Since I started learning Torah, my friends and teachers have been telling me that the power of Torah is that no matter how many times you read it, you can always find in it something new. At this point, I haven't read the entire Torah enough times to really test that theory, but this week I'm getting the sense that it holds water. Last year I blogged about the episode in this week's parasha, Vayishlach, where Jacob wrestles with the angel. (A quick recap for those unfamiliar with the text: After using deception to claim the birthright that was intended for his older brother, Esau, Jacob fled from his homeland and remained in exile for around 20 years. Finally, he hears that Esau is coming to meet him and Jacob prepares for the reunion with a good amount of fear and anxiety. The night before he is to see his brother, Jacob has a dream in which a mysterious being wrestles with him until the break of dawn.) I really love this story, and as I started reading the parsha for the second time, I felt a little disappointed that I'd already written about that section of text...but then, I found it: something new!
While reading the psukim about Jacob and the angel, I was drawn to the following midrashic commentary at the bottom of the page:
We can imagine Jacob saying to himself, "Until now, I have responded to difficult situations by lying and running. I deceived my father. I ran away from Esau. I left Laban's house stealthily instead of confronting him. I hate myself for being a person who lies and runs. But I'm afraid of facing up to the situation." By not defeating his conscience, Jacob wins. He outgrows his Jacob identity as the trickster and becomes Israel, the one who contends with God and people instead of avoiding or manipulating them. At the end of the struggle, he is physically wounded and emotionally depleted. Nevertheless, the Torah describes him (in 33:18) as shalem, translated "safe" with connotations of "whole," at peace with himself (shalem is related to the word "shalom"), possessing an integrity he never had before (S'fat Emet). --Etz Hayim chumash, page 201.
I often feel that part of the challenge of reading Torah is finding ways to connect with the central figures of the narrative--how can I relate to them and make their experiences applicable to my life? Through this commentary, I discover a whole new way to relate to Jacob. Like Jacob, I went through a period of my life when I was deceptive and untruthful. When confronted with any type of uncomfortable situation, I chose the path of avoidance, which was usually paved with lies. I hated how my eating disorder had turned me into someone sneaky and dishonest, but I was unable to find the strength to face confrontations or challenges head-on. For me, recovery has meant growing into a person who is willing to bear discomfort. It has meant finding a way to be honest even when it might upset someone else, because having a strong sense of integrity has become more important to me than insulating myself from the bumpy parts of real life.
Jacob's battle leaves him injured and exhausted, yet undeniably whole. Recovery is similar, in that probably no one (at least no one I know) escapes it unscathed. I have found it to be physically demanding and often painful, and it has pushed me to the outer limits of my capacity for handling tough emotions. So, why have I put myself through all of that? I've done it because the "me" who has emerged out the other side is a fuller, more authentic self than I ever would have been had I not engaged in the struggle. Although recovery, in the moment, often seemed impossibly challenging, it has ended up being the process that brought me to a clearer, brighter existence. The eating disorder gave me a false sense of protection, but recovery provides me with a path toward genuine wholeness. I hope that each of us is able to internalize the courage and wisdom of Jacob and use this strength to further our own positive transformations--and that we emerge from it all as individuals who truly know the meaning of shalem.
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Monday, September 3, 2012
"Why Should I?"
