How to Body Surf Your Emotional Life

image by elgarbo art and is available here.

For me, the phrase “there’s nothing to fear but fear itself” illuminates the parts of me that are afraid to repeat the mistakes of the past: the parts that feel bogged down by the control fear has had on my life and the parts that live in anticipation of the future.

The shit hit the fan before, and I choked. It’ll probably happen again. And again….and again.

Although there is a lot of honesty and reality in these ruminations, the further truth is that to fear Fear – within the context of my life – is stifling. It feels confining. 

True: fear has held me back. 

True: I am vulnerable to emotional distress and depression due to fear (social anxiety, fear of failure, fear of success...ya know…psychobabble). 

Not true: fear is the problem.

During my sessions with Trusty Therapist Judy, I’ve begun – after ten years of therapy…lordy lord – to finally get at those layers of distress/distraction that are keeping me from becoming Completely Kickass Julia. And she’s begun, when we talk over the phone, to pinpoint the exact moments when I’m rolling my eyes.

Over and over, she asks: “What is that part afraid would happen if it stopped swamping you?” I talk a lot about my parts. My sad part, my anxious part, my critic part. Sometimes I can see these characters pacing my mind, jumbling my thoughts and ranting and raving.

What am I afraid would happen if I didn’t run from fear? What am I afraid would happen if I began to allow emotion, allow discomfort, and – ultimately – release?

“I dunno.”

And then I sit on that couch and think for a moment.

Anxiety in the face of what scares me. Fear of being swept away, left behind, all alone. All  the distractions of overeating, overexercising - the arbitrary rules I set for myself - feel almost like companions. Other people overwork, overspend, binge drink, date surfers (not a good idea). 

I stand on the beach. Then maybe wade oh-so-carefully into the water. The waves start to crash against me. Those sweeping waves, tumultuous waves. Big ass waves. With all the bravery I can muster, I remain in the water, hoping to surf safely back to shore.

You know what happens when you attempt, for the first time, body surfing a wave twice your own height? Well, I can tell you. You get really discombobulated. You get turned up and down and left and right. Water and sand become one big stream. You’re in a salty, erratic washing machine. And that first time, you’ve got no idea when or how it ends. For some time, you may even think This is it. This is how I’m going to leave this earth, attempting to surf a wave I could have just walked away from.

I keep jumping the waves and still I don’t think I’ll make. I am still convinced that each wave is ‘the one’ that will push too hard and break me.

No wave has ever broken me. And sometimes I’m able to roll in the uncertainty and find a moment of exhilaration instead of fear. Keep diving, keep opening up. Stop resisting.

The analogy could end something like this: as you practice facing the waves, they get smaller and smaller, less scary. For me, though, when I’m deep down in my depressions, every time the waves are the same size: big. And even outside of depression, the waves of life – the uncertainties, the losses, the unexpected suffering – don’t necessarily get smaller.

What changes is your own mind and the attitude you bring to the surf. It doesn’t always have to be with joy or confidence. But it, equally, doesn’t have to always be with trepidation and panic.

Change your mind. Shift your focus. What are you afraid would happen if you just let yourself go? What are you afraid would happen if you just dove in?

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