Make Room for Guests!

Chag sameach--happy Sukkot to all!  Before I dive into the blog post itself, I just want to take a little bit of space to acknowledge that this blog is now one year old!  Developing it has been such a fun journey for me...many thanks to everyone who is along for the ride!

Now, onto the festival of Sukkot, of which we are currently smack in the middle.  After the somber, contemplative mood of the High Holidays, Sukkot brings us into a week of festive celebration.  One of the themes of the holiday is that of, "welcoming guests," or hachnasat orchim in Hebrew.  (For an adorably amusing "Shalom Sesame" video explaining hachnasat orchim, click here...I can't be the only one who gets all nostalgic for "Shalom Sesame!")  Just as Abraham was famous for waiting for strangers to pass by his tent so he could invite them in, so are we supposed to make an extra effort to invite people into our sukkot or to otherwise share the holiday with us.  The spirit of reaching out and welcoming others into our lives is part of what makes Sukkot such a joyous time.

I find the idea of hachnasat orchim to be especially personally relevant because opening myself and my space to others is definitely not a natural instinct of mine.  I am introverted to the core and have been since childhood; but, I am also aware that for the years when I was actively engaged in my eating disorder, I took this particular personality trait to new heights.  In my mind, other people made things messy--and I hated mess.  I wanted things exactly how I wanted them, tightly under my control...and bringing other people into the mix inevitably meant letting in an element of unpredictability and uncertainty, which I simply could not tolerate.  Additionally, I was deeply afraid of rejection and of desiring a relationship with someone who did not want one with me.  I was not willing to risk feeling the pain of being unwanted--better to not reach out in the first place, than to reach out and be disappointed.  One of my early therapists had a name for this:  "people restricting."  In addition to restricting my intake of food, I was also severely limiting my intake of other people--I honestly felt it was the safest way to go.

I've since changed my mind.

Don't get me wrong--I am still a classic introvert who craves "alone time," but I have also discovered that along with unpredictability and uncertainty, other people also inject a lot of energy and love into my life.  In fact, when I think about the moments in my recovery that stand out to me as major milestones, every one of them was an experience that I shared with other people, and the connectedness that I felt with those individuals was part of what made each of those moments so precious.  My eating disorder stepped in to fill a gaping void in my life during a time when I felt profoundly empty.  In order for me to be willing to give it up, I needed something else to slip into that space--and I have found other people to be a critical part of what now "fills me up."  Interestingly, it's only in recovery that I've found myself actually able to present with other people.  Connectedness fuels my recovery, and my recovery powers connectedness--it's a beautifully self-perpetuating phenomenon.

So, although I still find that quiet time alone in a sukkah is sometimes just what I need, I also must acknowledge that when I do go out of my way to let others in, I am almost never disappointed and am almost always enriched.  Hachnasat orchim might not be my natural instinct, but it's definitely one of the best learned habits I've picked up on the way, and is one I am still working hard to cultivate.  During this week of sukkot and beyond, I encourage any other "people restrictors" out there to try a different approach, even just one time.  Invite others to be with you, wherever you are.  It's true--other people do sometimes make a bit of a mess, but they also bring a lot of joy!

Inner Unity

I can't resist another Sukkot-themed post...this holiday is so full of inspiring material!

One tradition of Sukkot that really resonates with me is the mitzvah of the "Four Kinds." It is customary to bundle together the etrog (citron), lulav (palm frond), hadas (myrtle), and aravah (willow), and to bless them in their unity. The Four Kinds represent four types of Jewish people: those with both Torah and good deeds (etrog), those with Torah but without good deeds (lulav), those with good deeds but without Torah (hadas), and those with neither Torah nor good deeds (aravah). The Midrash says that we are to bundle them together so that they will "atone for each other." Implicit in that statement is the idea that not only is each of the Four Kinds important, but that each one has something to offer that the others do not, and therefore is essential for completeness.

What I love about this concept is that the idea of uniting the Four Kinds can be applied to not only unity among people, but also unity within a person. We each have so many diverse aspects of our personality, some of which we like, some of which we maybe don't like so much. It can be tempting to want to homogenize ourselves so that we are uniformly positive, but doing so would erase what makes each of us a complete individual. In my recovery, a challenge has been for me to appreciate and honor ALL aspects of myself, not just the ones that are easy for me to like. Here is a brief sampling of what is bundled together inside of me:

I am compassionate. This allows me to empathize with others, meet them where they're at, and to treat other people (and myself) gently.

I am resistant. This helps me to slow down before acting, to evaluate possible outcomes, and to think through decisions.

I am grateful. This means that I am someone who finds pleasure in simple things, whose day can be brightened by a small moment of connection or beauty.

I am critical. This drives me to work hard and not settle for mediocrity from myself or my surroundings. It helps me to know what I like, as well as what I don't like.

I am anxious. This prevents me from taking unnecessary risks, and it helps me to plan how I will respond to any number of potentially negative outcomes.

I am courageous. When push comes to shove, I find it within myself to do what I thought I could not do.

I could go on! But, now it's your turn. What parts of yourself do you need to honor for their contribution to a complete, well-rounded YOU?

The temporary permanence of sukkot--and life

Recently I read an article about Sukkot that discussed the rich symbolism of the holiday. During Sukkot, Hashem commands us to build a sukkah—a temporary dwelling place—and use it as if it were our primary place of residence: eating, drinking, perhaps even sleeping in it. It’s interesting that within the sukkah we are supposed to engage in some of life’s most concrete, grounding activities; and yet, the entire structure of the sukkah is temporary. When we’re in it, we’re in it in a significant way…but it isn’t meant to last forever.

This “sukkah paradox” reminds me of how I handle the emotional ups and downs of recovery, and of life in general. One of my most critical tasks of early recovery was to allow myself to be in the moment and not run from my emotions. I didn’t want to be grounded in the present—I wanted to be anywhere but where I was; I had no use for feelings; I paid no heed to my bodily signals. Given my perpetually distracted, preoccupied brain, it’s fair to say that I didn’t fully dwell anywhere while I was in the height of my eating disorder. That would have required being fully present in the moment, a task that seemed far too overwhelming to take on.

Recovery, however, demands that I fully inhabit my life. On any given day, my task is to be present in each moment to the best of my ability. On some days, my life is overall enjoyable, and being present is a pleasure. On other days, however, life might not be so pleasant—maybe I have to do a task that I dislike, or have an uncomfortable conversation, or tolerate feeling angry or lonely or frustrated—but my challenge is to allow myself to be “in it” while understanding that the situation is temporary.

A few days ago, I was explaining to a friend of mine why I probably wouldn’t sleep in a sukkah this year (I can’t really imagine facing a class of wiggly eight-year-olds the morning after after spending all night trying to sleep in a hut!) He told me that one year, he and a friend of his were sleeping in his sukkah, when it began to rain. Instead of heading for the dry shelter of the house, the two of them simply crawled under the table for cover and stayed there until the rain stopped. I honestly can’t think of a more fitting parallel to weathering the storms of everyday life in recovery—when rain comes (and it will), instead of running away, find a safe place to hunker down and wait for the storm to pass. When we’re overwhelmed by a negative emotion, our task is to find a source of comfort and hang on, with an understanding that although we’re “in it” temporarily, the feeling will pass. On this Sukkot, I wish for all of us to allow ourselves to dwell fully in our experiences, and to trust that no discomfort we endure will last forever.