Stepping out of Obsessive Thinking
I’d gone into therapy during my sophomore year in
college, and remember the day I brought up my current prime-time fixation: how
to stop binge eating. No matter how committed I felt to my newest diet plan, I
kept blowing it each day, and mercilessly judged myself for being out of
control. When I wasn’t obsessing on how I might concoct a stricter, more
dramatic weight-loss program, I was getting caught up in food cravings.
My therapist listened quietly for a while, and then
asked a question that has stayed with me ever since: “When you are obsessing
about eating, what are you feeling in your body?” As my attention shifted, I immediately noticed the painful,
squeezing feeling in my chest. While my mind was saying “something is wrong
with me,” my body was squeezing my heart and throat in the hard grip of fear.
In an instant I realized that when I was obsessing
about food—craving it, wanting to avoid it—I was trying to escape from these
feelings. Obsessing was my way of being in control. Then I realized something
else. “It’s not just food” I told her. “I’m obsessing about everything.”
Saying it out loud unlocked something inside of me.
I talked about how I obsessed about what was wrong with my boyfriend, about
exams, about what to do for spring break, about when to fit in a run. I
obsessed about what I’d tell her at our next therapy session. And most of all,
my tireless inner critic obsessed about my own failings: I’d never change; I’d
never like myself; others wouldn’t want to be close to me.
After pouring all this out, my mind started
scratching around again—this time for a new strategy for changing my obsessive
self. When I started down that track, my therapist simply smiled and said
kindly: “If you can notice when you’re obsessing and then feel what’s going on
in your body, you’ll eventually find peace of mind.”
During the weeks that followed, I kept track of my
obsessing. When I caught myself planning and judging and managing, I would note
that I was obsessing, try to stop, and then ask how I was feeling in my body.
Whatever the particular focus of my thoughts, I’d find a restless, anxious
feeling—the same squeezing grip I had felt in my therapist’s office.
While I didn’t like my obsessing, I really didn’t like this feeling. Without
being conscious of pulling away, I’d start distancing myself from the pain
almost as soon as I’d contacted it, and the relentless voice in my head would
take over again. Then, after a month or so
of this, I had an experience that
really caught my attention.
One Saturday night, after my friends and I had
spent hours dancing to the music of a favorite band, I stepped outside to get
some fresh air. Inspired by the full moon and the scent of spring blossoms, I sat
down on a bench for a few moments alone. Suddenly the world was deliciously
quiet. Sweaty and tired, my body was vibrating from all that dancing. But my
mind was still. It was big and open, like the night sky. And filling it was a sense
of peace—I didn’t want anything or fear anything. Everything was okay.
By Sunday morning, the mood had vanished. Worried
about a paper due midweek, I sat down to work at noon, armed with Diet Coke,
cheese, and crackers. I was going to overeat, I just knew it. My mind started ricocheting
between wanting to eat and not wanting to gain weight. My agitation grew. For a
moment I flashed on the evening before; that quiet, happy space was like a
distant dream. A great wave of helplessness and sorrow filled my heart. I began
whispering a prayer: “Please . . . may I stop obsessing . . . Please,
please.” I wanted to be free from the prison of my fear-thinking.
The taste of a quiet, peaceful mind I’d
experienced the night before had felt like home, and it motivated me not long
after to begin spiritual practice. In the years since, I’ve become increasingly
free from the grip of obsessive thinking, but awakening from this mental trance
has been slower than I initially imagined.
Obsessive thinking is a tenacious addiction, a way
of running from our restlessness and fears. Yet, like all false refuges, it
responds to mindful awareness—to an interested and caring attention. We can
listen to the energies behind our obsessive thinking, respond to what needs
attention, and spend less and less time removed from the presence that nurtures
our lives.
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