Jeremy Mohler

Writer and meditation teacher

How I turned my anxiety into an ally for getting sh*t done (and actually relaxing)

by

Our endless fears, worries, and resentments make life harder. But what if — like the Tibetan Buddhist teacher Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche once put it — we could turn our unsettled mind into an ally?

That’s what I’ve been doing recently, at least with one of my big worries. I’ve been taking Sundays completely off — no plans, no work, no obligations. I let the day unfold at its own pace, doing whatever feels right in the moment.

If I feel like turning around during an aimless walk, I turn around. If I want to lay on the couch and read all day, I do it.

A year ago, this wasn’t possible. A part of me couldn’t let go of the to-do list. I’d try to relax but also sneak in some writing or cleaning or running errands. I’d reason with myself that I’d worked all week, so I should relax. By the end of the day, I’d feel restless — worn-out but tense and fidgety.

What changed? My relationship to this striving, hustling, checking-off-the-to-do-list part of myself — which I’ve named “Striver.”

“Repetitive patterns in our lives are messengers,” says psychotherapist and meditation teacher Ralph De La Rosa. “There’s truly nothing wrong with any of us — we’re just lacking in clarity and compassion.”

There’s nothing wrong with me. In fact, my relentless hustle is what got me up this morning to write this blog post.

But ignoring Striver — which is what I used to do on Sundays — doesn’t do any good. Neither does numbing out. When I used to get drunk or high on Sundays, I’d still feel that anxious restlessness come nighttime.

What changed is I started bringing clarity and compassion — as De La Rosa says — to my experience.

Clarity is noticing when Striver appears in my mind. Oh, there you are, Striver, I note in my mind, when striving thoughts arise.

Compassion is accepting and even welcoming Striver. Take the day off, little buddy. If you rest today, you’ll be stronger tomorrow.

Usually, Striver will keep butting in throughout the day — because that’s just what he does. But each time, I acknowledge his presence and tell him to relax. When Striver rests, I can rest — like truly rest.

We’ve all got striving parts and lazy parts and righteous parts and lonely parts and scared parts and all kinds of parts. The trick is changing how we relate to them. From ignoring or outright hating them to welcoming their anxious, wild, powerful energy.

Think about how powerful you’d be if fear, anger, and anxiety weren’t holding you back. Rather, what if they were on your side?

As the socialist feminist poet Adrienne Rich wrote in her poem “Integrity”:

Anger and tenderness: my selves.
And now I can believe they breathe in me
as angels, not as polarities.

I’m a writer, meditation teacher, and host of the Meditation for the 99% podcast. If you’d like to work with me on your meditation practice or being more mindful in your life, reach out.

Download my free ebook on starting and sticking with a meditation practice here

Lonely in lockdown? Here’s one powerful way to cope.

by

All the meditation I’d done over the years didn’t mean shit. A full day’s work and two glasses of wine didn’t either. I was spending yet another Friday night alone — this time in a steampunk-themed AirBnB apartment in Gainesville, Florida.

I’d been at a conference for communications professionals all day but hadn’t communicated enough, been social enough, made enough friends. I — in my essence — wasn’t enough.

At least that’s what part of me thought. But, at first, I couldn’t see the thoughts as arising from just a part of me. They were all I could see, as real as the retrofuturistic steam engine decorations on the apartment walls. They were a familiar story I’d been telling myself since I was a lonely kid: no one thinks I’m enough.

Until I remembered what I’d been practicing with my therapist. She’d taught me to slow down and get familiar with thoughts. She’d helped me notice stories I’d been telling myself for years about who I am, how I compare to others, how the world works. She’d encouraged me to describe the thoughts as coming from “parts” of me, not all of me. Most powerfully, she’d helped me see my parts as friends, not as signs that I’m some broken, weak, irredeemable freak.

What she’d been teaching me is a form of therapy called Internal Family Systems, known as “IFS.” IFS identifies parts — or subpersonalities — that we developed when we were young. For example, I have a tendency to work almost constantly, to always be checking off my to-do list, a part of me I now call “Striver.” First thing every morning, Striver barks orders from the driver’s seat of my mind: Get to work. You’re lazy. Stop wasting time, you loser. (I wrote at length about Striver in my ebook How to Get Out of Your Head.)

In Gainesville, the part that had taken over I call “Lonely.” Like all parts, Lonely is a younger version of myself that has the rigid, extreme ideas of a child: No one really cares about me. I’m going to die alone. We all die alone.

When Lonely jumps in the driver’s seat, I often get anxious and text a bunch of friends for some sort of connection. I might mindlessly scroll through dating apps. I mostly just feel like shit.

But this time I practiced what my therapist had taught me. I imagined Lonely as a young boy sitting beside me on the couch. I put my arm around him and said internally, “It’s okay. You’re allowed to feel lonely and scared. You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel.” After a few minutes, my shoulders — which had tensed into knots — relaxed. The sounds of Gainesville’s main street bustling outside, rather than confirming my brokenness, put a smile on my face.

I no longer felt alone. Or, I felt alone, but it wasn’t bothering me. It was okay. I was okay. I turned on one of Lonely’s (really, my) favorite shows, Seinfeld, and watched until I fell asleep.

IFS goes beyond simply observing thoughts without judgement, known as “mindfulness.” It helps us “form I-thou relationships with [our] parts, rather than the more detached, I-it relationships that most psychotherapies and many spiritualities foster,” writes Richard Schwartz.

It’s not the only method — there’s cognitive behavioral therapy, reparenting, and more. But IFS is helping me slowly accept all of my parts — all of my messy, imperfect, beautiful humanity — and I couldn’t recommend it enough.

I’m a writer, meditation teacher, and host of the Meditation for the 99% podcast. If you’d like to work with me on your meditation practice or being more mindful in your life, reach out.

Download my free ebook on starting and sticking with a meditation practice here.