Mashed potatoes and My anxiety
I'm in the kitchen making mashed potatoes. I'm dancing to Dee Dee Sharp as the potatoes boil. I'm smiling as I throw a little salt into the boiling water. My cats are curled up in a corner of the kitchen, watching me, yawning. It's a perfect moment. Everything is all right. I feel safe, happy and at peace.
Then, out of the blue, my brain starts to sound the alarm. It tells me that something bad could happen at any moment, that I should be prepared. Then it starts screaming that I'm in danger, "Hurry! Something bad is going to happen!"
I turn off the music, I check that the cats are okay, I make sure that only one knob on the stove is on. I don't feel safe, happy or peaceful anymore. As I run through the horrible things that could happen to me, I don't even realize that I've over-boiled the potatoes.
Somehow I manage to get them out of the pot and let them cool down. I go into the living room, sit on the couch and breathe deeply. As I breathe in and out, my worries begin to shrink and seem utterly irrelevant.
Of course, I know that terrible things can happen to me at any time, and that it is impossible to live in denial of this possibility. But I also know that I can't live in constant vigilance for these possibilities.
There is something that prevents me from getting too caught up in my own happiness. Something poisonous that keeps me from having too much fun, from being wildly happy, or simply from maintaining that perfect, balanced state of mind that I feel when I'm in the kitchen making mashed potatoes listening to Dee Dee Sharp.
Something that tells me that if I surrender, if I let myself go, I will get hurt. Anxiety. My old friend. I know him better than I know myself. It's always with me, even when I don't feel its presence. She lurks. He tries to talk to me, to remind me of himself, to keep me on my toes.
He wants to protect me. Even when I don't need protection. I know that, in fact, he is only trying to keep me alive. I used to compare this state of mind to swimming in a stormy sea. As I struggled against the huge waves, I would struggle to breathe, I would feel like drowning, I would panic. My chest would tighten, my heart would pound, my face would turn red. And the more I fought against the waves, the more I struggled alone in the middle of the sea, the less chance I had to calm down.
Meditation taught me not to fight my anxiety. To be still in the sea and watch the waves crash over me and onto the shore. That when I surrender to it, when I focus on it instead of ignoring what is squeezing my chest, when I breathe in and out with it, it will go away on its own. Meditation has taught me to never be afraid, because my anxiety will not kill me. And that I can calm it down if I want to.
I go back to the kitchen, put the potatoes in a bowl and start to mash them gently. I am completely absorbed in what I am doing. I notice the movement of my hand, the color of the potato, the steam hitting my face. And with this awareness, gradually, I feel my heartbeat slowing down.
When I finish mashing the potatoes, I add some black pepper, olive oil and almond milk to the bowl. I don't think about anything else, I just focus on the bowl. Then I mix it all together with a big wooden spoon. At that moment, I realize that the old whale sitting on my chest is gone.
I am free. I turn on the music again and dance and taste the mashed potatoes. It's delicious! I can't help but start singing and put a spoonful of mashed potatoes in my mouth while my cats look at me and yawn happily.
I think some foods are magical: pumpkin, asparagus, lemon peel jam and most of all mashed potatoes. I congratulate myself for being able to make this beautiful dish. I do this because I know that celebrating small successes is an effective way to ward off anxiety.
It will come back. I know that too. But I am at peace, because I have already proven to myself that I have the strength to weather the big storms. And I know that when he comes back, I will find a way to soothe us both, as I always have done on previous occasions.