Although I initially planned to spend each week of Elul looking at a different theme of the month, I've decided that for the time being I'm going to stick with teshuva, on the grounds that there is just so much to explore within that one theme. The more I thought about what I wrote last week, the more it occurred to me that in explaining a reason why the process of recovery can be so painful, I had really addressed only half of the issue. What naturally follows from that is the question, "Well, if recovery hurts so much and is so uncomfortable, why should I bother putting myself through that in the first place?" Convincing someone (or yourself) that enduring the unpleasantness of early recovery is a worthwhile process can be a tough sell, but recently I came upon some words from--you guessed it--Rav Kook, that I believe both validate the paradox of a painful recovery and offer a solid argument in favor of sitting with the discomfort:
"At the inception of creation it was intended that the tree have the same taste as the fruit (Genesis Rabbah 5:9). All the supportive actions that sustain any general worthwhile spiritual goal should by right be experienced in the soul with the same feeling of elation and delight as the goal itself is experienced when we envision it. But earthly existence, the instability of life, the weariness of the spirit when confined in a corporate frame, brought it about that only the fruition of the final step, which embodies the primary ideal, is experienced in its pleasure and splendor. The trees that bear the fruit have, however, become coarse matter and have lost their taste...But every defect is destined to be mended. Thus we are assured that the day will come when creation will return to its original state, when the taste of the tree will be the same as the taste of the fruit." (Orot HaTeshuva)
Here, Rav Kook acknowledges the reality that oftentimes, the process by which we achieve what we most desire is not, in fact, pleasurable. If full recovery is the "fruit," then the process of getting there is the "tree"...and I think we can all probably agree that the journey is nowhere near as sweet as the destination. Rav Kook validates this and also normalizes it by teaching us that this is one of the imperfections of life on earth, a less than ideal situation that is familiar to anyone who has ever traveled a long, arduous path toward a much-anticipated goal. But, he also reassures us that someday the "injustice" of this reality will correct itself, and we will find ourselves in a world where both the process and the result are full of delight.
You might be thinking, "Okay, great. Someday far, far in the future, this yucky situation will no longer be the reality. But what about NOW? How do I deal with it in the present as it happens?" I have received many valuable answers to the question of how to cope with the discomfort and have personally tried a wide variety of "distress tolerance skills" and methods of "cognitive restructuring." While not every strategy hit the mark, there were many that did help me manage the uncomfortable feelings and sensations that came along with early recovery. However, another critical contributor to my ability to push through the unpleasantness was the underlying sense I had that all of the struggles I was enduring were serving to teach me something important. Even in the moment, underneath all my stubbornness, resentment, and fear was a glimmer of understanding that if I could just pull this off, I would end up stronger for it. Rav Kook reinforces this idea when he says,
"Penitence does not come to embitter life but to make it more pleasurable. The joy of life resulting from penitence emerges out of all those currents of bitterness in which the soul is entangled in its initial steps toward penitence. This is the creative higher prowess, to know that sweetness is drawn from all bitterness, life from all the pangs of death, abiding delights from every disease and pain." (Orot HaTeshuva)
For me, this has proven to be true. While I would never, ever wish an eating disorder on anyone, I also would not want to give back all the insight and understanding that I've gained through the process of recovery. This does not erase the significant pain I often felt or the very real losses I incurred along the way...but it helps me to accept that this struggle was given to me so that it might teach me something important, and I believe it has. In that light, my hope for all of us is that we find the courage to radically accept the discomfort, move through it, and emerge stronger on the other side.
"At the inception of creation it was intended that the tree have the same taste as the fruit (Genesis Rabbah 5:9). All the supportive actions that sustain any general worthwhile spiritual goal should by right be experienced in the soul with the same feeling of elation and delight as the goal itself is experienced when we envision it. But earthly existence, the instability of life, the weariness of the spirit when confined in a corporate frame, brought it about that only the fruition of the final step, which embodies the primary ideal, is experienced in its pleasure and splendor. The trees that bear the fruit have, however, become coarse matter and have lost their taste...But every defect is destined to be mended. Thus we are assured that the day will come when creation will return to its original state, when the taste of the tree will be the same as the taste of the fruit." (Orot HaTeshuva)
Here, Rav Kook acknowledges the reality that oftentimes, the process by which we achieve what we most desire is not, in fact, pleasurable. If full recovery is the "fruit," then the process of getting there is the "tree"...and I think we can all probably agree that the journey is nowhere near as sweet as the destination. Rav Kook validates this and also normalizes it by teaching us that this is one of the imperfections of life on earth, a less than ideal situation that is familiar to anyone who has ever traveled a long, arduous path toward a much-anticipated goal. But, he also reassures us that someday the "injustice" of this reality will correct itself, and we will find ourselves in a world where both the process and the result are full of delight.
