Born With Purpose

Birthdays...on the surface, purely delightful; in reality, so much more complicated.  I don't know that I've ever had an approach to birthdays that wasn't at least partly tainted with anxiety:  I clearly remember crying on my ninth birthday because I WOULD NEVER. BE EIGHT. AGAIN. (Yup...I was that kid.)  Fast forward to my twenties, and I still received my birthday with mixed emotions; only then, it was due to the mire of anorexia and depression in which I found myself stuck.  Every year, my birthday would roll around and I would feel a deep pull of sadness as my own emotions failed to match those of my family and friends.  My parents' excitement was the hardest for me to assimilate:  they were celebrating a wonderful child they loved, and I felt like that child didn't really exist.  While I was grateful and comforted by their enthusiasm for my life, part of me remained convinced that I didn't deserve it.

Well, yesterday I officially entered my "early thirties"(!), and I approached the day feeling hopeful that maybe this would be the year when I would feel only (or at least mostly) happy on my birthday. After all, I've been through a lot of therapy, and I'm now in solid recovery and have a life that I enjoy and am proud of in many ways.  And yet, as the day neared, I felt myself getting on the old, familiar emotional roller-coaster of self-criticsm and guilt.  Luckily, I still happened to be working my way through Toward a Meaningful Life: The wisdom of the Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson by Simon Jacobson, and the chapter titled, "Birth," may have saved my relationship with my birthday.

The Rebbe's idea is simple, yet profound:  Your birth was the moment in which Hashem knew the world could not continue without you.  At the time you were born, Hashem put you on earth for a specific purpose; that moment was the beginning of your mission on earth.  Jacobson expresses the Rebbe's philosophy as follows:

"Many people seem to feel that because we didn't choose to enter the world, our birth is a stroke of coincidence or serendipity.  This couldn't be further from the truth.  Birth is G-d's way of saying that He has invested His will and energy in creating you; G-d feels great joy when you are born, the greatest pleasure imaginable, for the moment of birth realizes His intention in wanting you..."

Wow.

When I actually sat and thought about that--that Hashem put me here on purpose, to bring something to the world that only I could bring; that He created me with love and care and joy--I mean, I actually felt goosebumps.  That's not to say that I then rushed out to buy party hats and streamers, but I did spend some time thinking about what Hashem might have had in mind when He created me...when He breathed my soul into my body, what was the hole in the world that He was hoping I would fill?  How can I use the many, many gifts with which I've been blessed to not just imagine a better, more sacred world, but actually help create one?

My suspicion is that for many of us in recovery (and for many other people, too), birthdays are a mixed emotional bag.  I offer this teaching of the Rebbe's in the hope that if your birthday approaches and you feel there's nothing to celebrate, you remember that even if you don't think you're special, at the moment of your birth G-d felt nothing but joy.  He created you filled with purpose and Divine light...and all of it is still inside you, just waiting to be let out.

So, as another year of my life begins, I feel profoundly grateful to all the people whom Hashem has put in my life to help me along my path:  my amazingly devoted parents and family; my friends who nourish me with both fun and authentic connection; my students who fill me with passion and purpose; my teachers who believe in the power of my mind and heart...and, this little community here, because through our collective energy we release a little more light into this world.  May we all be blessed with such supports and able to use the gifts they give.

Remember:

"Birth is G-d saying you matter." -- The Rebbe



     

Holding onto Growth

It's hard for me to believe, but in a few days I will be saying goodbye to Israel.  My program at Pardes has finished and I am now in that nebulous transition phase, trying to be present to enjoy my remaining time here while also preparing for departure.  While I'm looking forward to reconnecting with the people and places of home, I also feel like I am leaving home, because that is what Israel has become for me:  a home for my soul.

Bidding farewell to such an incredible experience conjures up in me a whole range of feelings:  plenty of gratitude and contentment, but also a healthy dose of sadness and longing.  If I dig a bit deeper, I bump up against another emotion that is buried way down but also pervades all the others:  fear.  As I prepare to say goodbye to Israel, I am afraid that I am also saying goodbye to the person I've grown into while I've been here:  someone who is an explorer, who can go with the flow, and who connects to others with her heart wide open.  I am afraid I will stagnate in my spiritual growth when I can no longer fill my lungs with the air of Eretz Yisrael and my head with the wisdom of my teachers.  In many ways, I feel that this summer has given me a taste of my better self.  Will I be able to hold onto that when I return to my life in the States?

One of my teachers introduced me to the works of Reb Zadok HaKohen Milublin and shared with me a quote of his that resonates with me strongly as I wrestle with this fear:

"Just as one must believe in G-d, so too must one afterwards believe in him or herself.  This is to say that G-d has direct dealings with him/her and he/she is not an insignifcant being who is here at one moment and gone the next..." (Tzidkat Hatzaddik #154)

What I take from this is a reminder that who I am is not wholly dependent on others or my surroundings.  I do not need to fear that I will disappear or whither away simply because I leave a nurturing environment.  Hashem created me with purpose because I have something to offer the world.  He gifted me with the experiences of this summer so that I could grow and have more light to share with others.  I used to think I was only in recovery because of the support of my clinical team, that without them I wouldn't be able to hold onto my progress.  In truth, my team did help me get to where I am, but I am the one who sustains my recovery.  I've internalized their support and now can initiate and maintain progress on my own.  I think the same is true of my fears about leaving Israel:  other people may have filled me up this summer, but I am the vessel and I do not automatically crumble and lose my contents just because I move away from the source.

So...

