Coping with the stress of self-discovery

Over the past few months, I have transitioned from toxic optimism and maladaptive behavior, to circumstantial paralysis and finally, inner peace.

Like most people around me, I chose from a selection of activities claiming to be the solution to the stay-at-home angst. I baked banana bread, I did yoga, I aced the handstand and I perfected my sourdough bread. Thanks to my better judgment, I did not succumb to the quarantine bangs.

Catharsis is known to be therapeutic when coping with distressing circumstances (read the post break-up haircut). But, it is not a long-term solution. While I may feel lighter after a haircut, the heaviness gnawing at the pit of my stomach will persist.

To cope with the stress of being holed up at home, I tried journaling. I wrote about my feelings — their existence, occasional absence, and sometimes, the deluge. I watched YouTube videos — morning routines, quarantine routines, evening routines — I needed someone to tell me what to do every second of the day.

When the stay-at-home orders were issued globally, I strived to look at the bright side. Here is the opportunity to write that book, get that perfect body, learn how to cook and perhaps, even find myself, finally.

Unaware and overly enthusiastic of the prospect of discovering myself in a matter of a few months, I condoned the immense amount of confusion, pain, fear and discomfort that was to come with. My encounters with YouTube videos on self discovery taught me that if I read a few books, wrote down my emotions and sat with myself every day, I will be discovered. And discovered, I felt far from.

I rang up my friends, more often than I would like to admit. I kept reiterating my confusion. ‘What am I doing wrong? Should I journal more? Should I read more? Should I learn more? Am I not sitting with myself like I am supposed to? Am I not breathing deeply enough?’

If only I knew that these questions were in actuality, veiled solutions. This process is supposed to be painful. Mind you, I say painful, not ineffective.

What most of us don’t realize is that we need to sit through this process in our discomfort. It is from seeking comfort and pleasure in the first place, that we departed from who we were authentically. We avoided pain at all costs. And now, as we make note of our emotions, we are realizing, like dust after a storm, how much pain has settled within us.

Something had to change. In a bid to sweep off the pain to reveal the bits of self hidden under, I embraced slow living.

Note that I don’t have it down completely. It began after I came across a YouTube video of a woman walking in her garden, making dandelion wine with the flowers she found in her backyard. I was stunned. She didn’t wake up at 6 AM, make her coffee, go for a run and sit at her computer, squeezing the occasional workout in between. She simply lived.

The next day, I woke up feeling different. There was lightness in my head that did not result from any quarantine haircut. I did not have a plan, I had simply paced myself. I lay awake in bed for a while. Then I rolled out of bed, opened the curtains and then sat by the window. Then I made the bed, brushed my teeth, made myself coffee and sat down again — slowly going about my day.

To the modern hustler, the above account may seem frustrating, perhaps even worthy of an online trial and an audible ‘ugh’. And trust me; having been the modern hustler, I would have snorted at the account too. But here’s the thing: it felt bloody amazing.

I was not in a rush. I was present in every task that I did — from waking up, to working on my computer, to taking mindful breaks featuring books and nothingness. Doing nothing is frowned upon, now more than ever. Being confused and flustered is met with disapproving nods.

I was all that and more. And I was okay with it. This is the self discovery I made. I was able to sit in my chaos without becoming one with it. I was fine with my chaos. I learned to make my way through life slowly, with the chaos and without trying to figure it out.

Slow processes, the way the wind feels against your face and the temperature of water — these are some everyday things that are either disregarded or barked at for their uncooperativeness. I have learned to see them as a way of the world to tease us and nudge us to slow down.

I don’t see self discovery as a way of becoming the perfect person I always aspired to be. I see it as acceptance. I discovered the roots of my confusion and pain, I didn’t question it. I didn’t question my methods or their effectiveness. I was present for myself.

And here’s what I learned: slowly but surely, you will keep making headway. And with every slow step you take, though you may not be closer to anything, you will have come farther from who you used to be. And that, in itself, is enough.