turn on spa music, stretch, meditate, journal which includes three or four self affirmations and gratitude discourses as well as manifesting descriptions, have a brimming serving of ice water and minerals, have an open conversation with God, and conclude my morning practice with a sunny, peaceful walk outside with my dog. This practice provides me the launching pad for a day of composure, contentment, and resilience. It carves out the space that stress once occupied reserving it for healing and growth. I don’t have my new state down pat- in fact, most days I have to make a conscious effort to follow this rather than it coming naturally. It’s hard to train 30 plus years out of someone, but I’m trying. And trying everyday adds up to a lot of wins and a few slip ups.

I’m at my work computer, finishing up my day. My mind automatically turns to the household tasks at hand, lists of to dos unfurling from my cortisol-soaked brain. Instead, I take a deep breath, fall into a brief, five-minute meditation to end my work day and work out just what tasks have to be done, trimming the list down to two have-tos. I complete them quickly, and then find myself following my husband around like a lost puppy dog until he finally asks me, not unkindly, what I need. His gentle nudging snaps me back to my intentional self, helping me realize I was putting off relaxing, trying to find anything else to do to prevent me from slowing down. My first inclination is to work on something, but instead, he suggests I enjoy some reflection and reading time in the hammock, out in the sun. And that’s where our story began- me basking in this new, rejuvenating opportunity called slowing down and relaxing.