In defense of distractions
Avoidance can feel juvenile, but sometimes it's exactly what we need.
Most days I’m the one critical of using distractions to avoid tough emotions. Despite my own resistance to conflict, I try to take things head on. I want to address the elephant in the room. I want everyone to get out their feelings — to talk about it, feel relief and camaraderie with their fellow beings.
But distraction has its place. Avoidance can be useful. That’s how we get the habit in the first place. It’s a survival mechanism.
It protects us from things we’re not ready for or, at the very least, things we don’t think or feel ready for. In some ways, it’s a form of self-compassion, of going easy on ourselves.
Life is hard sometimes. A lot of us could probably go a little easier on ourselves during those times.
One of the most depressive periods I’ve had was when I realized there wasn’t some threshold to meet or some line to cross — at no point would I get to a place in life where bad things didn’t happen anymore. To survive, my brain had told me things would be better when I accomplished X, Y and Z.
When it finally dawned on me that life doesn’t work like that, I was crushed. Sure, things might get better but things will never really be easy. There’s no way to have “smooth sailing” from now until death. Not if you truly want to live.
I lost hope.
That time was extremely difficult — internally and externally. I just started my therapy journey and it was the beginning of the end for all the false beliefs that had protected me for so long. That process is ongoing but I made it to the other side: back to hope and optimism.
For a few months, I had that feeling that everything in life was starting to go right. Like so many of us, I just knew 2020 was going to be my year.
Then the pandemic hit.
Then my brother died.
Then, when things seemed to stabilize, I had several very concerning health appointments, one of which left me certain I was about to be diagnosed with cancer. I left my full-time job and started to practice radical self-acceptance and self-care, as best I could. I resolved that stress reduction would help my body heal.
It did. (And no cancer!)
Things were getting better. I was feeling better. I was on the precipice of living my best life, yo.
Once again, that’s exactly when something else went wrong.
Growing up, we never trusted anything good because that’s when, as they say, the other shoe would drop. Maybe mom wasn’t wrong. This is life. This is how it goes.
What do I do with this information?
I don’t want to be on edge waiting for things to go wrong.
Does that mean I become reckless and stop wearing my seatbelt? No. But it does mean I’m not afraid to drive … NO. That’s not true: I am afraid to drive sometimes. I just do it anyway and keep hoping for the best.
I’m still distracting myself from the latest thing that’s gone wrong. I’m slowly releasing the pressure valve — only letting in the amount I can handle at any given time.
Pain is hard. Loss is hard.
Let’s try our best to take solace in the fact that these things are hard for nearly all of us living on this little blue dot. And, if we’re ready, feel a little gratitude that there are some really beautiful moments that make it all worthwhile.
Love,
Ria
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When I’m feeling vulnerable I’m sure my car is going to kill me.
💜💜💜