...to my teachers, who challenged and enlightened me intellectually and also nurtured and supported me personally, who shared with me the energy and beauty of Talmud Torah and also made me excited about possibilities for my own life...

...to my friends, who reminded me of what it means to be truly seen, who shared their radiance with me and also reflected my own light back onto me with love and caring...

...תודה רבה  B'ezrat Hashem we should continue to learn and grow together!

Victory...In Meal Form

Shavua tov!  I hope we're all emerging from Shabbat rested and energized for a new week.  I was fortunate to enjoy a beautiful Shabbat in Jerusalem and want to share a bit of the experience with you.

On Saturday I had Shabbat lunch at the home of one of my Pardes teachers, along with five other students from my program.  Walking into large groups of people tends to really stress me out, so I arrived a little early to give myself time to settle in before everyone else came.  (It helped that my teacher has two adorable children under age 5, and I was more than happy to keep them occupied while she and her husband finished preparing the meal!)  By the time we sat down for kiddush, I felt comfortable and ready to be present for the experience of the lunch, which turned out to be one of the best Shabbat experiences I've had thus far in Israel.

What made this Shabbat lunch so amazing?  Well, many significant things happened:  1) I arrived at the table hungry, and I was okay with that; 2) I ate foods that I did not cook myself and whose ingredients were at least partially unknown to me; 3) I made conversation; 4) I listened to what other people said; 5) I ate dessert, not because I was particularly hungry but because it looked delicious; 6) I left the table feeling full, and I was okay with that.  Even as I write this, I am aware of how mundane those things seem...it sounds like any ordinary meal.  And yet, for me the beauty of this experience was its sheer simplicity and the knowledge that the basic act of enjoying a leisurely meal with friends was something I could taste for myself. 

There were whole years full of Shabbats when none of this would have been possible.  If I made it to the table at all, it was in body only--my mind was frantically calculating, measuring, comparing, and worrying--leaving no room for being present.  This past Saturday, the victory was in being able to take full delight in an experience I used to be able to only watch others enjoy.

Despite having spent all morning in shul, I believe my most spiritual moment of the day occurred as I sat around that table, surrounded by delicious food and delightful company.  I felt intense thankfulness to Hashem for seeing me through recovery to that day, that meal.  I'm glad Hashem knows what's in my heart even when I can't express it in words, because there's no way I could truly verbalize the gratitude I feel as I reflect on what I was able to be present for this past Shabbat.  It was, as I like to say, a total "Baruch Hashem moment."  It was also not the first time in recovery when I've had such a moment at a meal, but part of the gift is that it is exciting every time.  For me, recovery means being in a perpetual state of shehecheyanu, because I never take for granted being able to enjoy eating freely in the company of others.

I share this anecdote not because it contains some deep Torah insight or profound spiritual teaching.  Rather, I share it because there was a time when I did not believe such an experience would ever be within my reach, and this past Shabbat I found the prize firmly in my grasp.  I want to say that it is possible to trek through the arduous process of recovery and emerge on the other side, able to engage fully with the delights of this world.  If it can happen for me, it can happen for you, too.

Cultivating Gratitude

There's no doubt that everyone's journey through an eating disorder is different...but one commonly occurring theme is the insidious partnership between eating disorders and depression. I am 99% sure that every single person I know who has battled an eating disorder has also experienced some form of clinical depression during the course of her illness. Personally, I am no exception: during the height of my anorexia I was chronically depressed, and my process of recovery has been peppered with periods of significant melancholy. In my experience, few things make it harder to feel committed to the work of recovery, than being profoundly saddened and discouraged by life.

Although there are, of course, pharmaceutical remedies for depressed mood, there are also a number of "do-it-yourself" exercises that one can do to improve one's overall mental health and happiness. One of my favorites is keeping a gratitude journal. There is plenty of research out there in the field of psychology that asserts that practicing gratitude is a key element to living a happier life. Keeping a gratitude journal is a concrete way to cultivate a sense of thankfulness for all the positive things we experience in our lives. A few years ago I began this practice as a homework assignment for a mind-body workshop, and I loved it so much that I never stopped. The process is simple: before going to sleep each night, I jot down three to six specific experiences I had that day for which I am grateful. The entire exercise takes fewer than five minutes, but I can honestly say that since beginning this nightly ritual, I have noticed a subtle yet significant shift in my overall affect and sense of well-being.

In keeping with the academic research pointing to the importance of gratitude, Judaism has long had a tradition of emphasizing the value of giving thanks. One way of expressing the concept of gratitude in Hebrew is hakarat hatov (הכרת הטוב), literally, "recognizing the good." We all have blessings in our lives, and practicing gratitude means acknowledging all the positivity that we already experience. So central a concept is this, that embedded in Jewish practice are brachot for just about everything imaginable: ingesting any food and drink, going to the bathroom, and waking up in the morning; smelling pleasant fragrances, witnessing thunder and lightning, seeing fruit trees in bloom, and being by the ocean...these are just a handful of the experiences for which Judaism tells us we should be thankful. As I journey through recovery, I feel incredibly fortunate to belong to a spiritual tradition that teaches me to be awake, alert, and appreciative of all the blessings, large and small, that I enjoy on a daily basis.

So...here are some things I have been grateful for this week:

• the feeling of snowflakes landing on my cheeks as I walked to shul on Shabbat morning in light snowfall
• seeing a brilliant red male cardinal at my parents' birdfeeder
• a much-needed phone chat with a dear friend
• adorable valentines from my students
• seeing a particularly beautiful sunrise on my way to work

What would you put in your gratitude journal?