You might be thinking, "Okay, great. Someday far, far in the future, this yucky situation will no longer be the reality. But what about NOW? How do I deal with it in the present as it happens?" I have received many valuable answers to the question of how to cope with the discomfort and have personally tried a wide variety of "distress tolerance skills" and methods of "cognitive restructuring." While not every strategy hit the mark, there were many that did help me manage the uncomfortable feelings and sensations that came along with early recovery. However, another critical contributor to my ability to push through the unpleasantness was the underlying sense I had that all of the struggles I was enduring were serving to teach me something important. Even in the moment, underneath all my stubbornness, resentment, and fear was a glimmer of understanding that if I could just pull this off, I would end up stronger for it. Rav Kook reinforces this idea when he says,
"Penitence does not come to embitter life but to make it more pleasurable. The joy of life resulting from penitence emerges out of all those currents of bitterness in which the soul is entangled in its initial steps toward penitence. This is the creative higher prowess, to know that sweetness is drawn from all bitterness, life from all the pangs of death, abiding delights from every disease and pain." (Orot HaTeshuva)
For me, this has proven to be true. While I would never, ever wish an eating disorder on anyone, I also would not want to give back all the insight and understanding that I've gained through the process of recovery. This does not erase the significant pain I often felt or the very real losses I incurred along the way...but it helps me to accept that this struggle was given to me so that it might teach me something important, and I believe it has. In that light, my hope for all of us is that we find the courage to radically accept the discomfort, move through it, and emerge stronger on the other side.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
No Pain, No (internal) Gain
I would be remiss in my exploration of Elul themes if I did not venture into the realm of teshuva--certainly a central focus of this month preceding the High Holidays. Teshuva (תשובה) is often translated as "repentance" or "penitence,"but there's more to it than that. The Hebrew root of תשובה is שוב, which means, "return." When a person does teshuva, he or she repents for his or her sins, turns away from destructive patterns and actions, and returns to a life in harmony with Hashem. Teshuva also signals new beginnings and a restoration of balance within oneself. For years, the focus of my High Holiday teshuva was always apologizing to Hashem for yet another year spent engaging in eating disorder behaviors, a year in which I had, once again, fallen short of my "best self" in what felt like so many ways. So, I prayed fervently for forgiveness and promised that in the year to come, I would really try to "do better" in recovery. This happened year after year after year...and each time, I fully intended to follow through on my promise. So, why didn't I?
I was a classic case of ambivalent teshuva. I yearned to change, and yet I didn't. It was puzzling and endlessly frustrating...and yet, it seems, not uncommon to the experience of many people who undergo teshuva for a variety of reasons. In his brilliant work, Orot HaTeshuva, Rav Kook deeply examines the concept of teshuva. (For more of Rav Kook's ideas, see this blog post.) This past Tuesday was 3 Elul, Rav Kook's yahrzeit, and I set aside some time that day to explore Orot HaTeshuva. As I read, I came upon a passage that, I believe, gets right to the heart of why it was so hard for me to turn away from my eating disorder, even though I wanted to. (Note: instead of reading this text and making a direct inference that your eating disorder is "evil" or "sinful," perhaps think about it more generally as a negative force in your life.)
"The pain felt in the initial inspiration to penitence is due to the severance of the evil layers of the self, which cannot be mended as long as they are attached to and remain part of the person, and cause deterioration of the whole spirit. Through penitence they are severed from the basic essence of the self. Every severance causes pain, like the pain felt at the amputation of deteriorated organs for medical reasons. This is the most inward kind of pain, through which a person is liberated from the dark servitude to his sins and his lowly inclinations and their bitter aftereffects." (Orot HaTeshuva)
Rav Kook hits the nail on the head: I clung to my eating disorder for so long, despite genuinely wanting to change, because separating from it was too painful. Even though I knew anorexia was harming me, it had become so enmeshed in who I was that detaching it became a labor intensive, often excruciating process of pushing, pulling, and probing. My eating disorder was killing me; yet, it felt integral to my being. Letting go of it did, at times, feel as agonizing as if I was chopping off a limb.
But, Rav Kook is also correct about something else: the necessity of distance to the process of repair. When we are entrenched in a problem, it's often hard for us to see it clearly for what it is and figure out how to untangle it. The same is true of eating disorder behaviors--when we're in the middle of using one, we're hardly in a position to view it objectively and make a plan to get rid of it. For me, the magic of therapy was that it gave me a safe place to detach from my behaviors and observe, with the help of my clinicians, what function each behavior served and how I could begin to chip away at them one by one. Being willing and able to separate from my anorexia in that context was what allowed me to internalize the tools that I needed in order to dismantle it.
So, for any of you who find yourselves wondering this month why you spent another year engaging in your eating disorder despite having had a genuine desire to kick it to the curb, remember what Rav Kook says: it hurts to separate from part of yourself, even from a part that is negative. And, like most people, you do your best to avoid pain. But, remember also Rav Kook's message that separation is the key to repair. If you allow yourself some distance from your eating disorder, you will be able to see it more clearly for what it is. This year, may you be able to tolerate the pain of this separation, and may it lead you to lasting recovery, once and for all!
I was a classic case of ambivalent teshuva. I yearned to change, and yet I didn't. It was puzzling and endlessly frustrating...and yet, it seems, not uncommon to the experience of many people who undergo teshuva for a variety of reasons. In his brilliant work, Orot HaTeshuva, Rav Kook deeply examines the concept of teshuva. (For more of Rav Kook's ideas, see this blog post.) This past Tuesday was 3 Elul, Rav Kook's yahrzeit, and I set aside some time that day to explore Orot HaTeshuva. As I read, I came upon a passage that, I believe, gets right to the heart of why it was so hard for me to turn away from my eating disorder, even though I wanted to. (Note: instead of reading this text and making a direct inference that your eating disorder is "evil" or "sinful," perhaps think about it more generally as a negative force in your life.)
"The pain felt in the initial inspiration to penitence is due to the severance of the evil layers of the self, which cannot be mended as long as they are attached to and remain part of the person, and cause deterioration of the whole spirit. Through penitence they are severed from the basic essence of the self. Every severance causes pain, like the pain felt at the amputation of deteriorated organs for medical reasons. This is the most inward kind of pain, through which a person is liberated from the dark servitude to his sins and his lowly inclinations and their bitter aftereffects." (Orot HaTeshuva)
Rav Kook hits the nail on the head: I clung to my eating disorder for so long, despite genuinely wanting to change, because separating from it was too painful. Even though I knew anorexia was harming me, it had become so enmeshed in who I was that detaching it became a labor intensive, often excruciating process of pushing, pulling, and probing. My eating disorder was killing me; yet, it felt integral to my being. Letting go of it did, at times, feel as agonizing as if I was chopping off a limb.
But, Rav Kook is also correct about something else: the necessity of distance to the process of repair. When we are entrenched in a problem, it's often hard for us to see it clearly for what it is and figure out how to untangle it. The same is true of eating disorder behaviors--when we're in the middle of using one, we're hardly in a position to view it objectively and make a plan to get rid of it. For me, the magic of therapy was that it gave me a safe place to detach from my behaviors and observe, with the help of my clinicians, what function each behavior served and how I could begin to chip away at them one by one. Being willing and able to separate from my anorexia in that context was what allowed me to internalize the tools that I needed in order to dismantle it.
So, for any of you who find yourselves wondering this month why you spent another year engaging in your eating disorder despite having had a genuine desire to kick it to the curb, remember what Rav Kook says: it hurts to separate from part of yourself, even from a part that is negative. And, like most people, you do your best to avoid pain. But, remember also Rav Kook's message that separation is the key to repair. If you allow yourself some distance from your eating disorder, you will be able to see it more clearly for what it is. This year, may you be able to tolerate the pain of this separation, and may it lead you to lasting recovery, once and for all!
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